I would like to thank every artist who answered my questions, every writer who contributed their talents, and every reader who showed me love. TheCoolAid.com launched two years ago as a way for me to celebrate two of my strongest passions: entertainment and social responsibility.

This site was an opportunity to tell my own stories, create my own media, and shed light on the people and movements that mattered. And I had so much fun in the process. Although the vision and drive remain, my focus has been on other cool projects that I hope you’ll follow and fall in love with. TheCoolAid will undergo a complete re-design and re-direction in the coming year, but I hope you’ll continue to check out the great original content that came out of this amazing project.

Browse the Culture, Community, and Media sections, and feel free to send questions, comments, or ideas to: info@thecoolaid.com.

In the meantime, if you’re looking for freelance writing services, you can check out my online portfolio at AndreaBoston.com. If you’re looking for a good read, browse through my new girl-powered blog, ConcreteOrchid.com. Stay tuned for more project updates, and check back with us in the future.

All Love,

Andrea

Aside from the high school adventures of Archie and Jughead, I’ve never been much of a comic book reader or enthusiast. Last summer, while on a flight to Fort Defiance, AZ, I read an article in the New York Times about a new series set in Uganda that explores the country’s gruesome and violent 16-year civil war. Written by Joshua Dysart and published by an imprint of DC Comics, Unknown Solider explores the conflict and its influence through the eyes of protagonist Dr. Lwanga Moses, a Ugandan-born, United States-educated physician who returns to his home country in 2002, in the middle of the rampage led by the Lord’s Resistance Army.

Moses, who somehow gets caught up in the war, is depicted with bandages wrapped around his face—the result of hacking at himself to stop voices in his head. The author, who traveled to Uganda to conduct research for the series, notes that although the comic details violent encounters, many of the stories heard during his trip were just too gruesome to be included.

Unfortunately, since history is told from the perspective of the winners, my education of the Ugandan civil war is lacking. Our world history books and lessons only featured brief sections on ethnic groups residing beyond the borders of the US, and Uganda simply didn’t make the list. I’m interested in opening up a dialogue to learn more, and plan to visit Atomic Books in Baltimore this weekend to stock up on a few copies.

The latest installment, #19, was just published on April 28^th. A review to come…

The era of privacy is officially dead, and Joshua Harris, “the Warhol of the Web,” predicted it. This incredibly innovative, and equally twisted Grim Reaper was the subject of We Live In Public, a documentary released last year that eerily maps out our current relationship with the Internet—a decade before it all went down.

Sites like Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube—platforms that feed our culture’s desire for celebrity and recognition—were built from the bricks that Josh Harris constructed and ultimately destroyed. In the early ’90s, Harris knew that television programming would gravitate to the web, and that with just the right platform and encouragement, regular people would willingly cash in their 15-minutes of fame card, and even the rights to their lives, simply to be publicly recognized.

During the years of the dot.com boom and bust, Harris, a successful tech dude, saw the still-maturing World Wide Web as an incubator for experimentation and millionaire status. In 1994 he created Pseudo.com, which was the world’s largest original producer of streaming video programming at the time, featuring dozens of interactive shows. Long before high speed Internet, Pseudo.com helped solidify the Internet as the go-to destination of the youth. The market crash and subsequent crumble of early web startups forced Pseudo into bankruptcy, but Harris had already moved on, catapulted into freaky-genius mode using the Internet and the audience that he helped nurture, to stage public demonstrations of personal sacrifice that he considered art.

Harris’ first project, called Quiet, packed over 100 volunteers into Big Brother-style underground pods in New York City for 30 days. The documentary details the madness that unfolded when unsupervised, uninhibited adults (and even a random kid), were given as much food, drugs, and even guns as they wanted, all while being filmed, from every possible angle, every hour of the day. It was a bizarre live-action social network gone wrong.

Participant Steven Kaplan wrote in a blog post,

“We were also constantly on camera, producing our own flow of images. Anyone at the central control booth could watch as we ate, shat, argued, made art, fucked, etc. Theoretically, anyone in the bunker, at any time, could tune into anyone else in the bunker.”

Sound familiar? The idea of people volunteering intimate aspects of their lives to total strangers is nothing new. An extreme case of this open relationship with the public was displayed in Harris’ next project, another Big Brother surveillance experiment that documented the lives of Harris and his girlfriend—pre-MTV’s The Real World. 

In a recent interview, Harris insisted that in a few years, “We are going to demand ’self surveillance.’” 

