I did not write 100 posts this year. Well, I have in other places, but just not here on my blog.
I just wanted to post a quick howdy. I've been busy again--grading, working, shopping, visiting, and so I am just taking a quick breather before I fall into bed.
Tomorrow (technically today) is the end of the year. I can't say that this has been a terrible year for me. For others, it has been the pits. For me, it has been alright.
I had planned to post one of those end of the year round-ups, but the draft that I started is on a another computer. This might be one of those signs that I need a laptop or maybe a Blackberry like the rest of the modern world. My stationary home computer seems so 2003 (I think that's when I bought this). It was so revolutionary to get one of the first flat screens for the home office...now it seems like I have the equivalent of charcoal and cave walls for communicating. Maybe next year I'll join the 21st century with a Blackberry.
I had a good Christmas. In NYC, we celebrate on Christmas Eve, so I spent most of Christmas day in my pajamas. I love days like that. I can forget the fact that I am an overstressed adult most days of the year and just pretend to be a kid. It helps that my mother-in-law likes to cater to us when we visit.
Well, I should sign off now because it is past my bedtime. Ciao!
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Thursday, December 15, 2005
How Do I Know if I’m Really Black?
I could do a top ten list. I could stand next to someone and compare my skin tone and hair texture. I could look at my parents, the neighborhood where I grew up, and where I went to school. Or I could look in the mirror.
According to certain people, none of those actions matter if I don’t "keep it real", so depending who you ask, I am a suspicious case.
My people have a lot of issues regarding our collective self-image. We recognize that for the most part, black people are complex, just like white people. We are contradictory–we sometimes say one thing and mean something else entirely. We have strange relationships. We embrace our heritage, but then we sometimes run from it. We constantly strive to be more than how we are defined by the mainstream culture, yet we sometimes prefer those definitions in determining our comfort levels with each other. We abhor racism and discrimination, yet we also practice it.
So, just like white folks (and everybody else on the planet), we are human.
I initially planned to write about the drama taking place in Philly over the Eagles, but then I decided that the real conflict is not concentrated there, but it is anywhere black people live, work, play, worship, etc. This is a universal concern–who are we?
I’ve been upset by the forgiveness Terrell Owens has received from certain black leaders. I am offended by the criticism Donovan McNabb has received from some of the same folks. In our zeal to display "unity", we are quick to forgive some of our brethren for major transgressions, yet we are reluctant to understand others whose only sin is difference. This is the Colin Powell/Condoleeza Rice problem–these are the most powerful black people in the world, but we miss that because we are too busy hating on them for their political affiliation.
I harped on this same issue the other day when I railed against Christian intolerance. Black intolerance is equally troubling. As I read some of the blogs and message boards about the Philadelphia Story, they all reflect the internal conflicts we have concerning how blackness is defined. Must black always be the polar opposite of white? Are we so threatened by shades of gray that we must suppress it as soon as it appears?
Personally, I choose not to deal with such abstract concepts. I just want to be a good person. And many times, it is a lot harder to be good than to be black. Being black just is, while being good requires effort. How I express or represent myself is far more important to me. That's how I keep it real.
According to certain people, none of those actions matter if I don’t "keep it real", so depending who you ask, I am a suspicious case.
My people have a lot of issues regarding our collective self-image. We recognize that for the most part, black people are complex, just like white people. We are contradictory–we sometimes say one thing and mean something else entirely. We have strange relationships. We embrace our heritage, but then we sometimes run from it. We constantly strive to be more than how we are defined by the mainstream culture, yet we sometimes prefer those definitions in determining our comfort levels with each other. We abhor racism and discrimination, yet we also practice it.
So, just like white folks (and everybody else on the planet), we are human.
I initially planned to write about the drama taking place in Philly over the Eagles, but then I decided that the real conflict is not concentrated there, but it is anywhere black people live, work, play, worship, etc. This is a universal concern–who are we?
I’ve been upset by the forgiveness Terrell Owens has received from certain black leaders. I am offended by the criticism Donovan McNabb has received from some of the same folks. In our zeal to display "unity", we are quick to forgive some of our brethren for major transgressions, yet we are reluctant to understand others whose only sin is difference. This is the Colin Powell/Condoleeza Rice problem–these are the most powerful black people in the world, but we miss that because we are too busy hating on them for their political affiliation.
I harped on this same issue the other day when I railed against Christian intolerance. Black intolerance is equally troubling. As I read some of the blogs and message boards about the Philadelphia Story, they all reflect the internal conflicts we have concerning how blackness is defined. Must black always be the polar opposite of white? Are we so threatened by shades of gray that we must suppress it as soon as it appears?
Personally, I choose not to deal with such abstract concepts. I just want to be a good person. And many times, it is a lot harder to be good than to be black. Being black just is, while being good requires effort. How I express or represent myself is far more important to me. That's how I keep it real.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
The War on Being Different
It sucks to be a person of color in some countries because the white majority might try to kill you for merely being accused of doing something wrong. Sound extreme? Well, it’s happening in Australia right now.
It sucks to be a woman because if something happens to piss you off, then someone (a man, perhaps) might accuse you of being too emotional. If you get angrier, then you are accused of not being tough. If you decide to change tactics, then you are accused of being spiteful and vindictive.
It sucks to be anything but an evangelical Christian this time of year, because only evangelicals can lay claim to the good tidings of the season. If you are not evangelical, or are Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, etc., then you might as well have a scarlet “H” on your chest for heathen.
I am not white, male, nor am I an evangelical Christian, yet to be everything that I am—black, female, and a non-denominational progressive Christian is somehow offensive because I defy the “norm”.
I had no control over what I was born to be. My parents are black and the chromosome thing worked in favor of the girls’ team. But I can control my faith. Although I was born and baptized a Christian, I decided that after years of being told what to believe and how to practice those beliefs, I would finally think for myself. Then I rejected certain aspects of the ole time ‘ligion that was good enough for everybody else, so now I find myself out of the fold.
Oh well.
When did changing one’s mind become a crime? Isn’t this supposed to be a country that prides itself on religious freedom? Yet, if you say or do anything that is perceived to be contrary to “traditional values” then you might be hauled to the tribunal of public opinion and flogged for your transgressions.
It appears that the only way to be a good Christian these days is to agree wholeheartedly with George W. Bush. Or that the South was right all along. Or that people really need Hummers to carry all their stuff. Or that a city should erect a manger scene next to an inflatable Frosty the Snowman. Or that God should only bless America.
Cause if you don’t, then you’re headed straight to hell…in a hybrid car.
It sucks to be a woman because if something happens to piss you off, then someone (a man, perhaps) might accuse you of being too emotional. If you get angrier, then you are accused of not being tough. If you decide to change tactics, then you are accused of being spiteful and vindictive.
It sucks to be anything but an evangelical Christian this time of year, because only evangelicals can lay claim to the good tidings of the season. If you are not evangelical, or are Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, etc., then you might as well have a scarlet “H” on your chest for heathen.
I am not white, male, nor am I an evangelical Christian, yet to be everything that I am—black, female, and a non-denominational progressive Christian is somehow offensive because I defy the “norm”.
I had no control over what I was born to be. My parents are black and the chromosome thing worked in favor of the girls’ team. But I can control my faith. Although I was born and baptized a Christian, I decided that after years of being told what to believe and how to practice those beliefs, I would finally think for myself. Then I rejected certain aspects of the ole time ‘ligion that was good enough for everybody else, so now I find myself out of the fold.
Oh well.
When did changing one’s mind become a crime? Isn’t this supposed to be a country that prides itself on religious freedom? Yet, if you say or do anything that is perceived to be contrary to “traditional values” then you might be hauled to the tribunal of public opinion and flogged for your transgressions.
It appears that the only way to be a good Christian these days is to agree wholeheartedly with George W. Bush. Or that the South was right all along. Or that people really need Hummers to carry all their stuff. Or that a city should erect a manger scene next to an inflatable Frosty the Snowman. Or that God should only bless America.
Cause if you don’t, then you’re headed straight to hell…in a hybrid car.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Loose Ends
My birthday was on Monday. I am now 32, so I can stop anticipating the worse. My life is not over, and God willing, I'll get to see 33.
There I said it. "God willing..."
That is one of those statements that scream "I've gotten old." My grandmothers said it. I'm sure that my grandfather said it, and I know that my late uncle said it too. One day, I'll torture my children by saying it all the time.
I spent my birthday at work. I have a temp gig downtown, and I can set my own schedule. I had initially intended to spend this week preparing for trial, but I thought better of that and decided to spend the time earning money. You see, at the beginning of the week, I was scheduled to be in trial today. As of yesterday, I was technically fired from the case. So, it appears that I made a good call.
The other thing I did on my birthday was to buy a cup of coffee and actually put money in the tip jar. I think that whole concept of a tip jar at what is essentially a fast food place is silly. All the coffee people do is fill a paper cup (esp. in my case, since I rarely order the designer joe). Why should I tip them for that? But it was my birthday, and I wanted to do something nice for someone else. The guy got a dollar. Now he can afford a cup of coffee too.
The other thing I did was get my nails done. That was a waste, because clearly, it takes very little skill to paint one's nails. But because it was my birthday, and I never get manicures, I thought it would be a nice change of pace. Well, she spent about 20 minutes on me and then she abandoned me for some busy chick who was getting a pedicure. I tipped four dollars, so now she can buy herself a nice cup of designer coffee.
And that was that. The hub and I had lunch together, and then later he cooked dinner for me. It was a pretty cool day.
I don't think that birthdays make that much sense. Why should people make a fuss about their birthdays when the day should really be all about our mothers, the ones whose hard work made the day possible? All I did was show up, cry and poop. My mother deserves a medal just for cleaning that sh** up. The only thing I manage to accomplish every 5th is to stay alive (and cry and poop).
That sounds very cynical. I've been in that kind of mood lately. And God willing, I'll be just as cynical about my 33rd birthday.
There I said it. "God willing..."
That is one of those statements that scream "I've gotten old." My grandmothers said it. I'm sure that my grandfather said it, and I know that my late uncle said it too. One day, I'll torture my children by saying it all the time.
I spent my birthday at work. I have a temp gig downtown, and I can set my own schedule. I had initially intended to spend this week preparing for trial, but I thought better of that and decided to spend the time earning money. You see, at the beginning of the week, I was scheduled to be in trial today. As of yesterday, I was technically fired from the case. So, it appears that I made a good call.
The other thing I did on my birthday was to buy a cup of coffee and actually put money in the tip jar. I think that whole concept of a tip jar at what is essentially a fast food place is silly. All the coffee people do is fill a paper cup (esp. in my case, since I rarely order the designer joe). Why should I tip them for that? But it was my birthday, and I wanted to do something nice for someone else. The guy got a dollar. Now he can afford a cup of coffee too.
The other thing I did was get my nails done. That was a waste, because clearly, it takes very little skill to paint one's nails. But because it was my birthday, and I never get manicures, I thought it would be a nice change of pace. Well, she spent about 20 minutes on me and then she abandoned me for some busy chick who was getting a pedicure. I tipped four dollars, so now she can buy herself a nice cup of designer coffee.
And that was that. The hub and I had lunch together, and then later he cooked dinner for me. It was a pretty cool day.
I don't think that birthdays make that much sense. Why should people make a fuss about their birthdays when the day should really be all about our mothers, the ones whose hard work made the day possible? All I did was show up, cry and poop. My mother deserves a medal just for cleaning that sh** up. The only thing I manage to accomplish every 5th is to stay alive (and cry and poop).
That sounds very cynical. I've been in that kind of mood lately. And God willing, I'll be just as cynical about my 33rd birthday.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Ok, so now I've got something to say
Gosh, why didn't I just get a beer in the first place? Liquor loosens the tongue, but it also makes the fingers nimbler and it enables the mind to function slightly above normal levels of coherence. See, I'm not drunk, but just tipsy enough to be witty and creative.
I hereby declare that everyone in my family will receive either a tee shirt, a book or an Aerobed for Christmas this year.
Tee shirts are great because they are comfortable and guaranteed to be used at some point. Who can resist a retro tee, especially when everything that was cool in the 70s, bumpin' in the 80s and awesome in the 90s is hot again! Someone is getting the vintage Captain Kirk and someone else is getting a Wonder Woman shirt. If I find some School House Rock prints, its on!
Every year the hub and I spend hours at Target with a list of sizes for these ever-growing kids in the family. We usually do the right thing, but when we pause to remember the disappointment from our childhoods when aunts and uncles only gave us clothes, we cave into the pressure of remaining "cool" and dash over the the toy department to make additional selections. That era is over because they're all getting books and will be much smarter because of it. Dammit, I'm tired of low test scores attributed to brown children, and despite the fact that several of these kids are near-geniuses, I want to lay the groundwork for the bragging I plan to do at 50. Chapter books for kids older than 8 and pictural guides for everyone else. Hell, even the baby girls will get books!
Aerobeds are practical for people who have relatives who come to visit. The hub and I go to NYC about five times a year and someone has to host us (cause we are colored, and colored folks do not stay in hotels in cities where they have relatives). My kind mother-in-law gives up her bed for a few days, but the bed is so uncomfortable that if given the choice, I would rather sleep on the floor. So why not just get her an Aerobed so that I can do just that? And if one of the siblings wants us to spend time with the nieces and nephews, then the Aerobed solution still works well. Everyone over 40 gets one of those!
As for those obligatory gifts for people who aren't related to me by either blood or marriage, they'll get baked goods, ornaments or a bottle of wine.
See, all of my shopping is done!
Hey, I like Christmas and I love to shop, but I abhor the combination of the two. My tolerance for people and malls is at an all-time low this time of year (even as I contemplate a seasonal retail position for more cash...)
Listen and repeat after me: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS THE PERFECT GIFT, so save yourself some aggravation. Donate the money you would have spent on Chia pets and singing fish to the poor. That is the real meaning of Christmas. The rest of us don't care one wit what we get as long as it isn't a Chia pet or a singing fish.
Ok, if there is nothing more, I have to go because my beer is all gone now, and I suspect that my buzz will follow. Ciao!
I hereby declare that everyone in my family will receive either a tee shirt, a book or an Aerobed for Christmas this year.
Tee shirts are great because they are comfortable and guaranteed to be used at some point. Who can resist a retro tee, especially when everything that was cool in the 70s, bumpin' in the 80s and awesome in the 90s is hot again! Someone is getting the vintage Captain Kirk and someone else is getting a Wonder Woman shirt. If I find some School House Rock prints, its on!
Every year the hub and I spend hours at Target with a list of sizes for these ever-growing kids in the family. We usually do the right thing, but when we pause to remember the disappointment from our childhoods when aunts and uncles only gave us clothes, we cave into the pressure of remaining "cool" and dash over the the toy department to make additional selections. That era is over because they're all getting books and will be much smarter because of it. Dammit, I'm tired of low test scores attributed to brown children, and despite the fact that several of these kids are near-geniuses, I want to lay the groundwork for the bragging I plan to do at 50. Chapter books for kids older than 8 and pictural guides for everyone else. Hell, even the baby girls will get books!
Aerobeds are practical for people who have relatives who come to visit. The hub and I go to NYC about five times a year and someone has to host us (cause we are colored, and colored folks do not stay in hotels in cities where they have relatives). My kind mother-in-law gives up her bed for a few days, but the bed is so uncomfortable that if given the choice, I would rather sleep on the floor. So why not just get her an Aerobed so that I can do just that? And if one of the siblings wants us to spend time with the nieces and nephews, then the Aerobed solution still works well. Everyone over 40 gets one of those!
As for those obligatory gifts for people who aren't related to me by either blood or marriage, they'll get baked goods, ornaments or a bottle of wine.
See, all of my shopping is done!
Hey, I like Christmas and I love to shop, but I abhor the combination of the two. My tolerance for people and malls is at an all-time low this time of year (even as I contemplate a seasonal retail position for more cash...)
Listen and repeat after me: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS THE PERFECT GIFT, so save yourself some aggravation. Donate the money you would have spent on Chia pets and singing fish to the poor. That is the real meaning of Christmas. The rest of us don't care one wit what we get as long as it isn't a Chia pet or a singing fish.
Ok, if there is nothing more, I have to go because my beer is all gone now, and I suspect that my buzz will follow. Ciao!
Zzzzzzzzzzz...........
I can't think of a single thing to write about.
I thought about my upcoming birthday and the meaning of maturity. But that isn't very interesting or funny, is it?
I considered another pitiful lament about my chronically over-scheduled life. But you already know that, so why beat that horse to death?
I figured it might be cool to list all of the reasons why I love cable. But there is a show about that already called "Best Week Ever" on VH1.
I could rail about hip hop and its negative influence on our children, but the people to whom I would direct my comments do not read my blog (as does no one else, generally).
I could complain about how I have neighbors who actually put up Christmas decorations on Thanksgiving day. But I'm sure that there is someone out there who knows the idiot who put them out the day after Halloween.
Finally, I could heap ridicule on any number of people, but I'm so apathetic right now. I think it is best that I take a nap, and then perhaps, the next time I check in here, I'll have something worth the effort.
Nighty-night.
I thought about my upcoming birthday and the meaning of maturity. But that isn't very interesting or funny, is it?
I considered another pitiful lament about my chronically over-scheduled life. But you already know that, so why beat that horse to death?
I figured it might be cool to list all of the reasons why I love cable. But there is a show about that already called "Best Week Ever" on VH1.
I could rail about hip hop and its negative influence on our children, but the people to whom I would direct my comments do not read my blog (as does no one else, generally).
I could complain about how I have neighbors who actually put up Christmas decorations on Thanksgiving day. But I'm sure that there is someone out there who knows the idiot who put them out the day after Halloween.
Finally, I could heap ridicule on any number of people, but I'm so apathetic right now. I think it is best that I take a nap, and then perhaps, the next time I check in here, I'll have something worth the effort.
