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March 30, 2005
blow out
my hair and i have been on a journey, and i'm happy to say that we've arrived at a safe and healthy place. i used to be a slave to the perm--had to have my hair bone straight (in fact, i think there's a perm named "bone straight."). before that, i endured braids, curls, and pressing combs. notice that each one of those endeavors has an element of pain involved. i was gonna try and explain how each feels, but there are just some things in life one has to experience.
anyway...i've given up the perm...been one year now and still going strong or curly or kinky or whatever...
but i guess part of me is still holding on to that straight-hair me because even now, i run my hair thru a flat iron. but not this time. as i sit here and compose this entry, my hair just is...free, wavy in some places, tightly curled in others. traces of red on the tips. a gray strand here and there. it's my hair. it's me. i like it.
i look different, but at the same time, it's still me, you know? it's going to be interesting to see how folks react. i'm sure that the students will have something to say...don't they always?
what's the larger issue? normalized standards of beauty that ignore the aesthetics of women of color. as forrest would say, "that's all i have to say about that." it's easy to theorize...just think about it. think about how beyonce is blonde and then some more blonde and a little more blonde. when she first got into the game, just a brown girl from texas tryin to make it big, she wasn't so blonde. no, no, no, no, no...
so, i'm sending out positive vibes to all my sisters doing the damn thing with perms, locks, 'fros, naturals, braids, curls, presses, weaves, and tracks. i know how it feels to walk into a borders bookstore and not be able to find a black hair-care magazine. i know how it feels to be an addition to a make-up line.
poem for the day
"painted me"
Elisa Marie Norris
i touch my skin
obsessed with imperfection
painted lips
extending lines on coal eyes
that make my look like i've lived a
summer in tuscany
plucked eyebrows
half moons
that pay no mind to the cycle
straw eyelashes heavy with mascara
i am a clown
no barbie dolls for ken to love
barbie never looked like me
brown plastic instead of peach
still blonde
still blue
still barbie
the toxins have made me ill
permeating my skin
staining my soul
my eyes feast on the image in the mirror
spiced with c7 mac foundation
c-thru lip glass
chestnut lip liner
look at the clown, ladies & gentleman
spotlight in the ring
look at me
Posted by emnorris at 03:57 AM | Comments (0)
March 28, 2005
silver and gold
Happy Resurrection Day...Happy Easter...Happy Spring...
i was really missing home today. i woke up this morning, extra emotional. decided that i needed a little kirk franklin and the family to lift my spirits. different songs move me on different days. today, it was "silver and gold."
i woke up this morning/
feeling kind of down/
i called on my best friend/
she could not be found/
but i called on Jesus/
my life He can hold/
i'd rather have Jesus/
than silver and gold/
chorus
silver and gold/
silver and gold/
i'd rather have Jesus/
than silver and gold/
no fame or fortune/
nor riches untold/
i'd rather have Jesus/
than silver and gold/
one of my best friends in the whole world sings this song beautifully. when we were living together in orlando, whenever she was going thru it, she would take a shower and sing. not necessarily this song, but definitely a gospel song. so, i was especially emotional as i listened to the song and imagined her voice.
Easter is always a special time of year for me. my early life, i was raised Catholic--no surprise since about 90 percent of the Philippines is Catholic--that whole Spanish invasion had something to do with it, i'm sure. during high school, i was introduced to the Pentacostal faith by way of the Church of God in Christ. so, i got a little bit of everything going on. this new awareness that i am developing, a combination of living life and reading, studying, and thinking about my scholarship, has made me see the spiritual in a different way. for the sake of keeping the sacred sacred and to allow me some room to think about this stuff, i'm going to leave it alone for now. but as i'm working my way thru this, i can hear the words of one of my professors: "we are both saturday nite and sunday morning." my Pentacostal mom wouldn't like that too much...it makes a lot of sense to me.
this morning, at home for Easter, we would have gotten up and had some oatmeal for breakfast. got dressed for church. listened to the Resurrection message about promising tomorrows. received a blessing from the choir. gone to Easter brunch. returned home.
this Easter, i cooked some dinner, invited over a friend, and watched some great basketball.
poem for the day
**i dedicate this poem to all the little black girls who played great basketball and learned hard lessons this weekend. their coach did an admirable job of protecting and motivating these players. she should be proud.**
"The Day-Breakers"
Arna Bontemps
We are not come to wage a strife
With swords upon this hill,
It is not wise to waste the life
Against a stubborn will.
Yet would we die as some have done.
