There are a LOT of Dominicans in Inwood.
Like...a STUPID amount of Dominicans. And I'm not sure if you're familiar, but Dominicans aren't really partial to black folks. Puerto Ricans...sure! They love us!(We go together like plantanos and collard greens. Just as my Mom....and Dad. OK. And me. Ahem.) But Dominicans? They're not feeling us. AT ALL.
And we're not exactly sure why. I mean, we KNOW why, so rather, I should say...we (black folk) really don't get it.
There are plenty of Dominicans who, if they never opened their mouths, you'd never know they were Dominican. AND we have the same hair! I mean, anybody who's ever had their hair blown out by a Dominican can't go back to doing it themselves. So what gives? Why all the beef with black folks?
That's easy. It always...always come back to (you guessed it) slavery.
Have a seat and let me school ya.
The Dominican Republic and Haiti share a island in the Caribbean called "Hispaniola."
Long story short, the Spanish colonized Haiti using slaves imported from (lets say it together) Africa. The Spanish, however, weren't alone. The French and the British hand a hand in the rich Caribbean land. (Explains Haitian "patois"...which would be the "ebonics" of French.)
I just lifted this off of http://www.internationalist.org
"Throughout Dominican history, reactionary nationalist politicians have appealed to the racist ideology of “antihaitianismo” to shore up their hold on power in “their” two-thirds of the island. Following the Haitian Revolution of 1791-1804 – the first successful slave revolt in history, defeating the combined efforts of French, British and Spanish expeditionary forces – the Haitian revolutionary armies marched into Santo Domingo three times, finally driving out the Spanish colonialists and abolishing slavery in 1822. Even after Dominican independence from Haiti was declared in 1844, conservative landowners were so worried about a “Haitian threat” that they reannexed the country to Spain. It took the 1861-65 War of Restoration (coinciding with the U.S. Civil War), under the leadership of black general Gregorio Luperón, to regain Dominican independence."
So. Haiti and the Dominican Republic have a sorted past, just as rich in racism as the good ol' USA. Unfortunately for them, they didn't have the capitalist influence to urge them do "what's right". Not Haiti. They had to have a good old fashioned slave revolt. But the difference is...their slaves actually got their freedom. Haiti became the land of the "ex slaves", not because the former owners deemed them "human" with the God-given rights of all humans. But because the Haitians would fucking kill them if they tried that slavery shit again. Church.
Now we get to fear. You're living right next door to former slaves who hate you.
And you hate them right back. Pass that thinking right down hundreds of years, and ladies and gentlemen, I give you, present day Dominican thought.
To them, a black person is worse than a "nigger". Not sure exactly what that is...but yeah, to them...it exists. And there's no changing that. Fucked up, huh?
SO... fast forward to 2007. Inwood.
Esso has a company softball game there, so we head uptown and the game has just ended. However, we pass a restaurant that looks great. DAMN good actually. Live music and patrons are sitting outdoors, lazily sipping on sangria.
What the hell? Let's hit it.
Mamajuana Cafe has a really cool Spanish vibe. Not Dominican...not Puerto Rican...Spanish...but also, kinda Indian. Warm earth tones, candles glowing, conquistadors and vintage pictures straight from Espana. And the staff...well, not too warm to us initially, which is to be expected. Three black women in a heavily populated Dominican area...we're not getting greeting with open arms. (Hey...this is about breaking down walls. We're gonna run into a few.)
We initially requested to sit outdoors. We were told there was a party of twelve coming, so our only options were to sit in the back by the bathrooms. After quickly doing our usual "Don't try to play me because I'm black" scan of the restaurant for better seating...we agreed. There wasn't really any place else to go.
The waiter was nice, and after a few jokes (and POOR attempts at pronouncing the dishes in Spanish), he warmed up pretty quickly. We ordered the Sangria (fantastic!) and littered the table with various appetizers, all of which were just as good as the next.
OH...did I mention the live music? We happened to be there on "Spanish" night and were treated to a live performance, including dance. Thursday night, we learned, is Brazilian night, and on Sunday, unlimited Mimosas accompany a buffet-style brunch.
Hell yes.
By the end of the night, we had the waiter teaching us Spanish and almost got into a fight. (We didn't. Almost tho. ALMOST.)
All in all we decided, Inwood is just going to have to get used to us. Or we're just going to have to get used to Inwood. Because we're coming back. O YE!
Black Factor: Not feeling you. Try to speak Spanish though. You'll see the attitude change immediately.