Nighty-night.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Nano Wrimo, or Drive Yourself Crazy
I was checking out other blogs the other day, which inspired me to sign up for National Novel Writing Month. I've written a grand total of 100 words. At least it is better than zero.
Initially I was not going to participate because I do not have the time. I still don't have the time. If nothing else, I will get about 10,000 words written and then I will leave the unfinished project on my hard drive for future generations to discover. That is precisely why I signed up. I need some incentive to get something finished.
Then I met someone who gave me even more inspiration, only it won't help me with my Nanowrimo committment. It is a completely different project, but at least I got started on that one. I was having a mimosa inspired chat with the brother of a friend, when I started in on one of my "mama" pep talks in which I have all of the answers for other folks' problems, but not a clue about any of my own.
And that got me to thinking about how I could get my sh** together and take some of my own advice. I just need a few days without someone else's crap in my lap to get my own stuff accomplished.
I know that my ADHD is in overdrive, and that I am way too over-extended for creative pursuits. But dammit, when will I ever have time for my agenda? If I want to be an artist, I have to devote time to my art, in much the same way I devote whole chunks of time to everyone else. I need to become more selfish.
It is nearly impossible to balance competing committments. On the one hand, I hear my inner voice urging me to blow off some steam by jotting down a few words here and there. On the other hand, I hear that ever-present clock ticking in my head, and despite my every attempt to ignore it, it never goes away.
So for the month of November, I am going to committ myself to finishing something of my own. It doesn't matter what it is, and while it probably won't be the novel, something is going to be printed, bound in a nice folder with a title on a label with my name written printed on it as the author. So help me!
Initially I was not going to participate because I do not have the time. I still don't have the time. If nothing else, I will get about 10,000 words written and then I will leave the unfinished project on my hard drive for future generations to discover. That is precisely why I signed up. I need some incentive to get something finished.
Then I met someone who gave me even more inspiration, only it won't help me with my Nanowrimo committment. It is a completely different project, but at least I got started on that one. I was having a mimosa inspired chat with the brother of a friend, when I started in on one of my "mama" pep talks in which I have all of the answers for other folks' problems, but not a clue about any of my own.
And that got me to thinking about how I could get my sh** together and take some of my own advice. I just need a few days without someone else's crap in my lap to get my own stuff accomplished.
I know that my ADHD is in overdrive, and that I am way too over-extended for creative pursuits. But dammit, when will I ever have time for my agenda? If I want to be an artist, I have to devote time to my art, in much the same way I devote whole chunks of time to everyone else. I need to become more selfish.
It is nearly impossible to balance competing committments. On the one hand, I hear my inner voice urging me to blow off some steam by jotting down a few words here and there. On the other hand, I hear that ever-present clock ticking in my head, and despite my every attempt to ignore it, it never goes away.
So for the month of November, I am going to committ myself to finishing something of my own. It doesn't matter what it is, and while it probably won't be the novel, something is going to be printed, bound in a nice folder with a title on a label with my name written printed on it as the author. So help me!
Friday, November 11, 2005
Vacations are for the Lucky
A lot of people are off from work today. I am not. I am working, although now I am taking a break to blog a bit before I dash off on another project. No rest for the weary.
Last night I worked until 11pm. I got to campus late and then spent an hour printing and grading assignments so that my students won't think that I am still three weeks behind--just a week and a half!
This blog offers me a bit of a vacation. I get to spout off on topics that have nothing to do with black history/civil rights, child custody, SAT prep or my alumnae association.
For example, I've been thinking about the pretty leaves that were just on the trees a week ago. They've started to fall, and it all seems so sad. Winter is around the corner. This year went by too fast. My parents got married 33 years ago today. My birthday is in less than a month. I just spoke to my best friend for the first time in weeks. I spoke to my other best friend the other day for the first time in months. I have another best friend whom I have not spoken to in a year. Some best friend I am...
See what just happened there? Back to the leaves! My hub is outside right now raking, on his day off, while I sit in front of the computer still in my pjs. It is way after noon and I need to get cleaned up before I go out. But that is one of the perks in working from home. No one ever knows that you aren't dressed. No one knows that you periodically take TV breaks because you need reasons to get away from the computer. No one knows that you sometimes work well beyond midnight because you spent half of the day trying to fix your printer. These things happen sometimes.
In these last crisp days of fall, I've been meaning to ride my bike, but I keep finding reasons to stay holed up in the house in front of the computer. I have ambitions of riding all the way into downtown. They may have to wait until Spring when the time change allows for more daylight. The time just changed last weekend, so now it gets dark at 5:30. It also gets cooler at night, so I've pulled out my sweaters and have prepared to bulk up for the winter.
OK, enough daydreaming. Time to get back to the real world. Thank you for taking this little trip with me. Bu-bye!
Last night I worked until 11pm. I got to campus late and then spent an hour printing and grading assignments so that my students won't think that I am still three weeks behind--just a week and a half!
This blog offers me a bit of a vacation. I get to spout off on topics that have nothing to do with black history/civil rights, child custody, SAT prep or my alumnae association.
For example, I've been thinking about the pretty leaves that were just on the trees a week ago. They've started to fall, and it all seems so sad. Winter is around the corner. This year went by too fast. My parents got married 33 years ago today. My birthday is in less than a month. I just spoke to my best friend for the first time in weeks. I spoke to my other best friend the other day for the first time in months. I have another best friend whom I have not spoken to in a year. Some best friend I am...
See what just happened there? Back to the leaves! My hub is outside right now raking, on his day off, while I sit in front of the computer still in my pjs. It is way after noon and I need to get cleaned up before I go out. But that is one of the perks in working from home. No one ever knows that you aren't dressed. No one knows that you periodically take TV breaks because you need reasons to get away from the computer. No one knows that you sometimes work well beyond midnight because you spent half of the day trying to fix your printer. These things happen sometimes.
In these last crisp days of fall, I've been meaning to ride my bike, but I keep finding reasons to stay holed up in the house in front of the computer. I have ambitions of riding all the way into downtown. They may have to wait until Spring when the time change allows for more daylight. The time just changed last weekend, so now it gets dark at 5:30. It also gets cooler at night, so I've pulled out my sweaters and have prepared to bulk up for the winter.
OK, enough daydreaming. Time to get back to the real world. Thank you for taking this little trip with me. Bu-bye!
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
On the Run
It has been ages, no eons, since I last posted something worth reading in this space. I have a few incompletes, which I hope to finish and post someday, but I thought that I would check in and jot down a few notes about what's been going on in my life lately.
AAARRGGGHHHHH!!!
Well, that's about it. I have clients, students, relatives and friends who are all pulling my strings these days. I either need a good pair of scissors, or I need to learn how to say no and really mean it.
In conclusion, I want to declare that I intended to participate in that November novel-writing thing, but given the craziness of my schedule, this post might be the sum total of my creative output this month. If I had not already committed myself for December, I would simply put it off for a month, but alas, that is impossible. Finally, a quick glance at my schedule indicates that I will not have time to write a novel until my kids are grown and out of the house.
Oh sh**, I forgot! I don't even have children yet... All those little people whom I've adopted into my extended family don't actually belong to me. My bad.
And that supposed job that someone called me about in July still has yet to materialize. I continue to be an over-educated, under-employed bum.
In spite of it all, I'm alright. I got a quick second or two to blog (and people are actually starting to read my musings, although I am concerned that my "fans" tend to have an affinity for porn and anti-depressants). What can I say?
Ciao!
AAARRGGGHHHHH!!!
Well, that's about it. I have clients, students, relatives and friends who are all pulling my strings these days. I either need a good pair of scissors, or I need to learn how to say no and really mean it.
In conclusion, I want to declare that I intended to participate in that November novel-writing thing, but given the craziness of my schedule, this post might be the sum total of my creative output this month. If I had not already committed myself for December, I would simply put it off for a month, but alas, that is impossible. Finally, a quick glance at my schedule indicates that I will not have time to write a novel until my kids are grown and out of the house.
Oh sh**, I forgot! I don't even have children yet... All those little people whom I've adopted into my extended family don't actually belong to me. My bad.
And that supposed job that someone called me about in July still has yet to materialize. I continue to be an over-educated, under-employed bum.
In spite of it all, I'm alright. I got a quick second or two to blog (and people are actually starting to read my musings, although I am concerned that my "fans" tend to have an affinity for porn and anti-depressants). What can I say?
Ciao!
Friday, October 21, 2005
Catching Up
I am really tired, so hopefully what I want to say will make sense. It has been weeks since I last logged a blog (funny ha) and I think it is a sign that this is either becoming a hobby or a habit.
I've been away for so long because my schedule is so tight that I barely have time to sleep. I should be asleep right now. There were so many ideas in the past few weeks, but now they are gone, so I thought that I would jot down a few here, and maybe I'll come back later on to see which ones are interesting. Here goes:
- The people on the local morning radio are idiots. This is why I like NPR. Some day, I'll join so that I won't continue to feel guilty about listening and not being a member.
- This morning, they were discussing the new dress code for the NBA, and then had the nerve to act surprised because several people called in and offered no sympathy for the whining millionaires who are complaining about wearing a suit to work.
- Then I spent most of the day at a sandwich shop and got treated very well by the staff. People can be very nice sometimes. I should have tipped him.
- Then I taught my class. I was a wreck this semester. In between the crazy commute and the blank stares, I guess I did okay.
- I bought some books with my educator's discount the other day at Borders (yes, I have ID to prove it, so I took the discount and the free coffee too). Then after reading one of the books I got, I decided to return it.
- In reading that paragraph again, I realize that I just read an entire book in less than one night... It's true, I really did that.
- On my way back home, I got stuck in traffic. There had been an accident, but thankfully no one looked hurt. People drive way too fast these days. That is why I drive a lot slower, even in the left hand lane.
- The other day, I finally saw the red fox that lives in my neighborhood. What was he doing in my neighbor's yard? Does he hunt at night, and if so, what does he kill?
- I haven't seen any deer in my neighborhood lately. Maybe the fox chased them away. I have seen rabbits, though. Do foxes eat rabbits?
- I saw one of my favorite movies tonight, "love jones". Have I thanked God enough for cable yet?
OK, now I'm really tired and I'm going to bed. Nighty-night.
I've been away for so long because my schedule is so tight that I barely have time to sleep. I should be asleep right now. There were so many ideas in the past few weeks, but now they are gone, so I thought that I would jot down a few here, and maybe I'll come back later on to see which ones are interesting. Here goes:
- The people on the local morning radio are idiots. This is why I like NPR. Some day, I'll join so that I won't continue to feel guilty about listening and not being a member.
- This morning, they were discussing the new dress code for the NBA, and then had the nerve to act surprised because several people called in and offered no sympathy for the whining millionaires who are complaining about wearing a suit to work.
- Then I spent most of the day at a sandwich shop and got treated very well by the staff. People can be very nice sometimes. I should have tipped him.
- Then I taught my class. I was a wreck this semester. In between the crazy commute and the blank stares, I guess I did okay.
- I bought some books with my educator's discount the other day at Borders (yes, I have ID to prove it, so I took the discount and the free coffee too). Then after reading one of the books I got, I decided to return it.
- In reading that paragraph again, I realize that I just read an entire book in less than one night... It's true, I really did that.
- On my way back home, I got stuck in traffic. There had been an accident, but thankfully no one looked hurt. People drive way too fast these days. That is why I drive a lot slower, even in the left hand lane.
- The other day, I finally saw the red fox that lives in my neighborhood. What was he doing in my neighbor's yard? Does he hunt at night, and if so, what does he kill?
- I haven't seen any deer in my neighborhood lately. Maybe the fox chased them away. I have seen rabbits, though. Do foxes eat rabbits?
- I saw one of my favorite movies tonight, "love jones". Have I thanked God enough for cable yet?
OK, now I'm really tired and I'm going to bed. Nighty-night.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Just a Quick Word from the Sponsor
It is late and I am really tired. I am swamped with work, and this week looks to be a doozy.
The two things I need are in short supply: time and money.
I need time to sort through the mess of a life that I am currently leading. I have papers to grade, comments to read through, chapters to read, and that is just what I have to do for tomorrow. I also have discovery to submit for the client who only hears every third word that I say to him. I still don't believe he's heard me, even though I've tried to make the third word count.
I need money to pay for the mess I've gotten my life into. Sallie Mae keeps coming up with new ways to upset me, yet she also keeps finding ways not to charge me late fees, so I shouldn't be too mad at her. She's only doing her job. No one told me to buy this fancy education.
Time and money. Money and time. And then there is sleep...
The two things I need are in short supply: time and money.
I need time to sort through the mess of a life that I am currently leading. I have papers to grade, comments to read through, chapters to read, and that is just what I have to do for tomorrow. I also have discovery to submit for the client who only hears every third word that I say to him. I still don't believe he's heard me, even though I've tried to make the third word count.
I need money to pay for the mess I've gotten my life into. Sallie Mae keeps coming up with new ways to upset me, yet she also keeps finding ways not to charge me late fees, so I shouldn't be too mad at her. She's only doing her job. No one told me to buy this fancy education.
Time and money. Money and time. And then there is sleep...
Friday, September 30, 2005
Its Bjorn Time!
Bjorn is the name of this kid who is, for now, my favorite reality TV star. My fascination with him began when he first appeared in a promo for "My Sweet Sixteen" on MTV a few weeks ago. I had to see him to believe him, and after watching his episode on four separate occasions, I must say that I love this kid because he is so blissfully unaware that he is a walking caricature at the tender age of 16. One can only imagine what he'll be like at 21.
"My Sweet Sixteen" represents all that has gone wrong with parenting after 1980. This show features the pampered, over-indulged children of the nouveau riche who have been raised to believe that they can have, do and be whatever they want. In Bjorn's case, it appears that he endeavors to be some sort of gay icon and his family seems totally okay with that. In fact they celebrate this occasion with a lavish coming out/sweet sixteen party fit for a queen.
Call me old fashioned, but most parents would be embarrassed to have a teenaged son who carries a Chanel purse and refers to himself as a "Divo." No one wants a gay child, not even gay people themselves. Of course, there is no way his mother named him Bjorn and expected him to be anything other than an interior decorator, a fashion designer, a hairdresser or a mimbo... (Wow, in case anyone comes across this piece, this is me writing from the future in 2020. What I wrote here is horrible, and though I have the power to edit it out, I won't. Instead, I am issuing a sincere apology for having thought this way and ever giving voice to this type of homophobia. --ADH)
Bjorn and his fellow Sweet Sixteeners confirm every reason why people think this society is headed to hell in a handbasket. Take for example, Amanda, the daughter of a nightclub owner in Ocala, Florida. Her father gets singer Ciarra to perform at the party, so Amanda sells tickets to her party on the premise that people are actually paying to see Ciarra. How generous... Then there is Sierra, the daughter of Cee-Lo, some third tier rapper whose 15 minutes of fame have long since elapsed. She demands tributes of presents or money from the attendees at her ghetto fab Sweet Fifteen party (apparently someone can't count that good)... Another gem is the whiny Sophie, a spoiled chubby girl who hires a party planner and a stylist for her Moulin Rouge-themed bash. Her shining moment comes when she gets into a staring match with someone's mother and then bans the women from re-entering the hotel.
And you thought the Hilton sisters were bad enough.
There are some moments of redemption, but they are brief. For example, despite Amanda's grade-A bitch demeanor throughout, her one humanizing moment comes when she invites three poor kids in to her party after they serenade her with a bluesy rendition of Happy Birthday. And Sierra's diva attitude is no match for her mother's when the party is temporarily canceled due to a bad report card.
But the damage is already done--these children are ruined. The parents are so weak and useless that after years of caving in to their children's whims and desires, they probably think one more indulgence won't hurt. And the children proclaim that they always get what they want, no matter how bizarre. One girl wants to be Cinderella, so she arrives at her party in a horse drawn carriage escorted by a guy dressed in a Prince Charming costume.
The Sixteeners believe that by virtue of being born rich they are deserving of this unlimited excess. In fact the one girl who had not been born rich, but had been adopted into a rich family at the age of 14, also felt similarly entitled to a big party and a car to make up for all the years she spent in foster care. One would think that all those years she spent on the other side of the tracks would have given her some perspective, but she proves to be just as shallow as the other Sixteeners. As she makes out her invitation list, she declares that she would only invite the "best people" to her party--presumably the same people who would have ridiculed her when she was a poor orphan.
I have yet to understand MTV's motivation for this show, but I think it is meant as a cautionary look into the future if we continue to champion empty values and self-absorption. Do we intend to become spineless parents? Do we really want to raise horrible children like this?
Is it really Bjorn time?
"My Sweet Sixteen" represents all that has gone wrong with parenting after 1980. This show features the pampered, over-indulged children of the nouveau riche who have been raised to believe that they can have, do and be whatever they want. In Bjorn's case, it appears that he endeavors to be some sort of gay icon and his family seems totally okay with that. In fact they celebrate this occasion with a lavish coming out/sweet sixteen party fit for a queen.
Call me old fashioned, but most parents would be embarrassed to have a teenaged son who carries a Chanel purse and refers to himself as a "Divo." No one wants a gay child, not even gay people themselves. Of course, there is no way his mother named him Bjorn and expected him to be anything other than an interior decorator, a fashion designer, a hairdresser or a mimbo... (Wow, in case anyone comes across this piece, this is me writing from the future in 2020. What I wrote here is horrible, and though I have the power to edit it out, I won't. Instead, I am issuing a sincere apology for having thought this way and ever giving voice to this type of homophobia. --ADH)
Bjorn and his fellow Sweet Sixteeners confirm every reason why people think this society is headed to hell in a handbasket. Take for example, Amanda, the daughter of a nightclub owner in Ocala, Florida. Her father gets singer Ciarra to perform at the party, so Amanda sells tickets to her party on the premise that people are actually paying to see Ciarra. How generous... Then there is Sierra, the daughter of Cee-Lo, some third tier rapper whose 15 minutes of fame have long since elapsed. She demands tributes of presents or money from the attendees at her ghetto fab Sweet Fifteen party (apparently someone can't count that good)... Another gem is the whiny Sophie, a spoiled chubby girl who hires a party planner and a stylist for her Moulin Rouge-themed bash. Her shining moment comes when she gets into a staring match with someone's mother and then bans the women from re-entering the hotel.
