I am a work in progress. As is my blog.
I have been adding a few things to my profile every few days. I finally figured out how to add my photo to the profile page. It is an ok pic, but I look a little heavy. I am also wearing too much orange, which is something that a high-yella child like me should not do. However, it is the best photo of me that is available on my computer. I really need to get into the 21st century and get a digital camera...
I also added a few movies, namely "When Harry Met Sally" and "I'm Gonna Git You Sucka." I may add a few more because I've been seeing a lot of movies lately thanks to my hub and his library card (yes, we check out movies from the library).
Then I added some books. Originally, I did not identify any favorite books because I don't have one. I have several favorites, which is a testament to my love of reading. In my profile I wrote that I had too many favorites to name. Then I saw the TV version of "Their Eyes Were Watching God" over the weekend. The list is by no means complete, but it is a start. I will add more books and may remove some as I continue. Again, this is a work in progress.
I also plan to branch out and may start another blog. Now, I complain that no one reads this blog, but I want to focus my writing a bit more, and I think that it would be difficult to maintain an all-purpose blog for everything. For example, Spring is around the corner, and I know that I will want to write more about my efforts at gardening. I also want to talk about my adventures in teaching, so that may become a separate blog. Well, we shall see.
It has been said that the only constant in life is change. Right now, my life is in a kind of realignment. So, I thought that I would embrace this process by changing my introduction to the rest of the cyber-scribes out there.
Welcome to the new and improved cafe.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Sometimes it Snows in April
But it is early March and I'm tired of winter. Yesterday was absolutely gorgeous with 66 degrees outside, and then this morning we get snow. Just this weekend, I was at the Home Depot where I got grass seed, mulch and a bunch of other stuff for my spring time gardening. I know that winter has a few days left, and thankfully, this one has been really kind and mild, but what is up with the snow and dramatic temperature changes?
Anyway, I am supposed to be doing something else right now, so this explains why I am always scrambling to get things done at the last minute...
So, I will make this post brief. Better yet, I will make a list of the topics I hope to tackle when I have more time:
- Favorite books to update my user profile
- Halle Berry, Oprah and Judge Hackett
- My gripe with the producers/writers of "The West Wing" and "ER"
- "Race-O-Rama" on VH1
- My plans for Spring planting
- A short story based on my daily habit of reading obituaries
- Letting my hair go natural
- How my faith and politics are now more compatible
Ciao!
Monday, March 07, 2005
So Much to Say, So Little Time
I haven't blogged in a few days, and I missed it. I need this time, but I'm just too swamped these days, so this entry will have to be very quick.
I am overwhelmed by the preparations for my upcoming class and a court hearing I have this week. I am in the middle of what I would call a "perfect storm"--too much to do in less than a week's time. I had a vague idea when I left for Florida that my schedule would get hectic when I returned, but this is way more than I anticipated.
The real problem lies with me. I am an unorganized mess. Some of these things could have been done sooner, and others are literally last minute developments, but overall, I am just a mess and this is the usual way I get things done. So I should not be surprised if I get no sleep for the next few days.
I am nervous. I have no back-up and all of my tasks rely on my getting through the next few days without a serious break-down (which is also normal for me). I want to be busy, and I want to do well, but for me, these are sometimes incompatible wishes. I am a perfectionist and that means that as of right now, I am a whirling dirvish. I have another deadline on Monday for my class, just announced, so that only makes things worse. Did I mention that I have rehearsal on Saturday, an alumnae meeting, and Jazzercise?
Yes, Jazzercise. I went to a health expo and *won* a free month of Jazzercise that I need to start using my March 15--the Ides of March. As if I need that on top of everything else right now!
Anyhoo, this may be the last entry for the next few days, unless I can justify a reason to write something not related to law or history or budgets or meeting agendas or newsletters. AAARRGHH!
Ciao!
I am overwhelmed by the preparations for my upcoming class and a court hearing I have this week. I am in the middle of what I would call a "perfect storm"--too much to do in less than a week's time. I had a vague idea when I left for Florida that my schedule would get hectic when I returned, but this is way more than I anticipated.
