Theory of the Week

My roommate and I were kicking this idea around for a while, so I decided to post it. Actually, let me correct myself, the idea was entirely mine, but its explanation resulted in a great deal of characteristicly humorous banter between us two.

The theory is as follows:

1) Primary theory: The more antiquated your name is (as a black man), the greater your chance of becoming a rapper. This, of course, has a deep psychological motivation. If your name was last popular in the year 1836 among a bunch of dandified Englishmen, you have to up your street cred in this millenium by pimping some rides/hoes/bling/mad lyrics.

f(Percy Miller) = Master P
Percy, as you may all know, is the dimunitive of Percival, which is a pretty terrible name right there.

2) Secondary theory: If you a black man with the misfortunate of not having a typically African-American name (this includes invented names, modifications of popular names, and names derived from African languages), you are also obligated to become a rapper.

f(Sean Combs)= Puff Daddy = P.Diddy= Diddy =?
f(Shawn Carter)= Jay-Z
f(Christopher Wallace)= Biggie Smalls
f(Tupac Amaru Shakur)= Tupac. I'm not cheating with this one! He's named after a Peruvian revolutionary, so his name is neither invented, nor a modification, nor derived from any of the Niger-Congo languages.

This is Practically Tradition

Every year I heroically miss every interesting author that comes to town during the New Yorker fest. This year is no exception.

FICTION NIGHT

Monica Ali and Aleksandar Hemon7 p.m. Ailey Citigroup Theatre ($16)
While I was initially excited, I realized that I haven't read any of Ali's books and Hemon's book wasn't as good as I thought the first time around. And it was actually my first time reading the entire thing, before that I had only made it through the first half before losing interest in the David Foster Wallace footnotes.

Donald Antrim and Tobias Wolff7 p.m. Cedar Lake Dance Studios ($16)
Who? I am so not well read.

Yiyun Li and Edwidge Danticat7 p.m. Bowery Poetry Club ($16)
Who? and I remember Danticat's Krik?Krak! being good, but I just started the Farming of Bones and had to put it down because of lame-ness.

Lorrie Moore and Julian
Who?

Barnes7 p.m. Newspace ($16)
Antonya Nelson and Thomas McGuane7 p.m. Anthology Film Archives ($16)
Who? This is getting embarassing.

Uwem Akpan and Louise Erdrich9:30 p.m. Bowery Poetry Club ($16)
My countryman! and a Native American? Hot damn.

Charles D’Ambrosio and Sherman Alexie9:30 p.m. Anthology Film Archives ($16)
Who? I love you, Mr. Spokane Indian. Holla back, Thomas Builds-A-Fire.

Andrea Lee and T. Coraghessan Boyle9:30 p.m. Cedar Lake Dance Studios ($16)
Who? I totally need to read Talk! Talk!. The cover art is pretty sexy.

Jonathan Safran Foer and Edward P. Jones9:30 p.m. Newspace ($16)
Haven't read. Have read, kinda on the fence, but he's a brother so I gotta show the mad love. L-0-V-E.

Gary Shteyngart and George Saunders9:30 p.m. Ailey Citigroup Theatre ($16)
Unimpressive. And Saunders is reliably funny but hard to transcend with his style.

The Post is Brought to You by the Letter Q

I have a bunch of great names knocking around in my head. I've decided to deposit them here and let them accumulate gravitas and beauty over time.

My future fashion label:

Productif Morphologie- Accessories, much of it inspired by of course, linguistics, hence the French translation of "Productive Morphology." So expect bunches of letters and diacritics to cover everything from earrings to hand bags.
I-grec - Women's wear, lots of classic knits, streamlined silhouettes, earthy tones with a metallic edge.

Some future kids:

Mizuna - A Chinese vegetable yes, but a fantastic looking word nonetheless.
Amande - Oui, 'tis French for almond, but seems gentle and refined.
Ikere - The name of my father's village, gotta give a shout out to the ancestors.
Seychelles - Yep, still loving the French. Ain't no shame in my game.

(Haven't found any cool boys' names yet, but I am on it like white on rice.)

Not So Great With Roots

So I cancelled the vegetarian diet after reading this book that definitively stated "there is no connection between diet and eczema flares." Unfortunately, the author then went on to contradict himself by advising me to avoid coffee and spicy food...hmm...whatever, Dr. Nasir.

In the meantimes, I've mulled it over and decided that "The Reluctant Vegetarian" will the amazing second book in my eventual culinary series. The first one, of course, is "Ghetto Tapas," small plates that I made senior year and still make now for my lighter dinners.

Last night's international ghetto tapas featured:

1) Spanish: Asparagus dressed with olive oil, garlic, and lemon (I was too hungry to wait, so parts of the asparagus were still cold....I need to work on the defrosting part).
2) Greek: Walnuts sprinkled with brown sugar and a pinch of salt. (The recipe said wait until the walnuts started to look oily, but they started looking burned so I panicked and cut the cooking time short.)
3) Italian: Foccaccia bread with mozzarella
4) African: Plaintains! (I know they have no place in the Mediterranean onslaught, but they are so good!)

Tonight I'm making the same thing again, except better and with more feeling!

I also made this really weird soup today. I bought a bunch of prepackaged, precut vegetables and met two new acquaintances, parsnips, and some weird-ass potato looking thing. Parsnip, which looks like a beige carrot, did not win me over...it's a savory blend of carrot and potato with a hint of earthiness. (I know I totally sound like some sort of food snob, but I have no idea how else to describe that strange aftertaste.) The wannabe potato was also disappointing..maybe that was a rutabaga?I'm still learning about these newfangled root vegetables.

The Reluctant Vegetarian

Less than two weeks remain at my current job, and unemployment looms nigh.... I should be more worried, but for heaven's sake, I've been working two jobs, six days a week, since graduation. I am TIRED. I don't remember what it's like to have a weekend, let alone two days off in a row.

To celebrate my-down-to-one-jobness, I've decided to craft and pilot my own vegetarian experiment (read: I am going to be the angriest person next week). This Friday, when I get paid, I'm going to buy all sorts of leafy green garbages and vitaminlicious fruits and subsist on all this healthful crap until I want to throw up. The Reluctant Vegetarian diet goes into effect on Sunday. If I make it to Saturday, I'm giving myself an Oscar. And a big platter of oxtail and potatoes.

The main reason I'm doing this is to try to tease out whatever the heck it is that I'm eating which is causing my skin to freak out in myriad and sundry ways. Did I mention that I'm also cutting out white foods, processed foods, and added sugars? I am going to be SO ANGRY. The way I figure it, if most of the symptoms die down that first week, I'll slowly start adding other stuff back into my diet until I find the culprit. If the symptoms don't die down SOMEONE IS GOING TO PAY. AND PAY BIG.

Now you may be asking, "Hey crazy, why don't you just go to a dermotologist, or better yet, an allergist?"

My response to you, oh wisecracking friend, "I DON'T HAVE ANY HEALTH INSURANCE, SUCKER! ALL I GOT IS CASH, THE FARMERS MARKER, A LIBRARY CARD, AND A METROCARD THAT'S VALID UNTIL OCTOBER 4th."

Then I'd apologize. But I can't guarantee that I'll mean it.