AN EXPAT BOOK REVIEW

Recently, I met an American expat who also lives in the South of France.  She has begun a blog which reviews books written about American women living abroad.  Her review of a novel, called Blackgammon had me in stitches.  I have permerssion from her to share it with you on my blog.



TWO FRIENDS AND A TALE OF TWO COUNTRIES:

BLACKGAMMON by Heather Neff

“Understand this, Michael : There’s no such thing as a sanctuary. “

Believe me when I say that the pessimistic opening line of this intriguing novel belies the apparent optimism of the writer’s vision.  At least this is what I concluded after reading this story which chronicles friendship of two women from two different generations whose destinies were to work, live and try to love in Europe.

Michael…that’s right her name is Michael…lives in the academic environment of England, as professor of…predictably…African American literature with her husband a brilliant English scholar of ….you guessed it…African literature.

Cloe Emmnauel is a….. painter.  Well, at least she not a Naomi Campbell clone or an  aspiring chocolate Hemmingway squandering her days away playing with the green fairly in the squalor of bohemian Paris.  I’ll get to those books later.

Nevertheless, the two women met by chance in an American museum.  The older woman, planning to flee to Paris after  a disastrous romance with an Black-Canadian immigrant (yes, you read that correctly) and the other a quasi-orphan with dreams of living abroad, meet, become fast friends and  vowed to keep in touch.

They kept their vow throughout the novel through letters and occasional visits involving heart wrenching revelations..

Cloë the painter struggles with domestic violence issues from her past while trying to negotiate some equilibrium between her increasingly successful and demanding career and her challengingly peculiar love life.  The cultural and ethnic dynamics of her personal relationships with the men in her life will  definitely baffle any female reader who has lived abroad for any length of time, yet despite the implausibility of her mates you will probably gladly follow the story to its conclusion because of the vivid images of the cosmopolitan lifestyle of these two friends.

Black American women living abroad will obviously react  to the relationship configurations of these two women with a certain degree of scepticism.  More than a touch of mendacity and hints of multi-cultural treason prevail in this tragic-comic novel of the search for identity, love and, professional success.

The problem I find with novels written about American women abroad is that there is a stereotypical quality to the life choices of these women.  It places limits on the perceptions of the black American experience abroad, which limits the kind of novels we can expect  to be disseminated through the mainstream publishing industry.

Despite what probably feels like a negative review of Blackgammon, I actually thoroughly enjoyed it on many levels.

Next I will review, Andrea Lee’s LOST HEARTS IN ITALY

Thanks Maxwell...you're a "hoot"!!!

The EU Blues: The Countdown

"Get that guy out of our organization"
~unknown

"Get this guy out of our orgaization!"
                                           ~unknown

"Yo man! How in the hell did that guy get in here?
                                                 ~unknown

"Pay your bills!!!! Leave Us Alone!!!!


(google images)

White Trash Europe, or: What the Hell Am I Doing In This Neighborhood?!?

(google images)

First let me emphasize the fact that I neither designed this Tee Shirt nor coined this phase. Nevertheless, it brings up the topic of why there are such troubling conditions and conflicts in the European Union.


For those of you who don’t know, the expression White Trash is an American English pejorative term referring to poor white people in the United States. It suggests lower social class and degraded living standards.

The definition "white trash" emphasizes the person's moral failings.

If you’re living in Europe, I think you can probably already see where I’m going with this!

I was a wide-eyed Green Horn, in the South of France, enjoying one of my first dinners chez des copains francophones, the first time I became involved in a discussion of the EU many, many years ago. To be more precise, it was sometime in the 80s.

The host and hostess and two other couples were French, the language of the dinner party was French but several other European countries were represented at the table: German, Italian, Danish, a French Swiss and then there was me…the lone American.

They explained to me how a United Europe would give them the kind of market base which would rival the US. That it would be a sort of “United States of Europe”.

Then I emphasized the fact the despite regional differences, and that although we didn’t actually have an official language, that we in the US spoke American English. They then informed me, with pride and enthusiasm, that the language of business and commerce would indeed be English.

A vague disturbance rumbled quietly among the diner guests when I asked which English they would be using in these business transactions.

No one ventured to tell me, on the other hand, which language would be that of diplomacy among their leaders.

