[kcifeanyi]

Just a few words...

Hey everyone,

I haven’t been able to adequately put into words how I’ve been feeling lately.

The phrases “I’m so tired” and “I’m still processing” have pretty much been all I can muster. But I feel odd not saying anything at all. I’ve never really been one for a hot-take (not in written form, anyway). Plus, I ran through the gamut in my mind of, “what can I possible say that hasn’t been said one million times before?” and “my social media presence and platform isn’t that huge, so will it make a difference?”

Well, because the systemic oppression and blatant murder of Black people is a tune America refuses take off repeat, I’m ok with adding one more thought to the million before mine. And I’m actively thinking of videos, articles, podcasts, etc. that I can do to leverage Fast Company’s larger platform than mine (I have some thoughts already but please hit me up if you have some as well). But in the meantime, this small audience of mine will do. And in this audience, I’d like the white people to step forward. I know y’all are nervous already, but we need to have a talk.

If you’re a white in my life—and I know plenty of you—I beg you, please continue (or start) the work of addressing your privilege (triggered, I know) and unpacking how that privilege contributes to this very broad spectrum of racism.

That is what I don’t want to ever get lost in these conversations.

I believe so often certain white people live in a false sense of comfort, thinking they’re not racist because they would never shoot a Black person jogging in their neighborhood or they couldn’t possible dream of kneeling on the neck of a Black person for a whole 8+ minutes until they—you guessed it—died. That is great. Continue to not do those things—I implore you.

However, racism is also dismissing a person of color’s experience with what they know is racism.

Racism is absolutely getting unnecessarily lost in the semantics of saying, “well, don’t you agree that ALL lives matter?” You know what we mean when we say Black Lives Matter. Stop it.

Racism is thinking that only bad things happen to “those” kind of Blacks. And let’s pull over here for a second.

I have never been quiet in acknowledging my own privilege in coming from a decent family and scraping my way up to and through an Ivy League institution. I know that it’s practically a miracle that growing up in Louisiana, I only experienced two incidents of overt racism: 1) not going to my junior prom because my date’s mom didn’t want her daughter going with a Black person; and 2) being called a nigger in a drive-by racism while playing tennis.

I know that, to some whites, because I talk a certain way or dress a certain way, that I’m somehow less “threatening,” or they don’t worry about me because the cops would never stop-and-frisk me, or wrestle me to the ground just because they felt like it. But not once have I ever fooled myself into thinking I’ve somehow pimped the game and I’m above racism.

Dear God, no—not for one second.

Black people—all Black people—should be able to exist without the threat of their extinction, no matter how they dress, walk, talk, present, whatever. And if you think an itchy-finger Karen would daren’t call the cops on someone like me or another version of me in your life, you’re wrong.

I know so many of you immediately shut down when you hear the word “privilege.” You feel guilty. You feel like someone just framed you at the scene of a burning cross on someone’s lawn. But, it begs repeating, racism is a very broad spectrum. And it can only be dismantled if you start to have these hard conversations with yourself—and, just as importantly, with the other whites in your life.

It’s ok if you’re confused, white people. It’s ok if you’re frustrated and feel like there’s nothing you can do. But now (or ever, really) is not the time to make something like this about you. If you find a Black person with the patience to sit you down and go over all of this in detail, consider yourself blessed. Hell, I think I got the ball rolling in some way. You’re welcome.

But it’s 2020 and we’ve been through this for literal centuries. There are think pieces, documentaries, TV shows, narrative films, books, in-depth articles, and more breaking it all down for you.

Do your homework.

I’ll even help you again by resurfacing some links I’ve come across:

“Anti-racism resources for white people” “White Supremacy in the Age of Trump”

Again, you’re welcome.

And if you have it in your budget, please donate. So far, I’ve given to the ACLU, National Bail Out, and Black Lives Matter.

I hope all of the above makes sense. I’m writing this with my brain oddly on fire and empty at the same time. And if it’s me just repeating what you’ve already heard or seen on your timelines for the past couple of days, well, maybe that’ll show you how important this is.