The real problem lies with me. I am an unorganized mess. Some of these things could have been done sooner, and others are literally last minute developments, but overall, I am just a mess and this is the usual way I get things done. So I should not be surprised if I get no sleep for the next few days.
I am nervous. I have no back-up and all of my tasks rely on my getting through the next few days without a serious break-down (which is also normal for me). I want to be busy, and I want to do well, but for me, these are sometimes incompatible wishes. I am a perfectionist and that means that as of right now, I am a whirling dirvish. I have another deadline on Monday for my class, just announced, so that only makes things worse. Did I mention that I have rehearsal on Saturday, an alumnae meeting, and Jazzercise?
Yes, Jazzercise. I went to a health expo and *won* a free month of Jazzercise that I need to start using my March 15--the Ides of March. As if I need that on top of everything else right now!
Anyhoo, this may be the last entry for the next few days, unless I can justify a reason to write something not related to law or history or budgets or meeting agendas or newsletters. AAARRGHH!
Ciao!
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Desparate Housewives
How come no one ever asked me to be on that show? Then again, I'm not desparate, just bored...
I like this show, but it is another example of the *I'm every-woman* phenomenon that only applies to white women on TV. Similar shows abound and a few become big hits, like "Friends" and "Sex in the City". How come sistas get no love on TV?
Now, to the show's credit, Eva Longoria is the resident brown girl, but isn't it just a little too convenient to have her in that role? Out of all the women, her hubby is in jail and she's the local hottie...
Can you say *stereo-type*???
No Asian women in that cul-de-sac (other than a maid) and no Spanglish-speaking latinas there either. Not even a black friend for one of the kids. Where in America is this ?
It sure ain't red-country Kansas, 'cause these women are living large and not a one of them works, except Eva (again, what is up with that). Terry Hatcher doesn't appear to have a job, yet she has a teenaged daughter. Felicity Huffman has four kids and is a stay-at-home mom. Marcia Cross is married to a doctor. I have no idea what Nicolette Sheridan does except have sex. And the dead narrator seemed to be too busy living in fear of her husband and son to have done much else but kill herself.
Unfortunately, no one would believe a black housewife. Black and brown women who don't work only reinforce other stereotypes about laziness and welfare dependency. We might believe an Asian housewife (might), but we certainly don't believe Eva as a housewife which is why they've made her get a job. Even if we accept the original premise that her hub is rich, he went to jail for something...
*insert your own interpretation here*
Face it, we are only used to seeing white women with complexities on TV. White women can be anything they want to be: doctors (see "ER" and "Chicago Hope"), chief of staff to the President of the US (see "West Wing"), solve and prosecute crimes (see any version of "CSI" or "Law and Order"), or they can choose to be mothers and wives (see any sitcom on CBS). The last complex black woman on TV was Claire Huxtable, and people griped that she wasn't real. When my spanglish improves I'll be able to discern if the Latino women on Univision have anything meaningful to offer, and Asian women are just not present at all.
TV has to do a better job of creating characters for actresses of color. It's a shame that Judge Hatchett and Oprah are the closest things to TV moms that we have. And it's not just more TV mothers that we want to see, we also want to see ourselves in more complex and multi-facted roles. Is it too much to ask for a show about a Latina women who sees dead people (instead of Patricia Arquette in "Medium")? Or for a show with a Middle Eastern woman who is not a terrorist? How about a sitcom starring an Asian fashion designer who moonlights as a crime fighter? (I'm just making this up as I go along here.)
As for Desparate Housewives, I'll keep watching because it is a decent show. But if I want to see more brown people, I guess I'll have to wait for Oprah's cameo.
I like this show, but it is another example of the *I'm every-woman* phenomenon that only applies to white women on TV. Similar shows abound and a few become big hits, like "Friends" and "Sex in the City". How come sistas get no love on TV?
Now, to the show's credit, Eva Longoria is the resident brown girl, but isn't it just a little too convenient to have her in that role? Out of all the women, her hubby is in jail and she's the local hottie...
Can you say *stereo-type*???
No Asian women in that cul-de-sac (other than a maid) and no Spanglish-speaking latinas there either. Not even a black friend for one of the kids. Where in America is this ?
