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Monday, March 27, 2006
Not so good...
Does your weblog own you?
Of Color...
Nubian has a great, debate-inducing post on the term "people of color." Personally, I like the term, but honestly, I've never thought much about it. Some of Nubian's readers object, feel that it excludes white people (which makes them defensive or absolves them of repsonsibility to be part of the solution to issues that revolve around race/ethnicity/color), casts white people as "colorless" or "raceless," or normalizes a racial binary of white/of color. I am most sympathetic to that last point, but using the term "people of color" did not/does not create that binary--it exists anyway, whether we reference it or not. The solidarity implied in "people of color," that sense, on some level, of a shared experience is valuable.
But I don't discuss this nearly as well as Nubian and I haven't thought it out clearly. Please read her post.
But I don't discuss this nearly as well as Nubian and I haven't thought it out clearly. Please read her post.
Marriage is for White People...
Or so notes an article in yesterday's WaPo. That's not the author's position, but that of a 12-year old black boy. A particularly interesting excerpt from Ms. Jones's provocatively titled piece:
But most of the guys I've met are just not ready. Many of them feel they don't have to be--hell, if I put my foot down there are other women who so badly want a man, they'll ignore the infidelities, the lack of effort, the bruising to their self-esteem, just to have one. Ms. Jones comments on that, too:
Within my own circle, this discontent with marriage has produced a strange effect: my female family and friends are inordinately concerned with preserving the sanctity of my singlehood. Just Saturday, J told me, "Girl, leave those papers at the courthouse and that man at the altar." My sister and T immediately gave her high fives. They all emphasize how well I will do on my own with the PhD, how lucky I am to have waited. My ever-practical sister says that I should get a companion and nothing more. My own mother, who has been married almost 40 years, urges that I should have another child to keep the kid from being an only child, but seems to have forgotten my lack of a mate. I think I have become their hope, in a sense, for a "good" marriage. They are unwilling for me to enter or stay in a relationship in which I would have to deal with selfishness, infidelity, lack of ambition, or any other significant flaw. The irony is that many of them have dealt with these things and stayed. Or maybe it's not so ironic. They want, desperately, wholeheartedly, better for me.
Ms. Jones's article tries to end on a bright note, by pointing out that while the decline in marriage among African American women may be brought about by negative factors (e.g. a lack of willing, ready-to-work-at-it partners), it may continue because of more positive ones (our accomplishments and self-sufficiency make us unwilling to accept a less than fulfilling relationship). And I am the first to admit that marriage is not some grand cure-all that will fix everything that plagues our communities. It comes in too many forms--including abusive ones--to be the answer to everything for everyone. Additionally, not all women and men seek this arrangement.
Still, the article made me a bit sad.
Among African Americans, the desire for marriage seems to have a different trajectory for women and men. My observation is that black women in their twenties and early thirties want to marry and commit at a time when black men their age are more likely to enjoy playing the field. As the woman realizes that a good marriage may not be as possible or sustainable as she would like, her focus turns to having a baby, or possibly improving her job status, perhaps by returning to school or investing more energy in her career.Before I comment, I will be careful, as did Ms. Jones, and say, "in my observation." I will note that, all men and women are not the same, that there are guys out there who are ready and willing to make the sacrifices and compromises to commit and share their lives and there are women who have no interest in ever marrying. But, I must say, in a feeble and worried-about-censure voice, that my observations are much like the author's. After two really hard relationships and lots of effort, tears, and anger, I'm pretty much resigned to the fact that I'm never getting married. I mean, I am a Black woman over 30 who just can't deal with the things I did in my 20s. To be fair, I'm set in my own ways and usually think I know right, or at least, best, so I come with my own flaws.
As men mature, and begin to recognize the benefits of having a roost and roots (and to feel the consequences of their risky bachelor behavior), they are more willing to marry and settle down. By this time, however, many of their female peers are satisfied with the lives they have constructed and are less likely to settle for marriage to a man who doesn't bring much to the table. Indeed, he may bring too much to the table: children and their mothers from previous relationships, limited earning power, and the fallout from years of drug use, poor health care, sexual promiscuity. In other words, for the circumspect black woman, marriage may not be a business deal that offers sufficient return on investment.
But most of the guys I've met are just not ready. Many of them feel they don't have to be--hell, if I put my foot down there are other women who so badly want a man, they'll ignore the infidelities, the lack of effort, the bruising to their self-esteem, just to have one. Ms. Jones comments on that, too:
Most single black women over the age of 30 whom I know would not mind getting married, but acknowledge that the kind of man and the quality of marriage they would like to have may not be likely, and they are not desperate enough to simply accept any situation just to have a man. A number of my married friends complain that taking care of their husbands feels like having an additional child to raise.I hear that last observation a lot, in the form of "Girl, I have two kids," or "He can't do a damn thing without my helping."
Within my own circle, this discontent with marriage has produced a strange effect: my female family and friends are inordinately concerned with preserving the sanctity of my singlehood. Just Saturday, J told me, "Girl, leave those papers at the courthouse and that man at the altar." My sister and T immediately gave her high fives. They all emphasize how well I will do on my own with the PhD, how lucky I am to have waited. My ever-practical sister says that I should get a companion and nothing more. My own mother, who has been married almost 40 years, urges that I should have another child to keep the kid from being an only child, but seems to have forgotten my lack of a mate. I think I have become their hope, in a sense, for a "good" marriage. They are unwilling for me to enter or stay in a relationship in which I would have to deal with selfishness, infidelity, lack of ambition, or any other significant flaw. The irony is that many of them have dealt with these things and stayed. Or maybe it's not so ironic. They want, desperately, wholeheartedly, better for me.
Ms. Jones's article tries to end on a bright note, by pointing out that while the decline in marriage among African American women may be brought about by negative factors (e.g. a lack of willing, ready-to-work-at-it partners), it may continue because of more positive ones (our accomplishments and self-sufficiency make us unwilling to accept a less than fulfilling relationship). And I am the first to admit that marriage is not some grand cure-all that will fix everything that plagues our communities. It comes in too many forms--including abusive ones--to be the answer to everything for everyone. Additionally, not all women and men seek this arrangement.
Still, the article made me a bit sad.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
On Research
So I'm sitting in a library in Magnolia, AR looking through some state documents. None have proven to be that one groundbreaking document that will elevate my dissertation to superstar status. They aren't particularly interesting. But being here reminds me why I chose this field in the first place--sometimes, I really love the research. More specifically, I love the search. For example, I really don't know what I'm looking for here (don't tell my advisor) but I love the looking, the discovering. Is it strange that I find this... fun?
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
The Local Drugstore
While sitting in the nail shop shortly before this prolonged trip, I picked up a "women's" magazine. Amidst all the tips, tricks, and techniques, there was a suggestion that women find forgotten treasures-beauty products, novelties, gifts, etc-at drugstores. Yesterday, my dad sent me to fill one of his prescriptions, so I decided to explore my old-school hometown drugstore. I found funky furniture, pier-1 inspired rattan items, playing cards, keychains that held sand from my tiny town, beautiful picture frames and a box that contained Colgate shaving soap.
I stared at that little red and white box marked $1.20 for a long time. I stared and I remembered my stooped shouldered grandfather, Payne.
Now Payne was not a man concerned with physical appearances. He routinely wore mismatched socks and shoes. He misbuttoned his shirts and jackets and safety-pinned any wardrobe malfunction. He pushed around a decades old lawnmower, because, well into his 70s, he still "cut yards." I used to sink down in my seat on the school bus when I was a little kid and groan my embarrassment.
But on shaving, Payne was a stickler. He had one of those old brushes that you use to put the lather on and he shaved himself with a straight razor while we watched and talked him through it. He talked back, but I never saw him cut himself. I still remember the rhytmic scrape-scrape-scrape of his shaving.
What I also remember is how much he loved us. See, there was always tension between my mom and her mom. My grandmother made no bones about the fact that my uncle and his kids were her favorites. I didn't care much when I wasn't around her, but the way she discounted my mother's efforts routinely pissed my sister and me off. But, we bit our tongues, largely because of Payne. He adored my mom and loved all seven of the grandkids. When we needed money, he'd pull out this old weather beaten wallet and issue it silently. When we were late for curfew, he'd wait up and quietly unlock the screen door. When I was in the throes of teenaged angst, he'd tell me these stories about his sister--who bore an amazing resemblance to me as he told it--to help ease me through.
He was a good man, a strong man, and he loved my grandmother despite the fact that she cussed and hollered and fussed and often told him, "Payne, these are my children!" A spiteful statement, because Payne was not our biological grandfather. But, instead of taking her to task, he'd sigh, shake his head, and say, "You wrong, girl. You know you wrong." And he kept loving us all the same.
The last time I saw Payne, in a Rehabilitation hospital, he was tired and suffering from cancer. He missed my grandmother terribly. Still, he managed to smile at me and pat my cheek, one of the few times he'd ever been physically affectionate. He told me, "Take care of yourself, Sugar." I told him I loved him and he nodded once. I realize now that in the 20-something years I had him, he never once said the words. But never have I ever been so sure someone felt them.
So, of course, Elle, being sentimental, weeping Elle, bought the soap. My dad found it in his bag and said, "I told you I had razors and shaving cream." I had to tell him that I didn't buy it to use it.
At least, not in any practical way.
I stared at that little red and white box marked $1.20 for a long time. I stared and I remembered my stooped shouldered grandfather, Payne.
Now Payne was not a man concerned with physical appearances. He routinely wore mismatched socks and shoes. He misbuttoned his shirts and jackets and safety-pinned any wardrobe malfunction. He pushed around a decades old lawnmower, because, well into his 70s, he still "cut yards." I used to sink down in my seat on the school bus when I was a little kid and groan my embarrassment.
But on shaving, Payne was a stickler. He had one of those old brushes that you use to put the lather on and he shaved himself with a straight razor while we watched and talked him through it. He talked back, but I never saw him cut himself. I still remember the rhytmic scrape-scrape-scrape of his shaving.
What I also remember is how much he loved us. See, there was always tension between my mom and her mom. My grandmother made no bones about the fact that my uncle and his kids were her favorites. I didn't care much when I wasn't around her, but the way she discounted my mother's efforts routinely pissed my sister and me off. But, we bit our tongues, largely because of Payne. He adored my mom and loved all seven of the grandkids. When we needed money, he'd pull out this old weather beaten wallet and issue it silently. When we were late for curfew, he'd wait up and quietly unlock the screen door. When I was in the throes of teenaged angst, he'd tell me these stories about his sister--who bore an amazing resemblance to me as he told it--to help ease me through.
He was a good man, a strong man, and he loved my grandmother despite the fact that she cussed and hollered and fussed and often told him, "Payne, these are my children!" A spiteful statement, because Payne was not our biological grandfather. But, instead of taking her to task, he'd sigh, shake his head, and say, "You wrong, girl. You know you wrong." And he kept loving us all the same.
The last time I saw Payne, in a Rehabilitation hospital, he was tired and suffering from cancer. He missed my grandmother terribly. Still, he managed to smile at me and pat my cheek, one of the few times he'd ever been physically affectionate. He told me, "Take care of yourself, Sugar." I told him I loved him and he nodded once. I realize now that in the 20-something years I had him, he never once said the words. But never have I ever been so sure someone felt them.
So, of course, Elle, being sentimental, weeping Elle, bought the soap. My dad found it in his bag and said, "I told you I had razors and shaving cream." I had to tell him that I didn't buy it to use it.
At least, not in any practical way.
I Know Y'all Miss Me...
...but I'm still not back in the Lone Star State. Decided to spend an extra week between LA and AR. I get to interview a worker's advocate whose been involved in the industry I'm studying for over 20 years. I get to write sans two little boys. And guess what? I've actually put my nose to the grindstone and turned out some pretty good stuff. My mom still works, my dad fishes a lot, so I spend hours alone with nothing but a spiral notebook, my binders, notecards, and a few books. The result? I've done more in 2 days than in all February.
The downside, of course, is that I miss my TX family. And the advisor sent me an e-mail that began with ELLE, WHERE ARE YOU? She seems a little peeved that I've missed some pretrty important people sorta in my field who were visiting the area. I had my sister e-mail her until I could get to a computer. And then I sent an approriately contrite e-mail--in which I mentioned my near-nervous breakdown of February and rebounding quite amazingly to produce this wonderful chapter. I hope she replies soon. I hate feeling that I've let her down.
But, best friend Louisiana who has some influential contacts has procured a really nice laptop for me to use while I'm here. So maybe, I can keep in touch more. Or maybe I'll keep going without computer and keep getting my grind on.
The downside, of course, is that I miss my TX family. And the advisor sent me an e-mail that began with ELLE, WHERE ARE YOU? She seems a little peeved that I've missed some pretrty important people sorta in my field who were visiting the area. I had my sister e-mail her until I could get to a computer. And then I sent an approriately contrite e-mail--in which I mentioned my near-nervous breakdown of February and rebounding quite amazingly to produce this wonderful chapter. I hope she replies soon. I hate feeling that I've let her down.
But, best friend Louisiana who has some influential contacts has procured a really nice laptop for me to use while I'm here. So maybe, I can keep in touch more. Or maybe I'll keep going without computer and keep getting my grind on.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Lord Have Mercy
When I tell y'all I'm from the country... trust! The most exciting thing has been my goddaughter's unexpected run in her pre-school pageant. J decided last minute and we've raised $500 today alone. T's son is running for "king," too, so we've sold two sets of plate lunches, hotdogs, raffle tickets, etc. As conceited as we are, we're determined that they both win--I even bought Belle a blue dress to match T's son's baby blue suit. Pageant is tomorrow. I've been pursing my lips and blowing kisses as I solicit donations--all my feminist sensibilities leave when it comes to the children.
Gotta realize Elle loves the kids!
Well, off to make that money!
(You all know, of course, that I've written approximately one dissertation related paragraph?)
Gotta realize Elle loves the kids!
Well, off to make that money!
(You all know, of course, that I've written approximately one dissertation related paragraph?)
Thursday, March 09, 2006
It's So Hard...
but still, I shall say goodbye! Off to Louisiana until the 20th, so blogging will be light to none!
Have a good week. Wish me luck on the dissertation chapter. I have to bust my ass over the next ten days.
Love,
Elle, A(lways)B(ehind)D(ammit!)
Have a good week. Wish me luck on the dissertation chapter. I have to bust my ass over the next ten days.
Love,
Elle, A(lways)B(ehind)D(ammit!)
Why the Word also Means "Failure, Flop"
Ever a day late and thousands of dollars short, I wanted to drop a quick bomb before I start getting ready for the oft-delayed-but-much-anticipated lunch with Best Friend Texas.
Bill Napoli is a perverted idiot.
There now, that felt good.
Bill Napoli is a perverted idiot.
There now, that felt good.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
A Hard Act to Follow
Oh My God, this rambles...
Last night, best friend Louisiana called. She was crying so hard, I could barely understand her. This in itself is alarming--best friend LA does not cry often. Not for herself, anyway. She cries for her friends but treats her own problems with this brusque, brisk, get-over it attitude. So, I was scared but managed to make soothing noises until she could talk.