And you thought the Hilton sisters were bad enough.
There are some moments of redemption, but they are brief. For example, despite Amanda's grade-A bitch demeanor throughout, her one humanizing moment comes when she invites three poor kids in to her party after they serenade her with a bluesy rendition of Happy Birthday. And Sierra's diva attitude is no match for her mother's when the party is temporarily canceled due to a bad report card.
But the damage is already done--these children are ruined. The parents are so weak and useless that after years of caving in to their children's whims and desires, they probably think one more indulgence won't hurt. And the children proclaim that they always get what they want, no matter how bizarre. One girl wants to be Cinderella, so she arrives at her party in a horse drawn carriage escorted by a guy dressed in a Prince Charming costume.
The Sixteeners believe that by virtue of being born rich they are deserving of this unlimited excess. In fact the one girl who had not been born rich, but had been adopted into a rich family at the age of 14, also felt similarly entitled to a big party and a car to make up for all the years she spent in foster care. One would think that all those years she spent on the other side of the tracks would have given her some perspective, but she proves to be just as shallow as the other Sixteeners. As she makes out her invitation list, she declares that she would only invite the "best people" to her party--presumably the same people who would have ridiculed her when she was a poor orphan.
I have yet to understand MTV's motivation for this show, but I think it is meant as a cautionary look into the future if we continue to champion empty values and self-absorption. Do we intend to become spineless parents? Do we really want to raise horrible children like this?
Is it really Bjorn time?
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Untitled Gobblety Gook
I had an idea, but by the time this page loaded, I had forgotten. My computer is sooo slow. But that is what I get for still using dial-up.
I am behind in pretty much every way technologically. I still listen to CDs. I still watch DVDs at home on the TV. I don't have TiVo, so if my VCR were hooked up, I'd still need to buy video tapes to record things. I just bought this computer two years ago, but it is already a dinosaur. All of these are signs of the inevitable--I'm getting old.
While I was waiting for this page to load, I am simultaneously downloading an accelerator program so that my computer will run faster. I think this is what we refer to as irony...
Anyhoo, there isn't that much to say because I forgot what I had intended to say, which was going to be pretty damn funny, so I guess it's just one of those things. I had intended to quote "Napolean Dynamite" too, which is a shame, because that would have made my little ditty for today a riot.
Speaking of that movie, why is it pretty much everywhere I go? Urban Outfitters is selling a coffee table book full of quotes from the movie and Target has t-shirts. Why?
This was such a stupid movie. So very stupid, yet my hub and a bunch of other generally sane people loved it. He bought me the "Vote for Pedro" t-shirt which I preceeded to wear at least three times before I actually saw the movie. That shirt caused a lot of questions from people, and it was a bit silly of me to say, "well this is from a movie I haven't seen, but I've heard that it's funny." Now when I wear it, I tell the truth, "this is from this lame movie about inbreds from Idaho."
On another note, I saw the LL Cool J "Behind the Music" special, and it again confirmed that my life was so empty without cable. If I couldn't learn the back story of old rappers and faded R&B groups from my childhood, I would probably be spending that time with my husband. Thank you VH1!
Well, I need to get going so that I can activate this accelerator program. I have a ton of other things to do today, so in some ways, it's good that I forgot my original subject. I am so anal that I would have spent well over an hour writing and re-writing it something that may or may not have been all that funny. Well, such is life.
Ciao!
I am behind in pretty much every way technologically. I still listen to CDs. I still watch DVDs at home on the TV. I don't have TiVo, so if my VCR were hooked up, I'd still need to buy video tapes to record things. I just bought this computer two years ago, but it is already a dinosaur. All of these are signs of the inevitable--I'm getting old.
While I was waiting for this page to load, I am simultaneously downloading an accelerator program so that my computer will run faster. I think this is what we refer to as irony...
Anyhoo, there isn't that much to say because I forgot what I had intended to say, which was going to be pretty damn funny, so I guess it's just one of those things. I had intended to quote "Napolean Dynamite" too, which is a shame, because that would have made my little ditty for today a riot.
Speaking of that movie, why is it pretty much everywhere I go? Urban Outfitters is selling a coffee table book full of quotes from the movie and Target has t-shirts. Why?
This was such a stupid movie. So very stupid, yet my hub and a bunch of other generally sane people loved it. He bought me the "Vote for Pedro" t-shirt which I preceeded to wear at least three times before I actually saw the movie. That shirt caused a lot of questions from people, and it was a bit silly of me to say, "well this is from a movie I haven't seen, but I've heard that it's funny." Now when I wear it, I tell the truth, "this is from this lame movie about inbreds from Idaho."
On another note, I saw the LL Cool J "Behind the Music" special, and it again confirmed that my life was so empty without cable. If I couldn't learn the back story of old rappers and faded R&B groups from my childhood, I would probably be spending that time with my husband. Thank you VH1!
Well, I need to get going so that I can activate this accelerator program. I have a ton of other things to do today, so in some ways, it's good that I forgot my original subject. I am so anal that I would have spent well over an hour writing and re-writing it something that may or may not have been all that funny. Well, such is life.
Ciao!
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
This is a Test
I had a glass and a half of wine this evening, so I want to see what effect it has on my writing. A lot of famous writers were drunks, and I've heard that some of the greats wrote better when they were drunk. Hence my little experiment.
So far, I've determined that I am just as conscientious about spelling and grammar mistakes as I am when sober. I am not actually drunk, but I have had enough to drink that I am aware of it.
So, in terms of an actual subject...I don't have one in particular. So this will be a quickie. Short and to the point (whatever the hell that is). Today, I took my husband to the airport and he is now in Seattle, a city that I am just dying to see. Unfortunately, I have class tomorrow night and I'm giving a quiz, so I think that means that I need to be there. Damn.
And after that, I hung out for a bit, bought some biker shorts, a reflector vest and some sushi. Then I came back home and did absolutely nothing but get ready for dance class. I took two classes today and Mrs. B was a beast. She's trying to make us performance ready, but I think she's trying to get us back into the shape we were in 15 years ago. Hello, but I'm 31 and I don't think my body can do what it did at 15. It can't even do some of the things it did at 25...
Like drinking. If I could go back in time to when I was in law school and could drink like a fish, this little bit of wine would never have made me sleepy. If this was ten years ago, I'd have drunk the entire bottle of wine and would still be eager for more. I've turned into a big married wuss.
That's why I'm going to a party on Friday night, probably without my husband. He'll be back from Seattle, but he'll probably be jet-lagged and frankly, I am not going to come home to watch cable with him. I'm dropping his ass off and I'm heading back downtown. I'm tired of being the predictable housewife.
OK, that's all I've got for now. I've gotta go teach my class (the one online) and I've got to do something else for my other class. I've got a lot of sh** to do, so this buzz I've got going will wear off and I'll go back to being my boring old predictable self.
Unitl then, Ciao!
So far, I've determined that I am just as conscientious about spelling and grammar mistakes as I am when sober. I am not actually drunk, but I have had enough to drink that I am aware of it.
So, in terms of an actual subject...I don't have one in particular. So this will be a quickie. Short and to the point (whatever the hell that is). Today, I took my husband to the airport and he is now in Seattle, a city that I am just dying to see. Unfortunately, I have class tomorrow night and I'm giving a quiz, so I think that means that I need to be there. Damn.
And after that, I hung out for a bit, bought some biker shorts, a reflector vest and some sushi. Then I came back home and did absolutely nothing but get ready for dance class. I took two classes today and Mrs. B was a beast. She's trying to make us performance ready, but I think she's trying to get us back into the shape we were in 15 years ago. Hello, but I'm 31 and I don't think my body can do what it did at 15. It can't even do some of the things it did at 25...
Like drinking. If I could go back in time to when I was in law school and could drink like a fish, this little bit of wine would never have made me sleepy. If this was ten years ago, I'd have drunk the entire bottle of wine and would still be eager for more. I've turned into a big married wuss.
That's why I'm going to a party on Friday night, probably without my husband. He'll be back from Seattle, but he'll probably be jet-lagged and frankly, I am not going to come home to watch cable with him. I'm dropping his ass off and I'm heading back downtown. I'm tired of being the predictable housewife.
OK, that's all I've got for now. I've gotta go teach my class (the one online) and I've got to do something else for my other class. I've got a lot of sh** to do, so this buzz I've got going will wear off and I'll go back to being my boring old predictable self.
Unitl then, Ciao!
Monday, September 12, 2005
Not Another March
I was driving and spotted a tattered sign for the upcoming Millions More Movement March scheduled for October 15, 2005. Once again, Min. Farakhan has issued the call for millions of black people to march on Washington.
Why?
Ten years ago, I was among the haters of the original march. I was offended that women had been asked not to attend. I thought it was irresponsible to encourage black men to skip work for a day just to hear a bunch of speeches. I felt it was a lame attempt by the many of the usual suspects of so-called black leadership to find relevance. I thought it was all a big sham.
And so I find myself feeling many of the same sentiments. This march is another wasted gesture, a false "movement" to mobilize black people to do something, yet no one is quite sure what that something is.
This time, the organizers are calling on black families, which means that this time around they want to include black women. Gee, thanks. But this summer when one of the organizers made openly hostile remarks about black lesbians and their attempts to ruin the black family, I guess that means that only certain black women are welcome to participate. So they've exchanged one form of gender discrimination for another.
At least this time the march will take place on a Saturday so no one has to miss a day of work or school to hear words of wisdom from the line-up of usual suspects: Rev. Jesse Jackson, Rev. Al Sharpton, Rev. Willie Wilson, Min. Louis Farrakhan, and now the new school hip-hop "leaders" Russell Simmons, and Kanye West. Of course, there is not a single woman in the bunch of leaders, so if anything this march is reminiscent of the original March on Washington (63) in that women are at least invited to show up, but are expected to remain silent...
I won't even deal with the Reverends because what more needs to be said about their "moral" leadership? Not that any of them should be perfect, but maybe they should have a shred of credibility. Among them, only Rev. Al has redeemed himself somewhat, but he still needs to do more than just talk. And lately, rappers have proven that their best forms of advocacy are self-promotion and misogyny.
Finally, I believe the whole thing is a sham. While the stated goals of the organizers are laudable as enumerated in the "Issues Statement," the real impetus behind this march is not social justice but economics. There are corporate sponsors. There are plans for vendors. There is a registration fee. Since it has been called by a bunch of preachers, there will probably be a collection plate. At the end of this, the volunteers will go home mobilized to do whatever it is that they already do, and the organizers will walk away with cash. At the last Million Man March, I saw men drop tons of cash into the hats that were passed around but I never heard whether any of that money went to any causes.
So if I am too cynical, then shoot me. I have been on the front lines of the social justice battle ever since the last march ten years ago, and I don't see very many changes. They say that black people registered to vote en masse, but where were they November 2004 when I was an Election Protection volunteer? The turn-out at my North Philly precinct was pathetic. They claimed that men returned to their families with a renewed sense of commitment, but ask my brothers about the parents who never show up to their children's schools. Or just ask me or any legal aid attorney to tell you stories of the absent fathers who refuse to pay child support. Or just watch Maury Povitch any day of the week to see the paternity shows.
Ask about the uneven statistics regarding black men in college. We get mad when we learn that more of them are in jail than in college, but have we ever wondered why? I drive through the city sometimes and see more men hanging out on the corner than going to work or school. I see brothers polishing rims and drinking all day, and then I am supposed to believe that the system is stacked against them? What about those black women I see on the Metro, what about the odds they face?
If you want to change things, then go into your community and do it. Don't bring all these people into my city to scream and shout about the ills of our community and then ship them back home to the suburbs where their biggest beef is the price of gas or how poorly they were treated at the Lexus dealership. Don't come here to complain about poor educational opportunities, but then go home to plug in your play station instead of a computer. Buy your kids books instead of sneakers, DVDs, and MP3 players.
You don't need to march around Washington to bring about change. You simply change.
Why?
Ten years ago, I was among the haters of the original march. I was offended that women had been asked not to attend. I thought it was irresponsible to encourage black men to skip work for a day just to hear a bunch of speeches. I felt it was a lame attempt by the many of the usual suspects of so-called black leadership to find relevance. I thought it was all a big sham.
And so I find myself feeling many of the same sentiments. This march is another wasted gesture, a false "movement" to mobilize black people to do something, yet no one is quite sure what that something is.
This time, the organizers are calling on black families, which means that this time around they want to include black women. Gee, thanks. But this summer when one of the organizers made openly hostile remarks about black lesbians and their attempts to ruin the black family, I guess that means that only certain black women are welcome to participate. So they've exchanged one form of gender discrimination for another.
At least this time the march will take place on a Saturday so no one has to miss a day of work or school to hear words of wisdom from the line-up of usual suspects: Rev. Jesse Jackson, Rev. Al Sharpton, Rev. Willie Wilson, Min. Louis Farrakhan, and now the new school hip-hop "leaders" Russell Simmons, and Kanye West. Of course, there is not a single woman in the bunch of leaders, so if anything this march is reminiscent of the original March on Washington (63) in that women are at least invited to show up, but are expected to remain silent...
I won't even deal with the Reverends because what more needs to be said about their "moral" leadership? Not that any of them should be perfect, but maybe they should have a shred of credibility. Among them, only Rev. Al has redeemed himself somewhat, but he still needs to do more than just talk. And lately, rappers have proven that their best forms of advocacy are self-promotion and misogyny.
Finally, I believe the whole thing is a sham. While the stated goals of the organizers are laudable as enumerated in the "Issues Statement," the real impetus behind this march is not social justice but economics. There are corporate sponsors. There are plans for vendors. There is a registration fee. Since it has been called by a bunch of preachers, there will probably be a collection plate. At the end of this, the volunteers will go home mobilized to do whatever it is that they already do, and the organizers will walk away with cash. At the last Million Man March, I saw men drop tons of cash into the hats that were passed around but I never heard whether any of that money went to any causes.
So if I am too cynical, then shoot me. I have been on the front lines of the social justice battle ever since the last march ten years ago, and I don't see very many changes. They say that black people registered to vote en masse, but where were they November 2004 when I was an Election Protection volunteer? The turn-out at my North Philly precinct was pathetic. They claimed that men returned to their families with a renewed sense of commitment, but ask my brothers about the parents who never show up to their children's schools. Or just ask me or any legal aid attorney to tell you stories of the absent fathers who refuse to pay child support. Or just watch Maury Povitch any day of the week to see the paternity shows.
Ask about the uneven statistics regarding black men in college. We get mad when we learn that more of them are in jail than in college, but have we ever wondered why? I drive through the city sometimes and see more men hanging out on the corner than going to work or school. I see brothers polishing rims and drinking all day, and then I am supposed to believe that the system is stacked against them? What about those black women I see on the Metro, what about the odds they face?
If you want to change things, then go into your community and do it. Don't bring all these people into my city to scream and shout about the ills of our community and then ship them back home to the suburbs where their biggest beef is the price of gas or how poorly they were treated at the Lexus dealership. Don't come here to complain about poor educational opportunities, but then go home to plug in your play station instead of a computer. Buy your kids books instead of sneakers, DVDs, and MP3 players.
You don't need to march around Washington to bring about change. You simply change.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Blog Blues
I have a dozen unfinished drafts waiting to be posted but I'm not sure if it makes any sense to try. I got accepted to that webring and I even got a few compliments. But now I'm in a writing rut, and I'm starting to think that this was all just a bad idea.
I am not that funny nor profound, yet I really want people to read my writing. I have great ideas for things to write, but by the time I get to my computer, everything is lost. Carrying a notebook to jot things down doesn't always help because it is hard to write while driving or when out and about doing all the things I do.
Like dance class. I start back tomorrow and then I have a meeting right after that. Then my hub suggested that we check out one of the end-of-summer festivals in the area and that means my entire day is booked up and over. When am I supposed to find time to write?
I am not a morning person, and after last night it is becoming clear that I am not much of a night owl anymore either. I am always tired. I wonder if I'm sick, but then my hub will accuse me of being a hypochondriac (sp?).
I've had a rough week, and starting back at school only added to my stress. It took me 90 minutes to commute from my house to this campus location in Waldorf, which means that this is what I have to look forward to for the next six weeks. Yesterday it took me two hours! My entire day must now revovle around getting to and from this class.
As much as I like to drive, I have come to hate it more and more these days. I spend most of my vacations behind the wheel of the car because Rick gets too nervous and erratic when he drives in strange places. He finally developed enough nerve to drive in Brooklyn, but anyplace else and he is riding shotgun. Just like the entire week we spent in Florida; I did all the driving, as if I knew how to navigate through Miami any better than he did.
I feel like my ass should be permanently indented in the drivers' seat of the car. The car should be contoured to my frame, but recently that doesn't appear to be the case. A few weeks ago, Rick and I were driving back from New York with his mother, and on the first leg of the trip he drove. We get to South Jersey to change over, but as soon as I buckle in, the seat belt light starts to flash. Now it does that every time I drive, but whenever he drives, the light stays off. So now I have this light flashing all the time to annoy me while I sit in traffic on my way to wherever.
I need a new routine. I need a mechanism for interacting with other humans on a regular basis, and so far, that is not happening. I have no where to go during the day becasue I have no money and everybody is at work. The other women my age who are at home are taking care of their children. Children are cute, but must I have one to rejoin civil society?
When this work-from-home experiment began, I ate outside of the house at least twice a week, just for a change of scenery. Eventually, eating out got too expensive and costly on other fronts--I ballooned to nearly 175 pounds and now my cholesterol is high. (I'm 5'10, so no one really thought I was fat, but once the number 12 became more common in the dressing room, I got my act together.) So enter the much ballyhooed bike, my big ticket item of the summer. My thinking was that I would ride all around the city and keep in shape at the same time. Wrong. From that vantage point, cars are instruments of certain death, so I ride on the sidewalk and look like an idiot because even the kids are riding in the street.