When some said that a United Europe would protect them from “The Yellow Menace”, I wasn’t sure whether they were being sarcastic or actually being polite. Perhaps they meant someone or something else since there were no “yellows” sitting at the table.

My preference for life in France, I told them, had a lot to do with the fact that I found more compatibility with the Gallic way of life than of the Germanic definitions of order and precision or the Spanish concept of time, Belgian randomness and uncertainty, or the dubious Italian sense of business etiquette.

When I expressed my enjoyment of the diversity and uniqueness of each national culture of Europe, I was told that a United Europe would prevent war among them in the future….or something like that anyway… if I remember correctly.

It was quite an enjoyable dinner, actually, despite the fact that I could see the seeds of familiar discord among the Europeans beginning to spout.

Nevertheless, they appeared to be unanimously excited by the prospect of all of Europe going into business together in order to better compete with the Yellow Menace…whatever that is… and the economic clout of the US.

Years later, after the EU became official, I was taking a business class here in the South of France. My French business professor explained how the high level of unemployment in France was causing apathy among job seekers to the point where many had simply given up searching for employment. The City of Nice, for instance , had become a proletariat town with new residents from all over crowding into the area seeking the promise of “the Good Life”…whatever that is…

She described in great detail how the general quality in life in France for the French was “en train de dégringoler (Going into the sewer…Caput! Fini!  Bye bye!)

Then there is the issue of some snide members of the EU.

Let’s take Great Britain, for example.

How can The United Kingdom be a member in the EU when the English don’t even consider themselves in Europe: “I’m visiting Europe this summer,” or “I’m moving to Europe,” they say.

Imagine the rationality around something like this: Great Britain is composed of four countries, England, Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales.

In additiona to all this, England doesn’t even acknowledge the importance of the Euro as their unit of monetary exchange.

They might as well let Turkey in. Who knows whether they, too, are on the continent of Europe.

The English have always cracked me up with their wily ways.

Why does Europe seem to be teetering on the edge of an abyss? Perhaps this is what happens when a population reacts to concepts of color instead of the possible incompatibilities of various cultures.


It’s also when you tear down all the picket fences protecting the privacy and sanctity of ones’ neighbours’ property.

What the EU represents to me the is the joining of the hands of a polyglot confusion of economically unequal, white people, semi-white people and wanna- be white people for absolutely no reason at all.

Just a silly deflection from more important issues.

Some things are just logical sequences of events!

http://thenovelladyfingers.wordpress.com

http://gingersnapsanovel.wordpress.com/

Ugly Words and "Jacked-Up" Concepts

photos from Google Images

Sometimes I feel that someone has vandalized the culture of the American English language, spray painted all over it. Just trampled rough shod all over the beauty, nuances and melodies of our words and expressions. Or ... perhaps I've just been romantically involved...cohabitating... with this seductive, mesmerising and thoroughly precise French language for a long, long time.

The following are some of the words that create a feeling of a whooshing whirlpool of churning acid in the pit of my stomach whenever they are uttered in my presence:

Political Correctness: (adjectivally, politically correct; both forms commonly abbreviated to PC) is a term which denotes language, ideas, policies, and behavior seen as seeking to minimize social and institutional offense in occupational, gender, racial, cultural, sexual orientation, certain other religions, beliefs or ideologies, disability, and age-related contexts, and, as purported by the term, doing so to an excessive extent.

Poppy cock on all of that! The most precise word, which has existed long before the invention of that awkward phrase would be Diplomacy. Simple diplomacy and respect toward other human beings. What does it take to grant everyone their humanity by displaying basic sensitivity? Not that complex, really.

Twitter or Tweet. An insult to birds and human beings. Personally I maintain communications with my friends, relatives and acquaintences, through letters,phone calls, cards, and emails. Birds communicate…at least the ones in my neighbourhood… though sophisticated vocal projections!

Newbie. Sound like a child’s toy, not a human being.

Venue : the locality where a crime is committed or a cause of action occurs; b. The locality or political division from which a jury is called and in which a trial is held; c. The clause within a declaration naming the locality in which a trial will be held; d. The clause in an affidavit naming the place where it was sworn to.

Mostly negative connotations...n'est-ce-pas?

Moi...I as a writer would prefer having a reading in a bookstore or an auditorium, as a painter I would show in a gallery, as a performer I would expect to appear in a nightclub, concert hall, stadium or theatre.