Beating a way for the rising sun.
Posted by emnorris at 03:57 AM | Comments (0)
March 25, 2005
they're playing basketball
march madness...
west virginia -vs- texas tech
2nd half, 2:14 left
62-58 west virginia up
at stake: a trip to the elite eight
i'd like to see west virginia make it...the coach seems all-right.
west virginia won! final score: 65-60. the moutaineers heading to the elite eight. i'm so happy.
i came home this evening, worn out from the day. i decided that i was going to cook me some dinner and watch some basketball. and what a great decision.
for dinner:
jasmine rice
stir-fry vegetables
corned beef
not corned beef and cabbage. this is corned beef, filippino style. interested? here's the recipe...
dice some garlic and onion
heat approx. 1 tablespoon of oil
sautee garlic and onion for a few minutes, but not too long. don't cook the onions all the way down
add the canned corned beef (generally located with other canned meats and sardines)
cook on medium heat until the onions become translucent
to serve:
place over a bed of steaming rice. yummy...
a good meal and good basketball was just what the doctor ordered just what i needed. i'm going to give myself a break from trying to solve the world's problems. i think i deserve a day off.
poem for the day
"a song in the front yard"
Gwendolyn Brooks
I've stayed in the front yard all my life.
I want to peek at the back
Where it's rough and untended and hungry weed grows.
A girl gets sick of a rose.
I want to go in the back yard now
And maybe down the alley,
To where the charity children play.
I want a good time today.
They do some wonderful things.
They have some wonderful fun.
My mother sneers, but I say it's fine
How they don't have to go in at a quarter to nine.
My mother, she tells me that Johnnie Mae
Will grow up to be a bad woman.
That George'll be taken to Jail soon or late
(On account of last winter he sold our back gate.)
But I say it's fine. Honest, I do
And I'd like to be a bad woman, too,
And wear the brave stockings of night-black lace
And strut down the streets with paint on my face.
Posted by emnorris at 04:52 AM | Comments (0)
March 23, 2005
what's going on?
marvin asked the question, and i want to know.
i'm really troubled...for several reasons. six young people are gone. a grandfather and his partner are dead. a teacher and a security guard are dead. and the media has done a terrible job of covering this tragedy. what's the difference? could it be that the shooter and victims in minnesota were native american save for the one white teacher who returned to the rez because she enjoyed teaching there? the shooters and the majority of the victims in colorado were white. please tell me that it isn't that simple. please tell me that we're beyond that. please tell me that a young person dying on a monday morning at a high school on a reservation is just as tragic, sad, and painful as it is when it happens on a high-school campus in a very white, very middle class town. please tell me that this isn't about race or class or region. please tell me something 'cause i can't figure it out.
on the one hand, i'm pissed because there hasn't been enough coverage concerning what happened at red lake. on the other hand, the media went overboard with its coverage of columbine, and, at some point, i was tired of hearing about students' pleading for their lives or a teacher bleeding to death in a closet. enough was enough for me. used to be that folks were concerned about how over-exposure to violence on television may desensitize viewers. that hasn't happened to me. i turn away when the news flashes to images of blown-up buses and empty shoes in the streets. i'm tired of all the death and dying and am angry that every night, the number of fallen soldiers grows...one soldier at a time...a daughter. a mother. a brother. a son. a partner. a friend. a lover. a father...one soldier at a time.
i've been thinking about the race question a lot here lately. because i don't give a damn what anyone says, race matters. ask cornel west. even before red lake, i was thinking about the young girl, jessica marie lunsford, whose body was buried about 150 yards from her house. she was taken from her bed in the middle of the night and abused and molested and murdered. and then i started thinking about jon benet ramsey and elizabeth smart...i wonder how many little brown girls have gone missing. i wonder how many little brown girls have been found buried in shallow graves. i wonder how many little brown girls have been abused and molested and murdered.
i decided to see if i could find out how many brown girls have gone missing. i focused my search for missing girls in florida. as i scrolled thru the pictures of the missing girls and read their accompanying profiles, i noticed a pattern. the majority of the brown girls who are missing are categorized as "endangered runaway." i'm having a hard time believing that all those girls ran away. are little brown girls so wild that they are predisposed to running away? how are we constructing these girls? what are we saying about the values of their lives? are they disposable children, much like the children, including the shooter, in minnesota?
here's a list...one that the media's neglected...