The latest is that I am not speaking to one of my brothers. My parents have the nerve to suggest that I am being unreasonable even though he was the one who acted like an ass. So the hub and I have agreed not to eat there on Sundays until he offers me an acceptable apology. Since that won't happen, this Sunday will be the first test of my boycott, and I am prepared to hold out until Christmas.
Added to all of this, I broke down this week after receiving a package from another atty on this pro bono case that I never should have agreed to take. My client is literally a disaster waiting to happen, and I am totally in over my head. What the hell was I thinking?
I am a mess. A grand hot mess. This might be the first time that my winter blahs began in September...
I am not that funny nor profound, yet I really want people to read my writing. I have great ideas for things to write, but by the time I get to my computer, everything is lost. Carrying a notebook to jot things down doesn't always help because it is hard to write while driving or when out and about doing all the things I do.
Like dance class. I start back tomorrow and then I have a meeting right after that. Then my hub suggested that we check out one of the end-of-summer festivals in the area and that means my entire day is booked up and over. When am I supposed to find time to write?
I am not a morning person, and after last night it is becoming clear that I am not much of a night owl anymore either. I am always tired. I wonder if I'm sick, but then my hub will accuse me of being a hypochondriac (sp?).
I've had a rough week, and starting back at school only added to my stress. It took me 90 minutes to commute from my house to this campus location in Waldorf, which means that this is what I have to look forward to for the next six weeks. Yesterday it took me two hours! My entire day must now revovle around getting to and from this class.
As much as I like to drive, I have come to hate it more and more these days. I spend most of my vacations behind the wheel of the car because Rick gets too nervous and erratic when he drives in strange places. He finally developed enough nerve to drive in Brooklyn, but anyplace else and he is riding shotgun. Just like the entire week we spent in Florida; I did all the driving, as if I knew how to navigate through Miami any better than he did.
I feel like my ass should be permanently indented in the drivers' seat of the car. The car should be contoured to my frame, but recently that doesn't appear to be the case. A few weeks ago, Rick and I were driving back from New York with his mother, and on the first leg of the trip he drove. We get to South Jersey to change over, but as soon as I buckle in, the seat belt light starts to flash. Now it does that every time I drive, but whenever he drives, the light stays off. So now I have this light flashing all the time to annoy me while I sit in traffic on my way to wherever.
I need a new routine. I need a mechanism for interacting with other humans on a regular basis, and so far, that is not happening. I have no where to go during the day becasue I have no money and everybody is at work. The other women my age who are at home are taking care of their children. Children are cute, but must I have one to rejoin civil society?
When this work-from-home experiment began, I ate outside of the house at least twice a week, just for a change of scenery. Eventually, eating out got too expensive and costly on other fronts--I ballooned to nearly 175 pounds and now my cholesterol is high. (I'm 5'10, so no one really thought I was fat, but once the number 12 became more common in the dressing room, I got my act together.) So enter the much ballyhooed bike, my big ticket item of the summer. My thinking was that I would ride all around the city and keep in shape at the same time. Wrong. From that vantage point, cars are instruments of certain death, so I ride on the sidewalk and look like an idiot because even the kids are riding in the street.
The latest is that I am not speaking to one of my brothers. My parents have the nerve to suggest that I am being unreasonable even though he was the one who acted like an ass. So the hub and I have agreed not to eat there on Sundays until he offers me an acceptable apology. Since that won't happen, this Sunday will be the first test of my boycott, and I am prepared to hold out until Christmas.
Added to all of this, I broke down this week after receiving a package from another atty on this pro bono case that I never should have agreed to take. My client is literally a disaster waiting to happen, and I am totally in over my head. What the hell was I thinking?
I am a mess. A grand hot mess. This might be the first time that my winter blahs began in September...
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Options and Priorities
America is the land of opportunity, but opportunity is the privilege of those who have options. Take the hurricane; the people who left New Orleans when the getting was good were all of those who had options. They had a place to go or they had someone to stay with. Opportunity also makes itself available to those who can set priorities. For those who could leave the Coast, survival was their priority.
Those who stayed behind mostly had limited options. And while survival may have been a priority to them, it seems that we did not share that same sense of urgency. Anyone who saw those images should have known that the situation was dire, but that did not translate into immediate action.
Thus, in a way the classic American struggle between the haves and the have nots really can be boiled down to those two principles.
Options:
I have this preference for a certain brand of bottled water, and ever since it started to disappear from the shelves at Giant Food, I've now been on this crusade to find it at any and every grocery store possible. Today I bought four bottles of it, and tonight I learned that it is only available at the Safeway or at Whole Foods. This means that I have to make a special effort to have this water on hand when I want it (usually for dance class or for riding my bike).
Why not drink regular water? Because regular tap water in DC tastes aweful and bottled water is portable. It is better for me than soda, so my new thing is to keep bottled water all over the house, in the car, and wherever I am.
So, back to my point about options...designer water for certain activities and regular bottled water for everything else. I never even have to consider tap water.
Priorities:
People have been on the radio and TV talking about the animals that were left behind in the storm. One charity is raising money for the purpose of housing these strays. I think this borders on the insane.
Not to be cold, but if someone leaves behind a pet in a situation like this, it may seem tragic, but we have more important things to worry about. What about the million PEOPLE who were displaced by the storm? There are Americans who became homeless overnight and we are worried about where Fluffy and Spot are going to sleep tonight?
So, it takes three days to get to the people trapped in the Superdome, so some of them actually died in the middle of the street, but somehow the Humane Society can get TV time to plead for money to save stray pets? And we aren't even talking about livestock.
Responsibility:
Finally, who gets the blame for all of this? Surely we can't shake our fingers or raise our voices at God. God is generally above blame. Acts of God are uninsurable events in which no one even claims liablity.
So the next person to blame should be those elected officials whom we charge with taking care of us--the President, the governors, and the local mayors. But these people have scapegoats who will take the blame for them. So I say that we blame Saddam Hussein. We blame him for everything else that's wrong. After all, if he hadn't invaded Kuwait back in 1991, then we would never have gone to war there, which would never have pissed off the Taliban, who never would have taken over Afganistan, which never would have encouraged Osama, who never would have carried out terrorist attacks, which never would have resulted in 9-11, which never would have caused us to go to war. If we accept that logic, then we're on the right track for making the world a better place.
Those who stayed behind mostly had limited options. And while survival may have been a priority to them, it seems that we did not share that same sense of urgency. Anyone who saw those images should have known that the situation was dire, but that did not translate into immediate action.
Thus, in a way the classic American struggle between the haves and the have nots really can be boiled down to those two principles.
Options:
I have this preference for a certain brand of bottled water, and ever since it started to disappear from the shelves at Giant Food, I've now been on this crusade to find it at any and every grocery store possible. Today I bought four bottles of it, and tonight I learned that it is only available at the Safeway or at Whole Foods. This means that I have to make a special effort to have this water on hand when I want it (usually for dance class or for riding my bike).
Why not drink regular water? Because regular tap water in DC tastes aweful and bottled water is portable. It is better for me than soda, so my new thing is to keep bottled water all over the house, in the car, and wherever I am.
So, back to my point about options...designer water for certain activities and regular bottled water for everything else. I never even have to consider tap water.
Priorities:
People have been on the radio and TV talking about the animals that were left behind in the storm. One charity is raising money for the purpose of housing these strays. I think this borders on the insane.
Not to be cold, but if someone leaves behind a pet in a situation like this, it may seem tragic, but we have more important things to worry about. What about the million PEOPLE who were displaced by the storm? There are Americans who became homeless overnight and we are worried about where Fluffy and Spot are going to sleep tonight?
So, it takes three days to get to the people trapped in the Superdome, so some of them actually died in the middle of the street, but somehow the Humane Society can get TV time to plead for money to save stray pets? And we aren't even talking about livestock.
Responsibility:
Finally, who gets the blame for all of this? Surely we can't shake our fingers or raise our voices at God. God is generally above blame. Acts of God are uninsurable events in which no one even claims liablity.
So the next person to blame should be those elected officials whom we charge with taking care of us--the President, the governors, and the local mayors. But these people have scapegoats who will take the blame for them. So I say that we blame Saddam Hussein. We blame him for everything else that's wrong. After all, if he hadn't invaded Kuwait back in 1991, then we would never have gone to war there, which would never have pissed off the Taliban, who never would have taken over Afganistan, which never would have encouraged Osama, who never would have carried out terrorist attacks, which never would have resulted in 9-11, which never would have caused us to go to war. If we accept that logic, then we're on the right track for making the world a better place.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
New Orleans, cont.
This tragedy is overwhelming. I've been in contact with several of my old classmates, which highlights one of my points from before--how the more affluent among us had all the options. When the order came to leave, they might have hesitated a bit, but for the most part, they left. They are staying with relatives and friends, will likely have their jobs temporarily moved, and upon their return to the city, they will be able to rebuild from the ashes.
Not so with the 15,000 or more folks who were left behind at the Superdome.
I can at least credit the media for throwing out the "chaos" scripts by Thursday, because by that point, several reporters began to openly question why relief was taking so long to arrive. On Friday morning, everyone was asking why, and by Friday night another levee broke when Kanye West offered this blunt assessment--that our government doesn't give a damn about poor black people.
West's comments were actually more harsh and direct; he said that George Bush doesn't care about black people. That statement is certainly less eloquent than what had been implied all week on black radio or what had been said directly by the Congressional Black Caucus on Friday afternoon. He might have tried to be more subtle, along the lines of the commentary provided this morning by Nancy Giles on the CBS Sunday Morning show. But the sentiment is the same--George Bush, show us that you give a damn!
Show us that compassionate conservatism is more than hollow rhetoric. People died on the streets of New Orleans after the hurricane hit. Mr. President, show us that your priorities are in line with helping our people (Americans, by the way) survive this crisis.
I am pissed, and the more I write, the angrier I become. We are in this mess because people have misplaced priorities. From the people who waded into abandoned stores to steal electronic equipment and guns to the president who spent time more at political fundraisers instead of with the victims of this storm, we all need to get our priorities straight.
All of us need to give more of a damn about human life everywhere. This hurricane serves as a reminder that life is fragile and has nothing to do with the stuff we accumulate. Life is the substance of our interactions with each other. We need to realign our values so that we place less emphasis on talking about faith and more on living it. God will not be found among the wreckage of flooded buildings and scattered possessions. God will be found in our hearts based on our tangible response to this tragedy.
Not so with the 15,000 or more folks who were left behind at the Superdome.
Like many other African Americans who have helplessly watched the situation deteriorate in New Orleans, I am struck by the slow response to this crisis. I fault the media for sensationalizing the lawlessness and chaos, for it overshadowed the real tragedy of our sisters and brothers who were neglected for 36 hours and left to fend for themselves. Had this tragedy only been confined to the Gulf Coast (where many of the victims were white), I wonder if there would have been any stories about looting or pillaging. Well, actually I already know the answer to that--it would have been referred to as "the fight for survival."
I feel horrible for those people along the Gulf Coast because all of the attention has been on New Orleans. Along the vast stretch of miles that were directly impacted by this storm, there are millions of people who were in its path. More than likely, these people will continue to be overlooked in the media because of the enormity of the problem in New Orleans. Their struggle is no less tragic.I can at least credit the media for throwing out the "chaos" scripts by Thursday, because by that point, several reporters began to openly question why relief was taking so long to arrive. On Friday morning, everyone was asking why, and by Friday night another levee broke when Kanye West offered this blunt assessment--that our government doesn't give a damn about poor black people.
West's comments were actually more harsh and direct; he said that George Bush doesn't care about black people. That statement is certainly less eloquent than what had been implied all week on black radio or what had been said directly by the Congressional Black Caucus on Friday afternoon. He might have tried to be more subtle, along the lines of the commentary provided this morning by Nancy Giles on the CBS Sunday Morning show. But the sentiment is the same--George Bush, show us that you give a damn!
Show us that compassionate conservatism is more than hollow rhetoric. People died on the streets of New Orleans after the hurricane hit. Mr. President, show us that your priorities are in line with helping our people (Americans, by the way) survive this crisis.
I am pissed, and the more I write, the angrier I become. We are in this mess because people have misplaced priorities. From the people who waded into abandoned stores to steal electronic equipment and guns to the president who spent time more at political fundraisers instead of with the victims of this storm, we all need to get our priorities straight.
All of us need to give more of a damn about human life everywhere. This hurricane serves as a reminder that life is fragile and has nothing to do with the stuff we accumulate. Life is the substance of our interactions with each other. We need to realign our values so that we place less emphasis on talking about faith and more on living it. God will not be found among the wreckage of flooded buildings and scattered possessions. God will be found in our hearts based on our tangible response to this tragedy.
Friday, September 02, 2005
New Orleans, pt. 1
I lived in New Orleans from 1994 to 1997. I haven't set foot in the city nor in the state of Louisiana since the day after my graduation from law school. It's not that I hated living there (because I got over that feeling in 1995), but I just haven't had a reason to go back.
I wish I had been back before now because I am heart broken by what I've seen on the news. The city and the vibrancy that I loved are now submerged under chest high water from the river and the lake. It will be years before the city recovers.
On Monday, I listened to some commentary on the radio as Katrina made landfall, and conventional wisdom was that New Orleans had dodged another big storm. Katrina had veered eastward, so her impact would largely be felt along the Gulf Coast, in Mississippi and Alabama. New Orleans would get some heavy rain (so flooding was inevitable), but it would survive.
Michael Wilbon suggested that if the hurricane had in fact hit New Orleans directly, the city would be washed away like the fictional island of Atlantis. As everyone now knows, New Orleans is below sea level, and the only thing that protects the city from the Mississippi on the west and Lake Ponchatrain on the east is the levee system. Initially, the worse case scenario was thought to be a direct hit from the hurricane, but instead, it was the breached levee.
I remember the first New Orleans flood I lived through. It was during my first year of law school, and it was during the beginning of hurricaine season. I think it was Andrew and we endured a few days of knee high water and no power. As the rain fell, I was safely tucked away on the third floor of my apartment building. A few of my exams were rescheduled, and our brand new law school got about a foot of water in its lobby. A couple of weeks later, everybody went home and life returned to normal.
Because we were students, we had nothing of value to lose. And if we did lose something valuable, we had the means to replace it. My best friend lost her car, so her parents got her another one. My downstairs neighbors lost some of their furniture, so they simply set it out in the trash, gave notice and sought apartments above the ground.
So I have mixed emotions about what I see on TV. When I saw the scores of people being ushered into the Superdome on Sunday night, I kept wondering why they didn't just leave. There was advance warning that this might be the big one, so it would make sense that everyone should have high-tailed it out of there. Then I began to remember what life was like for certain segments of the city, and it was clear to me that when you have very little to begin with, you hold onto it because it is your entire world.
I am upset about the slow response, pissed about the chaos, and irked by suggestions that race should not be mentioned as a factor. How else can we explain the slow response and references to looting and pillaging? Race is a large issue, and it is the issue that New Orleanians themselves have avoided for far too long. This is a city that acts ashamed of itself. Tourists see the French Quarter and the Garden District and marvel at how beautiful things are. No one ventures into the ninth ward, not even by accident, because to do so is to be confronted with the most squalid and hopeless conditions. It would seem totally unimaginable in the US in the 21st Century, but it is no different than the scene at the Superdome now. These people have always been desparate, so the hurricane only highlighted the problem.
I am venting because this whole situation has gotten me emotional. When I lived in New Orleans, I got defensive when the suburbanites referred to the city in animalistic terms or when people made overtly racist comments about city residents. I've had similar reactions to the media coverage of this situation. Yet when I lived in the city, I lived in the Garden District, went to school Uptown, and limited my contact with the depressed areas of the city, for fear that I would end up victimized. If I ventured too many blocks off the main drags, I was in another world, places so hopeless and desperate that I did like everybody else and buried my head in the sand. When it was time to graduate, it was a no brainer--I had options so I left for higher ground.
From my perch on higher ground in DC, it is easy second-guess the thought process of those who stayed. I have no doubt that I would have been among the first to evacuate. Call it common sense, but I call it the luxury of having options...
I wish I had been back before now because I am heart broken by what I've seen on the news. The city and the vibrancy that I loved are now submerged under chest high water from the river and the lake. It will be years before the city recovers.
On Monday, I listened to some commentary on the radio as Katrina made landfall, and conventional wisdom was that New Orleans had dodged another big storm. Katrina had veered eastward, so her impact would largely be felt along the Gulf Coast, in Mississippi and Alabama. New Orleans would get some heavy rain (so flooding was inevitable), but it would survive.
Michael Wilbon suggested that if the hurricane had in fact hit New Orleans directly, the city would be washed away like the fictional island of Atlantis. As everyone now knows, New Orleans is below sea level, and the only thing that protects the city from the Mississippi on the west and Lake Ponchatrain on the east is the levee system. Initially, the worse case scenario was thought to be a direct hit from the hurricane, but instead, it was the breached levee.
I remember the first New Orleans flood I lived through. It was during my first year of law school, and it was during the beginning of hurricaine season. I think it was Andrew and we endured a few days of knee high water and no power. As the rain fell, I was safely tucked away on the third floor of my apartment building. A few of my exams were rescheduled, and our brand new law school got about a foot of water in its lobby. A couple of weeks later, everybody went home and life returned to normal.
Because we were students, we had nothing of value to lose. And if we did lose something valuable, we had the means to replace it. My best friend lost her car, so her parents got her another one. My downstairs neighbors lost some of their furniture, so they simply set it out in the trash, gave notice and sought apartments above the ground.