[kcifeanyi]

View this post on Instagram

the happy birthday song is finally in the public domain after decades of litigation and people shelling out thousands of $$$ to use it. so what do i do? BELT THAT SHIT OUT TO A BUNCH OF FAMOUS ASS PEOPLE. full video at fastcompany.com/videos #mostwonderful #happybirthday #HBD

[kcifeanyi]

Come Again? "Private Dancer" by Tina Turner

LYRIC:

"Deutschmarks or dollars American Express will do nicely, thank you..."

American Express, Tina? As high-class as you come off in this song, anyone in your chosen profession will tell you that the only plastic in "adult lounges" or wherever the hell you're dancing privately should be in dem tittays, i.e. CA$H ONLY. So I'm guessing you're in want of some Tip Drill action, yes?

[kcifeanyi]

On a Loop: "Money"

A random YouTube-related-video find--all I can say is "approved." This strikes me as a song that would somehow be reduced without the video. Now that the visuals are scorched into my brain, I can happily say that this is ON A LOOP [cue whatever sound FX would fit when you say the name of what you're watching or reading...like "now let's play "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" *doodly doo da duuuummmmm* *DRAMATIC LIGHTS DIM LIKE SHIT'S ABOUT TO GET REAL*...yeah, that kind of sound FX]

[kcifeanyi]

Dear Kid Cudi...

...I hate you. Granted, you'll probably never read this, but you should know that I was here first--not technically, of course. You were in this world three years before I. However, in my own world (and we all know it's the only world that matters of the two) I was here first. You don't have to tell me that doesn't make sense--I know it doesn't. But I'm over it all at this point. You want to know why I'm tirading all over your everything right now, Cudi? Because you've snatched my identity and I do not like it--at all. Ever since you became relevant, my face has been held to yours in comparison:

"You know who you look like?!"  "Oh, shit! Dude, you know who you look like, right?"  "Um, has anyone ever told you you look like..."

Kid motherfuckin' Cudi.

Are there worse people to be compared to? Oh, abso-goddamn-lutely (more on this later) But the fact remains that I barely see it. But let other people tell it and you and I popped out of the same womb and the same damn day:

It should be noted that you're not alone on my shit-list--the likenesses of many others have been put forth as my undeniable doppelgänger. Let's run down the list, shall we?

DJ Lance Rock: A woman actually suggested I do kids' parties as this guy. I may not have much dignity, but I can scrape up enough to perish that thought. This used to be the No. 1 comparison--you now hold that title, Cudi. Good for you.

Orlando Jones: I don't even know where to start with how off this one is. 

President Barack Obama: See what happens when I roll up to the White House and try to convince everyone I'm POTUS....but could you imagine if I was?! ...like giving a madman carte blanche.

D.L. Hughley: Nope.

You might ask yourself, "Why get riled up over all this? People get compared to celebrities all the time." True, Cudi. But has anyone ever stopped to think what's really behind these comparisons? Whether people know it or not, it's more than face-deep. More so with strangers who are really the source of all this doppelgängering, your identity is formed, cooled and hardened before someone actually gets to know you. It's projecting not only the looks of someone on who's essentially a blank slate--personalities, characteristics, the whole bit are wrapped up in it all. Suddenly, I'm expected to have your "swagger," Cudi. And let tell you something, I don't--I really, really don't. Of course, the half-glass-full mentality would be, "Kid Cudi is 'ight--decent music, hasn't made an ass of himself yet in the rap game (Dear Kanye...) and hell, bitches be all up on him!" ...I'm just not a half-glass-full kinda guy. 

For someone like me who's forever a champion of individuality, having my identity cribbed upon ain't kosher. Not to mention, I find it a touch lazy on some people's parts. Notice how you and everyone above are of a certain hue? It's as if doppelgängering (I'm making this an official word, by the way) begins with what can be assumed is the most important thing: race. Thankfully, there are people who've restored my faith in doppelgängering. Color me surprised when someone said I looked like Buddy Holly:

"It's not even the glasses thing. It's just...something about you." The doppelgängering of an aura? I'll take it. 

Or even Aleksandr Pushkin:

"It's a little of the sideburns, but it's really your profile and even your hair!" A big ass stretch here, but fuck it: A+ for originality. I know for as long as you're around, Cudi, the comparisons will keep coming in--and to some degree, I've learned to live with it. Like I said, when people doppelgänger me to you, it's always followed by, "...but it's a good thing!" and I'm sure it is. For all I know, you and I could be total besties if we ever met--a regular Frick and Frack (or Brick and Black?) like the world has never seen! But for now, all I want is my identity back. Sincerely yours,  KC P.S. - IT DOESN'T FUCKING HELP THAT YOU JANKED MY INITIALS TOO, CUDI...OR SHOULD I SAY SCOTT RAMON SEGURO MESCUDI.