Her mom, who has diabetes, suffered a stroke, and had a dangerous blockage to a major artery, has Level/Stage Four cirrhosis of the liver. They have to go Monday to talk to her doctor. And best friend is worried that the prognosis will be unbearably dismal, that her mom will be given some sort of "time limit," in her words. "I just can't go. I just can't hear that," she sobbed over and over. To which all the inept, insufficient Elle could say was "You can go. You know how strong you are. She'll need you. I'll be home, too."
What could I say? This woman is my rock. We have been best friends since I was four and she was five. We're the two oldest and possibly tightest members of our pentagon--my group of Louisiana friends that includes her, my sister, my cousin T, my cousin J, and me. She has the most amazing knack for telling me how it is--whether I want to hear it or not--and still making me feel like I'm something special. Last year, when I began crying uncontrollably at the rehearsal for my parent's 35th wedding anniversary luau, she grabbed my face and said "What is it? You know I'm going to fix it for you." This year, when I started sleeping in my closet (because I needed the darkness), turning off the ringers on my phones, and readied myself to wallow in misery, she kept calling, kept fussing, kept loving. When I wailed, "What's wrong with me?" she snapped back, "Nothing, he's an insecure idiot." When I cried, "I'm never going toget this degree, never going to write this thing," she said, "Shut up and stop being lazy."
You see, she has spent almost 27 years saying the right thing at the right time to me. She has spent 27 years helping me fight my battles and "fixing" things for me. She's the type who can assure me in one breath that we're classy, smart, and above petty squabbles and in the next, threaten to handily kick the ass of anyone who even looks at me wrong. She is counselor, advocate, reality check, and friend rolled in one great package. In all these years, we've had two major arguments, many small disagreements, and lots of attitude. But always, always there's the bond, the love, the sisterhood--possible in part because she knows all my neuroses and loves me anyway.
And I am worried. In a general sense, because T's father (my uncle) died of complications from diabetes in 2002. J's father died 2 weeks ago. My own father seems to be having a lot of bad days now that the dialysis has begun. All of them are/were in their 50s. 50s! So I am worried in a large sense that health care and information for black people really is substandard and when we do get the info, we disregard it. J's father (and mine) continued to smoke. T's father refused to take his hypertension and diabetes meds which led to stroke and blindness and his spending his 40s in a nursing home. And even though we see this, live this, despair of this--the smallest member of the pentagon is J at a size 14. Not that large necessarily means unhealthy, but we are a mostly sedentary bunch. We get together and eat and go to movies and eat and talk and eat and plan outings and events and eat. I have no illusions we will ever be size 2s or even 8s--the four of us who are kin have large mamas, aunts, grandmothers, cousins, etc--but I do want us to be healthier.
But what I am worried about most immediately is that I will fail best friend LA in this hour of need. I do not have the words she has. I am the queen of sympathetic silences, handholding, and backrubbing. I don't think I've ever "fixed" one thing for her. Because she's so self-confident, I've never had to reassure her of her worth. The more I think about it, I'm scared she's going to evaluate this friendship one day and worry that one of us is giving more--I'm infinitely more needy than she is. But there are three things that I do for her, three things that may serve me well at this time. I make her laugh. And I love to hear her laugh while she chokes out, "Oh my God, Elle, you are going straight to hell for that." I listen and I hear her, even when I don't agree. And, I'm her "crying place," where she comes in those rare moments that it all gets to her. Like last night. Like I fear Monday will be.
Three little things that I'm hoping will be enough.
Last night, best friend Louisiana called. She was crying so hard, I could barely understand her. This in itself is alarming--best friend LA does not cry often. Not for herself, anyway. She cries for her friends but treats her own problems with this brusque, brisk, get-over it attitude. So, I was scared but managed to make soothing noises until she could talk.
Her mom, who has diabetes, suffered a stroke, and had a dangerous blockage to a major artery, has Level/Stage Four cirrhosis of the liver. They have to go Monday to talk to her doctor. And best friend is worried that the prognosis will be unbearably dismal, that her mom will be given some sort of "time limit," in her words. "I just can't go. I just can't hear that," she sobbed over and over. To which all the inept, insufficient Elle could say was "You can go. You know how strong you are. She'll need you. I'll be home, too."
What could I say? This woman is my rock. We have been best friends since I was four and she was five. We're the two oldest and possibly tightest members of our pentagon--my group of Louisiana friends that includes her, my sister, my cousin T, my cousin J, and me. She has the most amazing knack for telling me how it is--whether I want to hear it or not--and still making me feel like I'm something special. Last year, when I began crying uncontrollably at the rehearsal for my parent's 35th wedding anniversary luau, she grabbed my face and said "What is it? You know I'm going to fix it for you." This year, when I started sleeping in my closet (because I needed the darkness), turning off the ringers on my phones, and readied myself to wallow in misery, she kept calling, kept fussing, kept loving. When I wailed, "What's wrong with me?" she snapped back, "Nothing, he's an insecure idiot." When I cried, "I'm never going toget this degree, never going to write this thing," she said, "Shut up and stop being lazy."
You see, she has spent almost 27 years saying the right thing at the right time to me. She has spent 27 years helping me fight my battles and "fixing" things for me. She's the type who can assure me in one breath that we're classy, smart, and above petty squabbles and in the next, threaten to handily kick the ass of anyone who even looks at me wrong. She is counselor, advocate, reality check, and friend rolled in one great package. In all these years, we've had two major arguments, many small disagreements, and lots of attitude. But always, always there's the bond, the love, the sisterhood--possible in part because she knows all my neuroses and loves me anyway.
And I am worried. In a general sense, because T's father (my uncle) died of complications from diabetes in 2002. J's father died 2 weeks ago. My own father seems to be having a lot of bad days now that the dialysis has begun. All of them are/were in their 50s. 50s! So I am worried in a large sense that health care and information for black people really is substandard and when we do get the info, we disregard it. J's father (and mine) continued to smoke. T's father refused to take his hypertension and diabetes meds which led to stroke and blindness and his spending his 40s in a nursing home. And even though we see this, live this, despair of this--the smallest member of the pentagon is J at a size 14. Not that large necessarily means unhealthy, but we are a mostly sedentary bunch. We get together and eat and go to movies and eat and talk and eat and plan outings and events and eat. I have no illusions we will ever be size 2s or even 8s--the four of us who are kin have large mamas, aunts, grandmothers, cousins, etc--but I do want us to be healthier.
But what I am worried about most immediately is that I will fail best friend LA in this hour of need. I do not have the words she has. I am the queen of sympathetic silences, handholding, and backrubbing. I don't think I've ever "fixed" one thing for her. Because she's so self-confident, I've never had to reassure her of her worth. The more I think about it, I'm scared she's going to evaluate this friendship one day and worry that one of us is giving more--I'm infinitely more needy than she is. But there are three things that I do for her, three things that may serve me well at this time. I make her laugh. And I love to hear her laugh while she chokes out, "Oh my God, Elle, you are going straight to hell for that." I listen and I hear her, even when I don't agree. And, I'm her "crying place," where she comes in those rare moments that it all gets to her. Like last night. Like I fear Monday will be.
Three little things that I'm hoping will be enough.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
I'm Waiting...
For the usual things you guys know about--for my prince to come, spring break, the dissertation to write itself, and these extra pounds to magically disappear (though I have lost 13 lbs since January 27, thank you very much). But what I'm waiting on most is for people to get angry.
I mean, all the people I expect to be mad are. Quinn is. Angry Black Bitch stays that way. Bitch, PhD is peeved. Twisty Faster is in a lovely uproar. My best friend is caught somewhere between mad and profoundly sad. My sister has pronounced it a damned shame. These people I expect to be upset. I am familiar with their beliefs and politics on the subject.
But when does everyone else get mad that legislators are deciding that they have a right, based on their religious and/or misogynistic beliefs to control all women's reproductive systems? I get the e-mails from NARAL, see the coverage of South Dakota's "law" on the web, get the disgruntled calls from my friends. Again, all this is expected. What I'm waiting on is Ms. and Mr. Average America to stand up and say, "This goes too far. I'm tired of the conservative hypocrisy of claiming to want smaller government and less interference in our lives while agitating for control over people's bedrooms. I'm tired of them claiming to care about life of the 'unborn' but cutting and denigrating every social service they fear will help the already born. I'm tired of them insisting that every woman who has an abortion will be traumatized and psychologically damaged at some point. And I'm tired of them pretending that this is about protection when we all know this about punishing alleged sexual promiscuity and promoting the band-aid cure of heterosexual-marriage-and-nuclear-family for any problem that ails us."
Why isn't this happening, people? I do not believe the majority of Americans are anti-choice. Hell, I believe many in that camp are only anti-choice when it comes to other people's daughters, wives, nieces, etc. How far will they have to go before people are alarmed? Would we be more irate if they were threatening birth control--cuz they are you know? Would it be more offensive if they were telling us who to sleep with and when and under what circumstances to do so--cuz, yep, that's implied too. Would we be bothered a bit more if we knew that the only women they value are good Christians who "save" themselves for marriage--and that's a nice paraphrase.
So what is it going to take? What's going to make people realize that women's freedom is in jeopardy? When will we acknowledge that paying lip service to equality while doing everything to undermine it is wrong? When will people call the anti-choicers on their bluff.
Twisty, I'm with you on this one. I sooooo Blame the Patriarchy.
I mean, all the people I expect to be mad are. Quinn is. Angry Black Bitch stays that way. Bitch, PhD is peeved. Twisty Faster is in a lovely uproar. My best friend is caught somewhere between mad and profoundly sad. My sister has pronounced it a damned shame. These people I expect to be upset. I am familiar with their beliefs and politics on the subject.
But when does everyone else get mad that legislators are deciding that they have a right, based on their religious and/or misogynistic beliefs to control all women's reproductive systems? I get the e-mails from NARAL, see the coverage of South Dakota's "law" on the web, get the disgruntled calls from my friends. Again, all this is expected. What I'm waiting on is Ms. and Mr. Average America to stand up and say, "This goes too far. I'm tired of the conservative hypocrisy of claiming to want smaller government and less interference in our lives while agitating for control over people's bedrooms. I'm tired of them claiming to care about life of the 'unborn' but cutting and denigrating every social service they fear will help the already born. I'm tired of them insisting that every woman who has an abortion will be traumatized and psychologically damaged at some point. And I'm tired of them pretending that this is about protection when we all know this about punishing alleged sexual promiscuity and promoting the band-aid cure of heterosexual-marriage-and-nuclear-family for any problem that ails us."
Why isn't this happening, people? I do not believe the majority of Americans are anti-choice. Hell, I believe many in that camp are only anti-choice when it comes to other people's daughters, wives, nieces, etc. How far will they have to go before people are alarmed? Would we be more irate if they were threatening birth control--cuz they are you know? Would it be more offensive if they were telling us who to sleep with and when and under what circumstances to do so--cuz, yep, that's implied too. Would we be bothered a bit more if we knew that the only women they value are good Christians who "save" themselves for marriage--and that's a nice paraphrase.
So what is it going to take? What's going to make people realize that women's freedom is in jeopardy? When will we acknowledge that paying lip service to equality while doing everything to undermine it is wrong? When will people call the anti-choicers on their bluff.
Twisty, I'm with you on this one. I sooooo Blame the Patriarchy.
Told You So
Didn't I say that it would be March and I'd be scurrying on the next chapter and the blog would still be pink?
**Sigh**
Anyway, I just sent the incomplete chapter to my brilliant dissertater group. There is hope--their feedback from chapter 1 sent that thing from 12 stumpy pages to 30+ in a smaller font. I always like to turn in first drafts that are around 25 pages. Don't ask me why I get stuck on page numbers, I just do.
But, let me make a point. One of the silliest things I've ever done is stay isolated for so long while working on this degree. My advisor finally talked me into approaching my group (I knew all of them; they'd all been wonderful to me, but I was just so shy and so melodramatic--part of me wanted to feel alone in my suffering). They let me in :-) and, with their help, suggestions, and criticism, I've written more in a few months than I did the first three years of my program. I've also opened up to them more than I ever have to any therapist. And, you know what, highly-touted individualism aside...
Sometimes, it feels good to belong.
**Sigh**
Anyway, I just sent the incomplete chapter to my brilliant dissertater group. There is hope--their feedback from chapter 1 sent that thing from 12 stumpy pages to 30+ in a smaller font. I always like to turn in first drafts that are around 25 pages. Don't ask me why I get stuck on page numbers, I just do.
But, let me make a point. One of the silliest things I've ever done is stay isolated for so long while working on this degree. My advisor finally talked me into approaching my group (I knew all of them; they'd all been wonderful to me, but I was just so shy and so melodramatic--part of me wanted to feel alone in my suffering). They let me in :-) and, with their help, suggestions, and criticism, I've written more in a few months than I did the first three years of my program. I've also opened up to them more than I ever have to any therapist. And, you know what, highly-touted individualism aside...
Sometimes, it feels good to belong.
Monday, March 06, 2006
That Thing We Take for Granted...
Yesterday, while idly flipping through blogs, I happened upon one called "and I wasted all that birth control" which chronicles one couples journey through infertility, loss of children, and worried excitement over a current pregnancy. From there, I read some other blogs with similar themes. Then, this morning, I read over at Quinn's that she had had an infertility diagnosis. The result--I feel like something on the bottom of a really old shoe. Not because I have a child when so many people who want one don't, but because I am so cavalier and complain-y about it.
You see, I never thought about getting pregnant, except how to prevent it. When we conceived the kid, I was haphazardly taking the pill--I figured I'd been on them so long I didn't really have to take them at the same time everyday--and daddy-of-the-kid swears he didn't remove the condom--something he'd done twice before in our then-year-long relationship, so who knows. Anyway, I was a super-regular every-28-day sort of girl, so when I was late, I knew immediately what was wrong (or right, I suppose). I didn't do much gnashing of teeth and wailing--I was in love, I already had a BA and was well into the MA program, my family would be supportive, and the best friend (I have two, btw) Louisiana edition proclaimed herself godmother from day one.
So I stumbled into motherhood with little drama. Except that made up in my own mind--I just knew my kid was going to have every birth defect I read about--and Elle being Elle, I read lots. Eventually, my godmother sat me down after my newborn's PKU stick (which I freaked over) and told me to get a grip. With the help of friends and family, I did. Truth be told, I had it wonderfully easy. My baby had a sweet temperament--very little crying. He wasn't ill often. He smiled a lot. My sister and cousin T got up with him in the middle of the night more than I did. Both sets of grandparents would babysit at a moment's notice. My mom, who still worked nights, provided child care for him while I TA'ed and went to school. When I began teaching, my mom's best friend took over the child care for the unbelievable sum of $30 per week. When we moved so I could work on the PhD, daddy-of-the-kid took on most of the hands-on-parenting.
And still I complained. I didn't like holding bottles and giving baths. I hated lugging around the carrier and car seat. Training took forever and then he was a bed wetter. He doesn't sit perfectly still for the few hours a day I have with him now. He asks a lot of questions, talks non-stop. His grades--4 Bs and 1 C+ last report card--and standardized tests--on which he scores just a little above average--show that he probably will have markedly different interests than his academia-loving mom (shallow as that is, it has been painfully hard for me). My point is that I complain about everything then mumble a little "God, thank you for my child," each night as if that is adequate enough for this wonderful gift that I was given.