So I have mixed emotions about what I see on TV. When I saw the scores of people being ushered into the Superdome on Sunday night, I kept wondering why they didn't just leave. There was advance warning that this might be the big one, so it would make sense that everyone should have high-tailed it out of there. Then I began to remember what life was like for certain segments of the city, and it was clear to me that when you have very little to begin with, you hold onto it because it is your entire world.
I am upset about the slow response, pissed about the chaos, and irked by suggestions that race should not be mentioned as a factor. How else can we explain the slow response and references to looting and pillaging? Race is a large issue, and it is the issue that New Orleanians themselves have avoided for far too long. This is a city that acts ashamed of itself. Tourists see the French Quarter and the Garden District and marvel at how beautiful things are. No one ventures into the ninth ward, not even by accident, because to do so is to be confronted with the most squalid and hopeless conditions. It would seem totally unimaginable in the US in the 21st Century, but it is no different than the scene at the Superdome now. These people have always been desparate, so the hurricane only highlighted the problem.
I am venting because this whole situation has gotten me emotional. When I lived in New Orleans, I got defensive when the suburbanites referred to the city in animalistic terms or when people made overtly racist comments about city residents. I've had similar reactions to the media coverage of this situation. Yet when I lived in the city, I lived in the Garden District, went to school Uptown, and limited my contact with the depressed areas of the city, for fear that I would end up victimized. If I ventured too many blocks off the main drags, I was in another world, places so hopeless and desperate that I did like everybody else and buried my head in the sand. When it was time to graduate, it was a no brainer--I had options so I left for higher ground.
From my perch on higher ground in DC, it is easy second-guess the thought process of those who stayed. I have no doubt that I would have been among the first to evacuate. Call it common sense, but I call it the luxury of having options...
Thursday, August 18, 2005
The "Black Girl"
I am the "Black Girl". All educated sisters know what I'm talking about. We are the ones who end up being the only one among the high achievers in school or on the job (you know, the only cheerleader or the only one with a corner office). We are the ones who are allowed into white social circles because we defy the conventional wisdom about Black people (articulate, intelligent and generally mild-mannered). We are outsiders and insiders at the same time. We represent a paradox of race and gender because we are not like 'them' but also not like 'us' either.
Condoleeza Rice is the ultimate Black Girl. Oprah Winfrey is the marquee Black Girl. Robin Roberts on Good Morning America is a serious Black Girl. Misty Copeland is the talented Black Girl at American Ballet Theatre. Venus and Serena Williams are the powerful Black Girls of sports. Halle Berry is probably the most beloved Black Girl in Hollywood. And she portrayed our only Black Girl superhero, the weather-controlling Storm, in the X-Men movies a few years back.
My tenure as a Black Girl originated in high school. I was one of the few Black Girls who took honors classes. Not only did I have to contend with low expectations from my teachers, some of whom took great pleasure in telling me how I did not belong, but I also had to deal with the social stigma of being "smarter" than many of my friends. You can only imagine what my weekends were like (because boys at that age are sooo into women of substance...)
Although I got a reprieve at Spelman because every student there is a Black Girl, once I got to law school, I reclaimed my position. This time around I was not the smart Black Girl, but I was one of the cool Black Girls. When I entered the working world, the Black Girl description became a permanent part of my identity. On Capitol Hill, where my boss happened to be one of the more prominent and vocal Black Girls, my position as her Black Girl staffer made me instantly recognizable presence. Later when I worked in the civil rights community, we had a sisterhood of Black Girl lawyers at the various organizations. And now at my university, I have Black Girl status in the History department.
Sometimes, it can be humiliating. Just ask the Black Girl from Texas who was identified as such in a yearbook photo of the Honor Society at her school. Apparently, no one on the yearbook staff knew her name, so they wrote in that caption as a placeholder, but then they forgot to correct it before the final printing. She got upset so the school went into damage control mode and issued an immediate apology.
I think she needs to get used to it. As long as she continues to be exceptional, she will always be referred to as the Black Girl behind her back. She will always stand out in the crowd. Among other black women, she will be criticized for being too uppity or siddity. Black men will accuse her of being head-strong and assertive. White women will regard her with suspicion. And white men will misjudge her as accommodating and non-threatening.
Of course, none of these impressions is true. We may seem to go along, but only because we play the game to survive. And often we win! We know who we are, and we celebrate it.
Go Black Girls!
Condoleeza Rice is the ultimate Black Girl. Oprah Winfrey is the marquee Black Girl. Robin Roberts on Good Morning America is a serious Black Girl. Misty Copeland is the talented Black Girl at American Ballet Theatre. Venus and Serena Williams are the powerful Black Girls of sports. Halle Berry is probably the most beloved Black Girl in Hollywood. And she portrayed our only Black Girl superhero, the weather-controlling Storm, in the X-Men movies a few years back.
We Black Girls are not alone. There are Latino Girls and Asian Girls too. But Black Girls tend to be more obvious.
My tenure as a Black Girl originated in high school. I was one of the few Black Girls who took honors classes. Not only did I have to contend with low expectations from my teachers, some of whom took great pleasure in telling me how I did not belong, but I also had to deal with the social stigma of being "smarter" than many of my friends. You can only imagine what my weekends were like (because boys at that age are sooo into women of substance...)
Although I got a reprieve at Spelman because every student there is a Black Girl, once I got to law school, I reclaimed my position. This time around I was not the smart Black Girl, but I was one of the cool Black Girls. When I entered the working world, the Black Girl description became a permanent part of my identity. On Capitol Hill, where my boss happened to be one of the more prominent and vocal Black Girls, my position as her Black Girl staffer made me instantly recognizable presence. Later when I worked in the civil rights community, we had a sisterhood of Black Girl lawyers at the various organizations. And now at my university, I have Black Girl status in the History department.
Sometimes, it can be humiliating. Just ask the Black Girl from Texas who was identified as such in a yearbook photo of the Honor Society at her school. Apparently, no one on the yearbook staff knew her name, so they wrote in that caption as a placeholder, but then they forgot to correct it before the final printing. She got upset so the school went into damage control mode and issued an immediate apology.
I think she needs to get used to it. As long as she continues to be exceptional, she will always be referred to as the Black Girl behind her back. She will always stand out in the crowd. Among other black women, she will be criticized for being too uppity or siddity. Black men will accuse her of being head-strong and assertive. White women will regard her with suspicion. And white men will misjudge her as accommodating and non-threatening.
Of course, none of these impressions is true. We may seem to go along, but only because we play the game to survive. And often we win! We know who we are, and we celebrate it.
Go Black Girls!
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Fo-Shizzle
What the hell does that mean? And why did I hear a commercial today in which a white girl said it? I guess no one says "awesome" anymore...
****
So now I've learned to dub music CDs. Or at least I think I do. I spent half an hour at Circuit City yesterday trying to buy the right CDs that play on car radios and stereos. Apparently the ones I've had, but barely use, only play on the computer, so I waited patiently for a free salesperson and barraged him with questions. He was very helpful and suggested a good brand, but then I spent the next ten minutes concerned about how many CDs I would buy. The ones I had selected with the cases was $5, but I could get 45 more for only $5 more, except those would not come with cases. Then it was a decision between getting fewer so that I would take less of a loss if things did not work out. The cashier thought I was pretty funny, and probably very high maintenance. Finally, I settled on the 50 CDs with no cases for $10, and as of this morning, I have successfully dubbed the Seal CD that I promised my dance teacher last week. Of course, I have no idea how I did it.
I am slowly coming into the 21st Century. I still don't know how to send text messages, how to IM people, or anything more complicated than point, click and send. I am pathetic. But my husband is way worse, so that is my consolation. He is a total techno-phobe. He won't touch anything electronic until it gets plugged in.
****
Tyra Banks will get a talk show this fall. What in the world does she have to say outside of her other show, Top Model? And is there anyone out there who cares? I swear, these self-indulged C-list celebrities and their talk show ambitions (yes, washed up super models are on the C-list, along with former child stars, aging rock star wives, and anyone who gets a show on VH-1). For example: (1) Tony Danza and his wannabe Marlon Brando (ANNGELAAAA); (2) Danny Bonaduce, the former child star who has made a career out of being a former child star; and (3) Sharon Osbourne, whose only claim to fame was being married to Ozzy, a certifiable lunatic.
Tyra is plugging her show with the enticement that there will be a runway on her set. Oooh, I can't wait...
****
I just got another text book for one of my classes this fall, which brings the total to four. This one came with a CD. Who in the world has time to read through all of this before the beginning of the semester? Hell, when is the beginning of my semester? What day is it...
****
So now I've learned to dub music CDs. Or at least I think I do. I spent half an hour at Circuit City yesterday trying to buy the right CDs that play on car radios and stereos. Apparently the ones I've had, but barely use, only play on the computer, so I waited patiently for a free salesperson and barraged him with questions. He was very helpful and suggested a good brand, but then I spent the next ten minutes concerned about how many CDs I would buy. The ones I had selected with the cases was $5, but I could get 45 more for only $5 more, except those would not come with cases. Then it was a decision between getting fewer so that I would take less of a loss if things did not work out. The cashier thought I was pretty funny, and probably very high maintenance. Finally, I settled on the 50 CDs with no cases for $10, and as of this morning, I have successfully dubbed the Seal CD that I promised my dance teacher last week. Of course, I have no idea how I did it.
I am slowly coming into the 21st Century. I still don't know how to send text messages, how to IM people, or anything more complicated than point, click and send. I am pathetic. But my husband is way worse, so that is my consolation. He is a total techno-phobe. He won't touch anything electronic until it gets plugged in.
****
Tyra Banks will get a talk show this fall. What in the world does she have to say outside of her other show, Top Model? And is there anyone out there who cares? I swear, these self-indulged C-list celebrities and their talk show ambitions (yes, washed up super models are on the C-list, along with former child stars, aging rock star wives, and anyone who gets a show on VH-1). For example: (1) Tony Danza and his wannabe Marlon Brando (ANNGELAAAA); (2) Danny Bonaduce, the former child star who has made a career out of being a former child star; and (3) Sharon Osbourne, whose only claim to fame was being married to Ozzy, a certifiable lunatic.
Tyra is plugging her show with the enticement that there will be a runway on her set. Oooh, I can't wait...
****
I just got another text book for one of my classes this fall, which brings the total to four. This one came with a CD. Who in the world has time to read through all of this before the beginning of the semester? Hell, when is the beginning of my semester? What day is it...
Friday, August 12, 2005
Character Flaws
Thank God for reruns on cable!
Of course, most shows tend to wear thin after a while because there is the inevitable sequence of bad episodes when they replace characters and try to continue as if nothing happened. On Cosby, I watch every episode from the beginning through the "Cockroach years", but after that, in season 6 when Olivia shows up, I lose interest. On A Different World, I can do without the first season, but I love seasons 2-5, the "Walter years." After that, the show falls apart in season 5 and the only thing that saves it is the wedding at the end. On Living Single, I liked it from the beginning, but as soon the "Kyle era" ends, the show becomes whack.
OK, so I have character preferences when it comes to repeats...but don't we all? Plenty of folks can watch Good Times reruns for days, but as soon as they kill James, the show loses some of its spark. All of a sudden, Michael starts to act gay, JJ becomes even more corny, and Wilona becomes this over-bearing mother superior. By the time they bring Florida back and Thelma gets married, the thrill is gone. On Sanford and Son, once Grady disappears, Aunt Esther and Woodrow adopt that kid, Lamont's fro gets curly, and Fred opens the Sanford Arms. On Cheers everyone knows the show was much better with Diane. While there were some good episodes during the Rebecca years (the Kelly Kelly song), the show never fully recovers, and all hope is lost when Sam decides to have a kid.
And this is why most shows jump the shark. Richie left Happy Days around the time of the infamous shark jump, and the show was never any good after that (did anyone think that the Fonz was the real star of that show?) The Fresh Prince tried to pull one over on us when they replaced the mother, but did anyone buy that? The same thing happened on Roseanne with the Becky switch. Remember how bad Married with Children became after Steve left? Even a pretty bad show like In Da House got worse after Debbie Allen left.
Message to all sitcom writers: You can't shed crucial characters and expect the show to continue unharmed. It's like sticking your finger in a dike to plug a leak.
I say that we follow the example of the Brit-coms and HBO. If we limit the number of episodes per season, then the writers can invest time in developing their characters and good solid storylines. And then the shows should have a definite life span, say no more than five years. Once a show reaches that point, viewers generally lose interest and then shows go into syndication anyway. We end up watching more reruns than original episodes--think Friends, Seinfeld, Frasier, Raymond.
Look, nothing lasts forever, except for perpetual syndication on cable...
Of course, most shows tend to wear thin after a while because there is the inevitable sequence of bad episodes when they replace characters and try to continue as if nothing happened. On Cosby, I watch every episode from the beginning through the "Cockroach years", but after that, in season 6 when Olivia shows up, I lose interest. On A Different World, I can do without the first season, but I love seasons 2-5, the "Walter years." After that, the show falls apart in season 5 and the only thing that saves it is the wedding at the end. On Living Single, I liked it from the beginning, but as soon the "Kyle era" ends, the show becomes whack.
OK, so I have character preferences when it comes to repeats...but don't we all? Plenty of folks can watch Good Times reruns for days, but as soon as they kill James, the show loses some of its spark. All of a sudden, Michael starts to act gay, JJ becomes even more corny, and Wilona becomes this over-bearing mother superior. By the time they bring Florida back and Thelma gets married, the thrill is gone. On Sanford and Son, once Grady disappears, Aunt Esther and Woodrow adopt that kid, Lamont's fro gets curly, and Fred opens the Sanford Arms. On Cheers everyone knows the show was much better with Diane. While there were some good episodes during the Rebecca years (the Kelly Kelly song), the show never fully recovers, and all hope is lost when Sam decides to have a kid.
And this is why most shows jump the shark. Richie left Happy Days around the time of the infamous shark jump, and the show was never any good after that (did anyone think that the Fonz was the real star of that show?) The Fresh Prince tried to pull one over on us when they replaced the mother, but did anyone buy that? The same thing happened on Roseanne with the Becky switch. Remember how bad Married with Children became after Steve left? Even a pretty bad show like In Da House got worse after Debbie Allen left.
Message to all sitcom writers: You can't shed crucial characters and expect the show to continue unharmed. It's like sticking your finger in a dike to plug a leak.
I say that we follow the example of the Brit-coms and HBO. If we limit the number of episodes per season, then the writers can invest time in developing their characters and good solid storylines. And then the shows should have a definite life span, say no more than five years. Once a show reaches that point, viewers generally lose interest and then shows go into syndication anyway. We end up watching more reruns than original episodes--think Friends, Seinfeld, Frasier, Raymond.
Look, nothing lasts forever, except for perpetual syndication on cable...
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Random Thoughts for August
I'm forgetting a lot of stuff lately. My aunt's birthday was on Monday, and I haven't called her. I bought her a card several weeks ago, but I misplaced it until Saturday night and still haven't mailed it. I have sympathy cards that also need to be sent. My sister-in-law lost her grandmother, but I didn't get a card and I don't remember signing one. I went to a funeral a few weeks ago and never sent a card (although I signed the book). Another aunt lost her father, but all I did was show up for the funeral and she sent me a thank-you note anyway. I still haven't baked the banana bread that I promised.
My best friend's birthday was yesterday. I have a card for her too, but ask me if I mailed it...
*****
Can anyone explain Omarosa? She is everywhere. I almost wish Donald Trump had just hired her so she could be filed away in an office somewhere. Surely she must have burned through those 15 minutes by now. But I can't hate her, because how can you hate a sister who's found a way to work some of those black women stereotypes to her advantage? She's arrogant, kind of bitchy, pretty enough, and she can get down in the hood like the rest of us. She could be my bourgie blackwoman superhero...
Come to think of it, Omarosa is the only other black woman on TV with first name recognition besides Oprah. Is that a coinky-dink, given that both of their names begn with O?
****
So I'm watching As Time Goes By this afternoon and it occurred to me that I've seen most of the series now. I missed a few of the early episodes, but I saw them on the BBC a few weeks ago. Now that PBS has gotten near the end of the series, I'm starting to feel a little sad because in a few days my show might get replaced with some other Brit-com that I may not like. They already replaced All Creatures Great and Small on Saturday afternoons...
****
I like the BBC, but there are no people of color on their TV shows, or at least not the ones that get shown over here. I know there are brown people in Europe. They colonized or enslaved half of us, and once upon a time, the sun never set on the British empire, so what gives? After the train bombing in London, they were quick to trot out all of the black school kids to prove how diverse their society had become.
They should be proud of their Black Brits. There is SEAL, Soul to Soul, Caron Wheeler, Incognito, that chef, Ainsely Herriot, and the DJ on Ellen. Oh I almost forgot, Scary Spice is black too (most of the time).
****
It is officially the middle of August, and that means I need a life, a job outside of the house, and some new shoes. My life is pretty boring these days, with crossword puzzles, blogging and Brit-coms. I actually have a job outside of the house, but I need to get paychecks every two weeks like normal people. Fall is right around the corner, and I want some new clothes. I have to look good as I sit in front of the computer.
****
I've joined a webring, or at least I submitted my blog for inclusion in a webring. It is for black women with blogs, but I have to wait to learn if I've been accepted. This is like applying for college. I should qualify, but I wonder if after reading my blog, they will think that I am a self-loathing oreo. I make fun of people a lot, and I find black people especially comical. I don't listen to Tom Joyner, I don't drive a nice car, I don't do church anymore, and I like British TV. How will that play to Urban America?
Stay tuned. Ciao!
My best friend's birthday was yesterday. I have a card for her too, but ask me if I mailed it...
*****
Can anyone explain Omarosa? She is everywhere. I almost wish Donald Trump had just hired her so she could be filed away in an office somewhere. Surely she must have burned through those 15 minutes by now. But I can't hate her, because how can you hate a sister who's found a way to work some of those black women stereotypes to her advantage? She's arrogant, kind of bitchy, pretty enough, and she can get down in the hood like the rest of us. She could be my bourgie blackwoman superhero...
