When it rains, it feels like a million mini plastic army men marching on my face. The grass, prickly and soft. And when the clouds part, they’re gone. Though I wanted them there. Gone too soon.
Archive for August, 2009
Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness. -Maya Angelou
Read this the whole way through, or at least half, and you’ll be grateful. Also, probably angry and skeptical of the U.S. health care system if you’re not already
How American Health Care Killed My Father
by David Goldhill
After the needless death of his father, the author, a business executive, began a personal exploration of a health-care industry that for years has delivered poor service and irregular quality at astonishingly high cost. It is a system, he argues, that is not worth preserving in anything like its current form. And the health-care reform now being contemplated will not fix it. Here’s a radical solution to an agonizing problem.
Perhaps the greatest problem posed by our health-insurance-driven regime is the sense it creates that someone else is actually paying for most of our health care—and that the costs of new benefits can also be borne by someone else. Unfortunately, there is no one else.
For fun, let’s imagine confiscating all the profits of all the famously greedy health-insurance companies. That would pay for four days of health care for all Americans. Let’s add in the profits of the 10 biggest rapacious U.S. drug companies. Another 7 days. Indeed, confiscating all the profits of all American companies, in every industry, wouldn’t cover even five months of our health-care expenses.
Somebody else always seems to be paying for at least part of our health care. But that’s just an illusion. At $2.4 trillion and growing, our nation’s health-care bill is too big to be paid by anyone other than all of us. [The Atlantic]
I was a fan of Mos Def before I interviewed him. Thankfully, I still am.
We waited, the photographer and I, an hour or so for Mos in the office of his label Downtown Records. Located in Soho. I was sitting on the couch in the lounge area, near the elevator. I had my head down for a nanosecond, thumbing at my BlackBerry. I feared he wouldn’t show up. By the time I looked up, the photographer had advised me that Mos, who was already across the room, had entered. As silently as a ninja. Not that I imagined trumpets blaring upon his arrival or anything, but dude was discrete. He wore a cheetah hoodie, the same one he chose for his second appearance on Real Time With Bill Maher, jeans with a trendy wash, a tiny leather jacket and sunglasses. Of course, the sunglasses.
He himself was tiny, as most rappers are in real life. It’s a strange trend. Or maybe we just imagine them big in our minds.
Since Mos was hungry, we decided to hit a local cafe. I preferred a non-restaurant setting for a magazine feature. It’s too typical. But I mean, this was Mos Def in a restaurant so I took it. Before we left, he went over some packaging for his album cover (pictured below). “Aren’t you supposed to have people to do that for you?” I joked.
This is the published XXL story, one of my favorites: Quiet As Kept
I always like to see the stuff that gets cut out. An article is never a full story and neither is an interview. There are bits and pieces that you put into context. On my Blackberry, I took a lot of notes during my few hours with Mos, which were really quite enjoyable. And enlightening.
Unedited Notes (his quotes in italics):
Listens to “Casa Bey” where he’s singing – The kudlow report on cnbc. Walks over to cubicle area and goes over album packaging with Amanda. Don’t say in stores. That’s cheesy. Just say 6.9.09. Details. Hands on with little details like he’s an exec. Aren’t you supposed to have people to do that for you? Macbook Pro. Pulls up hood in elevator. On phone on sidewalk, walking from spring on crosby/broome. Nippy outside, blue skull thingy hanging from belt buckle Yeah it does. It better. Sometime. Vans double taps from japan, starts singing, making phone calls. Trip got extended cause had to see some folks, starts singing to someone over phone to demonstrate his artist. Asks to see photos. Huddles in front of fed-ex truck on spring and lafayette. Near 6 train Spring. Pass an old lady walking into her apmt. “Son of on a bitch. I hope you fuckin die. Woman screaming. Oh that was mos def.
To the basement, past the kitchen, dark area, very gloomy, can barely see menu. Two women sitting next to us Rice and beans, side of avocado 10 days, freezing out “They was tellin me how warm and balmy it was. I almost didn’t wear this hoodie.”
Photographer shows booklet of kids who train surf Walks wIth the pimp lean down the hallway Back to studio GY black cap with orange lettering Cafe du monde white graphic tee Red suspenders Needs cigarettes. Can I order some? Nah that’s some bougie shit. Pack of american spirit yellow. For the tan tumor that you- Explaining to him that studio shots are cliche. “They haven’t seen ME in the studio” Studio just finished in June During dinner, Mos staring off at other patrons into distance. Smiling shyly, not looking you in eye.
