Conflicted Feelings

I did not want to dwell on this issue all day, but I saw something on TV that made my blood boil. It was a skit done in blackface.

I consider myself to be sufficienty enlightened enough not to give in to knee-jerk reactions to racial ignorance. After all, I am educated, and I tell myself that educated people can look upon these incidences and deconstruct them without allowing any emotions to take over.

Well, I've been lying to myself for far too long. I saw that skit, and it launched me on a two and a half hour crusade that has left me mentally drained and emotionally conflicted about my so-called rational approach to racism.

It was an episode of "Are You Being Served?", one of the Brit-coms that airs in the afternoon on the local public TV station. I was not actually watching the episode because I was on the computer, and it was on because I had been watching the previous program. Anyway, I overheard some foolishness (which is typical for this particular show) so I went into my bedroom, watched for about 2 minutes, and then returned to my work at the computer. A few minutes later, something else compelled me to go back into my bedroom to watch the end of the show. The ending was a musical number that was set up as a performance representing the ethnic heritage of one of the characters.

And then out came the smiling, dancing blackfaces. My jaw dropped in horror.

All of the main characters were made up in grease paint and wore black wigs except for one, a younger female cast member. I can only assume that for whatever reason, she chose not to go along with the make-up, but she still shuffled along with the rest of them. I could not believe it.

I immediately returned to the computer to gather research on the show and the episode so that I could send a strongly worded rebuke to the station. My angle was that I was offended not only by the content of the episode, but also because it aired without any warning. I suggested that in the future, the station should insert a commentary or disclaimer to explain the context.

I have gone through a kaleidescope of emotions since I sent that email this afternoon. This whole incident has me reeling, but I also have had to confront my beliefs about responding to racial insensitivity and ignorance. It has caused me to question my reactions when blacks also use racist imagery as an entertainment tool. What right do I have to get offended enough to fire off an email to PBS when I simply change the channel when I see something just as bad on BET, MTV or Vh1? Am I a hypocrite?

Do I feel more within my rights to hold PBS accountable because it is a public television station, and as such is owned by the viewers? Am I invoking white guilt because I know they will respond to an allegation of racial insensitivity raised by an African American viewer? Am I making a mountain out of a mole hill...after all, the program at issue is a 25 year old British import?

The thing is, I should be just as indignant with my own people for similar offenses. After all, if I can't expose the shortcomings of artistic expression within my own community, then what right do I have indicting the shortcomings of others?

I have waged my own internal war against so-called negative images in the popular culture since college when I made the choice not to purchase or participate in any art form that denigrated black women. I have struggled to remain consistent all these years, and when I have tried to recruit others to my way of thinking, I have been accused of being self-righteous. Few of my peers agree that this stuff is garbage and that it caters to the lowest common denominator of commercialism.

I am going on and on, and realizing that this struggle for responsible images will persist for as long as I live, I just wish that I could convince more people that this is not so much about negative images as it is about negative intentions. The real distinction between art that uplifts and art that denigrates is the intention of the artist. I am not convinced that those old racist cartoons and blackface movies were attempts by whites to pay homage to black culture. If they were, then why was it necessary to include certain overt racial cues such as watermelons and fried chicken? And those who suggest that the modern imagery is merely sophisticated satire obviously ignore the fact that many of these actors are paid good money to make fools of themselves. Again, the real proof lies in the intention. Just ask Dave Chappelle about that thin line between a biting satire and a mocking insult, and he'll explain why he walked away from $50 million.

I don't know what to expect from PBS in response to my email. I probably will not be able to enjoy another episode of "Are You Being Served" without a knot in my throat, because I cannot believe that blackface was an acceptable joke in 1981 Great Britian. That was barely twenty years after black folks on this side of the pond supposedly overcame, and less than three years after the ground-breaking mini-series "Roots" aired (which was the name of the offending episode). Clearly, the intention was ridicule, and I'm sorry but racism isn't funny when expressed in southern twang, in inner-city Ebonics or Spanglish, nor when it is dressed up in an English accent.

And the topic of my next regularly scheduled outburst is...

this damn war!!!

I HATE THIS WAR!!!

I teach a lot of military personnel, and it burns me up that some of the nation's best and brightest are headed off to a country to fight a war that we have no business waging. I hate the fact that I have to accept the possibility that I might be teaching future casualties of this mess.

AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!

Tonight I had a wonderful encounter with the sweetest guy--the type of young man that I would set my daughter up with (if I had a daughter). We talked about his desire to attend school, but then he dropped the D-bomb (deployment in January). I had another favored student detonate that same d-bomb on me just a few weeks ago, and he is probably on a plane headed to Iraq right now (if he isn't there already).

Damn this war. Damn it!!!

I don't know why we are sending these kids to Iraq. I understood when some of them had to go to Afghanistan, but I have never been given a satisfactory explanation for this Iraqi quagmire (it can't even be called a war anymore, because we supposedly won it back in 2003). All I know is, I can't stand the thought of my former students--someone's son or daughter--on a battlefield fighting over this load of Bushit.

Damn. I can't even articulate my anger and disgust. I just pray to God that this is not all in vain. One day, it could be one of my nieces or nephews. Or if the draft gets reinstated, it could be one of my brothers. It could be me (I'm not yet 35, and I don't assume for a moment that women would be exempt).

God help us.

Feeling Misunderstood or Un-Appreciated Lately?

Good, tell me all about it. But in a minute, I need to get some things off my chest:

I have had it up to here (imagine that I am raising my hand above my head to reach six feet) with you needy people! You useless bunch of...

NEEDLES!

Everywhere I go, there you are. In my family. At my job. Across the street. Crowding my inbox. My life is full of needy people. I imagine myself swimming at the deep end of a pool surrounded by needy people, only I am not drowning in neediness because I am the only one who can swim.

And depite the fact that I have reached my daily recommended intake of neediness, I am not allowed to say what I really think. Just once, I want to look one of you little needles in the eye and respond after some typical heart-breaking outpouring, "not my problem." That would be so nice.

But no I can't do that because I have been cursed with an over-abundance of empathy which requires that I sit patiently and listen to all your tales of woe, then politely excuse myself later to retreat to my computer to vent my feelings:

AAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

There. All better now. You may proceed.

Where Have I Been?

Apparently, I've been gone long enough to forget which buttons not to push on my computer while preparing to blog. I accidentally pressed return, and suddenly my title was published without any words to accompany it.

But as you might have guessed, I'm mixing blogging and merlot, so mistakes are bound to occur when one's judgement is slightly impaired. I'm celebrating my 5th wedding anniversary! And while I'm blogging, my husband is downstairs watching a baseball game.

Yup, we are a typical happily married couple.

And I really mean it. We are happy. I gave him an Ipod for the occasion, to make up for the pathetic birthday gift I did not give him two months ago. And although he genuinely seemed pleased, apparently I was more excited about the gift than he was. But that was because I spent four hours on Tuesday programming songs into his gift so that I wouldn't have to continue to share my Ipod with him when he goes to work out.

Yes, that is the secret to staying married--share only when absolutely necessary.

Ironically, just as we are celebrating the 5th year of our union, we find ourselves at that age when some of our friends are transitioning from a stage of married bliss. One of his friends who celebrated with us five years ago just got divorced. Other compatriots of mine are contemplating separation. And yet, we press on.

We are lucky because the secret to our marriage has been to stay true to who we were on the day we said "I do" (by the way, the vows technically require you to affirm "I will", but no matter...). I am still the same pain in the ass I was before we got married, and so is he. He hasn't changed, and in spite of myself, I have learned to live with him, warts and all. And I guess if you asked him, he would say the same thing.

I was listening to Chris Rock's most recent HBO special today and he had some interesting observations about marriage. Things change, and yes, marriage is terribly boring. I have endured dinner party conversations with other married folk about such riveting subjects as water heater repairs and dulahs. We probably had more sex before we got married (and yes, I am distracted by at least ten other things that seem more important). But I am happy because every night, I know where to find my husband and I have very little to worry about.

But as we celebrate this milestone, I am starting to worry about the next one, which is not another year of wedded bliss, but the increased frequency of the "when-are-you-going-to-have-children" queries. I think I need another five years to come up with a suitable response...

Hasta!

Been Gone Too Long

I have been thinking about this blog, only because it has been over a month since my last post. In that time, I have actually managed to get more things accomplished, which leads me to conclude that blogging, unless one is paid for it, is a big waste of time.