Honestly, I fear those days. If privacy is dead, I desperately want to grab my shovel and dig it up. Resuscitate the days when “dirt” unfolded behind closed doors, between journal pages, or in trashy supermarket tabloids that people glanced in passing, but rarely took home. I often get tired of hearing the random thoughts that burst from people’s minds and onto social networks. Where you’re having lunch, your frustrations with men, the latest phrase your child recited, the amount of alcohol you consumed at the glamorous party last night, your insecurities, indecisions, loves, successes and frustrations —are all valid experiences and emotions. I must admit, I’m guilty of life-farting on Facebook as well. And some people’s life-farts I enjoy breathing in, but when you do you draw the line? At what point are you forced to tune out and turn off, because the virtual conversations are just too loud and too noisy? On the other hand, being a social media maven is pretty much a prerequisite for any modern-day profession, especially in media.

This is a complicated, but never-ending conversation. In the meantime, check the documentary.

M.I.A.’s new single, “Born Free,” is the kind of song that rattles your core. It’s the kind of music that makes you wanna shave your head, throw some punches, and take to the streets to fight the system.

Check the video to see what I mean:

M.I.A, Born Free from ROMAIN-GAVRAS on Vimeo.

Ill! from Rashid Zakat on Vimeo.

Filmmaker Rashid Zakat created this short documentary on “Philadelphia’s Most Respected DJ Crew,” the Illvibe Collective. As an undergrad youngin’ at Temple University, my friends and I would catch this five-person crew of turntablists/music magicians at a hole-in-the-wall spot called the Aqua Lounge on Girard Ave. (The owner was extra, extra cool and the energy was so chill. I officially rejected traditional nightclubs thanks to this place.) We would spend all night just having fun, and nodding, shaking, grinding, and two-stepping off the stress of finals and boyfriends. If you haven’t yet broken a sweat to these guys, watch the short film, download some music, and click here to find out where in Philly they’ll show up next.

There’s a magazine I started grabbing off the newsstand recently, and now, it kinda makes me sick. It’s a fashion and lifestyle publication that targets young women with flashy covers of recognizable white women in bright party dresses and wind-swept hair. 

As someone who’s kind of a tomboy, reading this magazine has served as a monthly reminder that I actually have a girly side. For the last 6 months or so, I’ve flipped through makeup tips, nail polish colors, and fashion trends that I’ll never follow or even purchase, but reading this stuff makes me feel like I’ve made some attempt to get glamorous. 

I always finish the magazine with a list of changes I’d like to make: try a new red lipstick; give high heels another chance; find my “signature fragrance.” But the real me always comes to the surface. To this day, I’ve yet to cross anything off this mental checklist. Truth is, I prefer Vaseline on my lips, comfy sneakers on my feet, and the strong smell of perfume makes me nauseous. I used to eat this magazine’s content like candy, daydreaming about a closet full of sparkly tank tops, figure-flattering pencil skirts, and “statement-making” jewelry.

Surprisingly, what made me toss this month’s issue in the trash, is not the fact that I have to skip over the entire hair section (the tips simply don’t apply to my kinky curls), or even that I have to breeze through the makeup pages (the “For Dark Skin Tones” suggestions are just too broad for the many hues of brown women). Nope, I’m actually accustomed to being excluded from magazines. I was a confused adolescent who grew up reading Teen, and YM magazines, where spotting a black girl in the issue was like catching a glimpse of the damn Loch Ness Monster.

What actually changed my mind was noticing the heavy, almost obsessive push to satisfy and attract the opposite sex. This magazine—from cover to cover—caters to the one thing young women have far too much of: insecurity. Insecurity about our bodies and how to use them, our facial features, and how to glam ourselves up to win the ultimate prize: a boyfriend who’s good enough to marry.

I can’t tell you how many articles I’ve read about pubic hair—the “To Wax or Not to Wax” internal debate. I’ve learned—and re-learned—that the most sensitive part of a man’s anatomy is the underside tip of his penis. I know how to have more sex, how to watch porn to enhance that sex, how to be more confident about sex, and how to anticipate what your man desires during that sex. I’ve learned that a man doesn’t care if your bra matches your panties, but then a few pages later see a sexy lingerie spread displaying beautiful La Pearla and Agent Provacateur thongs that are “sure to make his jaw drop.”

Who cares?

