*Insert CD*
*Press 'Play'*
1. C.R.U.S.H. - Ciara
2. You Send Me Swingin' - Mint Condition
3. Better Man - Musiq Soulchild
4. Love Ballad - Jeffrey Osborne
5. We're Not Making Love No More - Dru Hill
6. I Get So Lonely - Janet Jackson
7. Only When You're Lonely - Ginuwine
8. You Keep Me Hangin' On - The Supremes
9. After the Love is Gone - Earth, Wind & Fire
10. A Love Of Your Own - The Average White Band
11. Breakdown - Mariah Carey ft. Bone, Thugs-n-Harmony
12. Le BOOM Vent Suite - Jill Scott
13. Love's Train - ConFunKShun
*Eject*
Love's Soundtrack.
Start to finish.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Through a Pencil And Leak on the Sheet...
It's always fun to look back at old papers and poems to see how my writing has evolved:
Christina A. Carter
July 08, 2005
College Writing-125
Mrs. Josie Kearns
It was an Easter Sunday. The altar overflowed with beautiful, white lilies, and the sanctuary glowed with vibrant colors from the sunlight that poured through stained-glass windows. Children scurried through the church in their brand new outfits, careless of the scuff marks they made on their shiny, patent leather shoes. The air had only the slightest scent of baked chicken, greens, and cornbread from the cooks preparing an immaculate, Easter dinner for after service. And though you could smell the delicious food being cooked, the scent of cologne dominated the air. It wasn’t the smell of the young boys who greeted one another with handshakes and slaps on the backs, complimenting each others' crisp, stylish suits or alligator-skin shoes. Nor the scent of the older men, who sat towards the back of the church, impatiently staring at gold wristwatches, ignoring the glares from angry wives as they discussed cars and sports. It was a smell that emanated from the church women, young and old alike. Some women strutted through the church in their revealing Easter dresses, smiling at the men and oblivious of the stares coming from the congregation. Others continuously fanned themselves to keep cool, shouted an “Amen!” to the reverend’s every word, and whispered threatening words to impatient children squirming in their seats. It was also the smell of the elderly women, who proudly sat in the front pews, wearing elaborate hats, calling everybody “Sugar.” That smell has stayed in my memory because it has more than one meaning to it. It not only reminds of what was happening on that particular Easter morning, but that very Sunday, I was baptized.
I hesitated as I descended the stairs to the pulpit, nervously glancing at the basin of the still, cerulean water. Because I was only a ten year old child, the water frightened me, and I questioned if I would choke or, even worse, drown. It wasn’t until I looked up at the pastor that I felt a sense of peace. An elderly man, with black-rimmed spectacles and a warm inviting smile, his presence alone caused my fear to subside. I knew I was ready. Shivering as I placed my feet into the water, I gripped my white robe and walked towards the pastor’s outstretched hand. I closed my eyes, telling myself to remain calm and count down from three:
3…
The pastor raises his arms and says a prayer, asking for God to shower his blessings and love upon me.
2…
He gently places his hand upon my forehead, and tells me to hold breath.
1…
He quickly tilts me back into the water, and whispers “You are blessed, my child.”
It was done. I searched the congregation for my parents, and spotted them amongst a faction of the other proud parents of recently baptized children. They both sat with their heads high, tears welled up in their eyes. I, too, held my head high. Though it was a simple event, it was momentous, a day that I will never forget.
Eh. Not too bad.
Christina A. Carter
July 08, 2005
College Writing-125
Mrs. Josie Kearns
It was an Easter Sunday. The altar overflowed with beautiful, white lilies, and the sanctuary glowed with vibrant colors from the sunlight that poured through stained-glass windows. Children scurried through the church in their brand new outfits, careless of the scuff marks they made on their shiny, patent leather shoes. The air had only the slightest scent of baked chicken, greens, and cornbread from the cooks preparing an immaculate, Easter dinner for after service. And though you could smell the delicious food being cooked, the scent of cologne dominated the air. It wasn’t the smell of the young boys who greeted one another with handshakes and slaps on the backs, complimenting each others' crisp, stylish suits or alligator-skin shoes. Nor the scent of the older men, who sat towards the back of the church, impatiently staring at gold wristwatches, ignoring the glares from angry wives as they discussed cars and sports. It was a smell that emanated from the church women, young and old alike. Some women strutted through the church in their revealing Easter dresses, smiling at the men and oblivious of the stares coming from the congregation. Others continuously fanned themselves to keep cool, shouted an “Amen!” to the reverend’s every word, and whispered threatening words to impatient children squirming in their seats. It was also the smell of the elderly women, who proudly sat in the front pews, wearing elaborate hats, calling everybody “Sugar.” That smell has stayed in my memory because it has more than one meaning to it. It not only reminds of what was happening on that particular Easter morning, but that very Sunday, I was baptized.