And I think of who I do the complaining to. Quinn--though I didn't know about her diagnosis--who has to listen to me over lunch saying things like "Ugh, I don't want anymore," and "Why would anyone have more than two." Both best friends who did silly things like wait to get married/have stable committed relationships and have good jobs before they entered motherhood. So, they were in there late 20s and neither got pregnant on the first few tries. Knowing this, I still said to best friend Texas edition one day, "I'm glad we're older. Hopefully our fertility is declining." She gave me a rare, censorious look.
What reading through those blogs showed me is that, while I love my kid, I don't appreciate him. I don't appreciate being a mother. I don't appreciate the ease of my "unplanned" pregnancy. I give lip service to appreciating my support network, but I take it for granted. When I was 24, I would've had so much attitude if my parents had refused to babysit. The kid's father, to whom I can barely speak civil words, maintains a steady presence. And, this weekend, when I go home, I will barely see the kid because he is so loved and so missed that he'll spend almost each night of spring break at someone else's home. Someones who appreciate this beautiful, cheerful, talkative gift I have.
Poor, clueless Elle.
You see, I never thought about getting pregnant, except how to prevent it. When we conceived the kid, I was haphazardly taking the pill--I figured I'd been on them so long I didn't really have to take them at the same time everyday--and daddy-of-the-kid swears he didn't remove the condom--something he'd done twice before in our then-year-long relationship, so who knows. Anyway, I was a super-regular every-28-day sort of girl, so when I was late, I knew immediately what was wrong (or right, I suppose). I didn't do much gnashing of teeth and wailing--I was in love, I already had a BA and was well into the MA program, my family would be supportive, and the best friend (I have two, btw) Louisiana edition proclaimed herself godmother from day one.
So I stumbled into motherhood with little drama. Except that made up in my own mind--I just knew my kid was going to have every birth defect I read about--and Elle being Elle, I read lots. Eventually, my godmother sat me down after my newborn's PKU stick (which I freaked over) and told me to get a grip. With the help of friends and family, I did. Truth be told, I had it wonderfully easy. My baby had a sweet temperament--very little crying. He wasn't ill often. He smiled a lot. My sister and cousin T got up with him in the middle of the night more than I did. Both sets of grandparents would babysit at a moment's notice. My mom, who still worked nights, provided child care for him while I TA'ed and went to school. When I began teaching, my mom's best friend took over the child care for the unbelievable sum of $30 per week. When we moved so I could work on the PhD, daddy-of-the-kid took on most of the hands-on-parenting.
And still I complained. I didn't like holding bottles and giving baths. I hated lugging around the carrier and car seat. Training took forever and then he was a bed wetter. He doesn't sit perfectly still for the few hours a day I have with him now. He asks a lot of questions, talks non-stop. His grades--4 Bs and 1 C+ last report card--and standardized tests--on which he scores just a little above average--show that he probably will have markedly different interests than his academia-loving mom (shallow as that is, it has been painfully hard for me). My point is that I complain about everything then mumble a little "God, thank you for my child," each night as if that is adequate enough for this wonderful gift that I was given.
And I think of who I do the complaining to. Quinn--though I didn't know about her diagnosis--who has to listen to me over lunch saying things like "Ugh, I don't want anymore," and "Why would anyone have more than two." Both best friends who did silly things like wait to get married/have stable committed relationships and have good jobs before they entered motherhood. So, they were in there late 20s and neither got pregnant on the first few tries. Knowing this, I still said to best friend Texas edition one day, "I'm glad we're older. Hopefully our fertility is declining." She gave me a rare, censorious look.
What reading through those blogs showed me is that, while I love my kid, I don't appreciate him. I don't appreciate being a mother. I don't appreciate the ease of my "unplanned" pregnancy. I give lip service to appreciating my support network, but I take it for granted. When I was 24, I would've had so much attitude if my parents had refused to babysit. The kid's father, to whom I can barely speak civil words, maintains a steady presence. And, this weekend, when I go home, I will barely see the kid because he is so loved and so missed that he'll spend almost each night of spring break at someone else's home. Someones who appreciate this beautiful, cheerful, talkative gift I have.
Poor, clueless Elle.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Friday, March 03, 2006
Tag--Updated
On one of the questions below, I said I'd take the weekend off. But I forgot about Nelly. Lord, who needs time off!! :-)
Tag...
Borrowed this from What An African Woman Thinks. Has anyone else noticed how much I love the ellipsis?
Black and White or Colour; how do you prefer your movies?
Color. Nothing at all sentimental about me.
What is the one single subject that bores you to near-death? Academically? Science. In the world? Trying to understand science/technology etc. My eyes start to roll towards the back of my head when people try to explain things to me and I get confused reading technical stuff. So if it's not something I can play with and figure out with a minimum of help, it's not for me.
MP3s, CDs, Tapes or Records: what is your favorite medium for prerecorded music? CDs. I hear about MP3s, Ipods and Nano-whatevers through a thick veil. I'm frightened of new stuff (and yes, I realize none of the above are new--just new to me) until best friend explains it all. I still use the 3.5 disks to save all my dissertation work--best friend was horrified, but my computer gives me problems when I try to save to CD-RWs. Honestly!
You are handed one first class trip plane ticket to anywhere in the world and ten million dollars cash. All of this is yours provided that you leave and not tell anyone where you are going … Ever. This includes family, friends, everyone. Would you take the money and ticket and run?
For 10 million dollars? Hell no. Not even for 10 billion dollars would I leave my family and friends for life. I'm way, way too attached. Now for a few months or a year, if my kid was grown, then, maybe. But I'd obsess that someone was going to die or get ill or get married or whatever while I was gone, so I'd forfeit, I'm sure.
Seriously, what do you consider the world’s most pressing issue now? Poverty and related issues like disease, famine, war, and ignorance. A close second--organized religion.
How would you rectify the world’s most pressing issue? I have no idea. I have some ideas about poverty in the U.S. which is absolutely ridiculous-- I think poor American should be an oxymoron. But in other countries that are just poverty-stricken on a grand scale, I'm clueless. Which is no excuse for my inertia.
You are given the chance to go back and change one thing in your life; what would that be?
Just One? I would have gone to see my grandmothers immediately when they called for me. I was too "busy" with my life, thought I had time. They both died shortly afterwards. Part of me will never make peace with the fact that I did that twice.
And I have to say, if it weren't for my kid, I would change the fact that his father and I threw our friendship away to pursue something else that worked out soooo horribly. :-(
You are given the chance to go back and change one event in world history, what would that be?
Imperialism. Which means there's be no Elle and no U.S., but imperialism/colonialism/domination and subjugation have wreaked havoc on the world's people. Of course, that's not one event. The assassination of Lincoln. Then the confederates may not have gotten off so easily and reclaimed power between 1877 and 1900. Southern blacks may have actually gotten a chance to participate fully in society.
A night at the opera, or a night at the Grand Ole’ Opry – Which do you choose?
Grand Ol' Opry. Since I'm a southerner, there's a chance I might at least understand the words there!
What is the one great unsolved crime of all time you’d like to solve?
I'd like to know who killed Tupac and Biggie. I don't necessarily believe the police don't know, but I'd like for everyone to know. Especially their moms.
One famous author can come to dinner with you. Who would that be, and what would you serve for the meal?
Jacqueline Jones. She set a pretty high standard for what I eventually hope to do (don't worry, ABD friends, I no longer think the dissertation is going to be groundbreaking). I don't know what I'd serve--probably have something catered. I'm old school in the sense that I take my cooking seriously and if you don't clean your plate, I'm slightly offended (ask my sister). So rather that get my feelings hurt, I'd call some nice restaurant up--once I knew what she liked.
You discover that John Lennon was right, that there is no hell below us, and above us there is only sky — what’s the first thing you might do to celebrate this fact?
OK, in the spirit of the question, I'll set my fire-and-brimstone indoctrination aside and think. Hmm. Invite Morris Chestnut, Henry Simmons, Boris Kodjoe, LL, and TI over on successive nights. I'd take the weekend off :-) Ooh, I'd also do something publicly humiliating to this person who has been bugging/harrassing/taunting me for almost a year now.
Ok, I tag Quinn, Rageyone, Mon, and Ginviren. Nubian, my other blogfriend, is out of town for happy reasons!
Black and White or Colour; how do you prefer your movies?
Color. Nothing at all sentimental about me.
What is the one single subject that bores you to near-death? Academically? Science. In the world? Trying to understand science/technology etc. My eyes start to roll towards the back of my head when people try to explain things to me and I get confused reading technical stuff. So if it's not something I can play with and figure out with a minimum of help, it's not for me.
MP3s, CDs, Tapes or Records: what is your favorite medium for prerecorded music? CDs. I hear about MP3s, Ipods and Nano-whatevers through a thick veil. I'm frightened of new stuff (and yes, I realize none of the above are new--just new to me) until best friend explains it all. I still use the 3.5 disks to save all my dissertation work--best friend was horrified, but my computer gives me problems when I try to save to CD-RWs. Honestly!
You are handed one first class trip plane ticket to anywhere in the world and ten million dollars cash. All of this is yours provided that you leave and not tell anyone where you are going … Ever. This includes family, friends, everyone. Would you take the money and ticket and run?
For 10 million dollars? Hell no. Not even for 10 billion dollars would I leave my family and friends for life. I'm way, way too attached. Now for a few months or a year, if my kid was grown, then, maybe. But I'd obsess that someone was going to die or get ill or get married or whatever while I was gone, so I'd forfeit, I'm sure.
Seriously, what do you consider the world’s most pressing issue now? Poverty and related issues like disease, famine, war, and ignorance. A close second--organized religion.
How would you rectify the world’s most pressing issue? I have no idea. I have some ideas about poverty in the U.S. which is absolutely ridiculous-- I think poor American should be an oxymoron. But in other countries that are just poverty-stricken on a grand scale, I'm clueless. Which is no excuse for my inertia.
You are given the chance to go back and change one thing in your life; what would that be?
Just One? I would have gone to see my grandmothers immediately when they called for me. I was too "busy" with my life, thought I had time. They both died shortly afterwards. Part of me will never make peace with the fact that I did that twice.
And I have to say, if it weren't for my kid, I would change the fact that his father and I threw our friendship away to pursue something else that worked out soooo horribly. :-(
You are given the chance to go back and change one event in world history, what would that be?
Imperialism. Which means there's be no Elle and no U.S., but imperialism/colonialism/domination and subjugation have wreaked havoc on the world's people. Of course, that's not one event. The assassination of Lincoln. Then the confederates may not have gotten off so easily and reclaimed power between 1877 and 1900. Southern blacks may have actually gotten a chance to participate fully in society.
A night at the opera, or a night at the Grand Ole’ Opry – Which do you choose?
Grand Ol' Opry. Since I'm a southerner, there's a chance I might at least understand the words there!
What is the one great unsolved crime of all time you’d like to solve?
I'd like to know who killed Tupac and Biggie. I don't necessarily believe the police don't know, but I'd like for everyone to know. Especially their moms.
One famous author can come to dinner with you. Who would that be, and what would you serve for the meal?
Jacqueline Jones. She set a pretty high standard for what I eventually hope to do (don't worry, ABD friends, I no longer think the dissertation is going to be groundbreaking). I don't know what I'd serve--probably have something catered. I'm old school in the sense that I take my cooking seriously and if you don't clean your plate, I'm slightly offended (ask my sister). So rather that get my feelings hurt, I'd call some nice restaurant up--once I knew what she liked.
You discover that John Lennon was right, that there is no hell below us, and above us there is only sky — what’s the first thing you might do to celebrate this fact?
OK, in the spirit of the question, I'll set my fire-and-brimstone indoctrination aside and think. Hmm. Invite Morris Chestnut, Henry Simmons, Boris Kodjoe, LL, and TI over on successive nights. I'd take the weekend off :-) Ooh, I'd also do something publicly humiliating to this person who has been bugging/harrassing/taunting me for almost a year now.
Ok, I tag Quinn, Rageyone, Mon, and Ginviren. Nubian, my other blogfriend, is out of town for happy reasons!
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Blogging Differently
Really, when I started this, I had in mind the words of my best friend who envisioned me as an all-around political-commentator-stick-it-to-the-man-while-still-being-a-concerned-mother sort of writer.
Okay, I envisioned that, too.
Now, at three months old, I have to come clean about some things. The goal of this is to make me a better blogger, in the image that best friend and I first envisioned.
1) I'm not as political as I'd like to be--though I do know the five freedoms, sheesh! I don't watch the news reguarly, I hate newspapers because I hate clutter, and my TV stays off until 6 pm. My nerves can't take the noise. Thus, I will rarely have "this just in" posts. I promise to stay relatively current, however.
2) Last year, I found out I wouldn't be able to write my dissertation in my spare time while proceeding with my "real" life. I actually have to sit down and work on the thing and (here's the part that almost killed me) I have to do revisions! Elle, the queen of turning in first-drafts-as-final-drafts with little more than spell-and-grammar check! Though I love blogging and love reading other people's blogs even more, I have to unplug the dsl modem and give it to my sister for long stretches of time as a reminder of my writing priorities.
3) I don't know everything--that's a big concession. I don't even know how I feel about everything. For example, because I taught public school for 3+ years and subbed after that, I tend to be a bit **swallows a gasp** conservative on some education issues. I have yet to mae peace with that in my mind given my stance on so many other issues. I think the blog is incomplete because I don't write on views that I have that seem discordant. Maybe I'll blog on education soon and you'll see.
4) I'm lazy as hell. Good, insightful writing takes time, effort, and, in my case, tears (though not often). I read other blogs, particularly AngryBlackBitch and am blown away by what is said and how succinctly and effectively it is said. Later, I console myself. Not sure when later comes.
But just when I'm feeling my guiltiest, I realize something else. I don't want this to be solely a political blog. I almost wrote an entry the other day about my funny experience in a MAC store--but stopped because I wondered how it would affect my image. But I've decided that I need to be honest. Yes, I am a damned good student who spends too much time in the library. Yes, I identify myself proudly as a feminist. But I am also someone who spends way too much money on clothes and cosmetics, who sometimes questions her skills at mothering, who doesn't always live up to the goals of feminism. I am a horrible friend sometimes because I just shut myself away. I cuss so much that we had to start a gallon-sized pickle jar for my change. And I wonder if the women I study, who so earnestly want their stories told, don't deserve a better narrator.
So there I am. Maybe my blog can reflect that, the real multi-dimensional Elle. I'll write about my views on education and why I shop too much and this horrible dinosaur book my son brought home.
In the end, hopefully, the blog will be like me: good and bad, flawed but fortunate enough to be loved by many.
Okay, I envisioned that, too.
Now, at three months old, I have to come clean about some things. The goal of this is to make me a better blogger, in the image that best friend and I first envisioned.
1) I'm not as political as I'd like to be--though I do know the five freedoms, sheesh! I don't watch the news reguarly, I hate newspapers because I hate clutter, and my TV stays off until 6 pm. My nerves can't take the noise. Thus, I will rarely have "this just in" posts. I promise to stay relatively current, however.