Who needs Venues? Sounds suspicious to me. I'd stay away from 'em, myself.

Foodie. Sounds like a word that a hungry toddler would use trying to get its parents attention.

I feel that one may be a gourmet or connoisseur, otherwise just an ordinary human being who must eat to live. On the other hand if one believes that one "lives to eat" that would mean that there is some sort of medical disorder which should be explored by a doctor of some kind…if you get my drift!

Blog. Such and ugly word. Soulds like something that would be clogging up my drain pipe.. I ‘d prefer to think of your so-called blogs as personal journals and thoughts that you choose to share with me… gifts…offerings. Something precious and beautiful.

Niggah. No matter what the spelling or context, it's ridiculoulsly insulting, unessessary and should eventually cease to exist, along with such terminologies as Honky, Spic, Kike, Wop, Chink, Wog, Bitch….etc.

Going viral : Viral marketing, viral advertising, or marketing buzz are buzzwords referring to marketing techniques that use pre-existing social networks to produce increases in brand awareness or to achieve other marketing objectives (such as product sales) through self-replicating viral processes, analogous to the spread of viruses or computer viruses...

Yada... yada... yada...yada...oh, Honey..pul-eese! The word Viral has the most horrific connotation I can image, conjuring up flu viruses, Leprocy, communicable diseases like the Bubonic Plague and A.I.D.S.

The word VIRAL had become infectuous and quite frankly, just hearing it makes me sick !

Transparency: a. Easily seen through or detected; obvious: transparent lies; .b. Free from guile; candid or open: transparent sincerity.

There is a fine line between clarity or honesty and a transparency which could render one completely vulnerable to manipulation and destruction. As in: "he/she is such a transparent fool!"

To Grow Your Jobs, Businesss or Money: If I wanted agricultural advice, I’d consult a Farmer or an Agronomist. Otherwise, I would prefer to expand my business, augment my investments, increase the number of jobs in order to restore the strength of our economy.

Often, even when someone is attempting to defend my position in some situtation I can actually feel that I am being raped by words and jargon.

For example, I recently recived a copy of a letter that my attorney sent to Random House Publishing Group, requesting a reversion of rights in order that I am able to re-issue my novel, Gingernsnaps.  This is an excerpt:

...We write on behalf of Authors Guild member Ms. Dolorys Welch-Tyson, author of the above- referenced work, with whom Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House Inc., entered into a publishing agreement in 1997.  Ms. Welch-Tyson has informed us that she requested a reversion of rights for the above-referenced work in May 2009, but was never granted such by Ballantine.  

Since Ballantine has made clear that it has no intention of exploiting the above-referenced work in any  manner in the future, we ask that it revert rights to Ms. Welch-Tyson immediately. ....




You see?

Exploit: 1) To make use of selfishly or unethically: a country that exploited peasant labor. See Synonyms at manipulate. 2). A vulnerability in software that can be used for breaking security or otherwise attacking an Internet host over the network. The Ping O' Death is a famous exploit.

or, course there is always the other way of looking at it:

Exploit:
1) To employ to the greatest possible advantage: exploit one's talents; 2). To advertise; promote.

Should I call the cops, or what?



“…the need to examine, analyze the language we see and hear… for the connotations all too often diverge wildly from the denotations, and, if we are unaware of that, our thinking can be hijacked.”


                                                                       ~Jerry DeNuccio

Expat Angst: Why Occuppy Wall Street? Part 2...

...Or the 2,000,002nd Reason I Left!

"Bye Y'all"
painting by delorys welch-tyson

Let me pick up where I left off…


Now, when there are two paychecks in a household a family unit might develop an erroneously inflated sense of economic worth. Suddenly the family finds that they are paying outrageous prices for small, often unnecessary things. The traffic suddenly decides to bear surrealist prices for flotsam and jetsum: whether it’s a ten-buck cup of coffee or a one bedroom apartment facing an alleyway in Manhattan for $4,000,000. The family begins to believe they are entitled to things that no longer have the value they had in their parents’ generation. No one is going to sell you an overpriced house or apartment to you if you are unwilling to buy it. It’s quite simple really. It simply requires a collective American and realistic philosophy regarding what something is actually worth and why.