Nina Melody Barrientes
Brittany S. Brisco
Kiyah Adia Edwards
Maylin Gonzalez
Brittany LaShae Patterson
Sonia L. Ortiz
Mariah Deneane Timbers
...all missing...
i'm asking these questions because i have two brown sisters and two brown brothers...because i know a brown girl who lived in chattanooga, tn and was continually reminded that she was invisible...because i am a brown girl and i love all brown girls and i want them to be safe and healthy and happy.
i'm beginning to feel a sense of dread, a sense that a storm is brewing. have you ever had that feeling in your gut that something was amiss? you didn't know quite what it was; you just knew it wasn't right. that's how i feel these days.
what is really going on?
poem for the day
"why some people be mad at me sometimes"
Lucille Clifton
they ask me to remember
but they want me to remember
their memories
and i keep on remembering
mine.
Posted by emnorris at 04:47 PM | Comments (0)
March 21, 2005
it's been a long time, i shouldn't have left you...
first of all, thank you, Jesus, for traveling mercies...
i'm back in the 'cuse. the snow's melting. this means that all the trash that was hidden by snow drifts can be seen. i looked out of my window this morning and was horrified. i mean it just looks nasty out. the sidewalks are littered with plastic bottles, paper wrappers, etc. i still don't have my bags...think they're somewhere in chicago. my back and knees hurt from the long flights. and i had to teach this morning @ 9:30am (which really isn't a bad thing because i was happy to see the students). nevertheless, i'll admit that i'm happy to be home. when i walked into my apartment @ 1am and was surrounded by my things, all became right with the world.
i enjoyed the west coast and am thankful for the chance to check out that side of the world. i haven't heard that much tupac in a minute. and since i still maintain that tupac is alive, hearing his voice on the radio was a comfort. i heard lots of west coast hip-hop, definitely a different flava than what's on the east coast menu. i've been guilty of situating the hip-hop universe on the east coast. wrong. hip-hop on the west coast has this smoothed-out kind of groove. i could hear echoes of snoop thru-out. and i don't mean new millennium snoop, although he has managed a few hits these past few years. i'm talkin about "gin and juice" and "nuthin but a g thang" and "187" snoop. i'm talkin about ice cube and "it was a good day." when i hear it, i think about summer evenings on the front porch. pool/house parties. clubbin @ margarita maggie's. tunk. spades. bones. bar-b-que. mad dog. cisco. helicopters. barking dogs. search lights. militarized public housing. empty storefronts. hydrolics. curls. chuck taylors. khakis. numbers on napkins. consciousness. braids. Blackness
had the chance to meet some really cool people at the conference. i sat on a panel--"rapping down the gate: black women and hip hop"--with some serious heavy-weights in the areas of African-American rhetorical practices. Dr. Gwendolyn Pough recently made the move to syracuse, so i'll have a chance to work with her on my exams and diss project. her work varies in subject matter from the Black Panther Party to feminism and hip-hop and has educated our discipline in terms of the complexities of African-American rhetoric. Dr. Elaine Richardson is currently at penn state and her continued work in the area of African-American language practices is sorely needed and greatly appreciated. the panel chair was Aesha Adams, a grad student doing her work out of penn state. along with her chair duties, Ms. Adams also presented on the panel, "bridging rhetorical gaps where religions matter" and participated in the research network forum. not bad company, huh? i also had the chance to meet Dr. Geneva Smitherman whose work has motived, inspired, challenged, angered me. i actually went up to her and introduced myself and told her how much her work has meant to me as a young scholar in this field. i thanked her for all her work in paving a way for me to do the kind of work i want to do. do you know that she stood up and gave me a hug? and i don't mean one of those sorry, fake hugs. you know that kind of hug that lets you know that the other person really isn't trying to get next to you, the lackluster kind of hug with a few pats on the back. but not the hug from dr. g. she stood up and gave me a hug like a hug from grandma. i was moved. and i was especially honored that she attended my panel.
the poem for the day is inspired by my viewing of a documentary about Langston Hughes...