Cost: Damn decent. Dinner for three with drinks, $80.
Come back: For sure.
-N
www.mamajuana-cafe.com
Ski. Cook without seasoning salt. Yoga. Travel to places that don't speak English. If you think black people don't do it...you're wrong. And I'm going to prove it to you. One stereotype at a time.
Friday, May 18, 2007
...See Independent Film: IFC Theater, NYC "I Don't Want To Sleep Alone"
Wholly shit.
I mean, it was a Monday night, right? And if you're going to start the work week off with a movie, at LEAST give me a sex scene, explosion or something. But, I'll get to the movie in a second.
If you've never been to the IFC, it pretty much mirrors every independent film theater you'll ever go to. The viewing rooms are really small to accommodate...the really small number of people going to see this shit. (I wonder if theaters go by the "Field of Dreams" rule...if you build it, they will come. If you don't... then hey. They'll catch it on cable.)
The seats, however are BIG. And comfortable. Really comfortable. So comfortable that they make you uncomfortable because chances are, you'll get that cozy "living room" feeling while sitting next to some weird old NYU professor who smells like grapefruit. And you just don't want to get comfortable with that. Or maybe you do. Who knows. I don't judge.
Anyway, so IFC works like every other theater. There's only one person working the refreshment stand, regardless of how many registers there are. (This person also takes your ticket.) It smells like stale popcorn and moldy rug. However, it's dark and you're surrounded by old posters from movies you've never seen, (and never cared about, but now, suddenly feel REALLY uncool for not). The vibe is "independent film"...which is exactly what you're going for.
You'll have to walk up and down actual steps...not hop on an elevator and ascend into movie Heaven. Nope. Keep it real and hoof it to the screening room.
So the movie...(oops, sorry...) film starts and first, we are treated by "video art", which means, it's some shit you'd see in the Museum of The Moving Image that'll give you a headache if you stare too long. I instantly hate it. I want it to be over right fucking now. I see nothing cool about it and I'm sure, if I'm an unknowing epileptic and the trait has laid dormant all this time, this fucking thing will bring it right out of me.
Mecifully, it ends, and the movie...(ugh..) film begins.
It opens to a...no shit... one minute take of a man in a coma sleeping.
Now, for those of you in the TV biz, you know how long a minute is. For those of you NOT...stare at any inanimate object for one full minute.
Now, do this for two hours.
Not that the mo...film wasn't great. OK. It wasn't. But it was at least...good. Sorta "Sunday afternoon" good. Where you have all day to contemplate the symbolism behind all the dirty water, or the director forcing you to watch a man sponge-bathe another man, or a older Chinese woman get fingered in a dirty alley...for a really long (and probably painful) time.
You get the love triangle, and the hardships of being poor while the world around you ignores this. The despair, the dirt, the hopelessness...the fact that there are maybe a total of twelve lines spoken in the entire film...sure. They all weave together to give you something powerful and deep.
Too damn deep for a Monday night.
I would have been much happier watching shit get blown up.
However, if you've got a free Sunday and are feeling deep...check it out.
Black factor: IFC is located in the Village. I coulda been purple and not drawn a single blink. However, if you get any shock factor at independent film, it's that you're actually interested in this film...and Madea ain't in it.
Cost: The usual. 11 bucks.
Go again: Sure. "Provoked" looks pretty damn good.
-N
I mean, it was a Monday night, right? And if you're going to start the work week off with a movie, at LEAST give me a sex scene, explosion or something. But, I'll get to the movie in a second.
If you've never been to the IFC, it pretty much mirrors every independent film theater you'll ever go to. The viewing rooms are really small to accommodate...the really small number of people going to see this shit. (I wonder if theaters go by the "Field of Dreams" rule...if you build it, they will come. If you don't... then hey. They'll catch it on cable.)
The seats, however are BIG. And comfortable. Really comfortable. So comfortable that they make you uncomfortable because chances are, you'll get that cozy "living room" feeling while sitting next to some weird old NYU professor who smells like grapefruit. And you just don't want to get comfortable with that. Or maybe you do. Who knows. I don't judge.
Anyway, so IFC works like every other theater. There's only one person working the refreshment stand, regardless of how many registers there are. (This person also takes your ticket.) It smells like stale popcorn and moldy rug. However, it's dark and you're surrounded by old posters from movies you've never seen, (and never cared about, but now, suddenly feel REALLY uncool for not). The vibe is "independent film"...which is exactly what you're going for.
