Countdown

Type-A personalities like me get a bad rap. Not only do we tend to be anal and controlling, but we are also over-anxious and very particular about certain things. Case in point: I love my Smartwater and I refuse to share it with anybody, not even my husband. It's mine and that's just the way it is.

So this trip to Spain next week finds me in Type-A overload. I've been planning my wardrobe for weeks. I've been mentally packing and re-packing my suitcases and carry-on bags. I've been carefully considering ways to keep myself entertained on the plane (just the right books, magazines, games and music to keep me occupied for eight hours). I've planned an in-flight menu of just the right foods and beverages (since no one feeds you on the plane anymore). I've made lists of the lists I need to make so that I don't forget anything.

And I am determined not to lose anything of value overseas. I read online that American tourists are typically targeted for thefts, so yesterday, I became obsessed with various decoy devices and throw-away items that I would not miss if stolen (yes, it is that crucial). I bought a fake pleather wallet-pursey thing to keep my stuff. I also bought a new CD holder so that I could keep better track of my CDs (not that anything was ever wrong with the other three CD holders we already have), and I spent all day burning copies of CDs so that I don't travel with the originals.

Yep, I'm a classic basket case. The trip that is supposed to help me relax has only increased my stress.

Last night I nearly lost my mind because I could not find my passport a week before my departure. To say that this was the King Kong of meltdowns would not be an exagerration. I seriously thought that forces were conspiring to make me crazy, and that I would be carted off to an asylum.

Of course, I had not lost the passport, I had put it away in a "safe place". That safe place happened to be an actual safe, the very one that stays empty and unused about 95% of the time. I only checked in there after I had gone through every piece of paper on my very cluttered desk about five times, screamed at my husband, and swore to God about 100 times that I had not moved the passport from the desk drawer where I had been keeping it since October when it was issued.

With the passport drama over, now the next dilemma is my ticket. It was issued in my husband's name, only I never changed my last name upon marriage, so we've been waiting for nearly three weeks to get this resolved. Why not just reprint the damn thing, you ask? Because that would be too easy. Air France is requiring a copy of the marriage license and a copy of the aforementioned passport as proof of my real name.

In a post 9/11 world, it should be expected that I would be subjected to intense scrutiny, but before I even get to the airport?

We'll see how this wrinkle gets ironed out. In the meantime, I need to go buy some more plastic baggies because I bought the wrong size yesterday and I need them for double-bagging my toiletry items :)

Yes, it is that crucial...

Ca va?

I'm going to pull out my old French books so that I can brush up before I head off to Spain in two weeks. Of course, that makes very little sense to most people, but to me it is perfect. I can translate what I hear from the French much better than I would be able to through a crash course in Spanish.

I am really tired, but I was online posting grades and just wanted to check in to see if any additional spam had been posted to my blog. I think it is hilarious that someone would go through the trouble of posting something completely random to my blog. It was a total set-up because I was all excited that someone had read my stuff...them come to find out, it was just some weirdo.

The days leading up to the trip are going to be hectic. I now have to fit in another trip to NYC for family reasons, and it is only adding to my stress. I wish I had the courage to say what I really feel, but it would cause more drama than necessary. I guess I am the only person who feels that a last minute 7-hour car ride the week before leaving the country for two weeks is a bit extreme, but hey. Oh and it just so happens that I have my recital the day before, so I have to rush from the performance and get immediately on the road.

I have other things that are stressing me out, but no one wants to hear about them or even acknowledge that I have a right to be a little anxious about them. Everyone wants me to chill. When have I ever done that? As soon as we get back, I have to jump right back on the treadmill, and I seriously doubt that the husband is going to allow me that much peace on the trip anyway. And then my parents have been giving me grief over everything imaginable.

So, I am cranky. I read an advertisement today that suggested that I might be bipolar because like most people, I get depressed and have mood swings. Hello, I am a woman...but I guess this is just another tactic to scare people into believing normal life requires medication. Maybe Tom Cruise is right about psychology...

Anyhoo, I am rambling and I'm tired. Ciao!

Interesting Spam

This is an actual comment that was posted to my gardening blog:

Are you stuck in a job that is leading you on the path to no where?We can help
you obtain a College Degree with classes, books, and examsGet a Genuine College
Degree in 2 Weeks!Well now you can get them! Call this number now 24 hours a day
7 days a week (413) 208-3069Get these Degrees NOW!!!BA, BSc, MA, MSc, MBA, PHD,
Within 2 weeks!No Study Required!100% VerifiableCall this number now 24 hours a
day 7 days a week (413) 208-3069These are real, genuine, They are verifiable and
student records andtranscripts are also available. This little known secret has
beenkept quiet for years. The opportunity exists due to a legal loopholeallowing
some established colleges to award degrees at their discretion.With all of the
attention that this news has been generating, I wouldn't be surprised to see
this loophole closed very soonGet yours now, you will thank me laterCall this
number now (413) 208-3069 We accept calls 24 hours a day 7 days a week.