Of course, I don't really believe that. In my case, blogging has been enormously helpful to me in expressing those things that no one else cares to hear from me. My "audience" has been a cheap form of therapy. So whenever I question why I do this, I think about the fact that I usually feel pretty good about myself after the fact.

I miss writing. I have been teaching since the summer, and with the exception of exactly one day, I will be teaching straight through to next summer. This would really be a great job if (a) it paid more money and (b) I actually got an office where I could go to escape my house. And, I would want (c) a permanent campus assignment where I could go for every class instead of travelling to all corners of the state. These benefits would make my life gravy.

Another boon would be if I could take a week or two off from being me. Essentially, I need another vacation, only this time, I need to be by myself somewhere with just a computer, a warm blanket, and some wine with my meals. I would also love to take my bike and a good pair of walking shoes. If someone would be willing to plan such a retreat for me, I would be ever so grateful.

I also need a sounding board. Someone who is detached enough from the daily hum drum of my life to offer me advice and counsel as necessary. Such a person would have been really helpful to be today in the midst of my level-5 break down this afternoon. But since my ballet classes are free, I guess that will have to be my stress relief for the time being.

I could go for a yoga class. Something close to my house or to that imaginary campus so that I wouldn't have to travel out of my current orbit. I could take yoga at the dance studio, but then I'd have to pay, so another requirement for the yoga class would be that the price must be right (as in free or somewhere in the neighborhood of $5 - $8 per class). As the popularity increases, the prices have also increased, which in turn, causes me to stay perpetually tense.

I could go on with my wish list of things, but I will conclude with a list of the things for which I am grateful (in other words, here is my yin and yang):

My husband, because he tolerates me.
My parents, because they made me.
My brothers, because they no longer need me, and love me anyway.
My extended family, because they remind me of who I am .
My mother-in-law, because she loves me for no particular reason.
My other in-laws, because they bring me joy (especially the little ones, who remember me).
My friends, because they are special gifts to me.
My job, because it gives me purpose.

I have to do the black thing now and thank God, because He never makes mistakes.

And that's all folks. Ciao!

Sideshow Bobblehead

I waited until the last minute again, and failed to make a timely hair appointment. Thus, when I took out my twists this weekend, there was nothing else to do but cover my head with a scarf. Although my hub likes the un-tamed look, I know better than to go outside with my hair all over my head. After all, it is not the70s, I do not live in Hollywood, so I cannot successfully channel Pam Grier, Tamara Dobson or any other bad mama from that era.

So, I am going to take the plunge and attempt to wash and style my hair...again...please pray for me...

The truth: I love my natural hair texture precisely because I pay someone else to make it look good. If left in charge of my own styling, I would eventually end up bald. I don't want to look like my brother.

Another truth: That is the real reason why black women perm. Our mothers could not wait until we were old enough to get that first relaxer because trying to style a little black girl's hair is a half-day job. Mamma needed a break.

More truth: A lot of sisters are right to be concerned about the "professional image" of natural hair. Braids are fine for a few months and dreadlocks may become more acceptable, but for those of us in between those two looks, there are not that many natural hair styles that translate well into the corporate marketplace. As much as I like my stylist, she set me up four weeks ago with an off-to-the side flat-twist style that made me look like a ten year old child. It was cute, but I am long past the point of being cute on a regular basis.

Last bit of truth: I will probably spend the next three hours pulling at my hair, so I'd better get moving if I plan to get anything else done today.

I Heart Project Runway

OK, so in the midst of my hectic semester, I find myself scouring the Internet for all thing Project Runway. Have I ever been this obsessed about a TV show before? Perhaps, but thanks to my new cable modem, my obsession is fueled by my ability to check multiple websites with a single click!

This season is by far the best. I was not that into the first season, although I did spend one crazy weekend watching the marathon. The second season, while much better, also did not intrigue me as much since I just saw the finale the other day. But this season, I am watching as it unfolds, and I am loving every moment.

Last night, Michael Knight, my man from the ATL won and I could not have been happier. And apparently, a bunch of other PR fans are pleased as well. This group of designers is so talented that I think it is anyone's contest.

Well I've gotta run, else I'll be late for class. Auf Wiedersehen!