It sure ain't red-country Kansas, 'cause these women are living large and not a one of them works, except Eva (again, what is up with that). Terry Hatcher doesn't appear to have a job, yet she has a teenaged daughter. Felicity Huffman has four kids and is a stay-at-home mom. Marcia Cross is married to a doctor. I have no idea what Nicolette Sheridan does except have sex. And the dead narrator seemed to be too busy living in fear of her husband and son to have done much else but kill herself.
Unfortunately, no one would believe a black housewife. Black and brown women who don't work only reinforce other stereotypes about laziness and welfare dependency. We might believe an Asian housewife (might), but we certainly don't believe Eva as a housewife which is why they've made her get a job. Even if we accept the original premise that her hub is rich, he went to jail for something...
*insert your own interpretation here*
Face it, we are only used to seeing white women with complexities on TV. White women can be anything they want to be: doctors (see "ER" and "Chicago Hope"), chief of staff to the President of the US (see "West Wing"), solve and prosecute crimes (see any version of "CSI" or "Law and Order"), or they can choose to be mothers and wives (see any sitcom on CBS). The last complex black woman on TV was Claire Huxtable, and people griped that she wasn't real. When my spanglish improves I'll be able to discern if the Latino women on Univision have anything meaningful to offer, and Asian women are just not present at all.
TV has to do a better job of creating characters for actresses of color. It's a shame that Judge Hatchett and Oprah are the closest things to TV moms that we have. And it's not just more TV mothers that we want to see, we also want to see ourselves in more complex and multi-facted roles. Is it too much to ask for a show about a Latina women who sees dead people (instead of Patricia Arquette in "Medium")? Or for a show with a Middle Eastern woman who is not a terrorist? How about a sitcom starring an Asian fashion designer who moonlights as a crime fighter? (I'm just making this up as I go along here.)
As for Desparate Housewives, I'll keep watching because it is a decent show. But if I want to see more brown people, I guess I'll have to wait for Oprah's cameo.
One Writer's Truth
Yesterday's post caused me some uneasiness because it was so raw. It exposed some feelings I've had for a long time, and I think that for whatever reason, I just went on a rant. Later, I felt that the posting was self-indulgent and I considered deleting it, especially since it was so personal. Also because I figured that no one was reading anyway, so it wouldn't have much of an impact.
But I changed my mind and have decided to leave it alone, even if it doesn't get read until ten months from now (or even if my hub decides to read my blog one day and sees it). I recognize the danger of writing in that fashion, but it is a risk I am willing to take. If I say that I want to be a writer, then that means that I need to be willing to allow myself moments of raw emotion, moments when I get too personal, and just accept the consequences.
Writing is not always for a potential audience. Sometimes there is an audience of one. Writing is always first an internal conversation, and then a mode of expression to an outside audience. In many ways, this blog serves three distinct purposes: part online journal, part practice space for potential work, and part accessible writing sample. I am no different than many of the other bloggers out there. This is a forum for expression, and sometimes that expression is personal.
I have always tried to be a careful writer because I have suffered the unintended consequences of someone finding something that they weren't meant to see. Of course, those were adolescent ramblings of unrequited love, and yesterday's entry was not that at all. It might have been better to keep those feelings to myself, but in reality, I want people to know that I am human, I have good days and bad, and yesterday was a bad day for me.
I suffer from depression, which is a major admission for anyone to make. I don't think it is anything serious--I don't have violent mood swings and I don't need medication to function, but I have recognized for many years that I do have moods. I am quite certain that I have seasonal depression that gets worse during the winter because it tends to linger for days and weeks at a time. This particular year, it has been with me since right after my 31st birthday, which is earlier than usual (it usually arrives right after Christmas). And I think some aspects of my current situation have only intensified my moods.
I know that anyone who reads this would suggest that I get therapy. I am. Writing is my therapy. This doesn't mean that I would never seek professional help one day, but for now, this is what works for me. I know myself, and this too shall pass. In high school and in college, I wrote poetry. In law school, I came up with the idea for my novel (but silly me, I didn't write any of it down). When I returned to DC, I kept a journal and watched Oprah. Now, I use the blog. All of these platforms serve the same function--I write, I deal, and eventually, I move on.
