Lives have altered in ways that is still hard for me to fathom and comprehend. While I can sympathize with victims of this travesty, I can’t empathize, not being even remotely affected. Well, that’s not entirely true but to mention my hitches annihilates the severity of those truly impacted. Sandy’s imprint is indelible.
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Hurricane Sandy has come and passed but we are still trying to rebuild. Stories of Sandy aren’t as prominent as they were a few weeks ago and will soon take the back seat to the next big story. Stories, even those of devastation last but only so long in the media spotlight. It echoes much like Hurricane Katrina, the same tune anew. People are still suffering in New Orleans; much still needs to be done but the topic has faded into the background. It is hoary to blame journalists and news outlets; it is only doing a disservice to all parties. After all, these people are at the hand of us the general public, there to provide us with what we want. If we are not outraged with the lack of coverage on topics like Hurricane Sandy then nothing will be done, it is supply and demand. It can be a psychological disposition of society to not want to “deal” with calamity for too long although it seems counterintuitive.
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New York will continue to rebuild as the weeks and months pass. Hopefully this is a storm that New Yorkers will not soon forget.
A splendiferous meal with succulent meat, well-balanced flavors, and attentive staff, you can’t beat.
Upon arrival at Chote Nawab we were greeted with a pleasant and inviting modern décor. With red oak polished chairs, colorful lamps and pastel gray colored flooring. Not to mention a warm and welcoming ambience with a friendly staff. I am sometimes lily-livered when it comes to trying new foods but I instantly felt at ease and was ready to have my first Indian cuisine experience. The waiter immediately came to the table with menus for my three classmates and me. I was pleased. I scanned the menu not sure what to order. After some encouragement from my classmates I settled on Chicken Tikka Masala, cooked in a creamy tomato sauce ($9). After orders were placed, appetizers graced the table. The table quickly began to smell like a bakery and I learned of new bread, naan. Naan is an oven-baked flatbread; the breads soft texture almost melts in the mouth. It was delicious. It reminded me much of Trinidadian roti skin, which I loved.
I was enthused and couldn’t wait for my meal to arrive. My taste buds were teased. I thankfully didn’t have to wait too long. My dish was placed in front of me and was pleasantly slapped with the spicy aroma of curried chicken. I sampled a piece of chicken and rice, delightfully surprised by the familiar flavors, “I’ve had this before” I announced to the table. I didn’t lie, exactly. I’ve eaten something similar before. The tender and savory chicken was dressed in mild curry with traces of tomato, pimento, ginger, and garlic lingering with a slightly course and chewy (not gummy) texture. Chicken Tikka Masala reminded me of Jamaican curry Chicken! I am of Jamaican decent and eat curry chicken often. Though the two dishes aren’t identical they evoke similar tastes. To accompany my meal I had a beverage, Mango Lassi ($4). I thought Mango Lassi was going to be blended mango with water and sugar. It’s not; it actually contains milk and yogurt that gives it a creamy-like texture. The enriched flavor of the mango left my mouth tingling with joy. The jar-like glasses the juice and water came in was a nice whimsical touch. During the course of our meal the restaurants owner, Shiva Natarajan came to our table. We were informed that he had several other restaurants in the city that received admirable reviews. I made a mental note to visit his other restaurants like Bhojan and Chola.
All in all, I walked away from the table grateful and satisfied. I am still in awe at the attentiveness of the staff and happy that my first Indian cuisine experience was a lovely and inexpensive one. I promise a return to Chote Nawab.
I’m in a state of beatitude. I couldn’t be more thrilled at the results of this election. It wasn’t a “fluke” as I’ve heard for the past few days that President Obama is a one-term president. It is kismet. President Obama has proven that he is a better man for the job.
This was my first time voting. I was upset when I couldn’t vote in the 2008 election. My birthday is in December and I wouldn’t turn 18 until then and you vote in November. But that didn’t stop me from encouraging my peers who were eligible to go out and vote. I made sure to register to vote this year; I know jury duty will call me soon. I was so excited to leave school to cast my ballot. I felt it was my civic duty, “Your vote really doesn’t count” I’ve been told by some friends. So what? Even if it doesn’t count, even if it didn’t count I was going to do it. Why? I had to for all those people who lost their lives to give me this opportunity as a black female. I was going to do it just because, I can. Voting is my right.
I didn’t listen to the news coverage as the polls came in from each state. I avoided tuning in to any news station like the plague. I disabled push-notifications from news application on my cellphone so I couldn’t get any alerts. I just wanted the final results. I just wanted to know if I had to pack for Canada or not. Alas, the results were in, “President Obama is re-elected!” my mother screamed. I ran outside to the living room, “Sweet baby Jesus he did it again! Yes!” I was so overwhelmed. I still am. My heart feels full of pride. I’m grateful to be apart of such a powerful election, legendary. Even through this economic crisis Americans still have faith in our president.
