Just a Moment
Not even going to front, I'm seriously bummed to be back in Vancouver. It's raining. I love the rain normally, but today I'm kicking up a fuss, and being a grump, and complaining about the weather and everything else. My fam is lovin' me, trust me. Just had lunch with my Dad, who humors me, thank god.
I know I'm supposed to rep my hometown, but the truth of the matter is that this city is kinda lame. I know, I know, it is spectacularly beautiful. But beauty isn't always enough. Haven't you ever been on a date with a fly fella/honey who had nothing to say? Van City is like that. Beautiful, but b-o-r-i-n-g.
New York is intense and impatient (folks can't even wait for the light to turn when they cross the street, they've got to inch out into traffic). And it does smell like urine, it's true. But stuff happens. Like every two minutes. My sublet told me a story last week. Her friend was on a crowded bus and this really annoying bougie chick got on and started barking into her cell, trying to set up a dentist appointment, but essentially holding the rest of the bus hostage. You know the type. The lady with big hair and an even bigger mouth that repeats her name and number a full three times, slow and loud. Anyway, she got off at her stop. Then some dude on the bus called up and cancelled her dentist appointment. That's what I'm talking about. That shit would never happen in Canada.
Or this...I am at the Nelson George/Jeff Chang talk at CUNY a few weeks ago, and some washed up, smoked out, x-hippie is going on and on during the Q&A period, talking about the rock era all nostalgic, and then complaining about the volume of hip-hop music and how intrusive it is. Some girl behind me stands up and hollers, "Shut up already! Sit the fuck down." In Canada, we all would have sat there politely, and wasted a good half hour, seething with resentment.
Anyway...reading Adam Mansbach's Angry Black White Boy (more to say on that later), and calling the bookstore to see if Danyel Smith's Bliss is in yet. Interviewing Russell Simmons this week. Working on Chapter 1 of my book. Been really struggling with style/voice issues. The last thing I want is for my book to be some dry, academic bullshit that never reaches the hands of hip-hop heads. Don't want to make detached observations about global hip-hop, want to show you what hip-hop looks like and feels like and sounds like in different countries, and how frustrating/bizarre/touching the journey has been finding out.
So I decided to write what I would want to read. You all are gonna be surprised. The format for the book is way different than I/you/anyone would expect. Much more personal, which is scary and exciting at the same time. My writing mentors tell me that you have to write what terrifies you. Anything less is punking out. Hip-hop culture is a tangled web of sex and love and drugs and violence and passion and politics and hate and healing and alienation and redemption and apathy and sorrow and hope--there's enough terrifying topics to fill dozens of books. Wish me luck.
I am going to kick it here in Vancouver for a month (unless I can find someone to send me somewhere for a story), and then on to Mexico and Cuba.
I know I'm supposed to rep my hometown, but the truth of the matter is that this city is kinda lame. I know, I know, it is spectacularly beautiful. But beauty isn't always enough. Haven't you ever been on a date with a fly fella/honey who had nothing to say? Van City is like that. Beautiful, but b-o-r-i-n-g.
New York is intense and impatient (folks can't even wait for the light to turn when they cross the street, they've got to inch out into traffic). And it does smell like urine, it's true. But stuff happens. Like every two minutes. My sublet told me a story last week. Her friend was on a crowded bus and this really annoying bougie chick got on and started barking into her cell, trying to set up a dentist appointment, but essentially holding the rest of the bus hostage. You know the type. The lady with big hair and an even bigger mouth that repeats her name and number a full three times, slow and loud. Anyway, she got off at her stop. Then some dude on the bus called up and cancelled her dentist appointment. That's what I'm talking about. That shit would never happen in Canada.
Or this...I am at the Nelson George/Jeff Chang talk at CUNY a few weeks ago, and some washed up, smoked out, x-hippie is going on and on during the Q&A period, talking about the rock era all nostalgic, and then complaining about the volume of hip-hop music and how intrusive it is. Some girl behind me stands up and hollers, "Shut up already! Sit the fuck down." In Canada, we all would have sat there politely, and wasted a good half hour, seething with resentment.
Anyway...reading Adam Mansbach's Angry Black White Boy (more to say on that later), and calling the bookstore to see if Danyel Smith's Bliss is in yet. Interviewing Russell Simmons this week. Working on Chapter 1 of my book. Been really struggling with style/voice issues. The last thing I want is for my book to be some dry, academic bullshit that never reaches the hands of hip-hop heads. Don't want to make detached observations about global hip-hop, want to show you what hip-hop looks like and feels like and sounds like in different countries, and how frustrating/bizarre/touching the journey has been finding out.
So I decided to write what I would want to read. You all are gonna be surprised. The format for the book is way different than I/you/anyone would expect. Much more personal, which is scary and exciting at the same time. My writing mentors tell me that you have to write what terrifies you. Anything less is punking out. Hip-hop culture is a tangled web of sex and love and drugs and violence and passion and politics and hate and healing and alienation and redemption and apathy and sorrow and hope--there's enough terrifying topics to fill dozens of books. Wish me luck.
I am going to kick it here in Vancouver for a month (unless I can find someone to send me somewhere for a story), and then on to Mexico and Cuba.
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