Ebony L. McCline
GMO's Senior Editor Ebony L. McCline received her B.A. in journalism from Northern Illinois University and her master’s in journalism from Columbia College Chicago. She's been writing for GMO for two years. The Chicago-native enjoys writing about almost anything, but since she also has a passion for music, writing reviews of albums has become one of her favorite past times. Aside from GMO, Ebony freelances for a variety of publications and volunteers in her community.
“I need new music!”
I sent that text early this morning to a close friend. Of course the response was laughter in the form of “LOL” but I was dead serious. It’s no laughing matter as far as I’m concerned.
At a time when Teen Mom and 16 & Pregnant are all the “rage,” it can sometimes feel as though teenage pregnancy is not only glorified, but is a form of entertainment. While these shows shed light on some pertinent issues that teenage parents––specifically mothers––endure, they also, in many instances, show teenage fathers in a “not-so-good” light.
“One thing about music, when it hits you feel no pain...” -Drake
It’s a new generation, right? We’re in a time that is deemed more progressive, innovative, and just simply more advanced. Instant gratification has taken on a whole new meaning with many different forms of technology, and when it comes to child birth, the same is true. Just like with many other aspects of their lives, women are becoming more independent than ever; some choosing to even start families on their own because they’re tired of hearing their biological clock ticking, while others seek artificial insemination because it’s the last resort.
From the moment young girls are able to understand the true meaning of a fairytale ending, they become obsessed with the notion that Prince Charming is out there somewhere waiting for them. In kindergarten, it may have been the boy who sat next to you in class that always teased you, but deep down you thought he may be the one. Now, 20 years later, you realize you have to kiss many frogs in search of your prince.
At a time when quality movies are few and far between, it seems directors and writers alike score big when they adapt movies from best-sellers, especially those with “wacky” story lines or futuristic settings. In a few short weeks, avid readers and fans of Suzanne Collin’s The Hunger Games get to see the written word transform into color on the big screen.
From tracking the hottest fashion fads to mimicking the looks of celebrities, fashion has always been a hot topic of discussion. Whether you’re fortunate enough to dawn handbags and shoes that are worth more than two months’ rent or you have just enough funds to look fab on budget, people of all ages have a genuine interest in looking good when they step out of their front door.
Television plays such a huge part in the majority of people’s lives. If we’re not in front of the TV during “primetime,” I would bet my life that we will catch our shows at a later date, whether online or on TV, courtesy of DVR. So, what has us so addicted to the “tube”? Some may argue that it’s reality TV that has taken over, but I still contend that sitcoms, dramas, and shows of the sort still reign supreme, primarily because they keep us guessing and asking the age old question: does art imitate life or does life imitate art?
Gone are the days when you sit by your home phone just waiting for a guy to call, either to set up a date or to follow-up after what you deemed the “perfect” evening shared between two people. Forget that your “house phone” didn’t have caller ID and maybe not even call waiting. So, not only would you not be able to identify when he was calling, there was also the possibility that you could actually miss the call because someone else in your home was on the line. Perhaps your sister was on the phone while “Mr. Right Now” was getting the sound of a busy signal on the other end.
Very few things touch my heart more than hearing real Hip Hop from someone who grew up on the same exact streets as I did. Somehow, when you have that connection, the lyrics, the metaphors, and the beats seem to touch a deeper part of the soul than it would if it was just some one-hit wonder from any city other than Chicago. I know, it may be a tad bit biased, but all of the above happens whenever I listen to Common’s ninth album, The Dreamer, The Believer.