Where once, one could achieve a decent education for a moderate price at a State University or for free at a City University, now everyone is vying for an overpriced ivy league education in order to major in philosophy or basket weaving, then wonder why they can’t find employment when they graduate.

google image

Whose fault is this?

Perhaps one should look around, while occupying Wall Street, to see who really might be occupying their jobs if they can’t find they can’t land one in their chosen field.

I realize I’ve been absent from the United States for quite some time, but I remember that all of my professional service providers, whether they be lawyers, doctors, teachers, engineers, journalists, editors or bank employees were all college graduates. People with college degrees (usually some kind of liberal arts endeavor) who worked for retail establishments were all occupying temporary gigs until they could figure out what profession they would pursue. I’m assuming they were all American people. Of course I never checked their birth certificates…so who knows.

Perhaps I’ve just been gone too long. I have no idea what my American brethren are talking about, anymore.

**Perhaps I should just find a venue where they’re trending, to grow my knowledge of things going viral so that I can offer more transparency to my dissed homies!

**(See my blog post: Ugly Words and Jacked-Up Concepts)

Expat Angst: Why Occupy Wall Street?

Recently I received a letter from a male friend in response to a blog I wrote concerning the precarious state of the European Union. My friend, a native New Yorker, is an educator, activist and Fulbright scholar and has for decades lived on the West Coast, in the San Fancisco Bay area. Here is an excerpt from his correspondence:


“I'm not sure what steps concealed the deconstruction of the middle class in Europe, if there has been such a deconstruction; but I know this one for the US. First we added a second working adult to the definition of middle class - so that two incomes were needed to produce the lifestyle previously accomplished with one. Then we offset flattened salaries with housing inflation so that the middle class could maintain once again the same lifestyle by borrowing off of its housing. And we lowered the costs of most everyday products by having them made in places where people earn only a couple of bucks a day for their labor. All the time, the share of the assets owned by those at the top, whose tax burden we steadily reduced to the point of starving government.”

This is my response:

When I was growing up in a moderately middle class black American family in New York City, my parents and their peers lived with a particular philosophy.

Although, both of my parents worked, my mother remained a homemaker until the last of her children reached school age. There were three of us. Their philosophy was that in a family, the role of the father’s income was to determine the standard of living in a family; the wife’s income would contribute to the quality of life. You see, this way, if one were to loose his/her job, the other could be able to kick for the duration, with minimum and workable adjustments in its day-to -day standard of living requirements.

In addition, the philosophy was that a family should never purchase a home where both full salaries would be required in order to qualify for a mortgage. This would often mean that one have to live in Brooklyn instead of Manhattan, Stanford, instead of Greenwich, Pasadena instead of Beverly Hills, Oakland instead of Sausalito, if you understand my meaning. This way, one wouldn’t accumulate unnecessary overhead, thus limiting the economical mobility of the family which the mother’s additional income could provide. The mother’s income was to be used primarily for quality of life issues such as planning for higher education for the children and also for the cultural enrichment of their intellectual and spiritual growth.

My family’s philosophy evolved in a culture… a black American culture… where historically both the female and the male worked outside the home for its survival. (Of course, I realize that I’m talking basically about my own family and their peers, not the general American community, black, white or other.)

When the American male ethnic majority, through their women’s coercive tactics, reluctantly gave into their demands for the right to work for economic compensation, no theory was put in place as to how this would work in order to maintain the financial equilibrium of a family unit.

A backlash then ensued which granted women unequal, inferior, pay for equal work and at the same time required that in order to achieve a decent standard of living it would be necessary to find access to more than one paycheck for each housing unit, in most areas of the United States..

Would you like me to continue?

Blaxpat Quote for November: Living Abroad

Some have said that, as a foreigner, it's difficult making friends abroad. This is what I tell them:

"The two most misused words in the entire English vocabulary are love and friendship. A true friend would die for you, so when you start trying to count them on one hand, you don't need any fingers."
                                                                                                     ~ Larry Flynt


Alors...bon séjour!

The Occupy Wall Street Movement?

Being far, far away and all, in France, surrounded by EU madness, I am completely baffled by what this Wall Street Movement in the States is really about.

I’ve been wondering, though, if perhaps the brochure, from the Wall Street English Institute, below may be at the heart of the matter?

Really…they gave me this!

