JAMAICAN ME CRAZY

In honor of November, national Jamaican month:

Jamaican Tour Guide

Empowerment Scene From Cool Runnings

Chinese English Class Reenacts Scene From COOL RUNNNNNINGS

PARTY ANIMALS

I, like so many Americans, Kenyan women with televisions, and Pakistani children trying to eat cardboard cut-outs of Barack Obama, reacted to his presidential win last Wednesday night with tears.  I was on the streets when hundreds of strangers leapt from their windows to hug, massage, caress, compliment, and milk each other, bellowing “OBAMA! OBAMA!”  in joy usually reserved for Total Request Live.  In many ways, this celebration sounded like the finale to a suspenseful sporting event. Maybe the wrap party to a most popular sit-com, either Friends or Frasier. Maybe the sound of a band of Jews worshipping a golden calf, or those same Jews pressed tightly together, salivating, on the plush red carpet of an awards show. 

Unlike all of those perfect people, though, I have a chip missing. The world was changing at that very moment, and I hate public parties. At my Bat Mitzvah, my more developed friends tried to make out with boys while I clapped as the party facilitators led the electric slide among slices of rainbow sherbet ice cream cake. My friends' puberty ruined the party, I was self-alienated for months, and I believe that because of this catastrophe I still hover somewhere between girl and woman, some creepy oversized boy-woman with small hands, small feet, but a big appetite for simple carbohydrates and capture-the-flag. I almost didn’t attend my friend Sara Benjamin’s 10^th birthday, a custard-making party, because my mom cut my fingernails too short.  I will not attend a celebration unless there is a pet present. That way, I don’t have to interact with the humans.

And so, on the eve of St. O’bama’s day, I convulsed and cried. I dry heaved repressed joy. I averted eye contact with these electoral loony-pies, rattled in my sensitive, irritable bowel syndrome-ridden gut, and retreated to my apartment to drink a therapeutic juicebox of coconut water and look at photographs of myself on my computer, in my series entitled “Faces,” wherein a take a picture of my face during particularly emotional moments and then later try to reminisce about how terrible I felt. I was in bed by 11:30. I got out of bed at 11:35 to shut my window; outside, history kept getting louder and more fun.

Does this mean I don’t care about poor, hungry, unemployed people, like the family in the Obama infomercial that can make a piece of string cheese and a hardboiled egg last an entire week?  Does this mean I don’t care about old black ladies whose dads were slaves being able to elect a black man for president? Or that I had to look up when slavery ended because I wasn’t sure if old black ladies still alive today were once slaves themselves, which would make them at least 143 years old? Or 143 years young? I know Africa is a continent, the Navajo Nations are not part of Nafta, and a shoe is an article of clothing, but do I genuinely care about anything other than myself? And what would Carrie Bradshaw say?

In the days following the election of our selfless president and the effervescent passion of so many selfless people, I debated whether or not to get a haircut. A trim, really. And I discovered that I’m not selfish, I’m just self-interested, which means that I get to pick what I care about. 

What matters to me isn’t reality – the everyday things that improve most people’s lives – but rather the upper-middle class seat of privilege that one inherits from their parents’ hard work, the enabler of the fantastic, glorified reality. Picture an angel perched on heaven’s pearly clouds, drinking a can of Diet Coke Lime Twist after spinning class. You can see a lot from this view, and most of your news comes from the Huffington Post: Photoblogs of Barack and Michelle pressed close to each other, his shiny black suit friticious against her sassy red dress, their intelligent, keen, innovative, moral, wise, sultry bodies forming the shape of a heart. Or blogs filled with animal lovers offering their insights for the Obama’s new dog, a metaphor for the nation: rescued, mixed, and hypoallergenic – perhaps a schnauzer, a lihasa apsu, a Samoyed, a golden doodle, or anything named Maverick. Isn’t it funny how sincere people can be? And how about that video of Obama, in swishy black warm-ups and a baseball cap, dropping Sasha and Malia off at school, giving each of them not one but two kisses on the check? Or the three hour dinner he and Michelle enjoyed, their first night out after the election, at Spiagga, approximately 18 minutes from their home on Lakeshore Drive. I love it! I love trying to guess what he ate for dinner – probably a Caesar salad and penne ala vodka. And I love that my guesses can be confirmed by some news source with a giant magnifying lens and/or telescope protruding from the lobster tank. 