Seems excited about the tracks in the studio. Black long sleeved shirt underneath tshirt. Plays “casa bey.” Temp stat in studio at 72. Gets up and starts scatting vocals to “Casa Bey” Two rings, one gold, one greenish. Cafe du monde shirt from new orleans – that’s where the spot is Sings some kind of “Freedom fighters” georgia and murdrow. Like bilal, nina, betty carter, making own beats. Sounds like hymn. Like mj off the wall. Off on tangent, no one knows what saying. Wrote song for stepdaughter. Adele, all of dem, she got all of that. Trying to get her on the album. Either roses or yuriah’s flight. Its that love power cause human beigns we fragile. Everybody wants a hug.
Talks to son Fidel over phone. Its me pop. I’m at work pop. Ima see you later ok. Stop tryna be a teenager, you 60. I love you pop. Ill see you soon Mos on the phone: How was House? Did you check it? How I do? Cheetah print hoodie. My favorite joint. Swagger, you can fake it. She’s like, “he’s a control freak, this guy.” Plays Georgia (but sounded like jojo or jomo) “yuriah’s flight” (sounds like.the joints badu has on her album) Talk about album and what people should expect. What artists are you excited about. People on a higher plane just on a higher plane. Through stones throw. When I heard her I was like whoa. This is coming like a female madlib
To the basement, past the kitchen, dark area, very gloomy, can barely see menu. Two women sitting next to us Rice and beans, side of avocado 10 days, freezing out “They was tellin me how warm and balmy it was. I almost didn’t wear this hoodie.”
Photographer shows booklet of kids who train surf Walks wIth the pimp lean down the hallway Back to studio GY black cap with orange lettering Cafe du monde white graphic tee Red suspenders Needs cigarettes. Can I order some? Nah that’s some bougie shit. Pack of american spirit yellow. For the tan tumor that you- Explaining to him that studio shots are cliche. “They haven’t seen ME in the studio” Studio just finished in June During dinner, Mos staring off at other patrons into distance. Smiling shyly, not looking you in eye.
Seems excited about the tracks in the studio. Black long sleeved shirt underneath tshirt. Plays “casa bey.” Temp stat in studio at 72. Gets up and starts scatting vocals to “Casa Bey” Two rings, one gold, one greenish. Cafe du monde shirt from new orleans – that’s where the spot is Sings some kind of “Freedom fighters” georgia and murdrow. Like bilal, nina, betty carter, making own beats. Sounds like hymn. Like mj off the wall. Off on tangent, no one knows what saying. Wrote song for stepdaughter. Adele, all of dem, she got all of that. Trying to get her on the album. Either roses or yuriah’s flight. Its that love power cause human beigns we fragile. Everybody wants a hug.
Talks to son Fidel over phone. Its me pop. I’m at work pop. Ima see you later ok. Stop tryna be a teenager, you 60. I love you pop. Ill see you soon Mos on the phone: How was House? Did you check it? How I do? Cheetah print hoodie. My favorite joint. Swagger, you can fake it. She’s like, “he’s a control freak, this guy.” Plays Georgia (but sounded like jojo or jomo) “yuriah’s flight” (sounds like.the joints badu has on her album) Talk about album and what people should expect. What artists are you excited about. People on a higher plane just on a higher plane. Through stones throw. When I heard her I was like whoa. This is coming like a female madlib
Outside on the street, after the interview and shoot are complete
Red truck across the street shoveling dirt. Walks back to the building alone as quietly as he came.
Red truck across the street shoveling dirt. Walks back to the building alone as quietly as he came.
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Funny: Mos Def Interview with Interview Excerpt:
It’s not that people have to “ball” less, it’s just that they need to do something good. This is what I wanted to tell XXL. They had this cute little girl asking me all these biographical questions, and I was like “what does this have to do with it?” Making people pretend they know me because they know where I was born. I just want to be necessary and do good works.
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Which stemmed from this:
Unpublished portion of Mos Interview:
You started rapping at like 9. How did you… Was it a Run DMC song that you heard that made you want to rap?
First rap song I ever heard was “It’s Like That.” I don’t know, it found me and I found it. We found each other.
How did you find each other?
It was everywhere. It was just in the air. Where wasn’t hip-hop. I was born in 73 so 81, 82 I’m 8, 9 years older just absorbing all of this stuff.
But not everybody wants to actually do it and not everybody can.
I didn’t have any type of ambition either. It was just… it was child’s play. It was child’s play but it was an interest that never left so by the time I was 18 people were actually doing it professionally and even then people didn’t have any ambitions of doing it for like 10 years outta they life.
Were you always… Did you start writing your rhymes? When you were 9, did you write poetry?
I always was writing. I like to read. I like writing. So I was always writing so it was just natural for me. It was… I never really had that ambition that other people have. Like, “I’ma go to L.A…” My circumstance was different. It was in my environment and I enjoyed doing it so I did it and as I got older, my main ambition was just to be able to do it professionally and that was like a big dream. Like, wow can you imagine if that was just your job. That’s all you had to do.
So it wasn’t a big deal to you to be a rapper?