Of course, the topic was on how pathetic my yard looked, so I can see how this is related...

This looks like the type of scheme that gets people into trouble when they apply for executive level positions. They get these official sounding diplomas and degrees, but one day someone will do a reference check and will discover that the degree was actually awarded to a dead baby or a lab rat instead of the person named.

If there was any further reason to decry the state of education in our country, this is another one. Who would want to purchase a fake degree? What if someone actually had to rely on your competence in a particular area, and all you had to show for it was this sham? During the course of the nuclear explosion caused, what could you possibly say--oops?

I knew someone who tried to pull a similar scam once...and he almost got away with it. But he was kind of an asshole and had made too many enemies. I saw him recently, though, and he seemed to be doing well. At least that is what he said...

Three Weeks and Counting...

I am headed to Spain for a much needed vacation. I don't speak a wit of Spanish, and I will have to rely on charm and the hub for guidance. But I don't care, because for two weeks, I won't have to think about anything!

Nothing at all. No students. No clients. No bills. Nothing.

I can't wait! I feel like a kid doing the countdown to Disney World or Christmas morning. I'm so excited!

Of course, until the time of my departure, there is plenty of worrying for me. I have a settlement agreement to draft by Wednesday. An exam to draft by tomorrow at 4pm, which I then need to grade by Thursday for some and Friday for others. And then there are papers to grade, because everyone seems to be working on CP time when it comes to my class syllabus. And let us not forget the upcoming recital on the 20th, where I am dancing in four pieces. Then of course, there is the legal work I have yet to complete for my mother. There is always work for the alumnae association as well. I have the class to prepare for the second half of the summer, and if I want, there is tutoring, more essays to grade, and possibly some advocacy that I could sneak in before September.

I am always up to something. But for two weeks, the only thing I'll need to do is look pretty and flirt. I will take books that have nothing to do with school. I will work crossword puzzles until I can't think. I will let someone else do my laundry. And best of all, I won't have to drive. This trip will offer me more relaxation than I've had since...I can't remember.

Searching for Truth - Pt. 2

I was so fired up the other day, that I kept writing and ended up several different themes. So I'm publishing them as a series. I am posting the first two this evening/early morning, and hopefully will post more by Tuesday.

Another angle on the Duke sex scandal - Notions of hypocrisy and betrayal

The caller on the aforementioned radio show last week touched a raw nerve for me when she implied that a lack of support for this young woman was tantamount to betrayal. But by whom? Could she have meant the men in the young woman's life, and how their lack of responsibility made her seriously consider stripping as a career option?

Of course not, that irate caller was making a larger case about collective shame in our community, but she missed the mark. However, upon further consideration I think the caller has a valid point. This young woman was betrayed by our community, but not because some of us questioned her choices. She was betrayed when we accepted sexual exploitation as an integral aspect of black culture.

Remember “It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp”…

When we allowed the pimp to be resurrected as an icon of black manhood, then we betrayed every young black woman. Pimps are in the business of pimpin’ and the currency of that enterprise is the ho, a.k.a. the black woman. So when that song won an Oscar, it was not our proudest moment. If anything, it was an acknowledgment of how shameful we have allowed our culture to become.

When we accept the explanation provided by some rappers that they are only referring to certain women when they pepper their lyrics with the terms bitches and hoes, then we betray every young black woman. When we dismiss rap videos full of under-dressed young woman as overly stylized fantasies, then we betray every young black woman. When we dance to the beat but fail to listen to the lyrics, then we betray every young black woman. When we allow music executives to claim that this is what we want because we eagerly buy their products, then we betray every young black woman.

And this is larger than hip hop, because other so-called beloved entertainers have contributed to this betrayal. We embrace R. Kelly, even though he is accused of urinating on a thirteen year old child. I’ve heard people defend him on the theory that he was seduced—by a thirteen year old child! As for his annulled marriage to late singer Aaliyah when she was only fifteen: “Age Ain’t Nuthin’ But a Number”. Here is someone who is clearly sick, yet we celebrate him by selling out his concerts and buying his trashy music. But to bash him in public is to air dirty laundry that is best kept “In the Closet”…

We’ve looked the other way when black public figures disregard their black wives and engage in infidelity. Jesse Jackson spent less than two weeks in exile after it was revealed that he had fathered a child out of wedlock. His wife stood by him, but I wonder if she felt betrayed by the way the community ignored her pain. Countless other political wives probably endure similar humiliation. Our forgiveness of black preachers is legendary and best summarized in the oft-repeated refrain, “let he who is without sin cast the first stone”.

We apparently have a soft spot when it comes to our sports heroes and their sins against women. When these guys father children from one end of the country to the next, why do we overlook their irresponsibility in sleeping around and aim our accusations at the women? When Allen Iverson put his naked wife out on the street in an incident that clearly indicated domestic abuse, why did we ignore it as personal drama and cheer him on at his next game? And why did we do the same thing for Jason Kidd and Warren Moon? Is Jim Brown viewed as an abusive brute, or is he still regarded as a sports icon? Do we really believe that O.J. Simpson never hit his black wife, and are we ready to believe that he probably killed his white wife?