You'll have to walk up and down actual steps...not hop on an elevator and ascend into movie Heaven. Nope. Keep it real and hoof it to the screening room.
So the movie...(oops, sorry...) film starts and first, we are treated by "video art", which means, it's some shit you'd see in the Museum of The Moving Image that'll give you a headache if you stare too long. I instantly hate it. I want it to be over right fucking now. I see nothing cool about it and I'm sure, if I'm an unknowing epileptic and the trait has laid dormant all this time, this fucking thing will bring it right out of me.
Mecifully, it ends, and the movie...(ugh..) film begins.
It opens to a...no shit... one minute take of a man in a coma sleeping.
Now, for those of you in the TV biz, you know how long a minute is. For those of you NOT...stare at any inanimate object for one full minute.
Now, do this for two hours.
Not that the mo...film wasn't great. OK. It wasn't. But it was at least...good. Sorta "Sunday afternoon" good. Where you have all day to contemplate the symbolism behind all the dirty water, or the director forcing you to watch a man sponge-bathe another man, or a older Chinese woman get fingered in a dirty alley...for a really long (and probably painful) time.
You get the love triangle, and the hardships of being poor while the world around you ignores this. The despair, the dirt, the hopelessness...the fact that there are maybe a total of twelve lines spoken in the entire film...sure. They all weave together to give you something powerful and deep.
Too damn deep for a Monday night.
I would have been much happier watching shit get blown up.
However, if you've got a free Sunday and are feeling deep...check it out.
Black factor: IFC is located in the Village. I coulda been purple and not drawn a single blink. However, if you get any shock factor at independent film, it's that you're actually interested in this film...and Madea ain't in it.
Cost: The usual. 11 bucks.
Go again: Sure. "Provoked" looks pretty damn good.
-N
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
...Write Blogs Like This.
But before I get into all that... first, let me extend a warm welcome to the new blog, inspired by one too many conversations about what black people "don't" do.
Here's how the whole thing started.
A couple of weeks ago, I found myself in a bar with my co-workers (shocker) and somebody brought up the topic. Being the only black person there (I know, another shocker) the heavy burden of representing the entire black race was, yet again, thrust upon my shoulders. (OK, not really, but I took it on anyway...so there.)
Anyway, on the list of what other cultures know for a fact "Black People Don't Do" are the usual suspects.
1) Ski or participate in any other cold weather sport for fun.
Now wait a minute. Before you guys get all riled up and start sending in pictures of your MLK Day Ski-Trip (slash) Shopping Trip to Woodbury Commons (slash)DJ Kid Capri's birthday bash featuring Red Alert...just don't. You know what I mean.
If you don't watch the weather channel for the best "powder" this weekend...hell. If you don't call "snow"..."powder", you're not into it. And stop lying...you never made it out of the lodge since there was the "Pajama Jammie Jam" going on right next door to the "Latin Lovely" right next to the "SoundCrasha"...and you didn't get out of bed till two PM the next day. You packed some red TLC "Creep" video PJ's...but not one pair of ski boots. No. Timbs don't count. Now, may I continue?
Sure there was one guy who protested, saying he knew a black guy who loved to ski.
I mean, sure, there's one. Actually, there are more than one. I'm not talking about the Bryant Gumbles of the world. I'm talking about regular old black folk here. I'm sure there's a Native American out there who loves his snowboard. We're not talking about him either.
2) Participate in any kind of water sport for fun.
Not true. We jet ski...we swim...waterski...and usually, it's the men. The women? We have hair issues. I'm just going to put that out there. If we're jumping into a situation where there is a potential chance our Dominican blow out might hit a body of water,...um... I'm not saying that we won't do it. But we'll think REALLY hard about it before we do. Either, we've got ponytail holders and gel at the ready, or it's not homegrown hair and it'll dry without making a sister look like a Thundercat. Hell, I can't name that many women who have had sex in a shower. (Yes and yes.)
3) Golf & Tennis
You just thought about Tiger and the Williams' sisters, didn't you? Then you thought about...no one.
...right.
Anyway...those were the top three. But it's gotta start somewhere, so that got me to thinking. Why DON'T we do these things? Money? Racism? No interest? No.
Actually, when I did my own non-scientific survey (asked all the black people at my job) why they don't do these things, the answer was overwhelmingly..."I've always wanted to...but I never had anyone to go with."