"Theme for English B"
Langston Hughes
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me--we two--you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me--who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records--Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me--
although you're older--and white--
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
Posted by emnorris at 04:11 PM | Comments (0)
March 16, 2005
california love
that's right...i'm on the west coast. came out here for two reasons: 1) to enjoy my spring break away from the cold and snow of syr and 2) to present at a conference. the flight from chi-town to san francisco was long and long and long. i had to sit almost in the middle, and the woman sitting next to me kept elbowing me in the side. between you and me, i think that that was her passive-aggressive move to let me know that she wasn't too happy about sitting next to me. initially, i was going to engage in the arm-rest battle but didn't have the energy for a drawn-out war. at least i was sitting in the seat one from the aisle. she was in the middle seat in a row of five. poor baby...
i think that flying across the country is more difficult than flying internationally. when i say difficult, i mean extended. when my fam and i flew to germany to visit my sister, the flight outta charlotte left at night, so we pretty much slept the whole way. same on the return flight. but flying to california during the height of the day doesn't work the same. but thank you Jesus for traveling mercies. i'm here.
the 3-hour time difference is kinda hard to get used to. i wake up @ 7am west coast time and am sleepy by 10pm. it's just as well since i won't be here for much longer. i'll be heading back to the east on sunday. at least it'll be in the mid to high 40s when i get back. who would have thunk it? that i would be happy at the possibility of 40-degree weather...
what have i done? (not in this order) drove across the bay bridge, visited berkley, walked thru the golden gate park, drove over the golden gate bridge, saw seal rock and the cliffhouse, ate lots of good food, saw alcatraz, watched lots of cable, experienced adult swim for the first time, walked along a beach, admired surf fishers, remembered why i'm trying to get back home, missed fishing...
i haven't been around this many filippino folks since i left the philippines some 20 years ago. it's cool to be able to walk into a store or restaurant and hear people talking in tagalog and understand conversations. i haven't eaten at the filippino restaurant just yet but have had pastries from the bakery. i had some halo halo, a kind of magical, delicious, delectable iced drink that i can't even begin to describe. my mom makes halo halo sometimes, but it isn't quite the same.
it's been interesting navigating my "twoness," to borrow the concept from the great w.e.b. dubois. i don't have very close ties to the filippino side of my family. i've forgotten how to speak tagalog and pampango and hold on to my ability to understand snatches of conversations. sometimes i wonder if i would feel more connected to my filippino side if i looked more "filippina." does that matter? it's something that i've been dealing with for a minute, and graduate school has made me more conscious and critical about all of it. race is a social construction. people can self-identify however they choose. but what role does my self-identification play in terms of how other people receive me? i have more than 1/16 or 3/5 african-american blood or whatever the blood-quantum criteria was established to determine the race of a child from mixed parents--a criteria meant to keep slaves numbers stable because we know that there was a whole lotta miscegeny going on. i know all that. but what does that mean for this brown girl? didn't anticipate that my trip to san fran was going to stir all this up...guess that's a good thing. gotta better understand my reasons for selecting the "other" box...
poem for the day
"Full Figure Potential: A Fat Girl's Blues"
Georgia Me
Out of money looking for a snack
Then I see little Debbie's face on a pack
Smiling enticing me inviting me to have a taste
With haste I race to the desctruction of my waist
As the sugar sets in so does the disgust I
feel
Wishing I had the power of will or hoping someone
Would kill this gluttonous
Monster which rules my eyes
Which is bigger than my stomach so we fill
my belly
with pies and cakes
by-products additives and other shit
It's hard for me to quit sweets are a quick hit
My diet includes fried everything all kinds of pork
People asking if I've been visited by the stork
See it's looked at as a sin to be fat without children
or a medical condition
So it leaves a girl fishing
Looking for an esxcuse to stop
the abuse
I endure everyday in every way through ridicule and
personal shame
Unwanted attention and fame from the group of young
men who holler "Big Drawers"
as I pass by I start to cry the wind dries my eye
But nothing can heal this scar left on my esteem
Praying this order is a dream or better yet
a nightmare
For it's too hard to bare this constant scare as
my reality. A complete
disregard for humanity
Not seen as humane more like insane or having no
self control
She can't even pass up a jelly roll
Not seen as beautiful. Look at the folds and gut the
cellulite thighs and out of shape butt
Not seen as strong "She can't go long. She'll be
down before the end of the song."
My personal demons are hard by themselves
Comparisons to pigs, elephants, and whlaes
You might look at me and see lazy and weak giving
no second thought that
before you any angel may speak
God said
Love who you are be the best that you can be
Your spirit will soar and the whole world will see
Your strength your beauty and your heart
The ignorance of others won't pierce like a dart
I know at times I may get knocked down or even
doubt my agility
But I'll look in the mirror and say I'm wonderful
With humility
Now we're supposed to respect everyone with
Different choices beliefs and hues
But who gives a damn about a fat girl's blues?