If we forgive black entertainers, religious leaders, political figures, and athletes accused of behaving badly toward black women, then why should we be any less forgiving of white men similarly accused? If we don't hold the men in our community accountable for their behavior, then what do we expect?

I bet that question is on the mind of every Duke athlete on the lacrosse team.

Searching for Truth - Pt. 1

I have no idea what happened at that party involving the Duke Lacrosse Team and the stripper. She says things got out of control and that she was raped and sodomized; they say it was just a party and that she was angry about not getting enough money for her services. Seems like a classic cut-and-dry case of she said vs. they said, but that assumes that this is case is only about a stripper in a room full of drunken athletes. This case is of David and Goliath proportions with regard not only to race and gender, but also to class and privilege.

It could serve as an important teaching moment for our society. But I doubt it. We have already taken sides, and few of us are willing to deal with the complexities. We just want to settle old scores.

Last week a caller on a radio show complained bitterly about what she viewed as a “lack of racial solidarity with this young woman.” Apparently, several previous callers, mostly male, had suggested that because of the woman’s profession, she put herself in a position to be exploited. The caller went on to declare that this crime occurred precisely because of the victim’s race, and that fact had emboldened the lacrosse players in disrespecting her. The caller finished her tirade by suggesting that if the victim were white, none of this would ever have occurred. As the host of the program offered her amen to everything the caller said, I was completely mystified.

I understand the outrage of the black community in Durham. For decades, when a black woman was raped by a white man or mob, the community was powerless in the face of Jim Crow “justice”. Under regimes of state-sponsored terrorism, black husbands, fathers, sons and brothers could do little to protect their black wives, daughters, mothers and sisters. So when leaders of the local NAACP and clergy demanded action, they are responding to years of un-prosecuted rape and mayhem.

But that only scratches the surface as there are other implications of this incident beyond race of the victim and the perpetrators. Whenever drunken men get around half-naked women, someone is bound to take things too far. So where was her protection? Where was the black community that night? Why did this young, black, single mother have to strip for a living?

If we would dare to answer those questions, then we might see that our anger is misplaced. In overlooking certain nuances implicit in her life choices, we have again failed to address some painful truths.

Where was the father of her child? If he was paying child support, would that have led this young woman to become a stripper?

Ok, let’s assume that the answer to the second question is yes. Then, if she willingly chose this profession, then does she not also have the responsibility to accept the consequences of that choice? If that question blames the victim, then I will state here and now that I do not believe that any woman deserves to be sexually abused.

At the same time, no woman should have to engage in a profession wherein chief among the hazards is the possibility of sexual exploitation and abuse in order to support a child.

So while Jesse Jackson and others publicly form a hedge of protection around this woman now, they need to use this opportunity to publicly address the circumstances that lead this mother and other small-town black single mothers to make similar poor career choices because of absent fathers. For if she had an involved co-parent (and not another absent baby daddy), then she would never have been at that party that night. No self-respecting man would allow the mother of his child--whether he liked her or not--to work as a stripper for hire. He would care too much about the welfare of his child to allow that. And I’ve seen the darkened silhouette of her daddy in numerous TV interviews, so I’m wondering if he is hiding to protect her identity or in shame because his daughter had to pursue this lifestyle to support his grandchild.

Where was he when she needed him?

Allergies, Insomnia, Carpal Tunnel and other Maladies

Oh how I love Spring. I love it so much it's sickening! Really.

I have spring allergies. Every April around this time, I have to barricade myself indoors, or I have take allergy medication. When all of these new prescriptions came out a few years ago, I was estatic. I could finally take something that would not put me to sleep. Only, these medications have the worst side effects. One year I had back pain and flu-like symptoms. Last year, I got earaches and a sore throat. This year, I have the earaches and sore throat, and I can't sleep at night.

So, I stopped taking the medication, but now I can't go outside. To pass the time I have been working on my novel, blogging on a semi-regular basis, grading papers, doing some internet research for my class, and journaling. I would say that I have been rather productive lately.

Except now, I'm been experiencing numbness in my right arm. It was so bad last night that I was convinced I had some unspeakable neurological disorder. Now that the panic has subsided, I've settled on carpal tunnel syndrome. I used to laugh at people who claimed they were disabled by this. Now I'm not so sure that it's so funny anymore.

The insomnia has been with me consistently for weeks, so I can't blame that on the month of April. I had a rough February, and a ultra-busy March which leads me to think that there might be more to this because I should be exhausted. I forget things, I've lost interest in some of my activities, I never go to church, my house is a terminal mess, and I am more disorganized than ever. Maybe I have depression?

Nah...I just need a new bed, and a vacation. And a million dollars...