2) Last year, I found out I wouldn't be able to write my dissertation in my spare time while proceeding with my "real" life. I actually have to sit down and work on the thing and (here's the part that almost killed me) I have to do revisions! Elle, the queen of turning in first-drafts-as-final-drafts with little more than spell-and-grammar check! Though I love blogging and love reading other people's blogs even more, I have to unplug the dsl modem and give it to my sister for long stretches of time as a reminder of my writing priorities.
3) I don't know everything--that's a big concession. I don't even know how I feel about everything. For example, because I taught public school for 3+ years and subbed after that, I tend to be a bit **swallows a gasp** conservative on some education issues. I have yet to mae peace with that in my mind given my stance on so many other issues. I think the blog is incomplete because I don't write on views that I have that seem discordant. Maybe I'll blog on education soon and you'll see.
4) I'm lazy as hell. Good, insightful writing takes time, effort, and, in my case, tears (though not often). I read other blogs, particularly AngryBlackBitch and am blown away by what is said and how succinctly and effectively it is said. Later, I console myself. Not sure when later comes.
But just when I'm feeling my guiltiest, I realize something else. I don't want this to be solely a political blog. I almost wrote an entry the other day about my funny experience in a MAC store--but stopped because I wondered how it would affect my image. But I've decided that I need to be honest. Yes, I am a damned good student who spends too much time in the library. Yes, I identify myself proudly as a feminist. But I am also someone who spends way too much money on clothes and cosmetics, who sometimes questions her skills at mothering, who doesn't always live up to the goals of feminism. I am a horrible friend sometimes because I just shut myself away. I cuss so much that we had to start a gallon-sized pickle jar for my change. And I wonder if the women I study, who so earnestly want their stories told, don't deserve a better narrator.
So there I am. Maybe my blog can reflect that, the real multi-dimensional Elle. I'll write about my views on education and why I shop too much and this horrible dinosaur book my son brought home.
In the end, hopefully, the blog will be like me: good and bad, flawed but fortunate enough to be loved by many.
For Annika...
Because I am incredibly lazy and because this story touches my heart, I present a plea stolen verbatim from Quinn's blog. Annika Tiede is a five-year-old in need of a third liver transplant, the result of a rare ailment. Her family is raising money because (in my own simplistic terms) their health insurance has already paid everything it's gonna pay this year.
I'm going to see if I can get one of her links in my sidebar. I'm also going to hug my kid, who's greatest problem is remembering to regroup when he's doing subtraction.
Some you have probably already heard about Annika here or here or maybe here. Either way, know ye that there is need, and we can help. How many times have we started a sentence with "the great thing about the internet is..."? Well, here's a great thing the internet is doing. Blogging communities are getting together to provide donations and other assistance to a family in need. Of course, you can donate. But there are more ways to help. Do you want to buy a crafty gift for someone special? Do you make crafty gifts for special someones? Then check out the raffle. Or you can make a virtual casserole for Annika's family. And let's hope there will always be cake.
I'm going to see if I can get one of her links in my sidebar. I'm also going to hug my kid, who's greatest problem is remembering to regroup when he's doing subtraction.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
A Cyber Twin
A few days ago, while using technorati to find out who was linked to me in this wide, wonderful blogosphere :-p, I found a blog called Random Thoughts owned by one ginviren. She describes herself as "a quiet person who is also opinionated." I could do nothing except smile when I read that--she described Elle in a nutshell. I know it's hard to believe, but I really am shy. Really. As in awkwardly so. That's why this blog is so helpful.
Anyway, welcome, ginviren. Glad to know there's someone here in Texas that's a bit like me.
Anyway, welcome, ginviren. Glad to know there's someone here in Texas that's a bit like me.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
South Dakota--Updated...
...or is it backdated? As in dragged into some era from decades ago. Anyway, I don't feel the usual smugness and self-righteousness as I mutter, "I told you so." Yep, the state legislature voted to make abortion illegal. And, because we weak, fickle women really have no idea of what we're doing and no business deciding what goes on with our bodies, it's not us who will "get into trouble" for having an abortion--it's the doctor who provides it. Not that any South Dakota doctor does.
But, hey! This gives South Dakota women opportunities they never dreamed of. They can now prolong their rapists' (or their uncles' or fathers' or whatever) assault on their bodies. They can learn more about their reproductive organs as they navigate those clothes hangers through sensitive territory. They can develop new tolerance for pain as they douche with caustic substances. They can experiment with drugs and herbs in never-before imagined combinations. And, most importantly, the silly ninnies may learn that doing something as offensive as CHOOSING TO HAVE AND ENJOY SEX without the goal of reproduction will result in an 18+ year "punishment."
***Damn, I forgot we were still pretending this was about protection and not punishment.***
I mean, the opportunities just boggle the mind!
But, hey! This gives South Dakota women opportunities they never dreamed of. They can now prolong their rapists' (or their uncles' or fathers' or whatever) assault on their bodies. They can learn more about their reproductive organs as they navigate those clothes hangers through sensitive territory. They can develop new tolerance for pain as they douche with caustic substances. They can experiment with drugs and herbs in never-before imagined combinations. And, most importantly, the silly ninnies may learn that doing something as offensive as CHOOSING TO HAVE AND ENJOY SEX without the goal of reproduction will result in an 18+ year "punishment."
***Damn, I forgot we were still pretending this was about protection and not punishment.***
I mean, the opportunities just boggle the mind!
Validating My Math Ability... or Not
Here's a little quiz that I have to accompany with a poignant, meaningful story. But since I didn't have time to write one, I'll include another modest tale of my all-around brilliance.
I am a writer... a person who loves the ways words feel and sound and look and link. In writing the dissertation, I'll agonize for hours over a sentence or a word choice--which is a big part of why I'm usely left with so much to do in so little time. My favorite subjects have always been English and literature and history. Funny thing is, on standardized tests (back when I had to take 'em), I tended to perform just as well in math. This, despite the fact that my performance in math classes resulted in many dreaded "Bs." Eventually, I grudgingly admitted that I sorta liked math. I could see how it could be interesting. And now, facing the perpetual poverty of a history professor, I wish someone would have encouraged me to do more than speed through my math homework so I could read or begin a dozen unfinished romance novels.
I was glad to know I hadn't forgotten everything. But science? Lord, science!
And I was kidding earlier--I'll take words over numbers any day.
I am a writer... a person who loves the ways words feel and sound and look and link. In writing the dissertation, I'll agonize for hours over a sentence or a word choice--which is a big part of why I'm usely left with so much to do in so little time. My favorite subjects have always been English and literature and history. Funny thing is, on standardized tests (back when I had to take 'em), I tended to perform just as well in math. This, despite the fact that my performance in math classes resulted in many dreaded "Bs." Eventually, I grudgingly admitted that I sorta liked math. I could see how it could be interesting. And now, facing the perpetual poverty of a history professor, I wish someone would have encouraged me to do more than speed through my math homework so I could read or begin a dozen unfinished romance novels.
| You Passed 8th Grade Math |
 Congratulations, you got 10/10 correct! |
I was glad to know I hadn't forgotten everything. But science? Lord, science!
And I was kidding earlier--I'll take words over numbers any day.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Ugh!
I'm back. I'm tired.
But, I did get to see my sugar baby, my only goddaughter (I have 2 godsons) and J's baby girl. We call her Belle--and after having her continually rebuff me this weekend, I've written the following appropriate poem:
Belle, Belle,Not much else to be said for that girl. Don't let that smile fool you--never has a three year old possessed such a split personality. In a space of five minutes, she can move from cuddling with me and saying, "I want my godmama," to snatching away and screaming, "No," if I touch her.
Mean as hell
By the way, after this last sojourn, I may never drive again. Good night!
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Rest In Peace
This morning, my beloved J--cousin and friend extraordinaire--lost her father. He'd fought valiantly against cancer, seen it go into remission and come back. In a so-unlike-her, gravelly, sad voice, she called this morning and said, quite simply, "My daddy passed." And, because, I love her so, all I could say was, "J, J, J."
I can't even imagine.
I can't even imagine.
Update: I'll be traveling out of town today until Sunday for the funeral. I probably won't be able to log on, so I'll see you all soon! I may enable comment moderation until I get back.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
On Religion
I've spent much of my life in the Baptist church. First, a small rural one and now one that is one building and a few more rich members away from being a mega church. I complain, often, about the attacks on "non-submissive" women, the rampant homophobia, and my distrust of some oily pastors. But, thanks to the guilt a lifetime of Sunday School instilled in me and, to be fair, because I am thoroughly invested in call-and-response, gospel, and vibrant services, I still meekly attend. And, when it comes right down to it, I have an unshakeable faith in Christ and the tenets of Christianity.
But more and more, I'm believing religion--in our time--is often little more than a sanctified veil for bigotry. It makes people feel good to be able to rationalize and act on their hatred for others with the "word of God." The last sermon I heard seemed little more than degradation, prejudice, and judgment of eternal damnation sprinkled liberally with Bible verses.
That's been bothering me for a while now and Sunday just amplified it. No bright conclusion here--I have yet to figure it all out.
But more and more, I'm believing religion--in our time--is often little more than a sanctified veil for bigotry. It makes people feel good to be able to rationalize and act on their hatred for others with the "word of God." The last sermon I heard seemed little more than degradation, prejudice, and judgment of eternal damnation sprinkled liberally with Bible verses.
That's been bothering me for a while now and Sunday just amplified it. No bright conclusion here--I have yet to figure it all out.
White Lesbian Feminists on a Mission
Well, Shawna, author of Lesbianizing the Black Woman stopped by and directed me to a thread she thought I'd love. (wink-wink) Authored by the Cocoa Lounge's Strongblackman, it is entitled The White, Lesbian Feminist Culture and It's Impact on the Black Man, Woman and Child. Apparently (I love that word, y'all, sorry), evil white lesbian feminists are responsible for all the intra-racial gender conflicts--and, well, just about any other conflicts--that African Americans experience. The crux of his argument:
1. The reality of life for many black men in the period after Reconstruction was that their attempts to enter the public realm and demand equality, justice, a fair share of public expenditures, and just about anything else for black communities met with beating, lynching, disfranchisement, imprisonment and other negative consequences. According to historians Glenda Gilmore (Gender and Jim Crow), Stephanie Shaw (What a Woman Ought to Be and Do) and Deborah Gray White (Too Heavy a Load), black women had to step forward to try to get what they could (often, they had to build their own educational, health, and service institutions) for their communities and to "defend the race." And, no, this was not based on some inherent weakness of black men, but rather, on the threat he represented to white male supremacy.
2. So, black women spent decades being the public "face" of the race,( see Paula Giddings When and Where I Enter and Gray White again). Then, in the 1920s, two figures emerged to further challenge white male supremacy--the New (white) Woman and the New Negro (man). Black men positioned themselves to do more of the "race work" black women prided themselves on. According to Gray White, this is where some of the tension between black men and black women began--black women weren't willing to simply step aside and let the New Negro "handle" it.
3. Skipping ahead (this is a blog after all and this is way too long), to the freedom movements of the 1950s and 1960s. Charles Payne (I've Got the Light of Freedom) argues that while the "big" leaders and mobilizers of the CRM were men, it was women who did the everyday, grassroots organizing. Here is another source of tension between black women and men--the world knew all about the Dr. King's, the Rev. Abernathy's, the Medgar Evers's, etc, but no one knew of Ella Baker and Septima Clark and Diane Nash. Why were black women hidden during the movement? It wasn't white feminists who changed the meaning of the movement--it was black men. See, to many black women's understanding, according to Gray White, Elsa Barkley Brown, and Stephanie Shaw, the work for race and the work for gender couldn't be separated--to do so created a false dichotomy. But black men acccepted white men's notion that their "freedom" was predicated on their dominance over black women. They turned the CRM into a movement not about black freedom but about black male freedom--hence all the comments about women "coming home" and helping by "having babies" and "staying prone." Black and white women activists felt betrayed and formed their own movements for freedom.
4. Finally, it is ridiculous to assert that black women have been misled and deceived by white feminists. It is unfair to white feminists for obvious reasons I won't get into. Instead I'll say why it's unfair to black women--we are not mindless and it ignores the many years of protest by all women of color that the "women's movement" was narrow and exclusionary. Black women had different concerns and different issues. And as the historians I've named pointed out, we are quite adept at building our own movements and institutions.
Believe it or not, we can think for ourselves.
The woman's lib movement came out at that time to cause distraction to the legitimate black movement.Who else indeed? I am proud to be able to rely on historiography and not strictly personal bias (for once) to challenge this argument. And to be fair, a number of people at the Cocoa Lounge challenged him, too. Here goes.
As a result, where black women, who had come "home" to her man and family saw race as a primary focus in our salvation, the women's lib movement tricked, cajoled, seduced her into thinking that MEN were the problem. NOT white men, but men. Subconsciously, this surplanting into the brains of black women caused a rift in her collective, community, black thinking, creating a more individualized, self-centered, narrow-minded thinking.
Since men, black men by default are the enemy, instead of working with us, she became an enemy, joining the open and obvious enemy.
We began to hear the talk of "I don't need a man", a common philosophy ranted by the white woman. This was the common mantra of the [whitewoman's] feminist movement, which became the new ideological expression of woman's lib. Furthermore, who else would plant the seeds of such an outrage if not a lesbian?
1. The reality of life for many black men in the period after Reconstruction was that their attempts to enter the public realm and demand equality, justice, a fair share of public expenditures, and just about anything else for black communities met with beating, lynching, disfranchisement, imprisonment and other negative consequences. According to historians Glenda Gilmore (Gender and Jim Crow), Stephanie Shaw (What a Woman Ought to Be and Do) and Deborah Gray White (Too Heavy a Load), black women had to step forward to try to get what they could (often, they had to build their own educational, health, and service institutions) for their communities and to "defend the race." And, no, this was not based on some inherent weakness of black men, but rather, on the threat he represented to white male supremacy.
2. So, black women spent decades being the public "face" of the race,( see Paula Giddings When and Where I Enter and Gray White again). Then, in the 1920s, two figures emerged to further challenge white male supremacy--the New (white) Woman and the New Negro (man). Black men positioned themselves to do more of the "race work" black women prided themselves on. According to Gray White, this is where some of the tension between black men and black women began--black women weren't willing to simply step aside and let the New Negro "handle" it.
3. Skipping ahead (this is a blog after all and this is way too long), to the freedom movements of the 1950s and 1960s. Charles Payne (I've Got the Light of Freedom) argues that while the "big" leaders and mobilizers of the CRM were men, it was women who did the everyday, grassroots organizing. Here is another source of tension between black women and men--the world knew all about the Dr. King's, the Rev. Abernathy's, the Medgar Evers's, etc, but no one knew of Ella Baker and Septima Clark and Diane Nash. Why were black women hidden during the movement? It wasn't white feminists who changed the meaning of the movement--it was black men. See, to many black women's understanding, according to Gray White, Elsa Barkley Brown, and Stephanie Shaw, the work for race and the work for gender couldn't be separated--to do so created a false dichotomy. But black men acccepted white men's notion that their "freedom" was predicated on their dominance over black women. They turned the CRM into a movement not about black freedom but about black male freedom--hence all the comments about women "coming home" and helping by "having babies" and "staying prone." Black and white women activists felt betrayed and formed their own movements for freedom.