They claim that they are endorsed by Cambridge University!

Une Connerie Extraordinaire!

The most politically questionable sculptural installation project in Europe in the last decade has to be that of the completion of the Fountain du Soleil and the Sept Scultures Illuminées de Sept Continents. This monument to something not yet clear to me, now defines the Place Massena, which is in my opinion …the heart and Soul of the City of Nice.

Had I considered myself pudique I hardly would have settled in France…particularly Nice... but this most recent project has tested the limits of my comprehension.

At the centre of the Fontaine du Soleil… standing haughty and very, very, white (marble) in all of his “butt naked glory” at the entrance to the Old Town of Nice is Apollo!

photos by dwelch-tyson

All of you know him, I’m sure: the God…Greek God, I emphasize…of light and the sun, truth and prophecy, enlightenment medicine, healing, plague, music, poetry, arts, archery…everything… and I suppose our very existence as well.

He is the son of Zeus and Leto and twin brother of the “chaste “(ah…hem, look, I didn’t write this stuff. I wasn’t even born yet) huntress Artemis. Surrounding Him are five bronze statues of fabulously buffed naked men and a voluptuous broad or two...one toting a baby... accompanied by their animals. Allegedly, these Greco-Roman mythological folks represent the planets, Earth, Mars, Mercury and Saturn.

Yeah, right!

The inauguration took place on June 20th of this year (I happened to be in New York at the time and missed out on the “festivities”). Apollo is now back at his old location at the Place Massena after almost 40 years of censure.

It was rumoured that he was banned  back in the 70s for being “overly well endowed”. This I find hard to believe because, in my opinion ( based on, of course, quite limited experience in these matters), he appears to me to be in completely perfect proportion throughout…if you get my drift.

But then what do I know? I’ve never been with a Greek!

So, back then,  after considerable controversy, Apollo was exiled to North Nice to the Sports Stadium, Parc des Sport Charles Ehrmann.

To my way of thinking, a sports stadium seemed to be a far more appropriate place to reside, outside of perhaps as a centrepiece for a Gay Disco, for this particular Deity.

google image



google image

This Apollo now complements the contemporary art installation commissioned from the Catalan artist Jaume Plensa which frame the tracks of the Tramway.

Plensa’s towering seven white resin sculptures, which punctuate the square, are of naked men. These men are sitting on 10 meter high poles. Each man lights up the night with a play of light which bounces from one statue to the other signifying communications between the seven continents. 
This interplay of light flashing reduces the Tramway to a dubious image of an ominous phallic image snaking its way though core of Nissa La Bella.

I have been informed that the work is called “Conversations in Nice.”

Yeah, right!


It’s not the Apollo statue itself which perturbs me, it is the cumulative message of the entire centre city installation!

When a friend, appealing to my own personal sense of swagger bragged to me, years ago, how her Niçois population was rather “butch” I had no idea that this was what they were referring to.

Considering the sorry state of Greece today, it hardly seems fitting to have that kind of karma dominating the downtown area of a major French city!

Running Late!

Google Images



View from Windows on the World Restaurant

  I realize that this is October 11th…an entire month after most expats have posted their remembrance of 9/11. Finally here is mine.

So sorry about running late!

We had already been living in France, in Villefranche Sur Mer, for over two years on that fateful day when we were running late for an appointment in Nice.

My husband called me into our Den, pointed to the TV screen and said, “Look at this! What do you think of this?”

We both stared… horrified… at the image of a blazing tower of the World Trade Center. The news announcer had said that a plane had flown into the building.

Realizing that, as native New Yorkers, many of our friends and relatives were still living in the New York City Metropolitan area and that it appeared that they were now under attack, we looked at one another…speechless…and frightened in a manner we had never experienced in our entire adult life.

"Perhaps those N.Y.U. film students are up to their old shenanigans again…seizing the TV stations...or something...,” I quipped, in a misguided attempt at adding levity to our state of confusion..

What one earth was going on?



Should we call home?



We did. All the lines were busy.



We were running late for our appointment in Nice.



We turned off the TV got in our car and immediately turned on the news on Riviera Radio, just in time too hear the announcer state quite flatly that ‘the Twin Towers were no more!”

Impossible!