I just enjoyed it. You know, I enjoyed it. I was a kid so I never looked at myself as a rapper or… I was just doing the things I do and I was good at it so I kept doing it.
I know you were raised in the Roosevelt Projects.
Roosevelt Projects.
How long were you there?
Well, I lived in Roosevelt with my mother and my grandmother til I was like 13, 12 or 13 and then we moved to Flatbush – back to Flatbush. ‘Cause we had lived in Flatbush—I lived all over Brooklyn.
Were you a quiet kid?
Yeah, I was a quiet kid. I was reserved, shy.
I read somewhere that you got picked on in school.
Oh, everybody gets picked on in school I guess.
And you started rapping to—
I mean, I started rhyming because I liked to do it but it was also a way to… achieve some social status among my peers, you know. Some kids play sports. Some kids draw. I rhymed.
I know you were close to your mom. Were you a momma’s boy?
These questions, they’re not gonna give anybody any more insight into how I am! No…
Why do you think that? What are the questions that—
People know me cause of what I do but they can’t [pause] they don’t really know me. and I don’t pretend to know them or make assumptions about the audience or herd them in a group. I’m just an individual doing what I love to do. I hope that it’s of some use. The biographical facts about me, I guess there’s some interest to some people but they’re not really—
I think it is. It makes up who you are and hip-hop fans—
Yeah, but people read that in a magazine, they’re not gonna get, you know.
You don’t feel like it helps any.
It’s arguable. More or less.
This story is crazy. A guy had Crohn’s Disease, an intestinal disorder, so severe that he needed surgery and afterwards, he couldn’t eat.
For the first meals after I was home from the hospital, I tried joining them at the table, a happy-meal family, but my starving presence disturbed the kids, and I’ve been marooned on the love seat or exiled to the bedroom ever since. The silver-dollar-sized burgers and petite seeded buns excite the boys, and they yammer with mouths full of food, their speech garbled by chewed meat and bread soaked in warm juices. One after another the patties fall, cutting down the pyramid of sliders, and I can only watch and listen as the plate gets swept clean. Our six-year-old kneels and turns on his chair. He has taken a momentary break from the carnage, his mouth a juicy mess, and he trains me with a severe look. “When will you eat?” he demands in a voice complicated by vulnerability, the worry that afflicts all children whose parents get sick. “Soon,” I lie. “Tell me about the burgers.” [Esquire]
Check out my guest blog for Aliya S. King. I like to rewrite so I wrote about rewriting…
I’m an obsessive rewriter. Some writers can sit at their computers and pump out a story in one sitting. I can’t. Correction: I’m able to. But I prefer a few days or weeks to work on a lengthy piece.
The first draft is never the best in my eyes, especially if it’s a long story. The more you can revise a story, the better.
When I get to the point where I say: “I HATE this story!” that’s when I know I’m nearly done rewriting. Nearly. I realize that doesn’t work for everyone. But I enjoy the process. More…
He was ugly, and he was short, and so she knew that this was not one of her lucid dreaming sessions. He cocked his head, arms stttretched to hold the top bar on the subway. She exited and he followed.
“Excuse me!”
She hastened her steps.
“Hey girl!”
She turned around. “I’m not a g—“
He was holding up something of hers, wearing a smirk, and he scoffed. “You left your scarf.”
“—irl.”
She grabbed it, face softened. “S-sorry. Thanks.”
She turned to leave. He grabbed her arm. She looked disgusted. “Um, ’scuse me?”
“You’re beautiful…”
“You’re beautiful,” said Jaleel. “But you could lose a few pounds.”
She turned toward him in her queen-sized bed with pink satin sheets in her huge penthouse. Her waist length hair moved with her head. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just sayin’. You should do some yoga. Or something. We can do it together.”
He said the last word louder. TOGETHER. He was buff. She could never resist him. But not in this regard.
“No thanks, J.”
She awoke in her own bed back in Hell’s Kitchen.
Ugh. Lynn did say I’d be able to do this at home now. But this isn’t what I signed up for…
“But I’m supposed to control everything, right?”
“Yes, January. In time. Some things won’t be exactly as you like. But in time, you’ll learn to control—
“Stop telling me that!”
“Sorry January. It’s protocol.”
“Protocol, huh? He should tell me I’m beautiful, not beautiful, but!”
She grabbed her coat and left the office, slamming the door, rattling the framed certificates on either side.
She was on the train again, sitting alone. Mr. Scarf entered her car. He looked at her, recognized, approached, sat, smiled.
“You again?” She groaned.
He cocked his head to the right. “You’re beautiful.”
“Again??”
Her face registered confusion.
Just then, his face started changing, distorted at first, and then…changing. She closed her eyes and then opened them and then closed them and opened them, shocked. Now he looked just like Jaleel. Just like…
But… h-how? Am I lucid?
He extended an arm.
No, this is real.
“Hi,” he said. “Jaleel.”