At times, it won't be pleasant or comfortable. Yesterday was about frustration. Blogging is nothing like the secret diary because this is a public forum (hint, hint Jessica Cutler). Eventually, someone will see this. So, then well then, either they'll think I'm crazy, stupid, whiny, or just human.
Ciao.
But I changed my mind and have decided to leave it alone, even if it doesn't get read until ten months from now (or even if my hub decides to read my blog one day and sees it). I recognize the danger of writing in that fashion, but it is a risk I am willing to take. If I say that I want to be a writer, then that means that I need to be willing to allow myself moments of raw emotion, moments when I get too personal, and just accept the consequences.
Writing is not always for a potential audience. Sometimes there is an audience of one. Writing is always first an internal conversation, and then a mode of expression to an outside audience. In many ways, this blog serves three distinct purposes: part online journal, part practice space for potential work, and part accessible writing sample. I am no different than many of the other bloggers out there. This is a forum for expression, and sometimes that expression is personal.
I have always tried to be a careful writer because I have suffered the unintended consequences of someone finding something that they weren't meant to see. Of course, those were adolescent ramblings of unrequited love, and yesterday's entry was not that at all. It might have been better to keep those feelings to myself, but in reality, I want people to know that I am human, I have good days and bad, and yesterday was a bad day for me.
I suffer from depression, which is a major admission for anyone to make. I don't think it is anything serious--I don't have violent mood swings and I don't need medication to function, but I have recognized for many years that I do have moods. I am quite certain that I have seasonal depression that gets worse during the winter because it tends to linger for days and weeks at a time. This particular year, it has been with me since right after my 31st birthday, which is earlier than usual (it usually arrives right after Christmas). And I think some aspects of my current situation have only intensified my moods.
I know that anyone who reads this would suggest that I get therapy. I am. Writing is my therapy. This doesn't mean that I would never seek professional help one day, but for now, this is what works for me. I know myself, and this too shall pass. In high school and in college, I wrote poetry. In law school, I came up with the idea for my novel (but silly me, I didn't write any of it down). When I returned to DC, I kept a journal and watched Oprah. Now, I use the blog. All of these platforms serve the same function--I write, I deal, and eventually, I move on.
At times, it won't be pleasant or comfortable. Yesterday was about frustration. Blogging is nothing like the secret diary because this is a public forum (hint, hint Jessica Cutler). Eventually, someone will see this. So, then well then, either they'll think I'm crazy, stupid, whiny, or just human.
Ciao.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
No One Reads My Writing
Is this a common feeling...that while you expend time and energy writing and expressing yourself, it is all for naught because no one really cares what you think? I certainly do.
My own husband doesn't read my blog. I've asked him to take a look at my work, but he says that he's too busy at work. Then he kind of laughs at me because he thinks this entire process is silly. Thanks for all your support, hon.
Not that I've done anything to promote this thing. I don't know how. I only barely know how to search for other blogs, and I haven't been reading anyone else's work lately either. So, maybe this is how this goes--months of anonymous musings that no one reads until one day, someone accidentally or maybe on purpose stumbles across your work. Otherwise, this feels like an exercise in futility.
I just want a little attention. Part of the reason why I started this blog was because I was lonely and I wanted an outlet for my feelings. I had hoped that there were others out there like me who could relate to my feelings of isolation. But, if no one is reading this, then it is no different than my every day experiences of being by myself.
I work from home, so that means that I don't interact with that many people unless I leave the house. But even when I do that, I don't have conversations with people. I mostly observe behavior. I eat by myself, shop by myself. I am always by myself, and I sometimes wonder if it is because I am just not that interesting...
I have tried to reach out to people that I already know, but I am afraid of getting too close because those interactions rarely yield any meaningful relationships. This time last year, I was involved with a new church, and I thought that I had made some friends. But as time wore on, I found that I had simply found new people to know, but not people in whom I could confide or necessarily trust with my feelings. I had very little in common with them, and eventually I felt like an outsider in the one place where I'm supposed to belong. I haven't been back there in months, and I don't even think that anyone misses me.