I hesitated as I descended the stairs to the pulpit, nervously glancing at the basin of the still, cerulean water. Because I was only a ten year old child, the water frightened me, and I questioned if I would choke or, even worse, drown. It wasn’t until I looked up at the pastor that I felt a sense of peace. An elderly man, with black-rimmed spectacles and a warm inviting smile, his presence alone caused my fear to subside. I knew I was ready. Shivering as I placed my feet into the water, I gripped my white robe and walked towards the pastor’s outstretched hand. I closed my eyes, telling myself to remain calm and count down from three:
3…
The pastor raises his arms and says a prayer, asking for God to shower his blessings and love upon me.
2…
He gently places his hand upon my forehead, and tells me to hold breath.
1…
He quickly tilts me back into the water, and whispers “You are blessed, my child.”
It was done. I searched the congregation for my parents, and spotted them amongst a faction of the other proud parents of recently baptized children. They both sat with their heads high, tears welled up in their eyes. I, too, held my head high. Though it was a simple event, it was momentous, a day that I will never forget.
Eh. Not too bad.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Ring The Alarm
The race card. It is a card that all minorities hold in their deck, and a move that some choose to play. In many cases, it is justified. Whether it's institutional, ideological, aversive, or individual, there's always incidences or remarks made that are harsh reminders of the racism that continues to permeate society. Other times, it is a means for people to make accusations against the 'The Man' who is the blame for every health problem, unpaid bill, dirty diaper, and crack in the sidewalk. So I try steer from jumping to conclusions about someone's actions or certain events without having done proper research. I don't want to be that one person who's always shouting:
The race card synopsis is only a disclaimer. I had write it before beginning the true subject of my blog:
The other night out of sheer curiosity, I decided to watch the show 'Toddlers & Tiaras.'(Judging commences.) It was exactly what I thought it would be. Stage moms who paid thousands of dollars to make their daughters look like Barbie dolls for a large, plastic crown. Watching the mothers interact with their daughters was shocking, and at times, offensive. And, as with all 'shocking and offensive' things, intriguing. The show has already received much backlash ranging from the "robbing their innocence" stance to "that child's behavior is out of control!" While those concerns were valid, here's what interested me during the particular episode that I watched:
In the video, four-year old Allyson adores "Be-yon-ce" and even has a stage outfit mimicking a wedding dress the superstar wore during a stage performance. Her mother gushes that Allyson "always liked dark skin and thought that it was beautiful" and never picks out a "peach" doll, only brown dolls. While it may seem like an innocent infatuation with a pop star, we later learn that Allyson prays for Jesus to make her brown, and was heartbroken when her spray tan was not dark enough. Towards the end of the show, you see a wide-eyed Allyson gazing at a fellow African American contestant before telling her "You look so....cute."
True to my nature, I went to the Internet to see what was the response to the episode. Much of the audience thought that Allyson's behavior was "adorable." Some only criticized the mom for spray tanning her "too dark" and jokingly wished for Allyson to find a "hot black guy who she could have biracial babies with in the future." Others just didn't want to touch the subject.
Based on the responses read, I found that we are too quick to disregard the thought process of the innocent because we assume that they are too young to understand, and such things won't negatively impact their psyche. It is evident that Allyson was raised to love and appreciate different races and ethnicities, an applaudable job on behalf of her parents. How often do you see a white child playing with black dolls? However, it makes me wonder what implications it will have on Allyson's development. Is it something that's simply a phase and will pass as she gets older? Or, will it continue to manifest into something more complicated resulting in self-deprecation and/or caricaturing black people seen on tv?
Another question to ponder dear readers....I was mad however that she didn't win. Hmph.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Melancholy Hill
I had a sickening revelation today, and I'm not sure what to make of it. I've always been one to say that I don't have mistakes, but learning experiences. I live a life with no regrets and avoid participating in anything that I have to second guess. By no means am I perfect, but I prefer to calculate my moves and plan ahead in order to dodge possible pitfalls.
However, in briefly skimming past posts, I came to the realization that many of them had one underlying theme. Who or what it is, I shall not disclose, but I know that it has changed my outlook on life, love, and relationships. At this point, it will be a struggle because I have not fully rid that one factor from my life, and even if I succeed in ridding it physically, I will forever be connected to it. My psyche fractured by this thing that was once my puppetmaster.
"My name is Christina....and I made a mistake."
Wait a minute, where's my support group??
However, in briefly skimming past posts, I came to the realization that many of them had one underlying theme. Who or what it is, I shall not disclose, but I know that it has changed my outlook on life, love, and relationships. At this point, it will be a struggle because I have not fully rid that one factor from my life, and even if I succeed in ridding it physically, I will forever be connected to it. My psyche fractured by this thing that was once my puppetmaster.
"My name is Christina....and I made a mistake."
Wait a minute, where's my support group??
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