[kcifeanyi]

Facing Death Through Art: Works from Keith Haring, Freddie Mercury, and Fred Hersch

        [...] Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life. This results not merely from Life’s imitative instinct, but from the fact that the self-conscious aim of Life is to find expression, and that Art offers it certain beautiful forms through which it may realize that energy. – “The Decay of Lying” (1891) For an artist, there’s no richer source of inspiration than life itself. In his essay “The Decay of Lying,” Oscar Wilde posits the theory that it’s life’s intrinsic desire to seek out forms of expression with the varying media of art as worthy outlets. That said, how an artist chooses to represent his life or, in some cases, his life at the brink of death should be considered. By its very nature, life is a fixed entity in the sense that it’s an irreversible progression—a series of moments influenced by internal decisions and external factors that form a continuous line. And when that line is fractured by an illness as historically misunderstood and stigmatizing as HIV/AIDS, the concept of life imitating art becomes far more complicated. Suddenly, you’re confronted with death not as a distant possibility but as something almost tangible. An artist who finds himself acutely aware he’s on an accelerated track toward death will undoubtedly view his life vis-à-vis his art in a different way, which can certainly be said of painter Keith Haring, Queen front man Freddie Mercury and jazz composer and pianist Fred Hersch. To be sure, all three artists have a wide body of work that have and will make up their legacies. However, to address that fractured line, it’s imperative to narrow the focus on their works made specifically in response to their illnesses, namely “Unfinished Painting,” “The Show Must Go On” and “My Coma Dreams,” respectively. Looking at these works in particular is an insightful exercise in thinking about how art from marginalized groups is viewed from the outside, using arguably three of the most high-profile AIDS-infected artists in their fields whose works have mass appeal in and out of the gay community. With “Unfinished Painting” and “The Show Must Go On” debuting within a year of their creators’ deaths, analyzing the ideas behind these works means reading the clues woven throughout that give insight to two completely different frames of mind from a similar vantage point: Haring and Mercury both sensed they would soon succumb to AIDS, altering their view of life and their art. Hersch, however, has created a survivor’s tale. Obviously unaware he would fall gravely ill and be placed in a medically induced coma, Hersch gained the inspiration for “My Coma Dreams” after his sudden lapse into a period of abstract lucidity teetering between life and death and catching snippets of the world around him. By conceptualizing Haring’s graffiti painting, Mercury’s power ballad and Hersch’s work of jazz theater, the effectiveness of visual art, music and a combination of the two can be appreciated when relaying the emotions of those cognizant of death and others caught in a void. Heavy black lines frame part of the canvas and form the outline of shapes that are indeterminable at first but become more distinct with further study—silver squiggles, zigzags, and loops fill the spaces over a mauve hue. It’s a work very much in Haring’s signature style but there isn’t much to view seeing as how about three-fourths of it has been left purposefully blank. “Unfinished Painting” is visually arresting even without its context: the top left corner occupied with Haring’s busy graffiti work, uneven edges at the right and bottom of what’s been painted, and thin streams of purple paint crawling downward. But understanding Haring in his last year adds so much weight to what’s missing.