Come to think of it, Omarosa is the only other black woman on TV with first name recognition besides Oprah. Is that a coinky-dink, given that both of their names begn with O?
****
So I'm watching As Time Goes By this afternoon and it occurred to me that I've seen most of the series now. I missed a few of the early episodes, but I saw them on the BBC a few weeks ago. Now that PBS has gotten near the end of the series, I'm starting to feel a little sad because in a few days my show might get replaced with some other Brit-com that I may not like. They already replaced All Creatures Great and Small on Saturday afternoons...
****
I like the BBC, but there are no people of color on their TV shows, or at least not the ones that get shown over here. I know there are brown people in Europe. They colonized or enslaved half of us, and once upon a time, the sun never set on the British empire, so what gives? After the train bombing in London, they were quick to trot out all of the black school kids to prove how diverse their society had become.
They should be proud of their Black Brits. There is SEAL, Soul to Soul, Caron Wheeler, Incognito, that chef, Ainsely Herriot, and the DJ on Ellen. Oh I almost forgot, Scary Spice is black too (most of the time).
****
It is officially the middle of August, and that means I need a life, a job outside of the house, and some new shoes. My life is pretty boring these days, with crossword puzzles, blogging and Brit-coms. I actually have a job outside of the house, but I need to get paychecks every two weeks like normal people. Fall is right around the corner, and I want some new clothes. I have to look good as I sit in front of the computer.
****
I've joined a webring, or at least I submitted my blog for inclusion in a webring. It is for black women with blogs, but I have to wait to learn if I've been accepted. This is like applying for college. I should qualify, but I wonder if after reading my blog, they will think that I am a self-loathing oreo. I make fun of people a lot, and I find black people especially comical. I don't listen to Tom Joyner, I don't drive a nice car, I don't do church anymore, and I like British TV. How will that play to Urban America?
Stay tuned. Ciao!
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Outrage of the Hour!
I got curious and decided to scroll through other blogs that were updated around the same time I updated mine, and I was attracted to one of those self-important "conservative conservative" titles. So I decided, what the heck, I've had some oat bran today (trust me, there is a definite link between this garbage and my morning Cheerios)...
So, this guy lists all the reasons why one might be a Democrat, and of course, they include the obligatory quip about liberal arts majors working at Starbucks, but then the rest of the reasons are narrow-minded and downright hostile. Of course on his alternative list, he rhapsodizes about God, guns, SUVs and why conservatives will inherit the Kingdom of God.
I hate self-righteous Republifu**s (my new term). They suck.
I won't even waste time debunking his list, because in the off chance that someone reads this, I refuse to even slightly endorse his blog. But I will say this, people who make lists about why they are so great and why others who disagree with them are stupid or lame should be careful not to protest too much, lest they be revealed as hypocrites. If you have to tell me how great you are, then maybe it means you need to spend less time talking and more time doing, so that people can see that greatness reflected in your actions.
And by the way, if you believe that guns, FOX news, and Wal-Mart are virtues, well then, thank God I'm not a Republifu**!
So, this guy lists all the reasons why one might be a Democrat, and of course, they include the obligatory quip about liberal arts majors working at Starbucks, but then the rest of the reasons are narrow-minded and downright hostile. Of course on his alternative list, he rhapsodizes about God, guns, SUVs and why conservatives will inherit the Kingdom of God.
I hate self-righteous Republifu**s (my new term). They suck.
I won't even waste time debunking his list, because in the off chance that someone reads this, I refuse to even slightly endorse his blog. But I will say this, people who make lists about why they are so great and why others who disagree with them are stupid or lame should be careful not to protest too much, lest they be revealed as hypocrites. If you have to tell me how great you are, then maybe it means you need to spend less time talking and more time doing, so that people can see that greatness reflected in your actions.
And by the way, if you believe that guns, FOX news, and Wal-Mart are virtues, well then, thank God I'm not a Republifu**!
Hateration
That's not even a real word, but it does describe how I felt after dance class last night.
I'm hating my body and its limitations; hating the other dancers in the studio because of their limitations; and I'm totally hating the new woman with all that professional training who made every single one of us look bad.
Actually, she has challenged me to improve, in a way. After taking one class with this woman, I am going to do whatever it takes to get my leg as high as it can go, to get my feet to point as far as they can, and to get my body into the shape it was in back when I was a teenager. She made me feel old and creaky, and she is several years OLDER than me, but give me a bit of time, and I'll show her!
Makes me wonder what the heck have I been doing with my life all these years? I've been dancing since the age of nine, yet I doubt I ever had as much flexibility (or talent) as she did. Did I miss something? I rarely missed a class...so what is my problem?
Clearly, it is focus, and how I totally lack it. That is the story of my life.
Like now, I am supposed to be working on a cover letter for a job. I've done the letter and my resume is ready to go, but I need to update my references and instead, I am blogging about dance class and my potatoes. I did write the letter for another job for which I plan to apply, so I did accomplish something today. Now I just need to print it out and prepare it for mailing along with the letter I planned to mail to my client two weeks ago, and the other project for my old boss. Oh, and a few emails here and there concerning stuff I've been avoiding. Do you see a pattern here?
Yep. So I guess I'll get back to work...
I'm hating my body and its limitations; hating the other dancers in the studio because of their limitations; and I'm totally hating the new woman with all that professional training who made every single one of us look bad.
Actually, she has challenged me to improve, in a way. After taking one class with this woman, I am going to do whatever it takes to get my leg as high as it can go, to get my feet to point as far as they can, and to get my body into the shape it was in back when I was a teenager. She made me feel old and creaky, and she is several years OLDER than me, but give me a bit of time, and I'll show her!
Makes me wonder what the heck have I been doing with my life all these years? I've been dancing since the age of nine, yet I doubt I ever had as much flexibility (or talent) as she did. Did I miss something? I rarely missed a class...so what is my problem?
Clearly, it is focus, and how I totally lack it. That is the story of my life.
Like now, I am supposed to be working on a cover letter for a job. I've done the letter and my resume is ready to go, but I need to update my references and instead, I am blogging about dance class and my potatoes. I did write the letter for another job for which I plan to apply, so I did accomplish something today. Now I just need to print it out and prepare it for mailing along with the letter I planned to mail to my client two weeks ago, and the other project for my old boss. Oh, and a few emails here and there concerning stuff I've been avoiding. Do you see a pattern here?
Yep. So I guess I'll get back to work...
Friday, July 29, 2005
Bliggity Blog Blough!!!
According to the counter, I have posted over 50 blogs since February! Hooray, now I just need to get someone to read them...
I was talking to the hub this morning and he said that I should try to be funny. I told him that I think I am funny, on occasion. He still never reads my blog, so how would he know, anyway?
To be honest, I carp on about no one reading my stuff, but I don't read anyone else's stuff either. When I first got started, I would go through the profiles to see what I had in common with other bloggers, but that lasted about 10 days. I found that I have a lot in common with most bloggers in that we are all bored wanna be writers. Some people have had a flash of fame, like I did briefly in 2001, and others labor in online obscurity (like I do now) hoping for that off chance that someone will stumble across their work. It's a living.
I don't even promote my blog. I have friends whom I could get to read this, but then I get all nervous that my writing is corny and too personal. Do any of my friends really want to read about my tomato plants or my days spent picking lent from my navel? I'm sure they don't care to read about my blue moods or my secret love for all things British (yeah, it's true, I'm addicted to the BBC).
And I don't write overly political stuff all the time either. I go through phases when I feel like being outraged, but then it gets too tiring to keep that up. If I were getting paid to write, I could probably manage it for a while, but in the end, I'd get bored with it.
I am a temperamental writer. I deal in emotions a lot, which is probably a good thing for an essayist, better for a novelist and perfect for a poet. Right now, I am none of those things. I am more of a doodler, a person who writes little ditties to kill time. This is supposed to be practice, and I'll keep at it...until something better comes along.
Ciao!
I was talking to the hub this morning and he said that I should try to be funny. I told him that I think I am funny, on occasion. He still never reads my blog, so how would he know, anyway?
To be honest, I carp on about no one reading my stuff, but I don't read anyone else's stuff either. When I first got started, I would go through the profiles to see what I had in common with other bloggers, but that lasted about 10 days. I found that I have a lot in common with most bloggers in that we are all bored wanna be writers. Some people have had a flash of fame, like I did briefly in 2001, and others labor in online obscurity (like I do now) hoping for that off chance that someone will stumble across their work. It's a living.
I don't even promote my blog. I have friends whom I could get to read this, but then I get all nervous that my writing is corny and too personal. Do any of my friends really want to read about my tomato plants or my days spent picking lent from my navel? I'm sure they don't care to read about my blue moods or my secret love for all things British (yeah, it's true, I'm addicted to the BBC).
And I don't write overly political stuff all the time either. I go through phases when I feel like being outraged, but then it gets too tiring to keep that up. If I were getting paid to write, I could probably manage it for a while, but in the end, I'd get bored with it.
I am a temperamental writer. I deal in emotions a lot, which is probably a good thing for an essayist, better for a novelist and perfect for a poet. Right now, I am none of those things. I am more of a doodler, a person who writes little ditties to kill time. This is supposed to be practice, and I'll keep at it...until something better comes along.
Ciao!
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Build It and They Will Come
Today Marc Fisher wrote an interesting column about the absence of Starbucks in certain parts of the region. He focused on the few Starbucks offerings in Prince George's County, home to the nation's highest population of affluent African Americans.
A few years ago, there was an urban legend email that circulated about certain companies having a "non-urban mandate" which was code for not locating in black and brown neighborhoods. It listed about 20 companies that would not locate among us, and Starbucks topped the list, along with Best Buy and Eddie Bauer. The email urged a boycott, but to date, I haven't heard that black folks had stopped buying TVs and oversized clothes.
But apparently, the absence of Starbucks in certain neighborhoods hasn't hurt their bottom line. Starbucks has populated downtown DC like a family of bunny rabbits. And they are always crowded with people of all racial and ethnic backgrounds. In some places, there are three Starbucks in one neighborhood, all within walking distance of each other. They are about as common as CVS.
But in some ways the article is right, Starbucks is seemingly everywhere in certain parts of the region, and scarse in others. There is no Starbucks east of the Anacostia River, nor is there one anywhere near me in NE (the closest one is in Union Station). Over the line, there are two Starbucks in and around College Park, but according to the article, there are only three more in the entire county. What gives?
It is easy to say that race plays a role, and I think that is exactly the problem. But the problem is not Starbucks', it is ours. Black people are not entrepreneurial--we are consumers. We would rather spend our money on purchases instead of investments. In order to get businesses to come into our neighborhoods, we have to be willing to invest in them ourselves.
In both DC and PG, the mantra needs to be, "If we want it, let's build it ourselves!" In the old days, that is exactly what black folks did when the white businesses refused to serve us. We built in our own neighborhoods, so why can't we do that now? Surely someone has the expertise needed to own and operate the types of service-oriented businesses we crave. If we don't, then who says someone can't learn? This isn't rocket science...
Bottom line, it should not be up to remote corporate officials to decide that who is worthy of patronizing their stores. If we built our own coffee shop in downtown Upper Marlboro or on 12th Street in NE, then Starbucks, Cosi or another corporate coffee conglomerate would take notice, because they'd realize that it was an untapped market. But even more importantly, it would empower us as a people to pursue ownership. Honestly, we could live without another Starbucks because it would be better to encourage local business ownership than to spend money on overpriced coffee beans from Seattle.
I'm talking big because I think big. In the words of Ella Baker, this is bigger than a cup of coffee--its about who owns the store.
A few years ago, there was an urban legend email that circulated about certain companies having a "non-urban mandate" which was code for not locating in black and brown neighborhoods. It listed about 20 companies that would not locate among us, and Starbucks topped the list, along with Best Buy and Eddie Bauer. The email urged a boycott, but to date, I haven't heard that black folks had stopped buying TVs and oversized clothes.
But apparently, the absence of Starbucks in certain neighborhoods hasn't hurt their bottom line. Starbucks has populated downtown DC like a family of bunny rabbits. And they are always crowded with people of all racial and ethnic backgrounds. In some places, there are three Starbucks in one neighborhood, all within walking distance of each other. They are about as common as CVS.
But in some ways the article is right, Starbucks is seemingly everywhere in certain parts of the region, and scarse in others. There is no Starbucks east of the Anacostia River, nor is there one anywhere near me in NE (the closest one is in Union Station). Over the line, there are two Starbucks in and around College Park, but according to the article, there are only three more in the entire county. What gives?
It is easy to say that race plays a role, and I think that is exactly the problem. But the problem is not Starbucks', it is ours. Black people are not entrepreneurial--we are consumers. We would rather spend our money on purchases instead of investments. In order to get businesses to come into our neighborhoods, we have to be willing to invest in them ourselves.
In both DC and PG, the mantra needs to be, "If we want it, let's build it ourselves!" In the old days, that is exactly what black folks did when the white businesses refused to serve us. We built in our own neighborhoods, so why can't we do that now? Surely someone has the expertise needed to own and operate the types of service-oriented businesses we crave. If we don't, then who says someone can't learn? This isn't rocket science...
Bottom line, it should not be up to remote corporate officials to decide that who is worthy of patronizing their stores. If we built our own coffee shop in downtown Upper Marlboro or on 12th Street in NE, then Starbucks, Cosi or another corporate coffee conglomerate would take notice, because they'd realize that it was an untapped market. But even more importantly, it would empower us as a people to pursue ownership. Honestly, we could live without another Starbucks because it would be better to encourage local business ownership than to spend money on overpriced coffee beans from Seattle.
I'm talking big because I think big. In the words of Ella Baker, this is bigger than a cup of coffee--its about who owns the store.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Dealing with my Demons
I finally got the blood test that I've been avoiding for months. I went to the doctor back in December and was scheduled to get blood work so that she could evaluate my cholesterol. The previous test showed that I had elevated levels. So, I finally went to get the follow-up test last Monday, and the results came in this week and were worse. My cholesterol is still high.
This is the type of wake-up call that other people who lead dangerous lives get. Instead, someone as boring vanilla as me gets it at 31 years old, as if I've led the type of food-binging lifestyle that affects other people twice my age and weight. This is devestating. And it is made worse by the fact that I've really been trying to lower it through diet and exercise this past year.
Of course, I could do better. I can stand to lose about 15 pounds, maybe 20. I could drink a lot more water. I could try to stay calm more often. I could take a walk on the treadmill instead of sitting around watching TV. All of these things would be improvements, but it isn't like I'm 50 pounds overweight.
This is the manifestation of a problem that I have refused to acknowledge for some time. I am unhappy about the general state of my life right now. I worry about everything. I beat myself up over small things. I fail a lot. And when I get like this, I eat.
Mind you, I don't have anything close to an eating disorder. I don't binge and I don't abuse food. If anything, I do what most people do when they get lonely or upset--I palliate. If I feel particularly stressed about something, I drink coffee or other drinks with caffeine. When it is close to that time of the month, I eat salty foods like chips. Or maybe I get the rare sweet tooth and I'll get something with chocolate. But overall, I eat pretty well. So I don't get this.
The long and the short of all of this is that I have to change or I could end up taking medication for the rest of my life. I could get sick, have a heart attack or a stroke. I could die...
So I know what I have to do, and on the top of the list is to eliminate stress. It's time to get re-aligned again, to get rid of anything that is making me sick. That means getting rid of projects that are long overdue for completing, getting paid for work that has been completed, and finally getting some real work that pays on time. It also means focusing on those things that make me happy and finding balance.
I can make it. I will make it.
This is the type of wake-up call that other people who lead dangerous lives get. Instead, someone as boring vanilla as me gets it at 31 years old, as if I've led the type of food-binging lifestyle that affects other people twice my age and weight. This is devestating. And it is made worse by the fact that I've really been trying to lower it through diet and exercise this past year.
Of course, I could do better. I can stand to lose about 15 pounds, maybe 20. I could drink a lot more water. I could try to stay calm more often. I could take a walk on the treadmill instead of sitting around watching TV. All of these things would be improvements, but it isn't like I'm 50 pounds overweight.
This is the manifestation of a problem that I have refused to acknowledge for some time. I am unhappy about the general state of my life right now. I worry about everything. I beat myself up over small things. I fail a lot. And when I get like this, I eat.
Mind you, I don't have anything close to an eating disorder. I don't binge and I don't abuse food. If anything, I do what most people do when they get lonely or upset--I palliate. If I feel particularly stressed about something, I drink coffee or other drinks with caffeine. When it is close to that time of the month, I eat salty foods like chips. Or maybe I get the rare sweet tooth and I'll get something with chocolate. But overall, I eat pretty well. So I don't get this.
The long and the short of all of this is that I have to change or I could end up taking medication for the rest of my life. I could get sick, have a heart attack or a stroke. I could die...
So I know what I have to do, and on the top of the list is to eliminate stress. It's time to get re-aligned again, to get rid of anything that is making me sick. That means getting rid of projects that are long overdue for completing, getting paid for work that has been completed, and finally getting some real work that pays on time. It also means focusing on those things that make me happy and finding balance.
I can make it. I will make it.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Credit Where Credit is Due
I am taking this opportunity to acknowledge my mother. She taught for many years in the public school system and accomplished a great deal. She taught her students to expect more from themselves, something that kids desparately need today. I am speaking up for my mother because I feel that she deserves some acknowledgment every now and then.
There was the article in today's paper that got me to singing my mother's praises. The article was about a certain young actress from this area, who shall remain nameless. She has a starring role in an upcoming movie, and the article is one of those homegirl-makes-good pieces. I read through the article for several reasons: (1) I always read these types of articles; (2) it is about a local black woman who has done well, and those articles are rare; and (3) the actress is a former student of my mother's.
Unfortunately, the actress does not mention that she was a student of my mother's. She talks about her struggles and about how she is just now getting her big break, but in between mentioning the work she did in high school and college, she never mentions performing with my mother's drama club in junior high school.
