You Know My Steez

Hardfiskur, anyone?

I was lucky to spend a few months in Iceland back in 2004, working on a film by Icelandic director Balthasar Kormakur. I have so many fond memories of that unique country, from its quaint capital to its breathtaking landscape. Even the language is an exotic mix that sounds like German, Swedish, and even Spanish, with a hint of maybe Czech thrown in for good measure. (The word for Yes is actually an inhalation!)

It is a special place, full of people who work hard and play hard. The bars never close (I caught none other than Bjork singing privately to her friend while stumbling home one night). The light is extreme-when there is light- you feel like you might just be close enough to helicopter to the moon. There are few people, but there is so much being created (The expression in Iceland is There are as many bands as there are families, but the bands stay together longer). They value ecology and sustainability, which makes sense considering the natural environment is awe inspiring. And, of course, The Northern Lights! The Northern Lights!

Reading about Iceland’s economic collapse gave me pause, because of my particular affinity for the place. It is not the only country struggling now, but theirs is maybe more extreme because of their isolation and size. The Iceland I remember was something out of a children’s picture perfect storybook.

It didn’t surprise me in the least to read about the protests as a result of a failing government. Like I said, they work hard, play hard, and apparently they civilly disobey hard.

So leave it to the descendants of Vikings to elect a comedian as their new mayor. Seriously, he actually got elected! Jon Gnarr started The Best Party as a gag, and now he’s in charge.

Amazing. Iceland is the awesomest tiny country in the world.

P.S. Hardfiskur is like shark meat Jerky, except it smells like urine.

Stanley Crouch gave me a D on my Jazz midterm in college, and I’ve been in awe ever since. His writing is as infectious as his lectures, so you find yourself agreeing with the man just because he sounds so damn lyrical. In this age of information overload, social commentary can seem insignificant and fleeting, but Crouch zooms out from the here and now. He reminds his reader that no one lives in a vacuum- even something as frivolous as an outfit, and especially the response it garners, is significant.

I happily caught this article he wrote about Venus Williams, and I was immediately fired up.

Who else can come up with the sentence, “Does symbolically showing her ass mean that she has swallowed the radioactive but solid gold fish wet from the bowl of constant attention?” Crouch points out that like many women, Williams has been tricked into believing that provocative clothing is an exercise in empowerment. As a woman, she is demeaning herself, magnified by the fact that she is black.  She may defy The White Man and His aesthetic of beauty, but at what cost? (I’d probably get a ‘D’ for that, but luckily I’m not being graded anymore).

Confused? So was I. Scoring in Tennis sounds to me like the teacher in Charlie Brown, but I’m pretty sure that Venus Williams is a formidable tennis player. She doesn’t have to rely on her sex appeal, but she doesn’t deny it either. All the more powerful if you accept Crouch’s assumption that Williams’ beauty is unconventional, or (eek!) threatening (his words, not mine).

Seems like there’s a whole lot more talk around what these ladies wear than how they played. Remember Maria Sharapova’s tuxedo shirt at Wimbledon? Or when Williams was lauded for that Tina Turner number? Oh right, the gold fish wet from the bowl of constant attention.

What’s the girl to do? If you put your body through that much physical exertion every day, why not show it off? I kid, and my guess is that Mr. Crouch would argue, “Because it’s cheap.” She could play tennis in a burka, and probably get as much press. But then, Match Point- The White Man?

I’d like to think Venus is playing the haters, but that’s a hard game to win.