1. Cora Daniels, in writing "Ghettonation," set out to examine how 'ghetto' became chic for all of us. Not limited to class or race, it is found in the inner cities, as well as in the suburbs; among those too young to understand, as well as those old enough to know better; from little white houses with picket fences, all the way to the White House. It is packaged and sold in the form of music, TV, books, fashion, and movies. It is contagious, and no one is immune, no matter how we like to suck our teeth and shake our heads at what we think is happening someplace else.
2. Someplace else? Really? There was the time the blond no-talent bimbo Paris Hilton, with a sex tape under her belt, winds up with a reality show, "The Simple Life." During one episode, she couldn't get a rusty truck's engine to turn over, and she exclaims: "This truck is so ghetto."
a. According to Forbes, her inheritance is estimated to be $50 million....yet she is some sort of arbiter of what is or isn't 'ghetto.' That moment, sitting in my home in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, where sometimes I have to struggle to hear the TV over the constant bounce-your-head beat, and mamas cursing their babies, and the occasional gunshot outside of my door, that moment, I realized that 'ghetto' was something larger than anyone knew.
3. OK...I am ghetto. Movies to me are BYOF (Bring Your Own Food): what could be better than having some Popeye's chicken, a bottle of orange soda, and a 25 cent bag of Cheez Doodles while watching an overpriced movie? Yes, I sit on my front stoop rather than in my backyard. And, yes, I consider a plastic shopping bag an acceptable carryall.
4. No...I am not ghetto. I have a husband instead of babydaddies. I drive a car that is completely paid off but so nondescript that even I forget what it looks like sometimes. And when I drive and listen to music, I can still hear the passengers speaking in the backseat. I also own only one pair of sneakers.
5. I suppose that makes me a 'straddler'....I finished high school, and went on to college (yup, Cheez Doodle-lovin' self on an Ivy League campus). I accepted that I was ghetto when I went to grad school, and embraced that I was ghetto when I started working. I realized that I was not ghetto when I returned back home. In keeping-it-real tradition, I live in gritty city streets, but I recognize the ghetto choices around me, from talking trash too loud on the subway, to choosing TV over books, or snacking on KFC biscuits over anything else.
a. Ghetto reasoning, or lack of reasoning, means the making of choices that don't make sense. Standing on the corner, the center of the world, even for the smallest ones. I no longer understand why they want to.
b. Or why the cashier at the grocery store insists on keeping her intricately painted, acrylic-enhanced nails so obscenely long that she needs a pencil to press the keys of her register.
6. I'm a New Yorker, so the subway is part of my life. But, as a journalist, I love the subway because it is the raw material of my work. I see the young mothers with kids hanging off their arms like accessories. I see them late at night and think how these women have been able to preserve their lives exactly as they were before they had children. Over the years, the language has changed from 'brother' to '******,' and from 'sister' to '*****.' And you know the word that has replaced 'the' as the most commonly used term in the English language. The adults just shake their heads, a few dare to shoot dirty looks at the young people....but no one tells the kids to curb their tongues. So, who is more ghetto, the teenagers who don't know any better, or the rest of us who do and say nothing?
7. As the train passes through gentrified regions, the complexions get lighter...but nothing else changes.
From "Ghettonation," by Cora Daniels
Ghetto isn't limited to class or race.
2. Someplace else? Really? There was the time the blond no-talent bimbo Paris Hilton, with a sex tape under her belt, winds up with a reality show, "The Simple Life." During one episode, she couldn't get a rusty truck's engine to turn over, and she exclaims: "This truck is so ghetto."
a. According to Forbes, her inheritance is estimated to be $50 million....yet she is some sort of arbiter of what is or isn't 'ghetto.' That moment, sitting in my home in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, where sometimes I have to struggle to hear the TV over the constant bounce-your-head beat, and mamas cursing their babies, and the occasional gunshot outside of my door, that moment, I realized that 'ghetto' was something larger than anyone knew.
3. OK...I am ghetto. Movies to me are BYOF (Bring Your Own Food): what could be better than having some Popeye's chicken, a bottle of orange soda, and a 25 cent bag of Cheez Doodles while watching an overpriced movie? Yes, I sit on my front stoop rather than in my backyard. And, yes, I consider a plastic shopping bag an acceptable carryall.
4. No...I am not ghetto. I have a husband instead of babydaddies. I drive a car that is completely paid off but so nondescript that even I forget what it looks like sometimes. And when I drive and listen to music, I can still hear the passengers speaking in the backseat. I also own only one pair of sneakers.
5. I suppose that makes me a 'straddler'....I finished high school, and went on to college (yup, Cheez Doodle-lovin' self on an Ivy League campus). I accepted that I was ghetto when I went to grad school, and embraced that I was ghetto when I started working. I realized that I was not ghetto when I returned back home. In keeping-it-real tradition, I live in gritty city streets, but I recognize the ghetto choices around me, from talking trash too loud on the subway, to choosing TV over books, or snacking on KFC biscuits over anything else.
a. Ghetto reasoning, or lack of reasoning, means the making of choices that don't make sense. Standing on the corner, the center of the world, even for the smallest ones. I no longer understand why they want to.
b. Or why the cashier at the grocery store insists on keeping her intricately painted, acrylic-enhanced nails so obscenely long that she needs a pencil to press the keys of her register.
6. I'm a New Yorker, so the subway is part of my life. But, as a journalist, I love the subway because it is the raw material of my work. I see the young mothers with kids hanging off their arms like accessories. I see them late at night and think how these women have been able to preserve their lives exactly as they were before they had children. Over the years, the language has changed from 'brother' to '******,' and from 'sister' to '*****.' And you know the word that has replaced 'the' as the most commonly used term in the English language. The adults just shake their heads, a few dare to shoot dirty looks at the young people....but no one tells the kids to curb their tongues. So, who is more ghetto, the teenagers who don't know any better, or the rest of us who do and say nothing?
7. As the train passes through gentrified regions, the complexions get lighter...but nothing else changes.
From "Ghettonation," by Cora Daniels
Ghetto isn't limited to class or race.