That massive structure… the Titanic of Manhattan (I had prophetically called it for years), could not possibly be gone! Transforming from a flaming inferno of death and destruction... to now toxic rubble. After all, we had just had dinner with friends at its restaurant, Windows on the World, a couple of years earlier for my birthday!

Impossible! Ridiculous!

Those film school students should be flogged, I thought again, just not wanting to believe.

We went though the rest of the day, after our appointment, running errands and buying newspapers. Not a single person we encountered in our local French Riviera towns seemed to us to have heard or read anything, despite the screaming headlines. Not one person broached the subject. Not a twit or tweet…so to speak.

Anyway when we finally got through to various friends and relatives in New York City, over the next few days, this is what we heard:

“I was running late…looked out my window and saw a plane flying into one of the towers…”

Another:

“I was running late, I turned on the TV to see that a second plane had already flown into the World Trade Center building. I realized I would not be going to work!”

Another:

“I was running late. My view from Jersey faces lower Manhattan. When I looked out my window, I saw smoke. I put on my binoculars to see what was happening. There was no way I was going to work that day!”

Another:

“My husband and I were running late on the Long Island Railroad. When we arrived at Grand Central there was pandemonium. Everyone screaming about a terrorist attack in lower Manhattan. I realized, then that I had no physical courage.”

And another:

“I was running late. When I arrived at the lobby of my apartment building, my Doorman said that there had been an attack on the World Trade building. Obviously I wasn’t exacting going to go to work. All I know is that I better get paid this month!”

And finally…

"I was running late to my job at the World Trade Center.. If I had arrived minutes earlier, I would not be here talking to you at this very moment because I would have been in the building's elevator when the first plane hit the building!”

My conclusion is that, as my Mom would say, I am "truly blessed” to have had tardy friends and relatives!

For the record though, despite surviving the worst catastrophe in North American history committed on North American soil, the general fall- out resulted in a certain amount of alienation from friends Stateside.. An alienation which generally grows between those who have physically survived a holocaust and those who only experienced one in theory or by distance.


Those survivors in New York had to continue to work and breath in contaminated air. All had to work, in various ways, through posttraumatic stress disorders and a lingering and haunting fear that there had not yet been closure in the assault.

Nevertheless we all still live…except one friend who I lost three years ago to the long-term effects of having to continue to work at her office near Ground Zero.


She had been running late that day as well.

Graffiti in Monte Carlo? Yo Man....That's ***Whack!!!

L'Art du Graffiti, Monaco

***Whack: an event, action, or thing which makes no sense or is contrary to a logical course of action; something entirely disagreable or undesirable; A non-sequitor;

ie: "That's whack! "

 No way.  It's not whack, people...actually it's ***dope!

***dope: adj. cool, nice, awesome

Okay...enough.  Since I'm closer to the Woodstock Generation than the Hip Hop, allow me to step into someone else's generational lingo and tell you about my relationship with Grafitti.

Let me tell you that back in the early eighties, Graffiti saved my bacon!

Tags

Three weeks before the inauguration of my gallery..the first to specialize in the artwork created by children... two of my artists got "cold feet" and cancelled. There was major press coverage planned, a vernissage (gallery opening party), the invitations (fortunately) were still sitting on my desk and I was faced with  20' X 20'  of blank wall space!

A real ***"bummer"...right?

***Bummer: A situation in which no desirable result can occur.

No way.  Wrong, again!

The phone rings and a teacher from a prestigious arts high school was asking me if I would consider one of their students for a future show at my gallery.

Hmmm...

The next morning, in walks a cute dark-eyed Hispanic kid,  clad in ***Girbauds and ***Reeboks, accompanied by his ***homie.

***Girbauds: Jeans that anybody can wear but mostly black people. (Girbaud has straps on it that says M+FG. M+FG is a name that stands for Marthé et François. Most of the girbauds r sold in the city. "The best f_cking pants or shorts you can have. Also apparently the most expensive too. The real ones have straps on both legs: 1 on each side for shorts and 2 on each side for pants. On the straps, the real ones, it says M+FGIRBAUD and it keeps saying that. If your sh_t says Girbaud in cursive your sh_t is fake. They can come in different colors for the pants and straps. And some stupid ass ni_gas be spelling them all wrong and sh_t cuz it's that's French sh_t." )

***Reeboks: Gangster shoes to wear with your girbauds.

***Homie: Shortened version of homeboy, homeboy being your close friend. 

ie: Friends ask you to write down your number. Homies have you on speed dial

The artist sat down and with dramatic flourish placed a small ***Black Book on my desk. I looked from my vacant 20' X 20' wall to the relatively teensy tiny black book and silently freaked out! You see, I had no idea of the significance of this small black book, having not yet been introduced to what had come to be called the ***Hip Hop Cutlure.