Russell Simmons: Def Poetry Jame on Broadway and More
Posted by emnorris at 09:11 AM | Comments (0)
March 10, 2005
words, words, words
earlier in the day, i had a lot that i wanted to blog, lots of stuff to get off my chest, lots of stuff to protest. now that the day has worn me out, i'm kinda tired and don't feel like going there. but let me start with the...
poem for the day
"Anatomy at Twenty-Five"
Jenny Sadre-Orafai
Silly skin hangs below her once judicious chin.
The neck is decorated with creases, as if sleep slept here.
No longer hollowed, the jugular notch
is surrounded by buried and padded clavicles.
And beginnings of the sternum do not jut out accordingly.
Breasts got longer and wider,
their veins, turquoise and indigo, show so well
through the cellophane skin of breasts,
announcing that they are doing their job.
From the first thoracic to the first lumbar,
the shape a seahorse takes on—arched and curved
to what is going on in the body front.
Vertebrae, spread like surrendering fingers,
still allow the body to turn when her name is called.
the first time i heard poetry sing was on 27 oct 1999 in a barnes and noble in chattanooga, tn. she hosted the open-mic nite. she is a poet. check her out.
and just in case you haven't heard, the war is over.
this friday is the last day before the start of spring break. i don't know who needs it more: me or the students. i think that we're both equally fried. i'm glad i'm getting outta here this weekend because lots of snow is in the forecast. i've never needed a spring break more. i mean, there was the great spring break of '97 when, much to the dismay and chagrin of my parents, i got my first tattoo. my mom didn't trip too much, but my father let me know his disappointment:
"back in my day, girls didn't get tattoos."
since then, i've gotten four more. the latest: a mermaid with a big fro. she floats on my right arm. jenny's husband was the artist. if you're in their neck of the woods and want to get a tattoo, let me know, and i'll get you the necessary information. i've decided to treat myself to a new tattoo at the completion of each year of grad school. i'm almost done with year two (thank goodness) and have been thinking about the next tattoo. i'm been thinking hard about this next move. what do i want? words, pictures, symbols? what to do? all of my tattoos have stories. like the one on my left arm--my first and middle names--i got with my brother. it's really special to me because it was something that me and my brother did togehter. you should see his tattoos.
i used to trip about what folks may think about my tattoos. now, i don't care. i like 'em.
Posted by emnorris at 10:16 PM | Comments (0)
March 09, 2005
don't call it a comeback...
i've been here for years...just haven't had the blogging spirit. some veteran bloggers have suggested that i just blog something, you know, get in the habit. but that just ain't me. nevetheless, here i is...
lots going on since last i posted. crazy times, crazy times...i've been meaning to get my behind in gear and post some stuff. nowadays, i'll see something on tv or hear something on the radio and think: "i gotta blog that." i'm wondering how stifled my face-to-face interactions and conversations are becoming. has blogging replaced old-school conversations and retarded interpersonal relationships? (i can hear carrie bradshaw's voice in my head. my favorite "sex and the city" episode: when miranda's mother passed away, and her crew--including steve--was there for her. i'll admit it: i cried. if you haven't seen it, you're missing something. made me think about my girls...the ones who love you when you can't find it in you to love yourself...the ones who you can laugh with...the ones who put up with your madness...the ones who cry when you succeed...the ones who will help you check yourself...the ones who will give you their last...my girls. anyway, you gotta watch that episode.)
i digress...back to my question...
here's a perfect example: something really cool will happen, and i'll email the news to a friend. i take all kinds of time describing the whatever and expressing how i feel about the whatever. and the moment i send the email, my phone rings. on the other end, you guessed it, is the email receiver.
me: "girl, you will not believe what just happened. i just emailed you."
her: "let me check my email then."
me: "i can't wait for you to read it. i'll just tell you now, and you can read about it again later."
you know how it is...when you are excited about something, you want people close to you to be excited, too. and don't you hate when you share some wonderful news and you get a blase kind of response.
but now that i think about it...this blogging thing really isn't putting a hush to my conversations. it's not like i've ever referred someone to my blog in lieu of a for-real conversation. i'll be just as happy to discuss, in real time (and i don't mean im'ing), in real space, who was better: biggie or tupac; jay z or nas; nike or adidas; boston red sox or new york yankees. and while i like the blogging space, there's nothing like looking into someone's eyes during an intimate discussion, nothing like reaching across the table and touching that person on the hand while the conversation flows, nothing like hearing that special laugh that makes you laugh just because, nothing like sharing air and space and energy. i don't get that from the blog. could be me...