My eyelids peeled, eyeballs glued to the television set, owl ears alert, I had to listen to Mitt Romney’s concession speech. Most importantly I had to hear the presidents victory speech. I’m amused that Romney hadn’t prepared a speech in chance of defeat. Humility must have no place in the Romney home. However, I am satisfied with his speech. I didn’t really expect much. Almost an hour later President Obama spoke in perfect aplomb. I am awed by the presence of this man; he has this certain je ne sais quoi. My faith in his leadership is renewed, not that I ever doubted him. Sorry Donald Trump – NOT.
My life hasn’t been greatly stymied by Hurricane Sandy. At the behest of Mayor Michael Bloomberg I roughed the storm at home, maybe roughed is an over statement. I live in Crown-Heights, Brooklyn, N.Y. I almost feel guilty for not experiencing such devastation as so many of my fellow New Yorkers. Maybe it’s survivor’s guilt? I don’t know. But I do know what happened is real. My brain is still dealing with the fact that it happened here, in my town, in my city. I cringe at the photos I’ve seen, bodies dragged from swamps, content of homes piled all around what used to be front lawns resembling debris, neighborhoods destroyed. I can’t even begin to fathom what it must feel like, to lose everything you own, to have loved ones missing, to be in a shelter, to not know what comes next.
New York isn’t built for this; I didn’t expect Hurricane Sandy to be so disastrous. I thought it was going to be another Hurricane Irene, rain and wind, nothing major. I couldn’t predict this. Even while Bloomberg announced MTA would shut down by 6p.m. Sunday evening and advised everyone to stay indoors, I wasn’t convinced, “I doubt it’s going to be as serious as they’re making it to be” I told my mother. But the more I read about the possibilities of what could happen, the more nervous I became. My sister and nephew still weren’t home yet; they were on the road making their way back home from Maryland. Bloomberg soon announced the likelihood of closing bridges, “Drive with a sense of urgency but safely” I texted my sister. It took her a few hours but I was thrilled when they finally made it home.
When the hurricane arrived Monday night, October 29th my family was prepared. My dad went grocery shopping over the weekend, stocking up on: water, food, batteries, and other supplies. My mother, a great hoarder of safety supplies placed candles strategically around the house just in case the power went out. It didn’t. Lights only flickered. I read on Facebook and on Salon how badly Sandy already affected thousands of lives. I couldn’t believe it; all I heard was strong winds and saw rain. To me it was more like a heavy rainfall. The Internet and cellphone service was in and out, which was the most frustrating for me. But at least I could watch the news on television.
After the storm passed I was anxious to get back into my regular routine but knew it wouldn’t be possible. So much had changed within a few days, crippling New York. Lives have forever been altered. Mainstream media hadn’t captured the essence of what truly has happened. Talk of power outages in lower Manhattan is no big deal compared to lives claimed by Sandy. Many homes, communities, childhood’s, gone. Dreams have died; despair has taken refuge in the survivor’s.
This oatmeal pie has a soft, chewy, gummy-like texture. I’ve been eating Little Debbie’s Oatmeal Creme Pie since I was eight-years-old. At first I didn’t like it, I thought it made my mouth dry with its floury taste, but I soon grew accustomed. White-cream-filling smothered between two oatmeal cookies, delicious. The oatmeal is moist, smooth and a bit bland but fear not the creamy filling adds a mild sweetness to create a great balance.
In my house Sunday’s breakfast and dinner are Thanksgiving meals. On Sunday’s everyone must eat together as a family. Nothing absolutely nothing is better then waking up to the scent of roasting breadfruit in the oven on a Sunday morning. The sweet scent lingers from the kitchen to my bedroom, smothering my nostrils. My mom always cooks ackee and saltfish alongside the breadfruit. I’m salivating at the mouth just thinking of it. I am of Jamaican descent; this is a traditional Jamaican dish. A lot of things can go wrong with this dish; the breadfruit can be bitter or too ripe. I like when it’s partially ripe. The saltfish can be too salty (not boiled in water long enough) or not salty enough (boiled in water too long). This dish is all about precision; everything must be made just right to efficiently compliment all the different flavors.
This has always been my favorite meal because it’s always a special treat. It brings me such joy each time because it’s not something I have everyday. However, on those random Sunday mornings when my mom is up for it, it is a welcomed treat. I don’t think I could ever make it the way she does. I speak of precision but my mom doesn’t use any measuring utensils, she uses her eyes to measure and instinct. She is a cook not a chef. The intoxicating, luxurious smell of ackee and salfish infused with red and green sweet peppers, white onions and other bottled spices as you uncover the pot lid make my stomach weep for more. The mouthwatering aroma of the breadfruit perfumes the air as my dad peels the skin and carves it like a turkey makes me pant like a dog. The polychromatic combination of the breadfruit with ackee and saltfish is appetizing in the display alone.
“Beasts of the Southern Wild” is a spellbinding image-driven narrative. The film challenges the notions of normalcy and celebrates one’s unwillingness to conform to society’s ideal and the traditional way of life. It highlights the nobleness of the human spirit.
Isolated from the rest of the world in deplorable conditions lies a fictional Louisiana Bayou, Bathtub. A troublesome hurricane Katrina-like calamity threatens to wipe out the small town of people of an already impoverished community. However, 6-year-old defiantly brave, relentless and imaginative Hushpuppy (Quvenzhane Wallis) is set on saving her ailing father Wink (Dwight Henry) and the people who are left after the storm in bedlam.