***Black Book: grafitti book used for sketching plans for large urban mural projects.

***Hip Hop: name for the 4 elements of the late 70's New York City renaissance which includes break dancing, emceeing, (rapping) graffiti, and turntablism.

The three of of stared at one another in silence.  A real....long... transgenerational moment...let me tell you.

Ramellzee et Basquiat

Realizing that yours truly was absoultely clueless as I looked through the intriguing extra-terrestrial-looking sketches, the author of the black book and his homie gave me a history lesson on the Graffiti movement and the urban Hip Hop Culture.

Until that day, the only impression I had of graffiti was an often vaguely annoying presence of various ***tag names on subway cars passing by in ever increasing frequency.

Tag: a personal signature, usually vandalism with spraypaint, but can be any graffitti.

This was different. Reminiscent of ***Diego Rivera and Expressionism!

Diego Rivera: (December 8, 1886 – November 24, 1957)a prominent Mexican painter and muralist.

"Don't look scared, Ms. T" he said, laughing as my eyes again looked again from the teensy tiny black book to the naked wall space.  "These are just sketches of what I have in my studio."

Then the author promised to deliver to my gallery the following day 3 of his huge, powerful grafitti pieces on strteched linen canvases!

Lee

He delivered the pieces and I sent out the newly designed invitations.

To make a long story short...as they say...I opened this inaugural show which featured this 17-year old Grafitti artist from the Bronx. Not only was it a major media event but this artist received a large commission to paint a mural in Queens.

I and many others agreed that the show was ***Fresh!

***Fresh: Of great quality; new; original 

Intrigued by the popularity of this art form, I exhibited a number of other Graffiti artists. During this period, due to the success of the gallery and the influence of the Hip Hop culture, I ironically discovered the South of France, and eventually moved here.

And as they say... the rest is history.

Walking through this exhibit in Monaco remindend me that Graffiti not only saved my bacon, it actually, in its own way, altered the course of my life.

Homage to Ramellzee

NOW FOR ANOTHER KIND OF ZEN ACROSS THE WAY:

The Japanese Gardens, Monaco



   

déjeuner

BLIND CRITICISM

J’en ai marre !!!!!

The tourist season has officially begun here on the French Riviera. What always arrives with the hordes is the inevitable and harsh criticism of French driving habits.


I’d like to intercept a bit with this blog before the Anglophones really start getting flagrant down here!

Everyone knows that anyone’s life can be irrevocably destroyed by an intoxicated or mentally disturbed driver on the road in any country by a driver of any nationality. My question is why have the French, in particular, been given such a bad rap as drivers?

I have been recipient many times of French driving hospitality. What I have found is that my French friends and acquaintances have displayed skill and grace at ever turn…so to speak. It’s no wonder, I later learned, considering what they have to go though in order to earn the privilege to drive in their country.

How may of you who have criticized the French actually studied for the French Permis de Conduire?


Too scared, right?


And I’m willing to bet…too broke!



Then, that means you don’t know bupkis about anything French.

Want to know how I came to this conclusion? Because it is expensive, difficult and studying for it would actually result in an evolution of thinking that would cause you to realise that you had no prior knowledge of what it takes to understand of the Gallic approach to manoeuvring safely through life in France. My philosophy is in order to criticize the French you should have been educated in France and taught by the French. How else can one understand the cultural nuances of a country which has the power to seduce millions of people through its doors, whether they be rich or poor, yellow green or blue, to a place which is probably the most complicated in all of Europe? Even people from rich and powerful countries are willing to test their fate in a country which for years will render them functional illiterates!


Years ago I took the driving school plunge…so I know of what I write.


I can’t overstate the fact that the pursuit of the French Permis de Conduire is an expensive, lengthy but profoundly informative study of the psychology of the French population. Believe me, studying this will enhance one’s relationships with the French people you encounter, do business with or with whom one becomes intimately involved. It will even enable one to distinguish a foreign driver from a French one.