I went back to dance class because I wanted to get in shape and I also wanted to meet more people my age. Well, St. Mark's isn't exactly a studio for younger women my age, especially in the classes I take on Tuesday and Friday evenings. The Wednesday class is better, so maybe something will perk up there. And the company isn't so bad, either.
To be fair, I have a few friends, including my very best friend who is in the area. I really should spend more time with her, but I worry that I will eventually wear her out or get in her way. She has a life, so why would she want to be shackled down with someone like me who has no life?
I must be one of those people who have some type of social anxiety disorder. I've been like this my entire life. I have always been something of a loner and I've always had trouble in making friends. My father and my brother are the same way. Rick (the hub) doesn't have close friends either. So in addition to not making friends myself, I am surrounded by people who don't also don't establish close friendships. I can't recall whom my mother is friends with these days, because she goes through "friend cycles" in which she may be in with one crowd for a while and then out with another after that. My aunt is like this also, only she drops people over the smallest little thing, so she is a "serial" friend. I have no clue how we all got this way, considering that both of my grandmothers had many life-long friends. Then again, my grandfather didn't...We're just a bunch of weirdos.
I shouldn't be this way, but I just don't trust people with my feelings. Whenever I open myself up and start to talk about how I might feel about a certain thing, I get negative feedback or my feelings are completely irrelevant when compared to what someone else mught be experiencing. If I were to vent about how isolated I feel, then it is my fault because I don't get out enough. If I say that I'm having a problem of some kind, then it can't be nearly as bad as those people there who are really suffering. It's like I don't matter.
Rick tries to comfort me by saying, 'well I listen and I'm here', but then he ruins it with statements about how he is the only person who cares or puts up with me anyway, so that always perks things up :) He has been knighted by everyone who knows us because he is so wonderful and I am merely Ayanna. He cooks, he shovels snow (even for the neighbors), and he bakes Christmas cakes! He is Mr. Wonderful and I should be grateful. I am sooo lucky, yay Rick!!!
And he tells everyone, too. But does he ever say anything about me? How I also cook, how I build shelves, grew tomatoes last summer, fold the laundry, and clean the house (not very often, but I try)? How I am caring, generous, and nice to a fault? Probably not, and even if he did, who cares anyway? Only those people who need things from me, and I could write volumes on all the needy people I know.
Yay me! Thanks for reading. Ciao.
My own husband doesn't read my blog. I've asked him to take a look at my work, but he says that he's too busy at work. Then he kind of laughs at me because he thinks this entire process is silly. Thanks for all your support, hon.
Not that I've done anything to promote this thing. I don't know how. I only barely know how to search for other blogs, and I haven't been reading anyone else's work lately either. So, maybe this is how this goes--months of anonymous musings that no one reads until one day, someone accidentally or maybe on purpose stumbles across your work. Otherwise, this feels like an exercise in futility.
I just want a little attention. Part of the reason why I started this blog was because I was lonely and I wanted an outlet for my feelings. I had hoped that there were others out there like me who could relate to my feelings of isolation. But, if no one is reading this, then it is no different than my every day experiences of being by myself.
I work from home, so that means that I don't interact with that many people unless I leave the house. But even when I do that, I don't have conversations with people. I mostly observe behavior. I eat by myself, shop by myself. I am always by myself, and I sometimes wonder if it is because I am just not that interesting...
I have tried to reach out to people that I already know, but I am afraid of getting too close because those interactions rarely yield any meaningful relationships. This time last year, I was involved with a new church, and I thought that I had made some friends. But as time wore on, I found that I had simply found new people to know, but not people in whom I could confide or necessarily trust with my feelings. I had very little in common with them, and eventually I felt like an outsider in the one place where I'm supposed to belong. I haven't been back there in months, and I don't even think that anyone misses me.
I went back to dance class because I wanted to get in shape and I also wanted to meet more people my age. Well, St. Mark's isn't exactly a studio for younger women my age, especially in the classes I take on Tuesday and Friday evenings. The Wednesday class is better, so maybe something will perk up there. And the company isn't so bad, either.
To be fair, I have a few friends, including my very best friend who is in the area. I really should spend more time with her, but I worry that I will eventually wear her out or get in her way. She has a life, so why would she want to be shackled down with someone like me who has no life?
