Warren G once rapped, "where rhythm is life and life is rhythm" My brain is a wee bit like the scrambled eggs I made this morning . . effortlessly light, fluffy and a little sweet-n-spicy by the pleasant addition of fresh basil. Saucy smarts & all, I'm gonna stretch at yet another Chef Scotty explanation of a comprehensive supposition relevant to the conceptualization of a dream. (somehow, the usage of big words reassures me that the neurons are moving-n-grooving up there!)
Contextualization (sociolinguistics), the use of language and discourse to signal relevant aspects of an interactional or communicative situation
Contextualism, a collection of views in philosophy which argue that actions or expressions can only be understood in context
I call to order: Simon Cowell & the X-factor judge panel for their blatant manipulation of a young child's dreams and talents that should have landed her in the semi-finals (or should I be saying semi-trials?) Let me give some background on the subject matter before grasping at the larger picture & tying it to my own interpersonal experiences.
Shaunna Murphy from Popwatch writes, "If my throbbing head and bleary eyes prove anything, it’s that one cannot exist in close proximity to Rachel Crow’s tears without experiencing a major X Factor hangover. Other symptoms include emotional emptiness, lack of faith in humanity, and an irrational hatred of Nicole Scherzinger."
First, let me explicate that I've never before watched the X-factor in all of it's glory as a Simon made Schwarzenegger, star studded & steroid pumped-up version of "American Idol" Second, I must confess that I only caught the last 15 minutes of the superfluous show and that in itself will be my only participation in this Mormon conceived incestuous drama and mockery of morals. So, you're asking, "what in the hell happened" The rundown is this - two finalists for the last spot had a sing-off for the last spot amidst the semi-finalists:
1.) Rachel Crow - an adopted 12 year-old, pint sized Aretha Franklin
2.) Marcus Canty - think Usher at the age of puberty (actually age: 20)
It was clear beyond belief that Rachel had skooled her opponent like Obama crashing a Republican GOP jerkoff, but before the judges could spit out some honesty ...[commercial break] I'm convinced that devoid of any cameras, in those flashing minutes before America's couch surfers could return to the scene of the crime, Kernal Cowell handed-out his deliberation to his employed minions. Abolished democracy in full-color; Simon & Paula each voting for Rachel (as expected), then LA Reid kindly furnishes a coagulated load of bullshit in the statement "I'm a man of principle & have to stick with my man (Canty)" Then the final judge, who would pull a Paris Hilton poor performance.... (I assume she sings better than her acting)
"I can't make this decision," Scherzinger blubbered. "Please, I can't make this decision because I've been up there and I know how it feels. I love and adore both of you, so I have to go to deadlock."
According to the show's policy, the deadlock put the decision in America's hands - and ultimately, Crow was out. (think about it? who is the largest demographic calling in these votes - thousands of mini barbie wannabe's adoring their handsome usher munchkin) Point Subsequently, little Rachel broke down . . and I mean, tears belted out equivocal only to her contralto pulsating lungs. Watch the re-run and you can see Simon's Oxford weathered face failing to conceal his guilt, shield his shame, camouflage his incorrigible iniquity!
Like the 1968 general elections in Guyana, this shit was rigged! A superstar's talents expensed to the checkbook of profiteering power - "hell, there's really only room for one at the top; seeing how it's my ladder (foot to face), you can get off . . . oh, let's see . . how's about right here!"
Which brings us to my very own little fanatical version of "The X-factor" Similarly, this epic episode of my life prescribes a talented individual with a dream (although this particular dream possessed adolescent maturity beneath a bench mark of 10 years involving sweaty palms, soiled fingernails & boundless sacrifice) as well as a character of insatiable greed that was able to conduct "the Louisiana Purchase of 2010" at the very nominal price of people's integrity (many of those individuals previously considered to have had homogenous traits to a certain Scotty).
“Life is full of beauty. Notice it. Notice the bumble bee, the small child, and the smiling faces. Smell the rain, and feel the wind. Live your life to the fullest potential, and fight for your dreams.” -Ashley Smith
Eloquently put Ashley, but since when do we have to fight for our dream? Should not a dream appear in some form of inspiration and properly manifest by way of ardent (pause: I'm parched it's time for a leftover cranberry merlot sauce to metamorphisize into a martini) diligence and vehement belief? By its very definition, to fight:
1. To attempt to harm or gain power over an adversary by blows or with weapons.
2. To strive and or struggle vigorously and resolutely to achieve an objective
3. To contend with physically, in battle or boxing
4. To try to prevent the development or success of.
5. A physical conflict or quarrel between two or more individuals.
6 A confrontation between opposing groups in which each attempts to harm or gain power over the other, as with bodily force or weapons.
Perhaps fight could be replaced with . . "and fly for your dreams"? Leave the ground (they are likely to transport you anyhow?), ascend upward and finagle the seasoned winds of time . . maneuvering turbulence and dodging locusts as best as possible . . your dream likely not to be stationary and a bit of a whimsical chase? Isn't anything that anyone passionately loved worthy of effort . . but "fight" . . . it isn't right it if you have to fight - trust me, I've learned this one through and through!
A more germane concern regarding the acquisition of one's dreams would be - how do I accomplish this on my own? Seriously, how many of us are able to bring a dream to fruition simply from our own efforts? The truth is - in the pursuit of our dreams, we very often have to share our most deepest Magellanic visions, exposing our inner-self to another; our vulnerability served up on a silver plate in exchange for their contributions; be they in the form of capital, talent, influence, or experience. A cloaked "dreamsnatcher" only needs a glimpse of the gold before setting the hook of deception . . the dreamer entranced like that poor damn "moth drawn to a flame" Look how well sharing a dream worked out for Rachel? Shit, look how well it worked out for me? No worries . . I can't sing for shit, but a do dance like a nobody's watching; I do have more creativity in my left earlobe than Botswana has mosquitoes; I do have unparalleled determination that could move Ayer's Rock to the left flank of Lake Michigan . . . and I do believe I desire another one of those cranado-berlot marlinite's!
"What a Jerk Rub"
*find the pleasantry in pain . . it's there, you just got dig for it!
Yield: About 1 cup
Ingredients:
1/2 cup ground allspice berries
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
6 to 8 garlic cloves
4 to 6 Scotch bonnet peppers, seeded and cored (wear gloves!)
1 Tablespoon ground thyme or 2 Tablespoons fresh thyme leaves
2 bunches green onions (or sub any regular onion)
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
Kosher salt and black pepper to taste
2 Tablespoons oil to moisten
Preparation:
Place allspice, brown sugar, garlic, Scotch bonnet peppers, thyme, scallions, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, pepper, and oil in a food processor and blend until smooth.
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