Imagine that!


Case in point:

One sunny afternoon, a fellow student, who is also an American, and I left another gruelling session of La Code de la Route to stop at a corner café. As we approached the curb, a car came screeching towards us in a completely misguided attempt to park in a no parking zone.

Mr. America, hisses, ., “Look at that. After they get their permits, all rules fly out the window. How typically French!


My response was, “What makes you think the driver is French?”


He pointed to the French License plate on the Italian Fiat, and said, “Look… 06 (the code for the Alpes Maritimes)!”

As if on cue, two men emerge from the car, sharing a typically boisterous conversation in Italian!

Typically French, right?

So, this is the advice from yours truly…the Expat Curmudgeon Writer on the Côte d’Azur…to American drivers in France. Stop criticizing…stay alert and either take your bigotry and pack it in your little back packs and go back home… or just get off the road and take the friggin’n bus!

Writing Tips

mixed media 12" x 36" by Delorys Welch-Tyson

"If you can't annoy somebody, there's little point in writing."
~ Kingsley Amis

Domestic Quarrels



July 21, 1926- April 13, 2001
Josephine Premice 






"Never let a man tell you 'You look so beautiful stiring the soup' "
~Josephine Premice

Bad Manners

google images

(Subtitle) Bad Manners and Repugnant Behavior According to Whoopie Goldberg


So, yesterday I finished reading Whoopie Goldberg’s book, Is It Just Me? Or Is It Nuts Out There?

This, to me, was a hilarious book which basically implied that the United States has become a nation of arrogant and smug Philistines!

I would like to share with you a joke from her chapter: "Buddy is the new Nigger:"


A little black cherub is up in heaven and is kind of cruising around, and God comes walking by, and the cherub flies over and says, " Hi, God !"

God says, “Hey how are you doing?”

The cherub says, “Fine, God. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” says God.


“Am I an angel?”

God says, “No, nigger, you a bat!”



Do you find this funny?


Is it me…or is this simply a sly reference to the American majority population’s opinion of President Obama?

Wall Street English: Does The Sun Still Not Set On The British Empire?

(photos from google images )


Taiwan

For years I noticed…all over Nice… on bill boards, buses and bus stop shelters, humungous ads for The Wall Street English Institutes.

Having no need to study something like this nor the desire to teach English, I continued to remain mildly curious without checking out what it was all about. Besides, here in Nice, the School was originally located at the Nice Etoile. The Etoile is not someplace I frequent often since I had already "o.d."-ed on Malls in the States and had no intention of taking up the habit here in France with all the fabulous specialty shops and boutiques in town that fullfil every need of a Francophile with international predilections like myself.



old location at Nice Etoile

But…I digress…


Well yesterday, I discovered that The Wall Street English School had relocated to a building on the rue de France. It also has a residence in what I call the English Countryside on avenue Guynemer, in Saint Laurent du Var. Since we were in the neighbourhood, I decided to stop in on the one in downtown Nice.

When I walked in, the exotic-looking young lady at the desk looked as if her Mom had entered ready to reprimand her for some disreputable act.

I introduced myself and then asked her to define "Wall Street English." Did it mean that they taught American English instead of British English?  After all, last I remember Wall Street was located in lower Manhattan. In New York City. In the United States.

The young lady responded by saying, “Both, Madame”. And then she handed me this brochure:

Question: As an American, should I be insulted by this?

In addition, it is stated in the brochure that The Wall Street English Institute is recognized and approved by THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE!!! 

Oh golly...gee wiz...imagine that!

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Expat Quote ...of the Day

"Mona Laughter" by Charlie Hall

"He who laughs last …is surrounded by dead people!"


-- Dat Phan

Apropos of Food...

This is for all of the Americans abroad.  Let's never forget where we came from.  Don't you guys miss any of this?

(food photos from google images)

pancakes and sausages



Chicken and Waffles



Manhattan Clam Chowder

New England Clam Chowder

Crab Cakes

Corn on the Cob

macaroni salad



potato salad

macaronia and cheese



Barbeque Spare Ribs

collard greens

shrimp Creole

okra

cornbread

Barbeque Chicken

Ham and Scalloped Potatoes

Well...do you?
Just remember...you are not an orphan.  You come from someplace.