4. Finally, it is ridiculous to assert that black women have been misled and deceived by white feminists. It is unfair to white feminists for obvious reasons I won't get into. Instead I'll say why it's unfair to black women--we are not mindless and it ignores the many years of protest by all women of color that the "women's movement" was narrow and exclusionary. Black women had different concerns and different issues. And as the historians I've named pointed out, we are quite adept at building our own movements and institutions.
Believe it or not, we can think for ourselves.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
I Mean, She Sorta Deserved It
Apparently, there's a negative correlation between sexual activity and traumatization. From the NY Times:
Surprised? C'mon! This is a logical ruling in light of our long-held belief that only "virgins" can be raped and only "strangers" are rapists. This court just made a valid theoretical extension.
And anyway, I don't think it's Italy's highest court that we should be most worried about.
ITALY: NONVIRGINITY LESSENS SEX ABUSE CHARGE, COURT SAYS Sexually abusing a teenager is a less serious crime if the girl is not a virgin, Italy's highest court said in a ruling. The court ruled in favor of a man who forced his 14-year-old stepdaughter to have oral sex with him and appealed a prison sentence of 40 months, arguing that the fact that the girl had had sex with other men should have been taken into consideration at his trial as a mitigating factor. The court agreed, saying that because of the victim's previous sexual experiences, her "personality, from a sexual point of view," was more developed and that therefore the damage to her was less than if she had been a virgin. The decision, which drew a barrage of criticism, opened the way for the stepfather to get a lighter sentence. (REUTERS)
Surprised? C'mon! This is a logical ruling in light of our long-held belief that only "virgins" can be raped and only "strangers" are rapists. This court just made a valid theoretical extension.
And anyway, I don't think it's Italy's highest court that we should be most worried about.
On Second Thought
Maybe I am shallow. I have a post that I wrote in response to another blog's post on the "dangers" of black men "turning" black women into lesbians. However, the post doesn't set just right on my blog--something init makes the sidebar shift to the bottom of the page. Instead of posting it and saying sidebar be damned, I'm trying to figure out the problem.
After all, I want everyone to see the sidebar so they'll know about me.
After all, I want everyone to see the sidebar so they'll know about me.
Update: I really am smart! The post is below!
The Lesbianization Peril
The insomnia is at work again. And since it leaves my brain too frazzled to do any "real" work, I am simply surfing the blogosphere. I just found a blog oriented towards black readers at cocoalounge.org. I'd never heard of it, so I thought I'd go explore. A few minutes into, I found a post entitled Lesbianizing the Black Woman. In case you thought it was getting better, I'm here to let you know that homophobia is still apparently alive and well in black communities.
The author of this post begins by sharing a story of some woman's discontent w/Elise Neal's provocative pose with another woman for King magazine (got that?). This picture is symbolic of black men's attempts to "lesbianize" black females. The author agrees with this brilliant analysis. She warns us that this trend is going to bite men on the butt as they "turn" sisters lesbian--her insightful question: "If women start taking more to women than to men, who then will these men be with?" Her warning is based on keen personal observation:
OK, aside from the blatant anti-gay tone, the "warning" that straight black females are on the verge of becoming endangered, the belief that people can be "turned gay," the creation of some social "problem" from a picture that was designed to excite viewers, the presentation off questionable information to support the theory... well, there really is no "aside from" all that. I was just amazed that all this was presented as a legitimate argument/point/theory. I was also frightened that it seems the author took time and thought deeply on this.
But, most disturbing of all was the last paragraph:
I suppose it never crossed her mind that "this beautiful sista" may have had more than sexual feelings, that love and caring and respect and liberation may have been more fulfilling than having a fine brotha as her husband.
The author of this post begins by sharing a story of some woman's discontent w/Elise Neal's provocative pose with another woman for King magazine (got that?). This picture is symbolic of black men's attempts to "lesbianize" black females. The author agrees with this brilliant analysis. She warns us that this trend is going to bite men on the butt as they "turn" sisters lesbian--her insightful question: "If women start taking more to women than to men, who then will these men be with?" Her warning is based on keen personal observation:
None of my girlfriends are gay or were gay growing up or ever showed any inclination to being gay, but many have now had homosexual relationships at the urging of their men and they are liking it… A LOT!
OK, aside from the blatant anti-gay tone, the "warning" that straight black females are on the verge of becoming endangered, the belief that people can be "turned gay," the creation of some social "problem" from a picture that was designed to excite viewers, the presentation off questionable information to support the theory... well, there really is no "aside from" all that. I was just amazed that all this was presented as a legitimate argument/point/theory. I was also frightened that it seems the author took time and thought deeply on this.
But, most disturbing of all was the last paragraph:
This beautiful Sista had twin girls and a fine Brotha as her husband, but she threw that away to carry on her lesbian lifestyle. In other words, she took away her children's Father so she could do nothing more than have sex with other women.
I suppose it never crossed her mind that "this beautiful sista" may have had more than sexual feelings, that love and caring and respect and liberation may have been more fulfilling than having a fine brotha as her husband.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
My Figurative Bookshelf
Copied this black history meme on black literature from Mon. Feel free to complete it! For my friends who don't blog, send it to me in an e-mail. I'd like to know what you read. Not so happy with my performance on this list--but I promise, I've read LOTS of scholarly books and a sufficiently indecent number of popular ones.
Bold the books you've read.
*Star the titles you own or you've read more than once.*
Italicize the books plan to read.
Strike out any books you have no interest in reading.
??Use question marks to indicate titles/authors you've never heard of??
Assata: An Autobiography--Assata Shakur
*The Autobiography of Malcolm X--Malcolm X/Alex Haley*
The Bondwoman's Narrative--Hannah Crafts/Henry Louis Gates
The Bluest Eye--Toni Morrison
Cane--Jean Toomer
??Cane River--Lalita Tademy??
Chasing Destiny--Eric Jerome Dickey
*The Coldest Winter Ever--Sister Souljah*
The Color Purple--Alice Walker
??Crossing the Mangrove--Maryse Conde??
??Death and the King's Horseman--Wole Soyinka??
Devil in a Blue Dress--Walter Moseley
Dreams of My Father--Barack Obama
The Fire Next Time--James Baldwin
Fences--August Wilson
Holler If You Hear Me--Michael Eric Dyson
*Invisible Life—E. Lynn Harris*
Invisible Man--Ralph Ellison
??Joys of Motherhood--Buchi Emecheta??
Jubilee--Margaret Walker
??Kindred--Octavia Butler??
??Krik?Krak!--Edwidge Danticat??
Life and Def--Russell Simmons
*The Life and Times of Frederick Douglass--Frederick Douglass*
Mama--Terry McMillan
Manchild in the Promised Land--Claude Brown
Measure of Our Success--Marian Wright Edelman
Men Cry in the Dark--Michael Baisden
The Mis-Education of the Negro--Carter G. Woodson
Native Son--Richard Wright
*Nervous Conditions--Tsitsi Dangarembga*
Nigger: The Strange Career of a Troublesome Word--Randall Kennedy
??Omeros--Derek A. Walcott??
On The Down Low--J. L. King
Our Nig--Harriet E. Wilson
Race Matters--Cornel West
*A Raisin in the Sun--Lorraine Hansberry*
??72 Hour Hold--Bebe Moore Campbell??
*Sex Chronicles—Zane*
Sister Outsider--Audre Lorde
??So Long a Letter--Mariama Ba??
Soul on Ice--Eldridge Cleaver
*The Souls of Black Folks--W.E.B. Du Bois*
Shine--Star Jones Reynolds
The Street--Ann Petry
*Their Eyes Were Watching God--Zora Neale Hurston*
Things Fall Apart--Chinua Achebe
??Thomas and Beulah--Rita Dove??
Up From Slavery--Booker T. Washington
*When and Where I Enter--Paula Giddings*
Bold the books you've read.
*Star the titles you own or you've read more than once.*
Italicize the books plan to read.
??Use question marks to indicate titles/authors you've never heard of??
Assata: An Autobiography--Assata Shakur
*The Autobiography of Malcolm X--Malcolm X/Alex Haley*
The Bondwoman's Narrative--Hannah Crafts/Henry Louis Gates
The Bluest Eye--Toni Morrison
Cane--Jean Toomer
??Cane River--Lalita Tademy??
*The Coldest Winter Ever--Sister Souljah*
The Color Purple--Alice Walker
??Crossing the Mangrove--Maryse Conde??
??Death and the King's Horseman--Wole Soyinka??
Devil in a Blue Dress--Walter Moseley
Dreams of My Father--Barack Obama
The Fire Next Time--James Baldwin
Fences--August Wilson
*Invisible Life—E. Lynn Harris*
Invisible Man--Ralph Ellison
??Joys of Motherhood--Buchi Emecheta??
Jubilee--Margaret Walker
??Kindred--Octavia Butler??
??Krik?Krak!--Edwidge Danticat??
*The Life and Times of Frederick Douglass--Frederick Douglass*
Mama--Terry McMillan
Manchild in the Promised Land--Claude Brown
Measure of Our Success--Marian Wright Edelman
The Mis-Education of the Negro--Carter G. Woodson
Native Son--Richard Wright
*Nervous Conditions--Tsitsi Dangarembga*
Nigger: The Strange Career of a Troublesome Word--Randall Kennedy
??Omeros--Derek A. Walcott??
Our Nig--Harriet E. Wilson
Race Matters--Cornel West
*A Raisin in the Sun--Lorraine Hansberry*
??72 Hour Hold--Bebe Moore Campbell??
*Sex Chronicles—Zane*
Sister Outsider--Audre Lorde
??So Long a Letter--Mariama Ba??
Soul on Ice--Eldridge Cleaver
*The Souls of Black Folks--W.E.B. Du Bois*
The Street--Ann Petry
*Their Eyes Were Watching God--Zora Neale Hurston*
Things Fall Apart--Chinua Achebe
??Thomas and Beulah--Rita Dove??
Up From Slavery--Booker T. Washington
*When and Where I Enter--Paula Giddings*
Depression Realization #1
What the hell is wrong with me?
1) I attribute the cause of this latest episode to a number of factors:
a) my beloved father is very ill and started dialysis, which I HATE!
b) (and this whole confession reveals that I'm a baaad feminist, but an honest one) my heart has been broken yet again by a repeat culprit. Why do I keep letting him do it? You know the standard, "But I love him." But there's also the reason that everyone fusses at me for: I have low self-esteem. No, in 31 years, I haven't learned to embrace mysef and my body. Oh, my friends reassure me that I'm beautiful inside and out and that the men in my life have just been whimpering idiots, but, they say it from the comfort of their marriages and knowing they won't be alone. Again. Tonight. Bitchy of me, but that's how I feel.
c) Writing a dissertation is hard :-)
d) I need to find a med and stick with it--at least til I finish school. :-p I abandon them as soon as I feel better or a soon as "the problem" clears up. To be fair, the latest gave me the dismal side effect of widespread, horrible itching.
So, that's the self diagnosis. Other realizations to come.
1) I attribute the cause of this latest episode to a number of factors:
a) my beloved father is very ill and started dialysis, which I HATE!
b) (and this whole confession reveals that I'm a baaad feminist, but an honest one) my heart has been broken yet again by a repeat culprit. Why do I keep letting him do it? You know the standard, "But I love him." But there's also the reason that everyone fusses at me for: I have low self-esteem. No, in 31 years, I haven't learned to embrace mysef and my body. Oh, my friends reassure me that I'm beautiful inside and out and that the men in my life have just been whimpering idiots, but, they say it from the comfort of their marriages and knowing they won't be alone. Again. Tonight. Bitchy of me, but that's how I feel.
c) Writing a dissertation is hard :-)
d) I need to find a med and stick with it--at least til I finish school. :-p I abandon them as soon as I feel better or a soon as "the problem" clears up. To be fair, the latest gave me the dismal side effect of widespread, horrible itching.
So, that's the self diagnosis. Other realizations to come.
Depression
I've been reading some posts over at mistaken grad student about the funk she's been going through. To say I feel her pain is an understatement. Most of the new year has passed by in a blur for me because I have been incredibly unhappy. And while it has eased somewhat, there is still this vast, achy expanse inside me. I think the title of her blog "Opinionated and Fragile" fits me, too. I feel like I'm holding myself together with really cheap thread and another strong gust will result in the Disintegrated Pile Formerly Known as Elle.
I want to get better though and in trying to understand what the hell is wrong with me, I've realized some things. They'll follow...
I want to get better though and in trying to understand what the hell is wrong with me, I've realized some things. They'll follow...
Friday, February 17, 2006
An En-gay-ging Mommy Question
Lengthy post, but I need help...
Okay, here is a mommy insight on which I apparently have no insight. My seven-year-old (who was much cuter and easier to understand when he was the 3 year old in this picture) has become familiar with the term "gay,"--not a problem in and of itself. The problem is, he's submitted to the not-so-pleasant knee-jerk world of the playground and decided that the word "gay" and being "gay" are negative things. I noted his knowledge initially because he eavesdropped on a conversation in which I was describing Brokeback Mountain to my cousin, whom I shall call T.
After I got off the phone, he asked me, "Mama, what does gay mean?" But with the little smirk that let me know he'd already heard the term before. So, I give a glib, confusing, "You know how some boys and girls like each other? Like, like each other? Well, some boys like other boys and some girls like other girls in that way." Okay, besides being woefully insufficient, this definition got off on the wrong foot because it references heterosexuality as a norm. I admit that. But I worried if I made a big deal out of it, like, "Let's sit down and have a talk," he'd assume that this was something "different." Now, while different is not bad, the judgments I'm scared he'll make--being a young, black male already thoroughly enchanted with hip-hop culture--may not be acceptable to me. So, I went with an it's-no-big-deal approach: problematic in and of itself bcause it ignores just how much negativity this society and our own culture has generated around "gay" and apparently, not much of a match for my son's curiosity b/c his next question was, "Why?" To which, I waved a hand and said "Just because it's like that. Now quit listening to grown folk's conversation."
Thought I bought my cowardly self some time. Poor, naive Elle. Did anyone else know that homophobes had a vested interest in passing their beliefs and thoughts on to your children? Wow, did the world intrude on my son and me on this issue!
First came ignorant male relative (IMR) who came to visit last month. My son mentioned that I'd seen Brokeback Mountain and that he knew it had gay cowboys. IMR looked at me with wide eyes and said, "You're teaching him about that?" I bite the inside of my lip, keep folding clothes, and finally say, "About what?" "About gay," IMR says, his face contorted, "Are you teaching him that it's okay to be gay?" The kid is standing right there while he's saying this. "What I'm teaching him (and now I know I should have said, is none of your damned business, but i said) is that yes, it's okay, and even if some ignorant jackass (I think he got the hint) says it's not okay, it's none of their business anyway."
Okay, at this point, I'm feeling no victory, first b/c he questioned me in front of my kid and second, I've trivialized being gay into something that gets a judgment of okay or not okay. But, I repeat, I simply had no idea what to say or do. So I called in my sister and I called up the cousin with whom I had discussed Brokeback Mountain so we could launch a politically incorrect--because we're ignorant in our own ways--but motivated-by-the-right-intentions attack. IMR tried to hold his ground: "You're saying God made them like that?"
