Showing posts with label Peggy Seltzer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Peggy Seltzer. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

simple pagan ritual

The history of the world is replete with situations of conquest, adoption and out right thievery. Antiquated times saw Alexander name a library after himself, and Pythagoras take claim for a mathematical theorem that was obviously used thousands of years prior to his birth as evidenced via the construction of pyramids in Egypt. In modern times, the same can be said of jazz and Blues and even Rock music.

Now, it seems nothing is sacred, not even the collective experience of being a descendant of Africa in America - not even in south central LA. If you have not heard by now, "Margaret B. Jones” whom we have come to find out is really Margaret "Peggy" Seltzer recently published a book. Reviewers raved about the book called Love and Consequences, a memoir by Margaret P. Jones. NPR described it as being about “a half-white, half-Native-American foster child growing up in the gangland milieu of Los Angeles.” Unfortunately Seltzer was raised by her birth parents in the suburbs around Orange County, California. This where she grew up and attended the best private schools (Episcopal day school) that loot could purchase. In addition, she has never lived with a foster family as she claimed nor did she ever run drugs for any gang members let alone belong to the Bloodz. She even lied about where she went to college and her graduating at the University of Oregon, which she did not. She was exposed by her older sister days before being profiled in the New York Times.

And when she was busted, what did she say? “For whatever reason, I was really torn and I thought it was my opportunity to put a voice to people who people don’t listen to,” Ms. Seltzer said. “I was in a position where at one point people said you should speak for us because nobody else is going to let us in to talk. Maybe it’s an ego thing — I don’t know. I just felt that there was good that I could do and there was no other way that someone would listen to it.”

I only read what I could online before they took the book excerpt offline. I tried to find her myspace page but it is gone too. But one section talks about, her African-American foster brothers, Terrell and Taye. They supposedly joining the Bloodz when 11 and 13 years old as well as how she got her first gat as a gift when she was 13. The catch is she did all this dirt s she could save to get a cemetery plot – LOL. Oprah couldn't ever tell, which is scary on several accords to me.

Before she was exposed to be a faker, her publisher Penguin Group released an interview on their web site with the author. It was also included in press kits. I just selected this to hope that u laughed as hard as i did.

Q: How did this book originate?
A: During my senior year of college one of my professors told me a friend of hers was working on a book and wanted to interview me. I declined. I wasn’t interested in the whole “South-Central-as-petting-zoo” thing. Then my home girl said the teacher might mess around and fail me for rejecting her friend, so I ended up calling the author and doing the interview. She was real nice and asked me if I had ever written anything. I ended up giving her one of a number of short stories I had written for my brothers’ kids and for the kids of my homies serving life sentences. ...
Q: What makes the difference between someone who is able to move up and on and out of the inner city and someone else who follows the trajectory into crime, juvenile detention, prison, and so on?
A: I wish I knew. I’ve got my homeboy who’s doing life who wrote me, “You and OG homie are the only ones who made it out.” Well, OG homie is now locked up. And I can’t even judge.

LMAO now

Q: What was the scene that affected both of you so much
A: It was the scene in which my little sisters and I were walking home from the Korean grocery store and Nishia dropped a carton of milk. It burst open and the milk streamed into the gutter. She burst into tears, begging me not to be mad as she stooped down trying to scrape it all back into the broken carton. I told her I wasn’t mad. But I was. That was a half-gallon of milk wasted and two dollars gone. Even now, as an adult, just thinking about that—thinking about the choices you were given as a child that weren’t kid choices—makes me want to cry. ...


Q: You were 16 when you cooked your first batch of rock cocaine. What led you to do that?
A: Our water had been shut off because Big Mom couldn’t pay the bill. If your water is cut off social services is going to come and say it’s bad living conditions and take the kids out of there. Where I was was cool. I was with people who loved me. I didn’t want us to be split up so I was trying to be part of the solution. That meant bringing in money and getting the water turned back on. Once again that’s not a choice kids should have to make. I knew it was not right—cooking up rock. I knew I was contributing negatively to the community. But the water got put back on the same day. The reward was there. To go from wearing third generation hand-me-downs to wearing name brand everything—when you’re a kid that stuff matt

Guess I can’t blame her, well yes I can. Although for a white person to write a book on African American culture, all they need is a few hip hop cd’s, Menace to Society, maybe even the Wire (but I aint never seen that show) and maybe a week of listening to urban radio to have the language down pact. At least they pulled the book. But then again we all make mistakes, i mean who know black folks and how we live better than white folks.

What gets me is that it is easier for a white person, more accurately a Valley Girl that claims living the experiences of being black to get a book deal with a major imprint than an actual person like me – who lives and get “well your writing is unrealistic, no one wants to read about black men who think like philosophers.” True story. Sad thing was that she sold and sold. Guess this is just a simple pagan ritual, not for all but for some, who cant think or create in their own, sure she had creative writing classes, just like Pythagoras may have had a ruler, but neither of the two lived what they created.