Hushpuppy is sassy, amicable, charismatic, high-spirited and the heroine. She is fearless due to the qualities that her father has instilled in her. Her gleaming eyes of curiosity are subject to love, hopelessness and despair. Through her eyes we see her world begin to unfold, “Everybody loses the thing that made them. The brave men stay and watch it happen. They don’t run.” Hushpuppy longs for her story to be heard and remembered, a legacy.
Wink is a loving and dedicated father who is also a terminally ill, impetuous drunk. He refuses to let his child indulge in fears and tears. Wink’s parenting style is unconventional and nurturing yet at times neglectful. He has raised his daughter as if she were a boy,
“Who’s the man?” he asks his daughter.
“I am” she replies while flexing her puny muscles.
This drama, fantasy is laced with childlike naivety. The film is infused with mystical forces and modern day environmental concerns. I am tempted to say that “Beasts of the Southern Wild” is a coming-of-age film although it can’t quite compare to others of the same genre. It is more than the development of a little girl but the unabated, unyielding gumption of the human race. As I watched this film lines from Maya Angelou’s poem, “And Still I Rise” echoed in my head. Thinking of Hushpuppy rising up despite her grueling circumstances.
Feature debut Director Benh Zeitlin drew inspiration from his co-writer Lucy Alibar, playwright “Juicy and Delicious.” Zeitlin’s film consists primarily of unprofessional actors. The director’s use of a hand-held camera and the musical soundtrack perfectly paired each scene of the film. It is no surprise that this film is the winner of the Camera d’Or at Cannes and the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance film festival.
This film is a staple for any collector of independent films, its raw talent and workmanship is one to be praised. “Beasts of the Southern Wild” has left me yearning more, a true inspiration.
Flawed is a beautifully crafted coming-of-age film about a woman who is uncomfortable starting a relationship with a plastic surgeon. This 12-minute short film directed by Canadian artist and filmmaker Andrea Dorfman tackles the issues of identity and challenges the notions of the ideal beauty.
This film is the raison d’être of coming-of-age films. In 12 minutes Dorfman manages to capture what takes most directors 90 minutes. Flawed is a personal story that conjures one of the primary issues that many face during their adolescent years, self-acceptance. It is also sprinkled with elements of childhood insecurities, obstacles of a blossoming relationship and personal growth. The voice-over narrative is accompanied with watermarked drawings and light melodies that compliment the actions of the scene. This creates a storybook like tale of events.
I enjoyed watching Flawed I was continuously engaged. Dorfman deftly packaged adult like complexities with childlike illustrations. The film was well written. You were not bombarded with loads of information that it would ideally take to develop a character in a film. It didn’t give too much but also didn’t give too little, a perfect balance of material.
I find it essentially hard to pick a favorite genre when it comes to films. I enjoy watching feel-good movies, dramas, thrillers, adventures, comedy, romance, independent, the list only continues. The genre I pick depends on my mood. However, brat-pack films of the ‘80s never get old to me. I never tire of watching, The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles it’s pure nostalgia. I wasn’t born in the 80s’ but in the early 90s’ and remember these movies coming on television. They remind me of my childhood. They make me feel relaxed and at ease.They are coming-of-age, comedies.
I guess coming-of-age films are appealing to me because I am still coming of age. I am still going through the growing pains and standing between marginal lines of adulthood and adolescence. I can easily relate to all the stereotypical characters of The Breakfast Club, the brain, the beauty, the jock, the rebel and the recluse, they resonate a part of me. Even now as I am writing this I can’t help but smile, “Don’t you (forget about me)” by the Simple Minds which was a soundtrack in the film is playing in my head. A good film is like a good book the characters are relatable, lifelike, a person you know or yourself. I enjoy films where I am enamored with the characters and I become a character in the film. The Wood is another coming-of-age film that I enjoy holistically. I remember watching this being particularly jealous of the unabated brotherly love that Big Mike shared with his friends. Films like these bring nothing but euphoria to my life.
There was a time when I believed Twitter was just going to be some kind of fad, which would eventually die out. I was wrong. Twitter has become a great “news” source for many. The New York Times took note of this and established a team of forces to cover the republican and democratic convention. Twitter was used as a platform for the masses to opine on the conventions. It became a pool of saturated opinions. Personally, I do not like to be sold on anything; I like to be given the facts and left to draw my own conclusions. The “facts” were presented with a bias undertone. But I guess that’s the point of Twitter to share one’s opinion with others. The problem is, a person who only gets their news from Twitter, may be misguided. The New York Times Twitter convention coverage was a microcosm of commentary newsrooms like CNN or Fox News, a sound bite of the facts, the rest opinion. Overall, journalists did a decent job delivering the information with their 140-character limitation.
The New York Times did an exceptional job with their multimedia “round-up” coverage. It was fairly accessible and it highlighted the key points of the conventions. The slideshow created a great rapport for the Democratic Party.