Now, here I don't know what to say. Because I do believe some people are born gay. But I have a gay friend who doesn't want to explore that b/c he's scared scientists will locate some "gay" gene and people will start to abort all the "gay" babies. But, cousin on speakerphone says, "You know damned well there are some kids here (in our small hometown) who you've known from the start were gay." And my sis nods. So, I don't have to speak on that one.
IMR's next attack: "Why would you discuss that with a kid?" I do open my mouth for this one. "He sees and hears about heterosexuality all the time. Why is that any more appropriate?" To which he grunts and rolls his eyes.
Did I mention that the kid is standing there for all of this? Eventually, IMR, outargued and out-womaned, turns to the kid and says, "Some people are gay. And you shouldn't not like them because they are. But I don't agree with it."
But, apparently, the kid wants to talk more about it, so he takes the issue to school. His teacher is an old-school, 60+-year-old, "God-fearin'" sista, whom I generally like. But, apparently, she was so appalled that he knew about "gay" that she made him look it up in the school dictionary. He comes home to report, "Mama, Ms. P says that all gay means is 'happy.' I had to look it up and that's what it says." Which, confuses him more, because he knows gay doesn't "just mean happy." And now thanks, to all the outside interference, I'm back at square one.
So, as of now, I'm taking the inefficient, "public-school-approach-to-Black-history-month" approach on this. What that entails is this: for the month of February, instead of discussing a few, overused examples of black people outside of any context and calling it a celebration of black history, I'm discussing a few examples of gay people outside of any context and calling it "why it's okay to be gay." Example 1: "Kid, remember when I went to DC a while back? I went to see Uncle J. You know how you love Uncle J. Well, I stayed with him and his boyfriend and they had the best, most-loving relationship in the world and I had the best, most fun time in the world and we all lived happily ever after." Example 2: "Kid, you remember C who used to take you to the playground when I was teaching and going to school and too busy for everything? You know how you love C. Well, he's gay and he is the coolest person in the world and the best spur-of-the-moment babysitter in the world and we're all gonna live..."
Well, you get the picture. This approach is not working, however, as I heard my son hiss to my nephew last night that if nephew did something, nephew was "gon' be gay." This was definitely meant as a warning, which spurred me to issue my own, not-so-polite warning.
I don't want to raise a bigot, y'all. Suggestions?
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Here's a first...
My first professional picture will be the first uploaded to my blog. This is me 30 years ago. I have no idea why I have big red rubberbands with a little blue-and-white dress. I didn't inherit my keen fashion sense from my mom, apparently.
Oh, Ms. Procrastinator
My next chapter is due by March 20. Not much time to write 30-50 pages, the normal person would think. But Elle? Oh, no. I'm perfectly content to play around with the intro until March 1, spend the next week trying to fill in, and then lose my whole spring break writing madly at the last moment. And then, all my supportive friends and family will embrace me and say, "Poor, Elle. We understand why you're always stressed or depressed. How dare your advisor expect you, a grown, intelligent woman who realizes it is time to finish and who spends most days at home in front of the computer anyway, to spend your time writing and meeting deadlines? The pressure!"
Indeed.
So, in the spirit of procrastination, while trying to write no more than 100 words per day on the dissertation, I'm going to start fooling with how the blog looks. No, I don't have some niche of thousands of readers who want more appealing eye candy. I'm just jealous of other blogs' designs. And, I'm a Delta--there's only so much pink I can stand. :-) I'm reading up on easy blog design, etc. But, I am that stereotypical female who breaks out in hives when she attempts to read too much non-liberal-artsy stuff. So, don't be surprised if you come back in a month and this thing looks exactly the same...
And I'm trolling for sympathy because the next chapter is due.
PS In my academic writing, I don't start every sentence with a conjunction or interjection. And, I'm telling the truth. So, I hope you believe me. But, don't take my word for it. Oh, go ask my advisor!
Indeed.
So, in the spirit of procrastination, while trying to write no more than 100 words per day on the dissertation, I'm going to start fooling with how the blog looks. No, I don't have some niche of thousands of readers who want more appealing eye candy. I'm just jealous of other blogs' designs. And, I'm a Delta--there's only so much pink I can stand. :-) I'm reading up on easy blog design, etc. But, I am that stereotypical female who breaks out in hives when she attempts to read too much non-liberal-artsy stuff. So, don't be surprised if you come back in a month and this thing looks exactly the same...
And I'm trolling for sympathy because the next chapter is due.
PS In my academic writing, I don't start every sentence with a conjunction or interjection. And, I'm telling the truth. So, I hope you believe me. But, don't take my word for it. Oh, go ask my advisor!
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Shallow Gal
A cousin just read my blog for the first time--she wasted not one moment sending me an e-mail blasting me for the "shallowness" of the last line of my "about me": "Oh, and 'she's pretty, too'." That phrase, according to this wise relative of mine "undoes all that [my] blog is trying to do."
Hold on! Apparently, I need to give that some context as I thought it would be immediately apparent I was going for a sarcastic/cynical mix. I didn't write that--I may have thought it during my 20s while preening in front of a mirror--but that quote comes from someone else. You see, one day in one of my grad classes, one of my professors was praising some "astounding" piece of work I did and my abilities in general. Said professor went on at length (sometimes I wonder, though I appreciate the fact that they regard me so highly, if my MA/PhD professors are particularly amazed by my ability or the fact that that ability comes wrapped in the body of a fat black woman, but that's another post) about my skill. After the impromptu speech, one of my classmates, God bless him, because he really was trying to be sweet and funny, said something like "All that, and she's pretty, too." As if that was the TRULY amazing thing. As if intelligence and aesthetics... ah well, you've heard that all before.
Anyway, I'm not quite that shallow. I know that "pretty is as pretty does," and I'm much more concerned with how ugly the inner me is sometimes.
Nonetheless, I think I'll be deleting that phrase.
Hold on! Apparently, I need to give that some context as I thought it would be immediately apparent I was going for a sarcastic/cynical mix. I didn't write that--I may have thought it during my 20s while preening in front of a mirror--but that quote comes from someone else. You see, one day in one of my grad classes, one of my professors was praising some "astounding" piece of work I did and my abilities in general. Said professor went on at length (sometimes I wonder, though I appreciate the fact that they regard me so highly, if my MA/PhD professors are particularly amazed by my ability or the fact that that ability comes wrapped in the body of a fat black woman, but that's another post) about my skill. After the impromptu speech, one of my classmates, God bless him, because he really was trying to be sweet and funny, said something like "All that, and she's pretty, too." As if that was the TRULY amazing thing. As if intelligence and aesthetics... ah well, you've heard that all before.
Anyway, I'm not quite that shallow. I know that "pretty is as pretty does," and I'm much more concerned with how ugly the inner me is sometimes.
Nonetheless, I think I'll be deleting that phrase.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
On South Dakota...
Does it bear repeating all the reasons that I, and so many other people who share the radical notion that women should have control over their bodies and reproductive choices, am so opposed to the SD bill? I just don't feel like it right now. Instead, I'll focus on the fact that they would ban abortion in the cases of incest and rape. Religious conservative LaShawn Barber has provided a reason for this: though some violent, hateful man may have meant the attack for "bad," it is possible that God meant a resultant pregnancy for "good." My sister, in her usual pithy way, summed up with the response, "My God, it'd be a double violation."
And it would. How dare some smug, I-know-what-God-wants "pro-lifer" mandate that, not only would a woman have to bear the brunt of a vicious attack, or series of attacks, she would also have to bear the mental and physical anguish of an unplanned, unwanted pregnancy and giving birth to a child who is part of someone who terrorized her? I remember watching some show on which a woman had been forced to carry to term a pregnancy that resulted from rape. She had never bonded with her daughter; the reason, in her words: "Every time I look at that child, I see that man's face." Not all of us have the amazing powers of forgiveness or the miraculous ability to see and interpret God's plan. Not all of us can focus on what He might mean for good when we are hurting so badly.
If you have not been the survivor of a sexual assault--and I doubt that anyone who would support a bill like this has--you cannot imagine what it does to your mind, to who you are. In those horrible, horrible moments, you have no control over what happens to your body. That the state of South Dakota seeks to prolong this feeling of powerlessness and lack of control is inhuman. It bears witness to the fact that they only care about certain lives and about the quality of life of none.
The right to choice should be protected for all women in all circumstances. But this issue, these circumstances, are particularly close to my heart. So, I have to abandon the soft-spokenness, for once and say to the SD House and its supporters:
Get your damned religious agenda, your fucking misplaced self-righteousness, and your generally disgusting ignorance of other people's realities out of my life and off my body.
And it would. How dare some smug, I-know-what-God-wants "pro-lifer" mandate that, not only would a woman have to bear the brunt of a vicious attack, or series of attacks, she would also have to bear the mental and physical anguish of an unplanned, unwanted pregnancy and giving birth to a child who is part of someone who terrorized her? I remember watching some show on which a woman had been forced to carry to term a pregnancy that resulted from rape. She had never bonded with her daughter; the reason, in her words: "Every time I look at that child, I see that man's face." Not all of us have the amazing powers of forgiveness or the miraculous ability to see and interpret God's plan. Not all of us can focus on what He might mean for good when we are hurting so badly.
If you have not been the survivor of a sexual assault--and I doubt that anyone who would support a bill like this has--you cannot imagine what it does to your mind, to who you are. In those horrible, horrible moments, you have no control over what happens to your body. That the state of South Dakota seeks to prolong this feeling of powerlessness and lack of control is inhuman. It bears witness to the fact that they only care about certain lives and about the quality of life of none.
The right to choice should be protected for all women in all circumstances. But this issue, these circumstances, are particularly close to my heart. So, I have to abandon the soft-spokenness, for once and say to the SD House and its supporters:
Get your damned religious agenda, your fucking misplaced self-righteousness, and your generally disgusting ignorance of other people's realities out of my life and off my body.
An Exercise in Futility
For my pitifully few computer literate friends, could you do this Johari window thingy for me?
Overreacting, My Ass...
...I mean, Alito's barely sworn in and already, South Dakota is working on eroding women's rights. This is from the Baptist Press, which I'm taking the liberty of quoting as I am, um, Baptist:
"In a direct challenge to the U.S. Supreme Court's 1973 Roe v. Wade decision, the South Dakota House of Representatives easily passed a bill Feb. 9 that would ban nearly all abortions in the state."
Oh, and it gets better:
"Opponents of the bill tried unsuccessfully Feb. 9 to add an amendment making an exception for rape and incest."
Okay, my insomnia means that I am awake, but it does not imply that I am thinking cogently. There is so much that I want to say about this blatant disregard for privacy and freedom and control over one's own body, but I have to shape this pissed-off disbelief into words.
So, I'll address this tomorrow...right after I finish the intro to the next chapter of the DISSERTATION!!!
(That's how I feel about that thing, like it's big and looming and overshadowing my damn life.)
"In a direct challenge to the U.S. Supreme Court's 1973 Roe v. Wade decision, the South Dakota House of Representatives easily passed a bill Feb. 9 that would ban nearly all abortions in the state."
Oh, and it gets better:
"Opponents of the bill tried unsuccessfully Feb. 9 to add an amendment making an exception for rape and incest."
Okay, my insomnia means that I am awake, but it does not imply that I am thinking cogently. There is so much that I want to say about this blatant disregard for privacy and freedom and control over one's own body, but I have to shape this pissed-off disbelief into words.
So, I'll address this tomorrow...right after I finish the intro to the next chapter of the DISSERTATION!!!
(That's how I feel about that thing, like it's big and looming and overshadowing my damn life.)
Monday, February 13, 2006
Umm...
I really don't have much to say (I haven't had much to say in the last week, you'll note), but my liberal bias compels me to comment on the fact that our vice president shot someone. And not even in the cool, I-challenge-you-to-a-duel manner of the great Aaron Burr (ha-ha). Oh no. This was a hunting, ahem, accident.
On second thought, this might be too absurd to even comment on.
Except to mention that all Michelle Malkin can think about is how the Dick, great servant of his country, is going to be maligned by liberals. She said that, really, though I am paraphrasing.
Isn't the shooting of another, innocent (though he appears to be a conservative and friend to the Dick so my sympathy is really more of the generic, hope-you-get-well type than any personal concern :-) human being kind of a self-maligning act? Don't you malign yourself by doing that?
God, he's such a.... um... let me think... well, for lack of a better word...
DICK!
On second thought, this might be too absurd to even comment on.
Except to mention that all Michelle Malkin can think about is how the Dick, great servant of his country, is going to be maligned by liberals. She said that, really, though I am paraphrasing.
Isn't the shooting of another, innocent (though he appears to be a conservative and friend to the Dick so my sympathy is really more of the generic, hope-you-get-well type than any personal concern :-) human being kind of a self-maligning act? Don't you malign yourself by doing that?
God, he's such a.... um... let me think... well, for lack of a better word...
DICK!
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
On Mrs. King
Later, when I am in a better mood and I can reflect on her life and all she meant to women like me--who admired her grace and poise and outspokeness--I will write a post in honor of Mrs. King.
But today, in my less-than-stellar-mood, the cynic in me triumphs. Mrs. King and Mrs. Parks within months of each other. Just at the time the appointment of Samuel Alito and all he stands for slaps many of us in the face.
It as if the death of these beautiful, wonderful, brave women is marking the death of something else...
But today, in my less-than-stellar-mood, the cynic in me triumphs. Mrs. King and Mrs. Parks within months of each other. Just at the time the appointment of Samuel Alito and all he stands for slaps many of us in the face.
It as if the death of these beautiful, wonderful, brave women is marking the death of something else...
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Yeah...right
"There's no doubt in my mind it is legal," said President Bush of his controversial domestic surveillance program.
You wanna know what I'm thinking? Here's what I'm thinking.
Any one who is reassured by this statement from this man didn't need reassurance.
Oh, they may have longed for affirmation.
They probably wanted validation.
And they definitely need medication. (And you thought Rev. Jackson only had one love-child)
But reassurance? Nah, anyone who is reassured by this was already a resident of the Unsound States of Absurdity.
A sufferer of an Unfounded Sense of Accuracy.
A pitifully Unbalanced Source of Aggravation.
And so damned powerful these days that I'm tempted to bury my head in the sand.
You wanna know what I'm thinking? Here's what I'm thinking.
Any one who is reassured by this statement from this man didn't need reassurance.
Oh, they may have longed for affirmation.
They probably wanted validation.
And they definitely need medication. (And you thought Rev. Jackson only had one love-child)
But reassurance? Nah, anyone who is reassured by this was already a resident of the Unsound States of Absurdity.
A sufferer of an Unfounded Sense of Accuracy.
A pitifully Unbalanced Source of Aggravation.
And so damned powerful these days that I'm tempted to bury my head in the sand.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Progress!
The chapter stands at page 23 and I'm not finished. Oh, it still needs much filling in and fleshing out, but it's coming along. And it will be substantial enough to turn in Friday.