I must be one of those people who have some type of social anxiety disorder. I've been like this my entire life. I have always been something of a loner and I've always had trouble in making friends. My father and my brother are the same way. Rick (the hub) doesn't have close friends either. So in addition to not making friends myself, I am surrounded by people who don't also don't establish close friendships. I can't recall whom my mother is friends with these days, because she goes through "friend cycles" in which she may be in with one crowd for a while and then out with another after that. My aunt is like this also, only she drops people over the smallest little thing, so she is a "serial" friend. I have no clue how we all got this way, considering that both of my grandmothers had many life-long friends. Then again, my grandfather didn't...We're just a bunch of weirdos.
I shouldn't be this way, but I just don't trust people with my feelings. Whenever I open myself up and start to talk about how I might feel about a certain thing, I get negative feedback or my feelings are completely irrelevant when compared to what someone else mught be experiencing. If I were to vent about how isolated I feel, then it is my fault because I don't get out enough. If I say that I'm having a problem of some kind, then it can't be nearly as bad as those people there who are really suffering. It's like I don't matter.
Rick tries to comfort me by saying, 'well I listen and I'm here', but then he ruins it with statements about how he is the only person who cares or puts up with me anyway, so that always perks things up :) He has been knighted by everyone who knows us because he is so wonderful and I am merely Ayanna. He cooks, he shovels snow (even for the neighbors), and he bakes Christmas cakes! He is Mr. Wonderful and I should be grateful. I am sooo lucky, yay Rick!!!
And he tells everyone, too. But does he ever say anything about me? How I also cook, how I build shelves, grew tomatoes last summer, fold the laundry, and clean the house (not very often, but I try)? How I am caring, generous, and nice to a fault? Probably not, and even if he did, who cares anyway? Only those people who need things from me, and I could write volumes on all the needy people I know.
Yay me! Thanks for reading. Ciao.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Enough Already!!!
I really don't want to devote another day to this subject because there are so many more important things I can discuss here, but I just need to vent about Tom Shales and his nasty critique of the Oscars.
First of all, I read his review of Chris Rock's performance and disagreed. Then I posted a comment on the Post's message board, read a few responses to my post among others, and then I moved on. Throughout the day I heard mixed reviews, but overall, I figured that the issue was over, and I happily watched Oprah's post-Oscar show. (OK, maybe I was a little obsessed, but I was just curious for reactions to Rock's performance).
Anyway, I opened the Style section today, and in addition to some numbers about who watched and who didn't, the Post re-runs Shales' review in an extended version that not only sticks it to Rock, but it also gets on Jamie Foxx for "exploiting" race in his acceptance speech. Huh?
When is it "exploitation" to discuss something that is as evident as race? How in the world can a speech that acknowledges Sidney Pointier, Oprah Winfrey, Halle Berry, Ray Charles, his daughter and deceased grandmother, and Taylor Hackford (who by the way, is the white director and producer of Ray the movie) be exploitative? Is it because he mentioned that he wanted to thank his managers (both black) and said that he intended to live this "African American dream" with them at the helm of his career? Is it because he paid homage to Sidney Pointier, the first black actor to receive a best actor award? Is it because Oprah gave him a one-fisted salute from the audience?
Or is it because Jamie Foxx is, well BLACK?
You know what, this is the perfect segue into my rants on race in America, because it is clear to me that any mention of race, any suggestion of race, any impression that race is in the air makes certain white people uncomfortable. Tom Shales must be one of those people who feels that we are all better off if we don't even acknowledge the elephant in the room. I guess he feels it is understood, and that he would prefer to pretend that it isn't an issue.
Too bad, Tommy, it is an issue.
It doesn't have to be uncomfortable. It doesn't have to be confrontational. But it exists. As long as it takes the Oscars years to recognize the immense talents of actors of color (and this means everyone of color), then it matters. It matters that there were only a few actors of color who presented awards on stage. It matters that this year, a Latino actress was nominated for Best Actress in a small film that barely got noticed. It matters that a film like "Hotel Rwanda" is the only acknowledgment by Americans that a genocide took place ten years ago in Africa. It matters that the only Asian actors who get noticed by the Academy are in foreign language films or in small indie films (yes, I'm referring to "Sideways" even though Sandra Oh didn't get any love at all).