Haring exploded onto the New York City art scene in the 1980s with his cartoon-like graffiti art he tagged subway cars and platforms with before transferring to more traditional materials. Among his personal works, Haring also created art for causes and social issues he felt strongly about including South African apartheid (“Free South Africa,” 1985), gay rights (National Coming Out Day logo, 1988) and drug abuse (“Crack is Wack,” 1986). For all his advocating for AIDS awareness and safe sex, Haring died of AIDS-related complications in 1990 at the age of 31. Haring’s life, burdened with a condemning illness and all its social and physical implications, found a means of expression through “Unfinished Painting,” a work that suggests feelings of isolation and the sometimes harsh brevity of human existence. Of the shapes outlined in his heavy, black strokes are three human-like figures—only one of which, however, is fully intact. The white space of the canvas appears to be erasing Haring’s livelihood that is his art, as well as the other two partially visible figures that could represent the numerous friends he lost to AIDS in the 1980s. The “person” left whole can be seen as Haring holding out against what was then considered an inevitability of death. Yet another interpretation might speak to the title of the work—Haring giving a poignant dramatization of an artist struck down in the middle of painting with still-wet acrylic caught mid-streak. “Unfinished Painting” doesn’t leave much room for hope against the magnitude of AIDS. That shouldn’t imply Haring gave up on living his life—his journal entries in the year before he died were filled with trips to Europe and a growing friendship with Gil Vazquez—but “Unfinished Painting” captures a profound level of melancholy for and resignation to the AIDS epidemic. Haring’s use of visual art to convey such a sentiment takes his work to a level of abstraction that can be contrasted with a medium more straightforward in its tone and message—there’s no one way to package what it’s like to be dying from AIDS and also no one outlook of it as evidenced by Queen’s “The Show Must Go On.” Written by Mercury and guitarist Brian May, “The Show Must Go On” appears on Queen’s last album with Mercury, 1991’s “Innuendo,” and is a telling account of his debilitating struggles with AIDS. However, the structure of the song and its lyrics give a sense of accepting the circumstances yet wanting to persevere regardless. A pulsating synthesizer beat provides a somber foundation that’s built upon with drums and electric guitar with Mercury’s intense vocals grounding the power ballad in his aching reality: The show must go on. (x2) Inside my heart is breaking; My make-up may be flaking, But my smile still stays on.

Background vocals trickle in during the second verse, but it’s not until the second chorus, amplified in full effect by the rest of the band, that one can infer the symbolism of the song’s structure as offering relentless support for Mercury and assuring that the legacy he helped create with Queen wouldn’t die with his passing. Even the song’s fade out with “go on” repeating softly can be read as Mercury’s vitality not fading either until death becomes a certainty—a different perspective of the future from Haring’s at the point of a life’s fractured line. Haring captures a tinge of bitterness in “Unfinished Painting” while Mercury fights to hold on in “The Show Must Go On,” but what’s interesting about both works is that neither refers to nor mentions HIV/AIDS directly. Any interpretations of Haring and Mercury creating works based on their illnesses at the time would stem from the prior knowledge they were even infected. Although both men were openly gay, they weren’t necessarily so open to the public with the state of their health. By stripping their art of any overt references to AIDS, Haring and Mercury skirted the “victim” label and created works that could be appreciated on a more universal level. “Unfinished Painting” and “The Show Must Go On” are still highly personal, but Haring and Mercury allow their artistry and respective messages to come through without limiting their works to being just “AIDS art”--a similar point of view among some artists today like Fred Hersch. As one of the most innovative jazz pianists and composers today, Hersch, a three-time Grammy Award nominee, has created pieces as a soloist and with his trio that push the already-loose limits of jazz composition to farther distances. In collaboration with writer and director Herschel Garfein, Hersch created “My Coma Dreams,” a multimedia production that incorporates visual elements, jazz compositions and theater to tell the story of when Hersch, who has AIDS, suffered a severe case of pneumonia in 2008 and had to be placed under a drug-induced coma. While unconscious, Hersch had a series of vivid dreams that serve as the inspiration behind his work. Stage actor Michael Winther assumed the roles of Hersch’s partner Scott, one of Hersch’s doctors and Hersch himself—a sort of meta experience seeing as how Hersch was the pianist for the production. On the topic of creating personal art with universal appeal, there is only one mention throughout the 80-minute show of Hersch having AIDS—a reference that Garfein actually scaled back to a single use of the phrase “HIV-positive” in the script. Though the stigma against AIDS today has reduced dramatically from how it was perceived in the 1980s and 90s, “My Coma Dreams” doesn’t lead with Hersch’s disease—rather the strongest theme seems to focus on the relationship between Hersch and Scott. As an accomplished composer and pianist, Hersch could’ve effectively conveyed his experience strictly through music. However, the addition of photos and animation, as well as the scripted content from Garfein, creates an experience discrete from the other works in this discourse: Essentially, half of “My Coma Dreams” is detached from a conscious mind while the other half is seen through creative filters outside of Hersch’s control.