Sad part is: To do that, I had to unplug the modem from 4 to 9 today and give it to my sister.
But I did it! Consider throwing me a party...
Sad part is: To do that, I had to unplug the modem from 4 to 9 today and give it to my sister.
But I did it! Consider throwing me a party...
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Go, Steelers!
Not that I know anything directly, but...
When I grew up, my father was a devoted Steelers fan. Since I am a devoted Daddy's girl, gotta give a shout out!
My best friend's father hails from Pittsburgh and she's a big fan, too. Since I got mad love for that beautiful chick, I gotta give a shout out!
People doubted Ben and Bettis and company. Since I got mad respect for those who prove the ubiquitous "people" wrong, I gotta give a shout out!
OK, now I'm hoarse. Goodbye!
When I grew up, my father was a devoted Steelers fan. Since I am a devoted Daddy's girl, gotta give a shout out!
My best friend's father hails from Pittsburgh and she's a big fan, too. Since I got mad love for that beautiful chick, I gotta give a shout out!
People doubted Ben and Bettis and company. Since I got mad respect for those who prove the ubiquitous "people" wrong, I gotta give a shout out!
OK, now I'm hoarse. Goodbye!
A Milestone in Women's Reproductive Freedom...
...not that the goal has been achieved. If so, we wouldn't still have to fight so fiercely.
Anyway, I promised a nice post for the Roe v. Wade Anniversary. I did my research. I stared at my pack of ortho and marveled at my clearing complexion. I found out some not-so-nice things about Margaret Sanger and statistics that refuted long held beliefs that "white girls have more abortions than us." And still, I was at a loss of words. And then I thought, I'll tell you a story. About one of my favorite people and how she left me wondering about opportunities and potential deferred.
My Grandmother, A, was born in rural Louisiana in 1924, eventually one of 6 kids. I don't know much about her childhood--I knew two of her siblings, uncles MC and N, and I vaguely remember her mother, to whom I apparently bear a striking resemblance. What I know of A's life begins in 1944 when she and my Granddad, J, had their first son. My dad was number three.
From all accounts, A was one smart cookie. When J, a WWII vet, went back to school at Grambling State, the realities of a growing family meant he had to work , too. So, in the midst of childrearing and meal preparing, A had to complete J's homework regularly. She was particularly strong in math--both college level and that of her school-age children. Probably a factor in why she taught me to play spades and dominos with such skill. Despite (or because of) her sizable family, A had to work outside the home in the low-skill, low-wage "service" jobs characteristic of much of ethnic/racial minority women's paid work.
My point, this brilliant woman--the superior "brain" in her marriage, according to her kids--had 14 kids between 1944 and 1964. Two sets of twins (one set stillborn), at least a couple who had 11 months or less between them, and mostly BOYS (only 3 girls)! I heard someone repeat a self-deprecating joke A made one time--that each time she pulled her clothes off, she got pregnant.
So now that I'm a grown woman, I think about my grandmother in womanly terms. I think of how, despite the fact that she loved all her kids, she must have felt despair when some of her pregnancies were confirmed. I think of how maybe she thought it was unfair that J was able to venture out and get his degree while she stayed behind in so many ways. I think about how she may have absolutely dreaded sex sometimes--hell, I do and I have one kid and a really good ob/gyn. I think about how incredibly tiring it must have been to have children for TWENTY YEARS. I think about how access to effective birth control--both mental/emotional access (in case she felt it was somehow wrong) and literal access--may have changed her life. And I think about what else she could have been--she had the mothering and grandmothering down pat, we all adored her--if she'd had more choices.
In 1990, a month shy of her 66th birthday, A, who had been wracked by a number of illnesses for a number of years, became gravely ill. When it came time to make the decision on whether to sustain her life artificially, her children decided not to. Their major reason? "Mama was tired. Her body was tired." And part of that tiredness--12 confirmed pregnancies. 108 months of unbelievable stress on her small frame.
And, just maybe, a lifetime of wondering what if.
Back to Work
Okay, next (rough draft) chapter of the diss has a definitive due date of january 27. Given the fact that I wasted all of Saturday blogging (3 posts in one day? ugh), reading blogs, and doing searches on any topic that popped into my mind, I'm spending the next few days getting back on track.
No, don't beg and plead. This is something I must do (sigh).
No, don't beg and plead. This is something I must do (sigh).
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Hallelujah!
You know, conservatives always hem and haw about how liberals appeal/pander to the worst in black culture/life/communities. But that whole evangelical, rightwing undertaking that began before the 2004 election--you remember that appeal to "socially conservative" African-Americans to join with fundamentalists and vote for the right against gay rights? Now that was pandering at its finest!
Anyway, seems we're starting to see through that ruse. I'm going to try a backlink/trackback on this. But in case I'm unsuccessful go here, to the news blog and search for a post called "about time. "
Anyway, seems we're starting to see through that ruse. I'm going to try a backlink/trackback on this. But in case I'm unsuccessful go here, to the news blog and search for a post called "about time. "
A Bit of Insight
just looked at the blog's description and realized that i promised you some mommy insights (should be mama insights, i suppose, as that is what the kid calls me). as i haven't delivered (though remind me to post real soon about our conversation-on-gays that we had to have because he eavesdropped on a conversation i was having with my cousin about brokeback mountain), i thought i'd share this quickie.
my nephew and my son just walked into the room to tell me goodbye. they are going, they have decided, to mississippi. why mississippi, you ask? listening to someone talk about david banner, undoubtedly (remind me to discuss their totally age-inappropriate fascination with hip-hop, too). i looked up at them worriedly (i was typing that last rambling post), opened my mouth to warn them about the potential trials and travails of two young black men traveling through mississippi, then snapped it shut.
you see, my son just got a weekly reader that discussed the efforts of mlk, jr. and rosa parks. we read a book about ruby bridges together and he was totally enthralled by the fact that our home church dimmed the lights and sang "we shall overcome" a cappella on sunday, january 15. he's feeling the crm triumphs and he's bold enough to venture into mississippi. so, for today at least, i won't discuss medgar evers and goodman, schwerner, and chaney and the hateful ross barnett and all the other reasons everyone but SNCC thought mississippi was a lost cause. i'll focus on fannie lou hamer and james meredith and even david banner. they'll learn about the rest soon enough.
or maybe, they won't.
my nephew and my son just walked into the room to tell me goodbye. they are going, they have decided, to mississippi. why mississippi, you ask? listening to someone talk about david banner, undoubtedly (remind me to discuss their totally age-inappropriate fascination with hip-hop, too). i looked up at them worriedly (i was typing that last rambling post), opened my mouth to warn them about the potential trials and travails of two young black men traveling through mississippi, then snapped it shut.
you see, my son just got a weekly reader that discussed the efforts of mlk, jr. and rosa parks. we read a book about ruby bridges together and he was totally enthralled by the fact that our home church dimmed the lights and sang "we shall overcome" a cappella on sunday, january 15. he's feeling the crm triumphs and he's bold enough to venture into mississippi. so, for today at least, i won't discuss medgar evers and goodman, schwerner, and chaney and the hateful ross barnett and all the other reasons everyone but SNCC thought mississippi was a lost cause. i'll focus on fannie lou hamer and james meredith and even david banner. they'll learn about the rest soon enough.
or maybe, they won't.
Gotta Stop Singing about Sanger
OK, given some of the things I've discovered about Margaret Sanger while researching various topics for the Roe v. Wade anniversary, I must admit, I won't be as free in my references to her as I have been in the past. But the whole "pro-life" idea that her work for birth control and improved quality of life is discredited in communities-of-color because she made racist statements? No sale. Not with me anyway. Why? Well, I've constructed some imaginary conversations with a couple of my associates to demonstrate my points. Maybe I'll get a chance to say these things one day! Beware: this is a long post.
Conversation One:
Characters: The pastor of my growing, predominantly black, conservative Baptist church here in Houston and me:
Pastor (smugly): You know, Elle, since you're such a supporter of women's reproductive freedom, I think I should point out that one of you heroines, Margaret Sanger, had ties to the eugenics movement.
Elle (feigns ignorance): Really?
Pastor (waving his hand dismissively): Yes. I figured, being a little woman and all, you'd ignored or missed that in your studies. An important fact, but not your fault that you can't discriminate between important and not. That's why I advocate that you young sisters stay in your place.
Elle: Hmm.
Pastor: So, you see, you were troubled that Houston's Planned Parenthoods didn't have enough funding this past year to offer services on a sliding scale. In reality, why should you care about that organization? Given its history with Sanger, the racist.
Elle: Mmm. Well, Pastor, Planned Parenthood offers more than birth control and abortion. There's the STD testing-
Pastor (holds up a hand to silence Elle): Not an issue if people wouldn't have sex! Total abstinence for all but married, straight couples is a worthwhile and achievable goal.
Elle: But Pastor, married people get STDs-
Pastor: The adulterers!
Elle (sighs, but refrains from asking about the health of the non-cheating partner. smiles as she thinks of something else): So, Pastor, you're saying that I should rebuff Planned Parenthood because it may have a racist history?
Pastor (smiles patiently): Yes, sweetheart (or darling or honey or baby).
Elle: I'll renounce support of them when you give up the Mercedes S500 the church gave you.
Pastor (frowns): I know your mind struggles with rational connections and logic--and really, it's not your fault--but Pastor doesn't see the connection.
Elle (sweetly sarcastic): Pastor, would you say that the Holocaust was, in some small way, a racist tragedy?
Pastor grunts.
Elle: Well, Mercedes-Benz used Jewish slave labor during the Holocaust. So, even a woman could argue that the company may be troubled by a racist history. And since we're rebuffing...
Pastor: Now, wait a minute, young woman-
Elle: And Pastor, you just said how proud you were to be an American and truly, we all are. But when this country was being conceived, people like us were considered 3/5 of a person and involved in a racially-based slave system. So, I could go further and say our country is troubled by a racist history.
Elle (coughs, steps away from the smoke emanating from Pastor's nose): So if we're discrediting and disassociating ourselves from every country, organization and person that may have a racist history-
Elle's words are lost as always savvy Pastor turns to shake another member's hand.
Conversation two:
Characters: A white, conservative friend (I have no idea how or why he and I clicked) who wants to remain nameless on my blog (can't imagine why :-) and me:
Friend (mockingly): Surely, you, Elle, goddess of renouncing racists, isn't going to continue your support of Sanger. That might make you (gasps) a hypocrite.
Elle: I will continue to support her work, Friend. Besides, I know you aren't talking. Remember when that professor asked us if Joseph Conrad and the characters in Heart of Darkness were really racists or if they were-
Friend: -just accepting the prevailing notions and conventions of their time and I said it was the latter? Yes, I remember. You didn't speak to me for 2 weeks.
Elle: Uh-huh. And remember when I said I was troubled by presidents who said things like "Birth of a Nation" was like "writing history with lightning" (Woodrow Wilson) or that he understood why white Southerners didn't want their daughters in school with "big black bucks" (Eisenhower) or began their campaigns in places in Mississippi not all that troubled by its history as the deathplace of civil rights workers? You said-
Friend: -they were products of their times. I still believe that. Doesn't change what they offered to American society.
Elle gives him a pointed look. Friend sighs.
Friend: Fine. But you're still a hypocrite.
Elle: But an honest one.
Conversation One:
Characters: The pastor of my growing, predominantly black, conservative Baptist church here in Houston and me:
Pastor (smugly): You know, Elle, since you're such a supporter of women's reproductive freedom, I think I should point out that one of you heroines, Margaret Sanger, had ties to the eugenics movement.
Elle (feigns ignorance): Really?
Pastor (waving his hand dismissively): Yes. I figured, being a little woman and all, you'd ignored or missed that in your studies. An important fact, but not your fault that you can't discriminate between important and not. That's why I advocate that you young sisters stay in your place.
Elle: Hmm.
Pastor: So, you see, you were troubled that Houston's Planned Parenthoods didn't have enough funding this past year to offer services on a sliding scale. In reality, why should you care about that organization? Given its history with Sanger, the racist.
Elle: Mmm. Well, Pastor, Planned Parenthood offers more than birth control and abortion. There's the STD testing-
Pastor (holds up a hand to silence Elle): Not an issue if people wouldn't have sex! Total abstinence for all but married, straight couples is a worthwhile and achievable goal.
Elle: But Pastor, married people get STDs-
Pastor: The adulterers!
Elle (sighs, but refrains from asking about the health of the non-cheating partner. smiles as she thinks of something else): So, Pastor, you're saying that I should rebuff Planned Parenthood because it may have a racist history?
Pastor (smiles patiently): Yes, sweetheart (or darling or honey or baby).
Elle: I'll renounce support of them when you give up the Mercedes S500 the church gave you.
Pastor (frowns): I know your mind struggles with rational connections and logic--and really, it's not your fault--but Pastor doesn't see the connection.
Elle (sweetly sarcastic): Pastor, would you say that the Holocaust was, in some small way, a racist tragedy?
Pastor grunts.
Elle: Well, Mercedes-Benz used Jewish slave labor during the Holocaust. So, even a woman could argue that the company may be troubled by a racist history. And since we're rebuffing...
Pastor: Now, wait a minute, young woman-
Elle: And Pastor, you just said how proud you were to be an American and truly, we all are. But when this country was being conceived, people like us were considered 3/5 of a person and involved in a racially-based slave system. So, I could go further and say our country is troubled by a racist history.
Elle (coughs, steps away from the smoke emanating from Pastor's nose): So if we're discrediting and disassociating ourselves from every country, organization and person that may have a racist history-
Elle's words are lost as always savvy Pastor turns to shake another member's hand.
Conversation two:
Characters: A white, conservative friend (I have no idea how or why he and I clicked) who wants to remain nameless on my blog (can't imagine why :-) and me:
Friend (mockingly): Surely, you, Elle, goddess of renouncing racists, isn't going to continue your support of Sanger. That might make you (gasps) a hypocrite.
Elle: I will continue to support her work, Friend. Besides, I know you aren't talking. Remember when that professor asked us if Joseph Conrad and the characters in Heart of Darkness were really racists or if they were-
Friend: -just accepting the prevailing notions and conventions of their time and I said it was the latter? Yes, I remember. You didn't speak to me for 2 weeks.
Elle: Uh-huh. And remember when I said I was troubled by presidents who said things like "Birth of a Nation" was like "writing history with lightning" (Woodrow Wilson) or that he understood why white Southerners didn't want their daughters in school with "big black bucks" (Eisenhower) or began their campaigns in places in Mississippi not all that troubled by its history as the deathplace of civil rights workers? You said-
Friend: -they were products of their times. I still believe that. Doesn't change what they offered to American society.
Elle gives him a pointed look. Friend sighs.
Friend: Fine. But you're still a hypocrite.
Elle: But an honest one.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Chocolate City?
Isn't that the name of an R. Kelly CD?
Anyway, I'm all for improving and rebuilding our communties (part of what Mayor Nagin suggested), but did a call for revitalization have to be accompanied by the rest of that?
Funny, I never saw the Nagin-Robertson resemblance.
Anyway, I'm all for improving and rebuilding our communties (part of what Mayor Nagin suggested), but did a call for revitalization have to be accompanied by the rest of that?