Does it make sense to pay $5.00 to a) feel like shit, and b) learn more about providing happiness to someone else? In a couple hundred pages of glossy ads and “flawless” models, I’m equipped with the proper tools to fix myself up to become more attractive to the world. I’m told how to be a sexier, smarter, better version of me—only that version has nothing to do with cleansing my thoughts and strengthening my spirit. It does, however, have everything to do with embodying a sense of self-hatred that keeps the beauty business booming.

I’m soooooo over it. Giving and sharing are wonderful acts of love, but my main concern right now is sharing the joy from within, not sharing my body simply to keep a man happy and in my bed every night. Sorry. It took me 6 months to realize that this magazine, and so many others, has it all wrong. Red lipstick and sparkly mini-dresses will do nothing to attract this ideal Prince Charming. It’s merely a cover-up, a disguise that hides, confuses, and discourages young women from being themselves. It’s impossible to “work what you got” if you have no idea what you have to begin with. I challenge women around the world, including myself, to look past the flashy covergirls and look within. Corporations can’t tell you how to be beautiful. That exciting job is entirely up to you.

Two friends introduced me to this orgasmic music paradise that’s crammed with endless rows of everything–classic rock, soul, reggae, electronica–on vinyl. You could literally spend days combing through the stacks of records, CD’s and movies, reminiscing over famous album covers, and even getting lost in the separate jazz room where Monk and Miles play over the loudspeaker.

Obviously, I was a kid in a candy store. I didn’t spend much time in Amoeba on my LA trip, but I got a chance to pick up these guys:

Teena Marie: It Must Be Magic

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Motown; 1981

I started appreciating, purchasing, and jackin’ classics from my mom’s collection several years ago. The goal is to hand-pick a library of artists and visionaries that rivals Questlove’s, and even this guy’s:

The Archive from Sean Dunne on Vimeo.

What are your favorite records? Discovered any new artists or albums lately?

Jullien Gordon wants to help you realize your purpose. Not an easy task I know, but one that this motivational teacher has been mastering for years. 

At only 27 years old, Jullien has already tucked some incredible accomplishments under his belt, earning two masters degrees from Stanford University and launching the Department of Motivated Vehicles (DMV), a thriving business designed to help people dedicate their lives to developing their passions. As an extension of this movement, Jullien just published his first two books, The 8 Cylinders of Success and Good Excuse Goals, and is preparing to host the world’s largest goal-setting movement on January 2^nd, replacing the traditional New Year’s Resolution with the New Month’s Resolution. 

Whew.

And that’s not even half of the innovations this young entrepreneur has developed. I had the pleasure of catching up with Mr. Gordon to get his thoughts on following your passions, sidestepping procrastination, building your brand, and stepping out on your own.

Listen to our conversation…

Tracee Worley observed this routine interaction at Laundromats across New York City, and witnessed its artistic potential. As one of this year’s Create Change resident artists for the community arts organization, The Laundromat Project, Worley created The Dirty Laundry Line, an interactive experiment designed to encourage interaction by inviting people to anonymously call a hotline to “air out their dirty laundry.”

Billed as “part confessional, part peep show,” The Dirty Laundry Line taps into the often-strange level of privacy found in such a public space.

“People usually keep to themselves, despite ample opportunity to interact with one another,” Worley said. “Yet hidden amidst this web of isolation lays a robust network of communication and exchange. NYC Laundromats, along with neighborhood cafes, barbershops, bodegas and lampposts, have become unofficial billboards for local communication. I wondered if this unofficial community bulletin space could be appropriated to provoke interactions amongst Laundromat customers.”

Launched this summer, the line has provided an open environment for some hilarious and well, honest, confessions. From workplace toothpaste pinching to the classic case of a cheating lover, callers have been letting it all hang out.

“I am surprised most by the overwhelmingly voyeuristic response to the line,” says Worley. “Since the line was created in August, hundreds of people have called, spending several minutes listening to messages that other callers have left, but do not record a message of their own. So while the line is certainly a space for exhibition, it has mostly been used as a voyeuristic space. Perhaps that speaks to the innate eavesdropping, Peeping Tom in all of us.”

Wanna listen or leave a message of your own? Visit the website to find out how, and get your neighborhood in on the action.

Don’t you just love hearing fresh, quality sounds that wake you up in the morning and get you amped to make the most of your day? Shout out to House of Jaz for linking me to the motivation soundtrack of the day, The Drawing Board, the spankin’ new release from the Jersey trio known as Brokn.Englsh. Hurry up and download the 14 tracks, check out the video for “Cherry Popper,” and leave your thoughts. Don’t know too much about these guys, but be on the look out for more coverage…