I vividly remember my mother's drama students because I essentially grew up with them. As a matter of fact, I harbored a certain amount of resentment towards them because it seemed that the drama kids got more from my mother than I did. She was a surrogate mother to many of her students, and some developed major feelings for her (in the form of some serious school-boy crushes). In turn, she was devoted to them and took her role as their teacher/mentor/mother very seriously. If someone did something stupid, she chastised them just like a mother. If someone needed some encouragement, she routed for them just like a mother.
So, I was disappointed not to see some small mention of my mother in the article. I remember this young lady, and I was the one who told my mother about her a few years back when she got her first big movie role.
My mother had taught English/Language Arts for a few years, and one year she was assigned to teach drama and public speaking as well. Although she had never taught drama before, she entered her students in a city-wide Shakespeare festival to perform Macbeth. I remember that she spent several weeks preparing the students for their scene and that she made the costumes herself. She wanted them to make a good impression because she knew that her students were the underdogs. These were inner-city kids, and at the time, no one expected them to be able to perform Shakespeare. Well, in classic "Remember the Titans" style, my mother's students were outstanding, and I distinctly remember the way she raved about the performance of a certain actress who was Lady Macbeth.
Mind you, all of this took place when I was less than 10 years old, and my mother went on to teach drama to many more students through the years. Yet I still remember this event in particular, so why wouldn't this actress recount any of this for the article?
Of course, newspaper and magazine articles get editted, so it is very possible that my mother was acknowledged in an earlier version of the article. Well, I really don't believe that, just like I don't believe that this actress is claiming to be the same age as me (she is at least five years older). People say all kinds of things, and I guess they forget all kinds of things too.
The way I see it, everyone of us owes a debt to those who helped make it possible for our current success. None of us achieves any success without the support, nurturing and guidance of others, namely our teachers. That's what those long-winded Oscar speeches are about--giving thanks.
Now I can't say that I am any better when it comes to acknowledging the influence others have had in my life. I too have been forgetful and neglectful. I've had some great teachers in my life, some people who truly encouraged me and believed in what I had to offer. I can still name some of them: Mrs. Savoy (elementary school principal); Mills (2 and 6 grades); Mrs. Darasaw (pre-K); Mrs. Tucker (elementary science); Mrs. Brooks (dance); Father Moore (middle school religion); Mrs. Page (high school chemistry); and most of the English Department at Spelman. I've received encouragement from a wide range of people outside of the classroom as well--people from my church, my peers from school, and my co-workers from my various jobs. Lastly, I have received enormous encouragement from my family, especially from my parents.
We all forget things. I forget to do mundane tasks on a daily basis. Yet we also remember. I can recall events from my childhood as if they occurred yesterday. What I am remembering about the drama kids and the Shakespeare festival doesn't even qualify as my experience. So I may be overstating my mother's influence in this woman's life--her current fame may be due to sheer determination to succeed. But, I can't help but to think that my mother deserves a little credit for her fame. After all, she had to start somewhere. We all did.
So, here's to my mother!
There was the article in today's paper that got me to singing my mother's praises. The article was about a certain young actress from this area, who shall remain nameless. She has a starring role in an upcoming movie, and the article is one of those homegirl-makes-good pieces. I read through the article for several reasons: (1) I always read these types of articles; (2) it is about a local black woman who has done well, and those articles are rare; and (3) the actress is a former student of my mother's.
Unfortunately, the actress does not mention that she was a student of my mother's. She talks about her struggles and about how she is just now getting her big break, but in between mentioning the work she did in high school and college, she never mentions performing with my mother's drama club in junior high school.
I vividly remember my mother's drama students because I essentially grew up with them. As a matter of fact, I harbored a certain amount of resentment towards them because it seemed that the drama kids got more from my mother than I did. She was a surrogate mother to many of her students, and some developed major feelings for her (in the form of some serious school-boy crushes). In turn, she was devoted to them and took her role as their teacher/mentor/mother very seriously. If someone did something stupid, she chastised them just like a mother. If someone needed some encouragement, she routed for them just like a mother.
So, I was disappointed not to see some small mention of my mother in the article. I remember this young lady, and I was the one who told my mother about her a few years back when she got her first big movie role.
My mother had taught English/Language Arts for a few years, and one year she was assigned to teach drama and public speaking as well. Although she had never taught drama before, she entered her students in a city-wide Shakespeare festival to perform Macbeth. I remember that she spent several weeks preparing the students for their scene and that she made the costumes herself. She wanted them to make a good impression because she knew that her students were the underdogs. These were inner-city kids, and at the time, no one expected them to be able to perform Shakespeare. Well, in classic "Remember the Titans" style, my mother's students were outstanding, and I distinctly remember the way she raved about the performance of a certain actress who was Lady Macbeth.
Mind you, all of this took place when I was less than 10 years old, and my mother went on to teach drama to many more students through the years. Yet I still remember this event in particular, so why wouldn't this actress recount any of this for the article?
Of course, newspaper and magazine articles get editted, so it is very possible that my mother was acknowledged in an earlier version of the article. Well, I really don't believe that, just like I don't believe that this actress is claiming to be the same age as me (she is at least five years older). People say all kinds of things, and I guess they forget all kinds of things too.
The way I see it, everyone of us owes a debt to those who helped make it possible for our current success. None of us achieves any success without the support, nurturing and guidance of others, namely our teachers. That's what those long-winded Oscar speeches are about--giving thanks.
Now I can't say that I am any better when it comes to acknowledging the influence others have had in my life. I too have been forgetful and neglectful. I've had some great teachers in my life, some people who truly encouraged me and believed in what I had to offer. I can still name some of them: Mrs. Savoy (elementary school principal); Mills (2 and 6 grades); Mrs. Darasaw (pre-K); Mrs. Tucker (elementary science); Mrs. Brooks (dance); Father Moore (middle school religion); Mrs. Page (high school chemistry); and most of the English Department at Spelman. I've received encouragement from a wide range of people outside of the classroom as well--people from my church, my peers from school, and my co-workers from my various jobs. Lastly, I have received enormous encouragement from my family, especially from my parents.
We all forget things. I forget to do mundane tasks on a daily basis. Yet we also remember. I can recall events from my childhood as if they occurred yesterday. What I am remembering about the drama kids and the Shakespeare festival doesn't even qualify as my experience. So I may be overstating my mother's influence in this woman's life--her current fame may be due to sheer determination to succeed. But, I can't help but to think that my mother deserves a little credit for her fame. After all, she had to start somewhere. We all did.
So, here's to my mother!
Monday, July 18, 2005
Blame the Lesbians!
Rev. Willie Wilson recently declared that lesbianism will destroy the black family! It's true, hide your daughters! While delivering a sermon, Wilson described how difficult it was for his son to get a date for his prom because all the girls in the class were lesbians (the non-gay girls were too ugly for him). He didn't say what his son looks like...
This is the same guy who ran for mayor a few years ago, and this drama proves that the city dodged a bullet by re-electing Mayor Williams. In a progressive, diverse city, we can't afford to have idiots in public office. We need to have politicians who are sensitive to the needs of the entire city, and not just the needs of teenage boys who want to find dates.
Although the gay community got all hot and bothered after Wilson's comments were printed in the newspaper, they'll get over this. It's not like Willie Wilson is anything to them anyway. He's just a old hustler [ur, umm preacher] who probably says stupid stuff like this all the time. He's not an elected official who represents a constituency, like say...Marion Barry, who didn't exactly repudiate Wilson for his incindiary remarks. Barry slithered his way out of this one by saying that he would *talk* to Wilson. Here's my interpretation of what might happen:
Barry: Hey man, you're getting a lot of heat for making those comments about black lesbians. What are you going to do about it?
Wilson: Nothing. Why should I apologize? It's true, those man-hating lesbians have runied my son's prom. So now who's he supposed to take?
Barry: He could take a white girl. You know how they love the brothers.
Wilson: Do you honestly expect him to take a white girl to his prom in DC, Chocolate City? There ain't no white girls in SE.
Barry: Naw, man they taking over this city. I saw some white people walking around on MLK the other day. Maybe he can find a nice Spanish girl. They live all over NW these days.
Wilson: Yeah, maybe that girl, Maria, who cleans the church can go with him. But wait, she don't speak enough English. How would she know that my son was asking her out? What else you got?
Barry: Well, how about one of those girls who work behind the counter at the corner store. What are they, Korean? What about one of them?
Wilson: Huh? One of those little Korean girls that look like boys? What would that look like, my son at the prom with a little Korean boy in a dress?
Barry: I don't know what to tell you, man. Maybe he should ask one of the ugly girls. Hey, can I check them out before he decides...
Wilson: See the trouble those damn lesbians have caused? The black family is doomed!!!
(Okay, that may have been one of the lamest exchanges since Paris and Nicole attempted to explain why they are so popular, but you get the point.)
And to think that all this time, everyone's been so focused on how black women are not finding suitable marriage partners because of all the brothers who are either in prison, out of work, or dead. And all those so-called straight men on the down low? Clearly, it's the lesbians who made them that way!
In reality, the reasons for the peril within the black family are much more complex. Sure, there is the usual litany of social ills, but the situation also has a lot to do with respect. I'm not at all suggesting that people chose the gay lifestyle, but I can't help but think that there is a percentage of these women who decided that given the choice between an abusive man and a loving woman, there was no contest. And as long as boys are boys and girls are girls, and hormones rage out of control during adolescence, there will never be an epidemic of homosexuality. If anything, these kids are exploring their sexuality, and this is merely a phase. If some of them find out that they are in fact, gay, then so be it. It's better to find that out now than to wait ten years down the line to *discover* someone's hidden sexuality. Just ask Terri McMillan...
In the final analysis, this is the same type of scape-goating that has taken place for years within the black community. We always point fingers at each other for the failings of our families. Rev. Wilson has only added his voice to the chorus of those who blame "strong" black women for making manhood irrelevant. Soon, there will be the counter-point advanced by one of the self-described strong sisters who will recite the many reasons why black men aren't good enough for them, and the debate will continue.
I say we all need to take a look in the mirror. Maybe the problem isn't so much a collective one, but merely result of our individual failures in taking personal responsibility for our actions. After all, I am ultimately responsible for whatever good or bad I do in a relationship, right?
If not, then I can just pass the blame onto someone else, like maybe the Canadiens...
This is the same guy who ran for mayor a few years ago, and this drama proves that the city dodged a bullet by re-electing Mayor Williams. In a progressive, diverse city, we can't afford to have idiots in public office. We need to have politicians who are sensitive to the needs of the entire city, and not just the needs of teenage boys who want to find dates.
Although the gay community got all hot and bothered after Wilson's comments were printed in the newspaper, they'll get over this. It's not like Willie Wilson is anything to them anyway. He's just a old hustler [ur, umm preacher] who probably says stupid stuff like this all the time. He's not an elected official who represents a constituency, like say...Marion Barry, who didn't exactly repudiate Wilson for his incindiary remarks. Barry slithered his way out of this one by saying that he would *talk* to Wilson. Here's my interpretation of what might happen:
Barry: Hey man, you're getting a lot of heat for making those comments about black lesbians. What are you going to do about it?
Wilson: Nothing. Why should I apologize? It's true, those man-hating lesbians have runied my son's prom. So now who's he supposed to take?
Barry: He could take a white girl. You know how they love the brothers.
Wilson: Do you honestly expect him to take a white girl to his prom in DC, Chocolate City? There ain't no white girls in SE.
Barry: Naw, man they taking over this city. I saw some white people walking around on MLK the other day. Maybe he can find a nice Spanish girl. They live all over NW these days.
Wilson: Yeah, maybe that girl, Maria, who cleans the church can go with him. But wait, she don't speak enough English. How would she know that my son was asking her out? What else you got?
Barry: Well, how about one of those girls who work behind the counter at the corner store. What are they, Korean? What about one of them?
Wilson: Huh? One of those little Korean girls that look like boys? What would that look like, my son at the prom with a little Korean boy in a dress?
Barry: I don't know what to tell you, man. Maybe he should ask one of the ugly girls. Hey, can I check them out before he decides...
Wilson: See the trouble those damn lesbians have caused? The black family is doomed!!!
(Okay, that may have been one of the lamest exchanges since Paris and Nicole attempted to explain why they are so popular, but you get the point.)
And to think that all this time, everyone's been so focused on how black women are not finding suitable marriage partners because of all the brothers who are either in prison, out of work, or dead. And all those so-called straight men on the down low? Clearly, it's the lesbians who made them that way!
In reality, the reasons for the peril within the black family are much more complex. Sure, there is the usual litany of social ills, but the situation also has a lot to do with respect. I'm not at all suggesting that people chose the gay lifestyle, but I can't help but think that there is a percentage of these women who decided that given the choice between an abusive man and a loving woman, there was no contest. And as long as boys are boys and girls are girls, and hormones rage out of control during adolescence, there will never be an epidemic of homosexuality. If anything, these kids are exploring their sexuality, and this is merely a phase. If some of them find out that they are in fact, gay, then so be it. It's better to find that out now than to wait ten years down the line to *discover* someone's hidden sexuality. Just ask Terri McMillan...
In the final analysis, this is the same type of scape-goating that has taken place for years within the black community. We always point fingers at each other for the failings of our families. Rev. Wilson has only added his voice to the chorus of those who blame "strong" black women for making manhood irrelevant. Soon, there will be the counter-point advanced by one of the self-described strong sisters who will recite the many reasons why black men aren't good enough for them, and the debate will continue.
I say we all need to take a look in the mirror. Maybe the problem isn't so much a collective one, but merely result of our individual failures in taking personal responsibility for our actions. After all, I am ultimately responsible for whatever good or bad I do in a relationship, right?
If not, then I can just pass the blame onto someone else, like maybe the Canadiens...
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Crash into a Ditch
I saw "Crash" over the weekend, and I'm not buying it. I don't believe people think that way, let alone verbalize their feelings in that manner. No way. I thought it was a pretty good movie, but it only scratches the surface of human interaction. There are a thousand and one possible responses to any one event, and race is not the default reaction, it is merely one possibility.
While everyone is hyper-sensitive when it comes to race, we are not so high-strung as to be trigger happy. The movie assumes that everyone's underlying feelings about race live just below the surface of our regular day-to-day interactions, and that any slight thing can set things off. In other words, race relations are like little atom bombs inside people's heads.
I still don't buy it. As strongly as I believe that people are more racist than they care to admit (and we all are), I think that we have evolved to the point where we have a decent amount of impulse control. We are all aware of our conduct in public, and we know how to keep our feelings in check. We also know that our daily interactions involve more than just color and ethnicity, but they also deal with class, gender, and religion. While I might get angry with the black girl at McDonald's for screwing up my order, her error isn't any worse than that committed by the white waitress who forgets to bring me a glass of water at a sit-down restaurant.
A few weeks ago, word got out the Oprah had been barred from entering the Hermes store in Paris because it had closed. The initial story was that she had been prevented from coming in because the store had experienced recent troubles with theft from North Africans, and Oprah looked suspicious enough that the salespeople refused to let her in. Then the story began to change and by the end of the week, Hermes had issued an apology and Oprah had decreed that she would dedicate an entire hour of her show to the experience. In a statement, she described this incident as her "crash" moment.
Please! As the story morphed from one day to the next, it was revealed that the salespeople immediately recognized Oprah, but still prevented her from entering because the store was closed (and had been for over 30 minutes) and there were preperations underway for a private event. So, she had not been turned away because of her race, it was just the normal course of business.
There have been countless times when I attempted to beat the clock to shop when I knew that a store was about to close. And my success has been about even--some days I make it in before the doors lock, other times, I have had the door slammed in my face. I don't take it as a racial slight because I realize that salespeople have lives, the store has hours, and I should have planned for an earlier arrival. The fact that I have strong intentions and money to shop are irrelevant because rules are rules.
But in Oprah's world, rules that are inconvenient should not apply to her. As the most recognizable black woman on the planet (and probably slightly more important that Condi Rice), she apparently felt that her need to shop trumped whatever need there was for the store to remain closed. Sure, as a woman of means she should be able to get her way, but not in every situation, even though she has enough money to demand otherwise.
If this were Martha Stewart, I believe that the store would have remained closed (but due to her hyper-efficiency, Martha would have arrived before the store closed). There is no racist implication, especially since the salespeople recognized her. The great asset to being Oprah Winfrey is that people always recognize you (just ask all those black women who get identified as Oprah by mistake).
The real truth is that like other rich and powerful people, Oprah doesn't like to be told no. The rest of us mortals deal with *no* on a regular basis, but to the rich, no is the ultimate affront. No is a denial of power; it is a snub. It is the proverbial finger in your eye. No is the most powerful little word in the world.
When the Queen of England tells her sons that she doesn't wish for them to get divorced, they ignore her and do it anyway. When the Pope told George W. not to go to war in Iraq, W ignored him and fired away. When Martha told the judge that she was not guilty and just wanted to go home to her lemon trees, the judge told her no and sent her off to jail. When Moses went to Pharoah and told him to let the Israelites go, Pharoah said no and woke up one morning to find his son dead. No happens, even to the greatest among us. When God told Adam not to eat the fruit of the forbidden tree, what did Adam do as soon as God wasn't looking? Oprah, welcome to the world of no.
Unfortunatly, Hermes acted cowardly and immediately issued mea culpas for their actions. No doubt, the employee who locked the door has been fired, and the watch Oprah intended to buy has already been delivered without her having to pay. By the time the "Crash" show airs in September, her studio audience will also receive a carload of gifts from Hermes.
If there is a lesson to derive from Oprah's experience or from the movie, it is that people *crash* into each other for a variety of reasons. The history of racism in this country and around the world certainly makes us more aware, so it stands to reason that people do everything they can to avoid each other on that basis. Thus, race doesn't propel us toward each other at any greater speed than anything else. In Oprah's case, her sense of entitlement collided head on with Hermes, which felt just as entitled as she did (after all, she can't possibly be the first rich person to make similar demands).