Funny, I never saw the Nagin-Robertson resemblance.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
The other big "D"
Oh yeah! i knew i had something to discuss. tuesday night, i drove to dallas to pick up a friend who's going to help me drive to arkansas this weekend. it was a halfway spot that we agreed upon and it really didn't take long... but i digress.
it was my first time traveling that far north on I 45. i went to huntsville as an undergrad and that's been about it. i think i've been to dallas 4 times in my life--one of 'em was a layover at DFW--and i've always come from louisiana on I 20. i made a lot of observations along the way:
1. there's too much "big" stuff- i hate water towers, cell towers, really big tvs, large waving flags, etc. that damn statue of sam houston in huntsville almost sent me into cardiac arrest. and then, closer to dallas, there's a drive-in theater and you can see those big old, looming screens from the freeway. with images flashing on them! like judgment day and God is replaying scenes from your pitiful life... well, anyway, my skin crawled in earnest. there was also a tall, uneven fence, some water towers, what looked like a huge oil derrick, and just shit thrown up to freak out mental cases like me. and did i mention that statue? ugh!
2. i think there's water along the way- i don't know, it was dark, but there was fog rising off something, and if there's one thing i can't stand, it's driving over water. i can deal with the bridges--like going to new orleans from either houston or from north louisiana or that bridge they used to have over the ouachita when you drove into monroe. i don't like them, i imagine plunging to my death, but i can deal with them. but driving over water that's almost even with the freeway? oh my God! that is a result of two things: driving to galveston ONE TIME as an undergrad and a recurring nightmare in which i simply drive into a body of water at the end of a road and alligators (or crocodiles--i don't know the difference even in my nightmares) get my ass. i always wake up before they snap into me, thank God. but that's a real phobia of mine-- i even have dreams in which someone lets a crocogator into my house and it corners me in my bedroom.
3. where the hell is the city? - true, it was 11 pm, but i didn't even get lost (like i still do in downtown houston)! i saw the signs saying dallas-35 miles, 32 miles, 26 miles, and still no vast display of urbanization. i mean, i'm not the city expert, but when i'm coming from home back to houston, you're "in the city" 50 miles before you're "in the city." maybe dallas's urban sprawl isn't southbound on 45. maybe it's east bound on 20. i vaguely remember being more impressed coming from that direction. of course, anything is more impressive when you're coming from podunk, la.
4. apparently, there's a different culture up there - aside from the brutal assault on words that end in -ere. a few miles outside of dallas, i saw a sign that said "national security threat" and i thought, god, what HAS osama done now?! but as my eyes scrolled downward, the sign said "report illegal workers" and "the job you save may be your own." i hate that i didn't memorize the toll-free number. is it just me? is that sign not a wee bit offensive? is this really a national security issue? IMHO, it'd be a bigger security issue for some of us if immigrants didn't take these jobs. i mean, come on! despite the fact that he got called out, vicente fox had a point about the kinds of jobs "illegal" workers take. some of them are the nuts-and-bolts work required to sustain this country and few of our spoiled asses want those!
needless to say, barring an emergency, i won't be traveling to dallas on 45 anytime soon.
at least not until they consider moving Mr. Houston back from the roadway a bit. but could you imagine that head looming over some trees and the body obscured?
i need a drink!
it was my first time traveling that far north on I 45. i went to huntsville as an undergrad and that's been about it. i think i've been to dallas 4 times in my life--one of 'em was a layover at DFW--and i've always come from louisiana on I 20. i made a lot of observations along the way:
1. there's too much "big" stuff- i hate water towers, cell towers, really big tvs, large waving flags, etc. that damn statue of sam houston in huntsville almost sent me into cardiac arrest. and then, closer to dallas, there's a drive-in theater and you can see those big old, looming screens from the freeway. with images flashing on them! like judgment day and God is replaying scenes from your pitiful life... well, anyway, my skin crawled in earnest. there was also a tall, uneven fence, some water towers, what looked like a huge oil derrick, and just shit thrown up to freak out mental cases like me. and did i mention that statue? ugh!
2. i think there's water along the way- i don't know, it was dark, but there was fog rising off something, and if there's one thing i can't stand, it's driving over water. i can deal with the bridges--like going to new orleans from either houston or from north louisiana or that bridge they used to have over the ouachita when you drove into monroe. i don't like them, i imagine plunging to my death, but i can deal with them. but driving over water that's almost even with the freeway? oh my God! that is a result of two things: driving to galveston ONE TIME as an undergrad and a recurring nightmare in which i simply drive into a body of water at the end of a road and alligators (or crocodiles--i don't know the difference even in my nightmares) get my ass. i always wake up before they snap into me, thank God. but that's a real phobia of mine-- i even have dreams in which someone lets a crocogator into my house and it corners me in my bedroom.
3. where the hell is the city? - true, it was 11 pm, but i didn't even get lost (like i still do in downtown houston)! i saw the signs saying dallas-35 miles, 32 miles, 26 miles, and still no vast display of urbanization. i mean, i'm not the city expert, but when i'm coming from home back to houston, you're "in the city" 50 miles before you're "in the city." maybe dallas's urban sprawl isn't southbound on 45. maybe it's east bound on 20. i vaguely remember being more impressed coming from that direction. of course, anything is more impressive when you're coming from podunk, la.
4. apparently, there's a different culture up there - aside from the brutal assault on words that end in -ere. a few miles outside of dallas, i saw a sign that said "national security threat" and i thought, god, what HAS osama done now?! but as my eyes scrolled downward, the sign said "report illegal workers" and "the job you save may be your own." i hate that i didn't memorize the toll-free number. is it just me? is that sign not a wee bit offensive? is this really a national security issue? IMHO, it'd be a bigger security issue for some of us if immigrants didn't take these jobs. i mean, come on! despite the fact that he got called out, vicente fox had a point about the kinds of jobs "illegal" workers take. some of them are the nuts-and-bolts work required to sustain this country and few of our spoiled asses want those!
needless to say, barring an emergency, i won't be traveling to dallas on 45 anytime soon.
at least not until they consider moving Mr. Houston back from the roadway a bit. but could you imagine that head looming over some trees and the body obscured?
i need a drink!
a book on the Book
just heard of a book: John Shelby Spong, "Rescuing the Bible from Fundamentalism : A Bishop Rethinks the Meaning of Scripture" (New York: HarperCollins, 1992). Considering the fact that it's already 13 years old and that U.S. Christianity is in the throes of a scary fundamentalist/evangelical coup (actually, I think they've pretty much already won), I guess the book didn't make a big impact. still, i'm itching to read it.
actually, i'm itching all over, period. but that's another subject.
and i promise c, a, t, and m (my dissertater group) that i will not read it and use it as an excuse to procrastinate before i turn in my next chapter.
not that i need an excuse to procrastinate...
actually, i'm itching all over, period. but that's another subject.
and i promise c, a, t, and m (my dissertater group) that i will not read it and use it as an excuse to procrastinate before i turn in my next chapter.
not that i need an excuse to procrastinate...
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Alito
I was all set to be wary of this man based on his anti-choice stance alone. Well, that and the fact that any person that conservatives wholeheartedly endorse and love sends chills up my spine. But anyway, I was listening to my secret boyfriend, Tavis Smiley, this morning, and he raised some issues that I wasn't even aware of. See, Mr. Smiley knows that black America can't be convinced to protest against someone because s/he's anti-choice or anti-gay rights--hell, large sections of our community share those sentiments. So he had to tell us more about Mr. Alito. And he did quite an impressive job.
Like pointing out that Mr. Alito is against one person, one vote.
And, that, in 15 years on the bench, during which numerous cases of racial discrimination in hiring/employment came before him, he never once, NOT ONE TIME, ruled with the plaintiff.
Oh, and he has no problem with making it harder for people to prove cases of sex and/or disabilty discrimination either.
Yes, I'm taking secret boyfriend at his word. I love him, after all.
And I'm going right now to read more about Samuel Alito so when I do write the blog entry protesting his ass, I can do it with confidence, knowledge, and facts--the last two of which wouldn't be necessary if I was a conservative writer but...
In the meantime, check out http://www.bushvchoice.com/ if, like I was, you're content to lambaste Alito on his anti-choice stance alone. I'll be saving the Alito blog for January 22, I suppose, the Blog for Choice Day.
Trust me, it'll be worth waiting for!
Like pointing out that Mr. Alito is against one person, one vote.
And, that, in 15 years on the bench, during which numerous cases of racial discrimination in hiring/employment came before him, he never once, NOT ONE TIME, ruled with the plaintiff.
Oh, and he has no problem with making it harder for people to prove cases of sex and/or disabilty discrimination either.
Yes, I'm taking secret boyfriend at his word. I love him, after all.
And I'm going right now to read more about Samuel Alito so when I do write the blog entry protesting his ass, I can do it with confidence, knowledge, and facts--the last two of which wouldn't be necessary if I was a conservative writer but...
In the meantime, check out http://www.bushvchoice.com/ if, like I was, you're content to lambaste Alito on his anti-choice stance alone. I'll be saving the Alito blog for January 22, I suppose, the Blog for Choice Day.
Trust me, it'll be worth waiting for!
Friday, January 06, 2006
Broken Hearts on Brokeback
Saw the movie yesterday with my dissertater group. Let me just say, we left the theater kind of quietly. Forlorn, morose, unfulfilled... not words that describe the movie, but words that describe how it made me feel. Not even the sadness that you can express with tears (and I'm a cry baby) but the kind that makes you feel empty and achy inside.
Now, after that cheerful summary, I suggest you go see it for yourself.
Now, after that cheerful summary, I suggest you go see it for yourself.
Almighty... or not?
I have a question to ask my fellow Christians of a more conservative bent. I thought you guys believed Jesus was an all-powerful, vengeful god (purposely lower case) perfectly capable of dealing with situations and mortals with whom He might take issue. And then I clicked on AOL today and found out that some conservatives are bothered by the TV show "The Book of Daniel." So, my question is, when did Jesus become this fragile, weak image in constant need of your protection and defense?
I mean, the whole war over Christmas and now, this? It reminds me of growing up and being taught never to question God and then hearing the pastor of my current church saying, "Question Him! You think your puny questions are a match for His wisdom?" I was shocked--to be honest, I always questioned Him in the back of my mind about myriad things--but to find a pastor validating my very human nature? Amazing.
And so, I'm turning that question on the defenders of Christmas and the boycotters of "Daniel." Do you think Jesus is threatened by this? By any of our puny little human endeavors? As Christians, isn't there infinitely more important work you can undertake? If you're a Christian, shouldn't one of your primary beliefs be that Jesus can handle his own? Despite the persecution complex some of us have developed and seem intent on making others see, it isn't like Jesus and his followers haven't weathered far harsher times and places than 21st century, majority Christian, filthy rich America. If you feel the need to remain ever vigilant, visit one of the surprising number of Christian persecution websites and start a campaign to defend Christianity in the always-a-prime-target Middle East.
But back to "The Book of Daniel." The producers say their show is not a mockery or "satirization" of Jesus, that He will be portrayed as a spiritual guide. They also say--and hold onto your seats for this crazy, irrational thought--that people should wait to see the show before making judgments.
But let's envision the worst case scenario. Let's say that "Daniel" proves to be nothing more than a jab at Christ and Christians, a joke at our expense. Let's say we find it too offensive for words. And then, let's say, we simply watch something else. Let's say we put our money where our mouths are and assume that Jesus can outlive and outlast one puny TV show. I think He just might manage to emerge unscathed.
And for the Pat Robertson devotees, don't worry. The Bible quite clearly states in Galatians, Do not be deceived, God is not mocked. If the creators of "Daniel" go too far, there's no telling what kind of hurricanes and brain surgeries God may have in store for them.
I mean, the whole war over Christmas and now, this? It reminds me of growing up and being taught never to question God and then hearing the pastor of my current church saying, "Question Him! You think your puny questions are a match for His wisdom?" I was shocked--to be honest, I always questioned Him in the back of my mind about myriad things--but to find a pastor validating my very human nature? Amazing.
And so, I'm turning that question on the defenders of Christmas and the boycotters of "Daniel." Do you think Jesus is threatened by this? By any of our puny little human endeavors? As Christians, isn't there infinitely more important work you can undertake? If you're a Christian, shouldn't one of your primary beliefs be that Jesus can handle his own? Despite the persecution complex some of us have developed and seem intent on making others see, it isn't like Jesus and his followers haven't weathered far harsher times and places than 21st century, majority Christian, filthy rich America. If you feel the need to remain ever vigilant, visit one of the surprising number of Christian persecution websites and start a campaign to defend Christianity in the always-a-prime-target Middle East.
But back to "The Book of Daniel." The producers say their show is not a mockery or "satirization" of Jesus, that He will be portrayed as a spiritual guide. They also say--and hold onto your seats for this crazy, irrational thought--that people should wait to see the show before making judgments.
But let's envision the worst case scenario. Let's say that "Daniel" proves to be nothing more than a jab at Christ and Christians, a joke at our expense. Let's say we find it too offensive for words. And then, let's say, we simply watch something else. Let's say we put our money where our mouths are and assume that Jesus can outlive and outlast one puny TV show. I think He just might manage to emerge unscathed.
And for the Pat Robertson devotees, don't worry. The Bible quite clearly states in Galatians, Do not be deceived, God is not mocked. If the creators of "Daniel" go too far, there's no telling what kind of hurricanes and brain surgeries God may have in store for them.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Progress
i did pull out the chapter in progress today and a notebook, some census reports, old newspaper cutouts, two interviews, and a couple of articles. i set it all on the bed beside me and watched and waited for it to assemble itself into a brilliant chapter. i got so engrossed that i fell asleep from 6 to 9 while waiting. now that i look over, i see that it is still just a disjointed pile taking up more than its half of the bed. that statistical abstract of louisiana is particularly mocking me as i keep opening and closing it to no avail. i have this incredible feeling of tension--as if these sources are willing me to put them together in a new and insightful way right now, dammit!--and i want to pounce upon the keyboard and type something profound that validates all those rumors that i hear about myself in the department. something at once so groundbreaking, so brilliant, so original that i actually feel good about it (and not just the "you really thought that was good?" feeling i usually get when i read comments on my work). i am so scared that they are moments away from finding out that i'm an exceptionally lucky, procrastinating fraud!
but, alas, it's just a draft, and a soon-to-be-due one at that. and, since my advisor's other brilliant PhD student is meeting with her and turning in work, i need to get my ass on the ball.
but, alas, it's just a draft, and a soon-to-be-due one at that. and, since my advisor's other brilliant PhD student is meeting with her and turning in work, i need to get my ass on the ball.
Oh My
I have a million things to do and apparently none of them concern my dissertation. Over a month now since I accomplished any real work and I'm still lagging. I need a plan, a resolution. This is year five and I'm tired of the damned thing. Deep down, I'm wondering--intelligence and writing ability aside--can I do this? People have given me lots of money to do it. My family has given me lots of time and support. And still, I'm drowning. I came back to school on a whim, did surprisingly well, and enjoyed it. But, I must admit, there is a conceited, snobby part of me who pursued the degree only for the title doctor--to somehow validate how smart I am. The rest of me is exhausted and not so interested anymore. I need help...
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