Unlike “Unfinished Painting” and “The Show Must Go On” which were both conceived from that fractured life line looking ahead to the finality of AIDS, “My Coma Dreams” was created in retrospect from the viewpoint of someone who came close to death and had only abstract, and sometimes lucid, dreams to show for it. What Hersch experience in his coma is certainly a part of his life seeking an artistic means of expression, but “My Coma Dreams” takes a holistic approach to this episode—that is to say, representing what Hersch wasn’t conscious to observe. Winther’s performance as Scott, though well researched by Garfein, is still two deviants from how Hersch might have envisioned his partner in a solo composition: 1) Garfein’s characterization of Scott through a stylized lens and 2) Winther’s delivery of Garfein’s creation. This isn’t to critique Hersch’s approach of making “My Coma Dreams”—collaborations of this kind are nothing new—but it’s to consider the alternative of how this incredibly personal event in his life could’ve been executed had he gone it alone (like Haring) or even collaborated with someone he’s known and worked with for more than 20 years, (like Mercury and Queen). Life at the edge of death is a fate many people prefer not to think about. But life at the edge of death for an artist provides a unique opportunity for expression, pulling from a range of emotions at the thought of imminent mortality. When artists of Haring, Mercury and Hersch’s caliber and broad appeal are faced with an illness like HIV/AIDS, the work produced carries heavier implications of continuing to reduce the stigma of the disease. Although HIV/AIDS isn’t explicitly mentioned in “Unfinished Painting,” “The Show Must Go On,” “My Coma Dreams” that omission makes these works all the more powerful in universal qualities.

[kcifeanyi]

On a Loop: "New Thing"

This may just be a promo for Prabal Gurung, but can someone please tell me when Rye Rye's album is gonna drop? I feel like I've been cockteased for a solid year TWO SOLID YEARS and some change.

If you haven’t heard of this pint-sized ball of ghetto-fab rapping  awesomeness, here's a wee bit of background on her. Rye Rye (née Ryeisha Berrain) was the first artist signed to M.I.A.’s label N.E.E.T. after piquing the “Paper Plane” singer’s interest with her 2006 club hit “Shake it to the Ground” featuring DJ Blaqstarr. M.I.A. even took the then high school student on her 2007 KALA Tour, introducing her fan base to Rye Rye’s rapid-fire rhymes and insane dance moves straight from Baltimore’s hip-hop club scene. Although Rye Rye’s first album Go! Pop! Bang! has seen some major delays (like, supposed-to-be-released-in-2009-and-still-there’s-no-definite-date kind of delays), the rapper’s two singles have given listeners a delicious taste of what to expect. “Sunshine” featuring M.I.A. has a lackadaisical, down-tempo beat laced with snappy handclaps and an infectious string of “dum, dum, dums” that defies you not to get with the shoulder bouncing. Robyn lends her vocals—and the chorus of her own single “Be Mine!”—to Rye Rye’s break-up anthem “Never Will Be Mine.” With Rye Rye’s throwback flow and hard-to-define genre (imagine if hip-hop had a baby with pop and electronica was its mistress), Go! Pop! Bang! promises to be an album that can be appreciated by anyone looking to work it out on the dance floor…that is if it’s ever released.

[kcifeanyi]

I Ran...I Ran (Not) So Far Away

I tried to capture a heroic shot of me in action, but I just wound up looking like an amputee with billowing shorts.

I had to mind fuck myself into doing it, but I did it: I went jogging this morning. It definitely wasn't a pretty sight in the least (by the time I finally hit my stride I was hocking up loogies the size of golf balls) but dammit I did it. Last night, I tweeted this so I would feel obligated to make good on my declaration:

...and it worked. By the grace of jogging Jesus I awoke this morning--completely rested, mind you--at 6:40 a.m. Clothed, stretched, and ready, I hit the pavement with my haphazardly prepared "Jogging Mix." Here's a break down of what was in my ears and in my head:

1. "All of the Lights" - Kanye West: Oh, shit! I'm actually finally jogging! Now, you've never been jogging in this neighborhood before so try not to stick out, KC. Yes, you're black but from what you've been told all your life you're not "black, black," so stay sharp, cadet, and blend in. Blend in? Probably shouldn't have worn this lime green shirt and orange knit cap, then. I feel like I'm running weird...am I running weird? Fuck. I'm running weird. That lady by the church just gave me a look I'm reading as, "Ooh, chile. Mmm, mmm, mmm." 2. "Bird Flu" - M.I.A.: You know what? I'm lasting longer than I thought! I'd high-5 myself right now but I've got my phone in one hand and my keys in the other. Why am I holding my keys again? Right. I didn't want them jingling in my butt-pocket, drawing unwanted attention...fucking lime green shirt. Wait...did I...oh, yes the hell I did! I just hit my stride. Ok, see now this feels right! 3. "Bruises" - Chairlift: Fuck yes! 4. "Butter" - The Bloody Beetroots: So, this pain in my chest is probably nothing, right? Right. Shit, need to get rid of this brewing loogie. Done. Gross. Please, no one judge me. Another loogie? Ok, KC, spit inconspicuously -- there are people at that corner deli. And you totally just made the hocking noise. Brilliant. 5. "Countdown" - Beyonce: Not now, Beyonce. 6. "I Gotta Feeling" - Black Eyed Peas: I got a fucking feeling I'm turning the hell around. Why is there bread on the ground? And why is one slice toasted?

7. "Like This" - Girl Talk: Here's the game plan: Walk until you see people, then start running again. Repeat until you're home. 8. "Mansard Roof" - Vampire Weekend: Home. Stairs. Why does this godforsaken hell trap NOT have an elevator? Steady, jelly-legs...steady. The last thing you need right now is to tumble down four flights of stairs and have the ambulance come and find you sprawled out in the lobby in a fucking lime green shirt...I'm never wearing this shirt again. 

[kcifeanyi]

Women of My Dreams: Coco Brown

Oh, Coco Brown ("Ms. No Tonsils" if you're nasty) why do I love you so? Is it your devil-may-care attitude? Perhaps it's those tatted up Swiss Rolls you call thighs? Or could it be that your "p*ssy so fresh like Listerine"? 

Try all of the above and then some.

I like a woman who's up front and honest about how she feels -- and doesn't get more up front and honest when you yell, "STICK YO FINGER IN MY BUTT AND MAKE THIS P*SSY NUT!!"

Mom, set an extra place at the table because I'm bringing this lovely angel home.

[kcifeanyi]

On a Loop: "Bad Girls"

I've given it a day, and I'm officially hooked.

M.I.A.'s last effort "MAYA" is still growing on me, but I'm totally digging her latest single "Bad Girls." I mean, the lyrics are nothing to write home about (#SoFuckingPunny) but she makes it work with that Middle Eastern beat and characteristic flow. 

[kcifeanyi]

Drink, Drank, Drunk: You Down with BBG?

I love bananas, but goddammit they suck. If they aren't THE most time-sensitive fruit I don't know what is. Maybe it's my apartment that stays just above broiling during the winter, but bananas tend to acquire a serious case of progeria in my kitchen. I bought a bunch earlier this week with the idea of making smoothies before work every morning...le sigh. The road to hell (and self-delusion) really is paved with good intentions. Before I knew it, it was Friday, just one smoothie had been made, and the once green gaggle of bananas was starting to look like Danny Bonaduce's face. I knew time was running out for those little guys, but I just got home from work and my body was calling out for a cocktail. And then it hit me...

SHA-DING, BITCH!

Why don't I make a blended cocktail with these ripe-ass bananas! If you're thinking I made some fruit-explosion of a daiquiri, you don't know me by now. [cue Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes] After a quick assessment of my fridge's contents, I came up with what I'm calling a BBG (blueberry, banana, gin -- #LazyBastard):

INGREDIENTS:

1 ripe-ass banana

3 tbsp. thawed or fresh blueberries (plus some of the juice if it's thawed)

Gin (didn't measure but it looked like a lot)

A few ice cubes

A few squirts of agave nectar

The juice of 1 lime

Seltzer

And a blender to...ya know...blend this stuff

Truthfully, I was a little leery of the banana and gin combo, but I have to say the blueberries and lime take a palatable front seat with the banana flavor doing its thing in the background. The seltzer was an afterthought, but boy-howdy-dammit am I glad I thought of it. Not only does it give this drink a nice fizzy kick, but it thins it out slightly, making it truer to a cocktail than a frozen concoction. I imagine this recipe would work well with vodka or rum, but gin tends to be my go-to spirit, and I think there's something that jives really well between it and the predominant blueberry taste. 

Not a bad way to get rid of dying bananas, no?