Now, I know everyone won't go at tasks like... get your hair done at "Supercuts" (I will.) or learn to play a proper game of tennis (yep, on the list) all by their lonesome.
But I will. And when I can't...I'm going to recruit another black person to come with me.
So get ready to broaden your horizons people.
Not only will I be your little guinea pig, I'll give you the "scare factor" as well and answer the questions you really wanna know.
How much did you spend?
Were there other black people there and did you get looked at funny?
Would you do it again?
And hopefully...this will inspire you to get up off your ass...and do something different.
Or at least laugh at me, while I do.
Oh..and this one merits your participation.
IF there's something you've always wanted to try...but never did, and would like me to test the waters for you... no problem.
Just get at me at blackpeopledont@gmail.com
Thanks again...and see you soon. Very soon.
-Nyree
P.S. BTW... I did the Parliaments thing. The first goes down pretty good, because, well. If you're black and at the point where you're accepting a Parliament, you'll probably smoke anything. The second one...repeats on you. And it's wrong. Even when you're drunk.
Here's how the whole thing started.
A couple of weeks ago, I found myself in a bar with my co-workers (shocker) and somebody brought up the topic. Being the only black person there (I know, another shocker) the heavy burden of representing the entire black race was, yet again, thrust upon my shoulders. (OK, not really, but I took it on anyway...so there.)
Anyway, on the list of what other cultures know for a fact "Black People Don't Do" are the usual suspects.
1) Ski or participate in any other cold weather sport for fun.
Now wait a minute. Before you guys get all riled up and start sending in pictures of your MLK Day Ski-Trip (slash) Shopping Trip to Woodbury Commons (slash)DJ Kid Capri's birthday bash featuring Red Alert...just don't. You know what I mean.
If you don't watch the weather channel for the best "powder" this weekend...hell. If you don't call "snow"..."powder", you're not into it. And stop lying...you never made it out of the lodge since there was the "Pajama Jammie Jam" going on right next door to the "Latin Lovely" right next to the "SoundCrasha"...and you didn't get out of bed till two PM the next day. You packed some red TLC "Creep" video PJ's...but not one pair of ski boots. No. Timbs don't count. Now, may I continue?
Sure there was one guy who protested, saying he knew a black guy who loved to ski.
I mean, sure, there's one. Actually, there are more than one. I'm not talking about the Bryant Gumbles of the world. I'm talking about regular old black folk here. I'm sure there's a Native American out there who loves his snowboard. We're not talking about him either.
2) Participate in any kind of water sport for fun.
Not true. We jet ski...we swim...waterski...and usually, it's the men. The women? We have hair issues. I'm just going to put that out there. If we're jumping into a situation where there is a potential chance our Dominican blow out might hit a body of water,...um... I'm not saying that we won't do it. But we'll think REALLY hard about it before we do. Either, we've got ponytail holders and gel at the ready, or it's not homegrown hair and it'll dry without making a sister look like a Thundercat. Hell, I can't name that many women who have had sex in a shower. (Yes and yes.)
3) Golf & Tennis
You just thought about Tiger and the Williams' sisters, didn't you? Then you thought about...no one.
...right.
Anyway...those were the top three. But it's gotta start somewhere, so that got me to thinking. Why DON'T we do these things? Money? Racism? No interest? No.
Actually, when I did my own non-scientific survey (asked all the black people at my job) why they don't do these things, the answer was overwhelmingly..."I've always wanted to...but I never had anyone to go with."
Now, I know everyone won't go at tasks like... get your hair done at "Supercuts" (I will.) or learn to play a proper game of tennis (yep, on the list) all by their lonesome.
But I will. And when I can't...I'm going to recruit another black person to come with me.
So get ready to broaden your horizons people.
Not only will I be your little guinea pig, I'll give you the "scare factor" as well and answer the questions you really wanna know.
How much did you spend?
Were there other black people there and did you get looked at funny?
Would you do it again?
And hopefully...this will inspire you to get up off your ass...and do something different.
Or at least laugh at me, while I do.
Oh..and this one merits your participation.
IF there's something you've always wanted to try...but never did, and would like me to test the waters for you... no problem.
Just get at me at blackpeopledont@gmail.com
Thanks again...and see you soon. Very soon.
-Nyree
P.S. BTW... I did the Parliaments thing. The first goes down pretty good, because, well. If you're black and at the point where you're accepting a Parliament, you'll probably smoke anything. The second one...repeats on you. And it's wrong. Even when you're drunk.
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