In the final analysis, we all crash, usually when we aren't paying attention. It happens when we let down our guard or take our eyes off the road. It is an inevitable part of life, but we recover, get back to our routines, and do our best to make better choices.
In the future, I think Oprah will now call ahead...
While everyone is hyper-sensitive when it comes to race, we are not so high-strung as to be trigger happy. The movie assumes that everyone's underlying feelings about race live just below the surface of our regular day-to-day interactions, and that any slight thing can set things off. In other words, race relations are like little atom bombs inside people's heads.
I still don't buy it. As strongly as I believe that people are more racist than they care to admit (and we all are), I think that we have evolved to the point where we have a decent amount of impulse control. We are all aware of our conduct in public, and we know how to keep our feelings in check. We also know that our daily interactions involve more than just color and ethnicity, but they also deal with class, gender, and religion. While I might get angry with the black girl at McDonald's for screwing up my order, her error isn't any worse than that committed by the white waitress who forgets to bring me a glass of water at a sit-down restaurant.
A few weeks ago, word got out the Oprah had been barred from entering the Hermes store in Paris because it had closed. The initial story was that she had been prevented from coming in because the store had experienced recent troubles with theft from North Africans, and Oprah looked suspicious enough that the salespeople refused to let her in. Then the story began to change and by the end of the week, Hermes had issued an apology and Oprah had decreed that she would dedicate an entire hour of her show to the experience. In a statement, she described this incident as her "crash" moment.
Please! As the story morphed from one day to the next, it was revealed that the salespeople immediately recognized Oprah, but still prevented her from entering because the store was closed (and had been for over 30 minutes) and there were preperations underway for a private event. So, she had not been turned away because of her race, it was just the normal course of business.
There have been countless times when I attempted to beat the clock to shop when I knew that a store was about to close. And my success has been about even--some days I make it in before the doors lock, other times, I have had the door slammed in my face. I don't take it as a racial slight because I realize that salespeople have lives, the store has hours, and I should have planned for an earlier arrival. The fact that I have strong intentions and money to shop are irrelevant because rules are rules.
But in Oprah's world, rules that are inconvenient should not apply to her. As the most recognizable black woman on the planet (and probably slightly more important that Condi Rice), she apparently felt that her need to shop trumped whatever need there was for the store to remain closed. Sure, as a woman of means she should be able to get her way, but not in every situation, even though she has enough money to demand otherwise.
If this were Martha Stewart, I believe that the store would have remained closed (but due to her hyper-efficiency, Martha would have arrived before the store closed). There is no racist implication, especially since the salespeople recognized her. The great asset to being Oprah Winfrey is that people always recognize you (just ask all those black women who get identified as Oprah by mistake).
The real truth is that like other rich and powerful people, Oprah doesn't like to be told no. The rest of us mortals deal with *no* on a regular basis, but to the rich, no is the ultimate affront. No is a denial of power; it is a snub. It is the proverbial finger in your eye. No is the most powerful little word in the world.
When the Queen of England tells her sons that she doesn't wish for them to get divorced, they ignore her and do it anyway. When the Pope told George W. not to go to war in Iraq, W ignored him and fired away. When Martha told the judge that she was not guilty and just wanted to go home to her lemon trees, the judge told her no and sent her off to jail. When Moses went to Pharoah and told him to let the Israelites go, Pharoah said no and woke up one morning to find his son dead. No happens, even to the greatest among us. When God told Adam not to eat the fruit of the forbidden tree, what did Adam do as soon as God wasn't looking? Oprah, welcome to the world of no.
Unfortunatly, Hermes acted cowardly and immediately issued mea culpas for their actions. No doubt, the employee who locked the door has been fired, and the watch Oprah intended to buy has already been delivered without her having to pay. By the time the "Crash" show airs in September, her studio audience will also receive a carload of gifts from Hermes.
If there is a lesson to derive from Oprah's experience or from the movie, it is that people *crash* into each other for a variety of reasons. The history of racism in this country and around the world certainly makes us more aware, so it stands to reason that people do everything they can to avoid each other on that basis. Thus, race doesn't propel us toward each other at any greater speed than anything else. In Oprah's case, her sense of entitlement collided head on with Hermes, which felt just as entitled as she did (after all, she can't possibly be the first rich person to make similar demands).
In the final analysis, we all crash, usually when we aren't paying attention. It happens when we let down our guard or take our eyes off the road. It is an inevitable part of life, but we recover, get back to our routines, and do our best to make better choices.
In the future, I think Oprah will now call ahead...
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Chaos, Idiocy, and Other Signs of the Times
It isn't like I haven't wanted to blog, I just haven't had the time. Turning on my computer takes tremendous effort, because there are a ton of things I need to do when I'm on. Either that means that I am very lazy or more disorganized than I care to admit.
Anyway, lots of things going on, so I'll begin with the most pressing news of the day:
I am a thief. Today I wandered around Fresh Fields/Whole Foods looking for something to eat, which is always a bad idea when you are hungry. I didn't feel inspired about anything, and after going back and forth through the salad bar with nothing to show for it, I finally decided to get a deli wrap. The salmon wrap caught my eye, so I added it to my basket in exchange for the paltry container of sushi that I had been considering. Then I added a very expensive bag of gourmet potato chips and Odwalla Superfood green drink. This was going to be one of the most expensive take out lunches in history.
Except that when it came time to pay for my groceries, the check out guy forgot to scan my salmon wrap. I noticed immediately, but I didn't say anything... I paid for the items he rung up, took my paper (not plastic) sack, escaped the chaos of the store, and headed for the car. I thought about going back to admit my sin, but my legs never actually turned back in the direction of the store. I got in my car and drove home filled with guilt, all the while telling myself that it wasn't worth going back to the store to pay the $5 I owed.
As I write, I am now eating the offending salmon wrap and I take comfort in the fact that it was probably made from farm raised, artificially red-dyed salmon, which I specifically banned from the house several months ago after a most disturbing PBS special, which now not only makes me a thief but also a hypocrite. In the car, I considered giving the wrap to a homeless person for lunch, but because it contains uncooked fish, and I wouldn't want anyone to get sick. Thus, it would be better for me to keep the wrap so in case there is something wrong with it, I am the one who would get sick which would serve me right for leaving the Whole Foods without paying for my food in the first place!
Ah, ethical dilemnas. In the final analysis, I don't want to get sick, I really do feel bad, and to prove it, I will continue to eat the wrap but I won't enjoy any of it. Furthermore, I will donate the $5 that I should have paid for it to a worthy cause as soon as I finish eating it.
See, all better now.
Onto other major news of the day: Today as I was walking through downtown to turn in some work (well before my Whole Foods excursion), I passed a radio station promotional vehicle that was parked on the sidewalk. At first I thought I might be able to win some concert tix to scalp on Ebay, but as I got closer I noticed that there was a crowd of people who were waiting to sign up for something, so I kept walking. Then the flashbulb of memory went off and I realized that it was the Luther Vandross Sympathy Card, and then I hurried to get away as quickly as possible.
It was yesterday morning when I first heard that the station planned to do this, and in between snoozing the alarm, I scorned the sheer stupidity of such a suggestion. When I saw it up close, I realized that not only was the idea stupid, but so were all of the people who had lined up on the sidewalk to participate.
Just another example of how public "grief" has become even more ridiculous and random.
First of all, there was a train bombing in London today, so I would think that more of us would be concerned about public safety, especially near Metro stations (and of course, they were parked at the entrance of a major Metro station downtown). And I bet that several of those fools took the train specifically to that spot in order to sign the card...
Then you figure that none of these people, including the clueless radio station people actually knew Luther Vandross, so why sign a "card" of condolences for a man that you've never met? Sure, we all "knew" him through his music, the same way we "knew" Princess Diana through her photos. How many of us knew that his middle came from a box of pasta? If his family needed any reassurances that Luther was beloved, then what will be more meaningful, this card or his posthumous record $ales...
Finally, this is soooo random. When Ray Charles died, I don't recall a similar effort to remember him, and the same thing goes for Rick James, Barry White, Curtis Mayfield, or even Marvin Gaye (not that I would even remember). When Ossie Davis, the dean of black actors died earlier this year, there was no similar outpouring of public grief. But I bet that by this time next week, some idiot will be selling memorial t-shirts and damn near every middle aged black woman in America will have one to wear on casual Fridays or to the mall...
I'm venting here about black people again...(the piece that I plan to finish as soon as I donate that $5 to pay for that wrap made from that genetically-modified, artificially colored and flavored, tank-raised salmon).
Anyway, lots of things going on, so I'll begin with the most pressing news of the day:
I am a thief. Today I wandered around Fresh Fields/Whole Foods looking for something to eat, which is always a bad idea when you are hungry. I didn't feel inspired about anything, and after going back and forth through the salad bar with nothing to show for it, I finally decided to get a deli wrap. The salmon wrap caught my eye, so I added it to my basket in exchange for the paltry container of sushi that I had been considering. Then I added a very expensive bag of gourmet potato chips and Odwalla Superfood green drink. This was going to be one of the most expensive take out lunches in history.
Except that when it came time to pay for my groceries, the check out guy forgot to scan my salmon wrap. I noticed immediately, but I didn't say anything... I paid for the items he rung up, took my paper (not plastic) sack, escaped the chaos of the store, and headed for the car. I thought about going back to admit my sin, but my legs never actually turned back in the direction of the store. I got in my car and drove home filled with guilt, all the while telling myself that it wasn't worth going back to the store to pay the $5 I owed.
As I write, I am now eating the offending salmon wrap and I take comfort in the fact that it was probably made from farm raised, artificially red-dyed salmon, which I specifically banned from the house several months ago after a most disturbing PBS special, which now not only makes me a thief but also a hypocrite. In the car, I considered giving the wrap to a homeless person for lunch, but because it contains uncooked fish, and I wouldn't want anyone to get sick. Thus, it would be better for me to keep the wrap so in case there is something wrong with it, I am the one who would get sick which would serve me right for leaving the Whole Foods without paying for my food in the first place!
Ah, ethical dilemnas. In the final analysis, I don't want to get sick, I really do feel bad, and to prove it, I will continue to eat the wrap but I won't enjoy any of it. Furthermore, I will donate the $5 that I should have paid for it to a worthy cause as soon as I finish eating it.
See, all better now.
Onto other major news of the day: Today as I was walking through downtown to turn in some work (well before my Whole Foods excursion), I passed a radio station promotional vehicle that was parked on the sidewalk. At first I thought I might be able to win some concert tix to scalp on Ebay, but as I got closer I noticed that there was a crowd of people who were waiting to sign up for something, so I kept walking. Then the flashbulb of memory went off and I realized that it was the Luther Vandross Sympathy Card, and then I hurried to get away as quickly as possible.
It was yesterday morning when I first heard that the station planned to do this, and in between snoozing the alarm, I scorned the sheer stupidity of such a suggestion. When I saw it up close, I realized that not only was the idea stupid, but so were all of the people who had lined up on the sidewalk to participate.
Just another example of how public "grief" has become even more ridiculous and random.
First of all, there was a train bombing in London today, so I would think that more of us would be concerned about public safety, especially near Metro stations (and of course, they were parked at the entrance of a major Metro station downtown). And I bet that several of those fools took the train specifically to that spot in order to sign the card...
Then you figure that none of these people, including the clueless radio station people actually knew Luther Vandross, so why sign a "card" of condolences for a man that you've never met? Sure, we all "knew" him through his music, the same way we "knew" Princess Diana through her photos. How many of us knew that his middle came from a box of pasta? If his family needed any reassurances that Luther was beloved, then what will be more meaningful, this card or his posthumous record $ales...
Finally, this is soooo random. When Ray Charles died, I don't recall a similar effort to remember him, and the same thing goes for Rick James, Barry White, Curtis Mayfield, or even Marvin Gaye (not that I would even remember). When Ossie Davis, the dean of black actors died earlier this year, there was no similar outpouring of public grief. But I bet that by this time next week, some idiot will be selling memorial t-shirts and damn near every middle aged black woman in America will have one to wear on casual Fridays or to the mall...
I'm venting here about black people again...(the piece that I plan to finish as soon as I donate that $5 to pay for that wrap made from that genetically-modified, artificially colored and flavored, tank-raised salmon).
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Cultivating More Bad Habits
I'm a full-blown TV addict. In the past few weeks since we our new TV came to life, I'm spending more and more time in front of the telly, so this might explain why I don't use the computer as often anymore. With 150 channels and counting, all of my time is spent finding something suitable to watch.
Of course, cable is replete with makeover shows (for the home, the straight guy/gal, gay pets, etc), re-runs, old movies, cartoons, music videos, pop-culture count-downs, home shopping infomercials, religious programming, around-the-clock news to make you snooze (or booze), and documentaries on every possible subject. Those faux celebreality "where are they now" shows are the icing on the cake. Why didn't I get cable sooner?
Of course, I was able to entertain myself just fine with the 7 very clear, 3 somewhat clear, and the 6 fuzzy channels we already had. But as our reception got worse, we realized that it was only a matter of time before we had to give in. When Rick's 35th belated birthday gift to himself arrived with no antenna attachment, and we could only watch DVDs and two fuzzy TV channels, it was finally time. In exchange for our 16 or so free access channels, we got 150, 100 of which we can totally do without.
Another very weird habit I've cultivated is working out crossword puzzles. It started innocently enough one night back in May when Rick and my brother went off to softball practice. I was reading through the paper and spotted an easy clue that I could answer and from that moment, I've been hooked. And it isn't just an addiction to the puzzles in the Post, it also includes the Post Express, the Examiner and the City Paper. The Magazine's Sunday puzzle is a little to difficult for me and I can't even imagine the NYTimes puzzle which is among the hardest.
So am I total freak yet? I mean, does anyone else out there keep a dictionary, an atlas, and mechanical pencils on hand to obsess, er solve crossword puzzles?
I have a multitude of bad habits, and it seems that the older I get the worse they get. I am still rather not-neat (Rick is the sloppy one), and while I breath sighs of relief when I watch that "Clean Sweep" show on the Style network and see other people's junk, it only reinforces the TV addiction thing. I have been back on the caffeine wagon again, and it is really bad this time around because I've been drinking it in the form of regular Coke in addition to Diet Coke. This only happens when my stress levels are high, which can only mean that I am: (a) nervous about something that hasn't happened yet, (b) nervous about something I forgot to do which will catch up to me and bite me in the ass pretty soon, or (c) just weak because the regular Coke has been in the house since Father's Day and I'm attracted to the pretty red cans. Potato chips are another weakness, along with chocolate, popcorn, hamburgers, and other food I binge on when depressed...or on my period.
So at least that mystery is solved--I'm not depressed.
I've lost weight, so I look a lot better these days, but my efforts to maintain are suffering from a severe lack of motivation. And I've got plenty of excuses:
In a way, I'm so normal that I thank God my issues and bad habits aren't interesting enough for TV. Because then I'd be up all night watching it.
Of course, cable is replete with makeover shows (for the home, the straight guy/gal, gay pets, etc), re-runs, old movies, cartoons, music videos, pop-culture count-downs, home shopping infomercials, religious programming, around-the-clock news to make you snooze (or booze), and documentaries on every possible subject. Those faux celebreality "where are they now" shows are the icing on the cake. Why didn't I get cable sooner?
Of course, I was able to entertain myself just fine with the 7 very clear, 3 somewhat clear, and the 6 fuzzy channels we already had. But as our reception got worse, we realized that it was only a matter of time before we had to give in. When Rick's 35th belated birthday gift to himself arrived with no antenna attachment, and we could only watch DVDs and two fuzzy TV channels, it was finally time. In exchange for our 16 or so free access channels, we got 150, 100 of which we can totally do without.
Another very weird habit I've cultivated is working out crossword puzzles. It started innocently enough one night back in May when Rick and my brother went off to softball practice. I was reading through the paper and spotted an easy clue that I could answer and from that moment, I've been hooked. And it isn't just an addiction to the puzzles in the Post, it also includes the Post Express, the Examiner and the City Paper. The Magazine's Sunday puzzle is a little to difficult for me and I can't even imagine the NYTimes puzzle which is among the hardest.
So am I total freak yet? I mean, does anyone else out there keep a dictionary, an atlas, and mechanical pencils on hand to obsess, er solve crossword puzzles?
I have a multitude of bad habits, and it seems that the older I get the worse they get. I am still rather not-neat (Rick is the sloppy one), and while I breath sighs of relief when I watch that "Clean Sweep" show on the Style network and see other people's junk, it only reinforces the TV addiction thing. I have been back on the caffeine wagon again, and it is really bad this time around because I've been drinking it in the form of regular Coke in addition to Diet Coke. This only happens when my stress levels are high, which can only mean that I am: (a) nervous about something that hasn't happened yet, (b) nervous about something I forgot to do which will catch up to me and bite me in the ass pretty soon, or (c) just weak because the regular Coke has been in the house since Father's Day and I'm attracted to the pretty red cans. Potato chips are another weakness, along with chocolate, popcorn, hamburgers, and other food I binge on when depressed...or on my period.
So at least that mystery is solved--I'm not depressed.
I've lost weight, so I look a lot better these days, but my efforts to maintain are suffering from a severe lack of motivation. And I've got plenty of excuses:
- I don't ride my bike very often for fear of being jacked, killed or kidnapped (take your pick, I live in the city).
- I don't use my roller blades because as a grown-ass woman strapped into a helmet, wrist, elbow and knee pads, I would look pretty stupid skating all by myself.
- I can't used my tennis racket because I have no one to play with and I don't know how.
- I really didn't want the treadmill--it is just there for drying clothes.
- My New York City Ballet workout DVD has been viewed several times, and used even fewer times, which is better than I can say for the yoga/pilates book...
In a way, I'm so normal that I thank God my issues and bad habits aren't interesting enough for TV. Because then I'd be up all night watching it.
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