Skip to main content

Bread and Chocolate



He wants money. Trouble is, you'd never know it because he's got an original scam. He operates with the element of surprise. You are minding your own business or lost in a newspaper, or simply walking down the street lost in thought. A sudden glance, your eyes meet his and he smiles and charges toward you first waving and then extending his hand to shake.
He's Southeast Asian. His accent, appearance, say Laos or Cambodia. Maybe Vietnam or Thailand.
"Heeey, How you dong?
If you talk to him for any length of time he'll ask for a dollar. In the time it takes to realize you don't know him at all, he runs his scam. And then he's gone. Sometimes, if you keep him in eyesight, you can see him walking down the other side of the street and then like a bull that suddenly realizes the fight is on, he'll charge. His smile flashes, he waves, his arm extends like a boom and in the distance, "Heeeeey"

II
Last Wednesday I went to the Carolina Chocolate Drops concert at the Zoo in Portland. This red hot string/jug band heated up the already 95 degree weather. It took the crowd a bit to give them their props. Probably baked for a couple of hours, they finally got into the spirit of things. These 3 super-talented African-American musicians go all the way back to roots music. Fiddle, jug, bones, banjo, kazoo, vocals, guitar, and probably a few more surprises.
At this point in their career they are bathing in the glow of their popularity. Nice folks too, as they stuck around to sign copies of their CDs and posters. Sold out to T shirts too.
This group is original in so many ways, but the thing that gets me is that they'll make you move and smile. Their music is so old (Old Timey) that it seems new to many. They remind us of our history since any look into how African-American first learned to play many of these instruments, hell, even got many of these instruments, is quite a story.
Most of all, in an odd way, the Chocolate Drops are authentic.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

To a Tee

 I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt.  They are the foundational garment of my life.  My day starts with selecting a t-shirt and it ends with sleeping in one.  Once thought of as under garments, t-shirts are now original art and no doubt, a billion dollar business.   You can get a t-shirt with anybody's picture displayed.  You can commemorate an event, a birthday, a death, even a specular play in any sport.  Family reunions usually have a commemorative t-shirt.  Also, any organization that solicits your support in the form of a donation is likely to offer you a t-shirt. Where once I only had the basic white t-shirt, my drawers are filled with all manner of colorful choices.  Some recognize major events in my life, some, spectacular performances or plays I have witnessed, and some unforgettable places I have been.   I say I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt because I have taken the bait on what I perceived as a must-have only to be disappointed. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...

Fetishism of Pain

We all knew it would get worse before it gets better. Anyone who lives anywhere in this country knows that the racism can ambush you anywhere, anytime. It's no surprise in California's great inland empire that the Republicans in Upland see nothing wrong with their racist depiction of Obama on a food stamp. "It's just food," they protest. "Like spaghetti and meatballs is with Italians." (They often pronounce I raq and I talian alike) No, it's not just food; it's history. It's the history of racism in American something beautifully, if not painfully depicted in films like Marlon Riggs' "Ethnic Notions." I have a collection of this history. I often used it when teaching either history or literature. It's the kind of primary source documents you won't find in the textbook version of America's past, but the kind that exceptional teachers or teaching units don't omit. To think that this Republican racism is not h...