He might be an idol, a savior, a change-maker, a hero, whatever, but to me, he’s a real person doing real things, and that means I can assign any type of neuroses to him that I want, thanks to the internet and people like me using it in caves all over the world. That is my constitutional right. 

I can’t wait for the first presidential bowel movement.

BARACK OBAMA POST-CHAMPIONSHIP PHOTO ESSAY

It was an inspiring day for everyone as I went to bed at 11:30, having a sixth sense wherein I can predict news and can imagine every possible human encounter without needing to actually experience it. In this way, I can stay in my home and order everything from PinkDot and HomeGrocer, while staying up-to-date (without going on any) vis-a-vis websites that I collect.

Here:

CELEBRATION FROM AROUND THE WORLD

It is a beautiful day as Pakistani children make a snack out of a cardboard Obama.

The festivities continue as some fun Kenyan ladies do the wave.

And soldiers in Afghanistan take rotating shifts on television-watch duties.

LOVERS IN LOVE

What makes marriage work? "A sense of humor, listening, and 'never get so mad you forget why you love them.'" Advice for everyone, really, including pets.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun...and yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare as any she belied with false compare. -- W. Shakepeas

More realistically, Barack is wishing that the microphone was a popsicle, in which case he would probably eat it because popsicles are pretty good.

"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee." -- Muhammad Ali

"Give me some dap." -- Kevin, Lincoln Middle School Parks & Rec.

Their bodies form the shape of a heart.

Bringing people together non-sexually as well. Also without discrimination as to how individuals choose to clothe themselves (i.e. sophisticated elderwoman in salmon-roe colored skirt suit.) Michelle clasps hands as Barack waves to people he's recently emailed/text messaged. His thumbs must be tired!

And inspiring Oprah, looking as powerful as mitochondria in a canary yellow throw.  See Oprah this week on 30 Rock.

As the campaign unfolds, we will be sure to constantly look at the internet and cut and paste photographs from other websites onto this page. In the meantime, check out Beyonce's new music video to "If I Were A Boy." It's not as exciting as it sounds because Beyonce does not actually wish she were a boy. Instead of worrying, let the music video tell you a story. "Wow," you'll say. "What if I or even Beyonce were a boy?"

GUEST BLOG: DINOS GALORE SHARES SCHOOL ASSIGNMENT

QUESTION: WHAT IS THE NATURE OF THE GHOST? WHAT IS YOUR OWN EXPERIENCE WITH THE SUPERNATURAL? HOW DOES THAT AFFECT YOUR READING?

I do believe in ghosts and aliens. It is taken as a joke today in society, which in my opinion is awful. I used to be skeptical about aliens, but after watching many shows on the history channel and the discovery channel, it changed my opinion greatly. Many astronauts and former navy/army members have come out publicly and let the public know that the government is trying to hide the truth. That to me is one of the worst parts about it. I don't understand why they need to keep it as top secret information.  I think that they should let the public know what is out there. Maybe they don't need to show all their evidence, just letting the public know the truth. 

I personally have never had experience with aliens, but I hope to someday. I find the topic very interesting. I do find it very strange to think that there are others out there in the universe. I do believe in ghosts as well, but not as much as aliens. I think that sometimes there are ghosts when I hear things or see something move without anyone being there. Ghosts to me, is somewhat of a fantasy type thing. More unrealistic than aliens. This affects my reading because I can't take it serious with the ghost being in the story. I just think that ghosts are somewhat of a made up thing, unlike aliens. 

THANK YOU DINOS GALORE FOR SHARING YOUR EDUCATIONAL ASSIGNMENTS WITH US! WE (THE INTERNET) LOOK FORWARD TO FUTURE COLLABORATIONS!!