So, I'm sorry, race does matter. It matters when I rarely see Latinos on TV except on Spanish-language television. It matters when Selma Hayeck, Penelope Cruz, and Antonio Bandares are the Latino ambassadors for the Academy. It matters when Jennifer Lopez gets ribbed for dating Ben Affleck because she is considered "bad" for his image. It matters when Louis Gossett, Jr. (a winner of the best supporting actor prize) is barely acknowledged on the red carpet. And it matters when a first-time host is skewered for his biting wit when that is the very reason why he was hired in the first place.
Get used to it. People of color do not want to fade into a homogenous background that dictates when and how we can define ourselves. It is not your right, Tom Shales, or any other critic to determine that the only speech that is acceptable is speech or language in which you are made to feel more comfortable in your white skin.
Damn, I need to run, but that is my rant-o-the-day. Maybe I'll be in a better mood tomorrow. Ciao!
First of all, I read his review of Chris Rock's performance and disagreed. Then I posted a comment on the Post's message board, read a few responses to my post among others, and then I moved on. Throughout the day I heard mixed reviews, but overall, I figured that the issue was over, and I happily watched Oprah's post-Oscar show. (OK, maybe I was a little obsessed, but I was just curious for reactions to Rock's performance).
Anyway, I opened the Style section today, and in addition to some numbers about who watched and who didn't, the Post re-runs Shales' review in an extended version that not only sticks it to Rock, but it also gets on Jamie Foxx for "exploiting" race in his acceptance speech. Huh?
When is it "exploitation" to discuss something that is as evident as race? How in the world can a speech that acknowledges Sidney Pointier, Oprah Winfrey, Halle Berry, Ray Charles, his daughter and deceased grandmother, and Taylor Hackford (who by the way, is the white director and producer of Ray the movie) be exploitative? Is it because he mentioned that he wanted to thank his managers (both black) and said that he intended to live this "African American dream" with them at the helm of his career? Is it because he paid homage to Sidney Pointier, the first black actor to receive a best actor award? Is it because Oprah gave him a one-fisted salute from the audience?
Or is it because Jamie Foxx is, well BLACK?
You know what, this is the perfect segue into my rants on race in America, because it is clear to me that any mention of race, any suggestion of race, any impression that race is in the air makes certain white people uncomfortable. Tom Shales must be one of those people who feels that we are all better off if we don't even acknowledge the elephant in the room. I guess he feels it is understood, and that he would prefer to pretend that it isn't an issue.
Too bad, Tommy, it is an issue.
It doesn't have to be uncomfortable. It doesn't have to be confrontational. But it exists. As long as it takes the Oscars years to recognize the immense talents of actors of color (and this means everyone of color), then it matters. It matters that there were only a few actors of color who presented awards on stage. It matters that this year, a Latino actress was nominated for Best Actress in a small film that barely got noticed. It matters that a film like "Hotel Rwanda" is the only acknowledgment by Americans that a genocide took place ten years ago in Africa. It matters that the only Asian actors who get noticed by the Academy are in foreign language films or in small indie films (yes, I'm referring to "Sideways" even though Sandra Oh didn't get any love at all).
So, I'm sorry, race does matter. It matters when I rarely see Latinos on TV except on Spanish-language television. It matters when Selma Hayeck, Penelope Cruz, and Antonio Bandares are the Latino ambassadors for the Academy. It matters when Jennifer Lopez gets ribbed for dating Ben Affleck because she is considered "bad" for his image. It matters when Louis Gossett, Jr. (a winner of the best supporting actor prize) is barely acknowledged on the red carpet. And it matters when a first-time host is skewered for his biting wit when that is the very reason why he was hired in the first place.
Get used to it. People of color do not want to fade into a homogenous background that dictates when and how we can define ourselves. It is not your right, Tom Shales, or any other critic to determine that the only speech that is acceptable is speech or language in which you are made to feel more comfortable in your white skin.
Damn, I need to run, but that is my rant-o-the-day. Maybe I'll be in a better mood tomorrow. Ciao!
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