speaking of biggie and pac, have y'all heard the latest about the brewing war in hip-hop? before folks start stirring up some mess about 50 cent and the game and the dissolution of the g-unit, how about they spend some time and resources on bringing to justice the murderers? please...don't get me started.
poem for the day
"Black Bourgeoisie"
Imamu Amiri Baraka
has a gold tooth, sits long hours
on a stool thinking about money.
sees white skin in a secret room
rummages his sense for sense
dreams about Lincoln(s)
conks his daughter's hair
sends his coon to school
works very hard
grins politiely in restaurants
has a good word to say
never says it
does not hate ofays
hates, instead, him self
him black self
Every Shut Eye Ain't Asleep: An Anthology of Poetry by African Americans Since 1945
Posted by emnorris at 04:06 PM | Comments (0)
March 02, 2005
fishing blues
busy, busy, busy. i can't wait for the summer.
i've been thinkin a lot about fishing...kinda like a mental vacation. and i need one. i'm trying to take tupac's advice and "keep my head up." but sometimes...
all fisher-people have fish tales. mine is true. one summer, my dad was enlisted to help sell a friend's boat. now this boat was a fishing boat. no cabin to take up too much room. the stern was roomy, and the two chairs sat on swivels so it was easy to fish. our boat is much more of a cruiser, and so fishing, especially when the whole family goes, can be kinda complicated. well, on this trip, it was just me and dad.
it was late afternoon when dad asked me if i wanted to drive down to the storage spot and check on the boat. we decided that we should take the boat out, you know, to test it. so, we bought some live bait, put it, and made our way to "the cut," our favorite fishing hole. "the cut" is actually the beginning of a channel off of the banana river. lots of fish come thru "the cut" as they seek the protection of the channel...plenty of mangroves and the like to hide in. and, during certain times of the year, fish spawn in the channel. we anchored right at the mouth of the channel and fished, fished, fished.
as soon as i dropped my line, i was gettin bites. in fact, i got the first bite, a big deal when fishing with my family. and for the rest of that late afternoon and into the evening, i was bringing 'em in. i mean i must have caught six or seven sheep-heads and drums, nice-sized ones. i haven't had a fishing day like that since.
the florida waters have been so over-fished. i remember when we first moved to satellite beach, the rivers and channels were so full of fish. one was guaranteed to catch some mullet with a good throw of a casting net. nowadays, all i see are juveniles, no adults. and that's not a good sign. for breakfast on some saturday mornings, we used to have fried mullet and grits. not anymore. and forget about buying mullet at the market...too expensive...
i've learned three important lessons from fishing with my dad.
1) never pass the bait shop -- for some reason, we always thought that bait purchased from shops closest to the fishing holes would catch more fish. then, we would get down to the hole and discover no bait shop around. we'd have to turn around...cutting into fishing time is never a good thing.
2) trust your equipment -- this is especially true when deep-sea fishing. when we fish out of cape canaveral, we head out until we can't see the coast. and out there, no road signs are posted to point you in the right direction. so, you have to trust your equipment. but i think the larger lesson here is the importance of maintaining your equipment.
3) what's in this hole for me, you can't get -- fishing is all about patience. moving to a spot where someone else has just caught a fish won't increase your odds. just sit still and wait. you'll catch your fish.
i can't wait for the summer.
Posted by emnorris at 05:47 AM | Comments (0)
March 01, 2005
stormy mondays
that's right...between 10 to 14 inches of snow by the time it's done. i never thought i would say this, but i've kinda gotten used to it. not that i like it...it's just that i've gotten used to it. when i first moved here, i cried all winter. it was so cold and snowy and gray and miserable. and it's the gray part that bothers me most. when i tell y'all that the sun wouldn't shine for days at a time, i'm not merely being poetic. i mean for real, the sun would not shine. and coming from the south, stars at night just makes sense.
things i feel good about: jaime foxx and morgan freeman won (but that doesn't mean that the fight is over. hollywood has in no way made up for how it ignored whoopi goldberg's performance in the color purple and denzel washington's performance in x. and we all know that morgan should have won well before 2005. don't sleep.)... great teaching day...new video games...support from folks...warm apartment...long john's...new pens...rice and squash...patience and understanding from loved ones...pictures from a loved one far away...
things i don't feel good about: pictures from a loved one far away...little girl lost...bloody ivory coast...white whiskers on my dog...comments about michael jackson's nose...
that's all for now. "thank y'all for coming. god bless you and good night."
Posted by emnorris at 03:23 AM | Comments (0)