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Tuesday, May 08, 2007
elle, phd
thanks for all the input! i changed my title, but i'm waaaay too lazy to change the address.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Life in Rural America (Union Parish, part 1)
Finally, I'll begin with the schools in Union Parish, where I taught briefly. I also plan to talk about the community, the economy, and anything else that the Union Parish residents who are offering input would like. Here's my perspective as a teacher. Next up, the perspective of some parents.
When people ask me why I gave up teaching, my answer amounts to something like, “I loved the kids, but teaching in poor school districts is hard.” They ask for examples—after all, aren’t teachers always complaining that there’s not “enough”—resources, time, money? And so I give them examples.
Like how, my first year, I had 33 fifth-graders in a small classroom in which you still had to get permission to turn on the air conditioner. Or, how our playground had one small swing set that the fourth through eighth grade had to share and a decrepit basketball court that the boys claimed, early-on relegating girls to the status of observers and facilitating the habit of standing around in small, exclusive cliques. Or, how the only ancillary was PE (no music, art, etc.) twice a week, for 45 minutes, if the PE teacher came on time--he wasn't going to keep them over if he was late.
That 45 minute period was the only during-school planning period we had. In addition to the lack of a planning period, there was no duty-free lunch, so you had to shuffle your kids through a 20-minute lunch break during which cafeteria employees and district officials expected you to keep the kids virtually silent.
Oh, and the textbooks that fell apart and (to the horror of a historian!!!) the social studies texts from pre-the fall of Communism. I taught there from 1999-2001. Some of my kids’ textbooks had my cousin Trinity’s name in them. Trinity was in the fourth and fifth grades in the 89-90 and 90-91 school years.
But mostly I tell people about the fraction test that I tried to give my fourth-grade class back in the winter of 2000 (yes, I remember). Black and white copies in my school were like some illicit drug—available, but you had to pay dearly, by begging and describing why you needed them, and endure abuse, from the office staff and teachers’ aides, to get them. Keep in mind, there is no Office Depot or whatever right down the street. The local bank would make a few copies for you for 25 cents per page or, if your pastor or church secretary felt sorry for you, you could use the church's copier.
The school wanted us to use, primarily, the purple ditto copies. When I taught fourth grade, the new principalquite generously offered us 200 black and white copies per month (hah!). By the time of the fraction test, mine were used up. And though a co-worker offered to let me use some of her allotment, the principal said no. So I made ditto copies.
Blurry ditto copies on which the kids couldn’t see into how many sections a shape was divided or how many were shaded or if that number was 1/3 or 1/8 or 1/2. So I showed it to the principal.
And he said, “I’m sorry.”
I made a transparency of the original and had my kids copy the problems from the overhead. By the time they finished copying it, after I walked around pointing out errors and reminding them, "please don't begin until you have all the problems copied!", and I'd read over them aloud to make sure we were all on the same page (many children have problems transferring from board/screen to paper), they didn't have time to take the test that day. So, I took the original, drove the 20+ miles to Ruston and made copies.
And I realized, as much as I loved my kids, with a base salary of $18,600 (with a master’s degree), I couldn’t keep supplementing and buying things and trying to fill in the gaps. And I wasn’t one of those super-creative teachers who could make everything from scratch (scratch materials cost money, too, btw). That's always been strange to me, the expectation that teachers are to be these selfless, constantly giving, unconcerned about money, always super-resourceful, uber-noble individuals. Teaching in poor circumstances does inspire you... sometimes. I learned to love construction paper, glue, and cardboard. I learned to hoard nubby pencils, loose leaf, newspapers, and boxes.* But, sometimes, it just makes you exhausted beyond words.
So, I sent out the three PhD applications I’d been thinking about.
________________________________________________
* On supplies, for comparison, my son attends public school here that is consistently ranked highly in the state accountability system. The school does not send out supply lists in the summer. Instead, the PTO puts together the supplies the teachers want, boxes them by grade, and sells them at a marked up price to raise money for the PTO. The teachers there have no qualms about sending out a note the night before requesting that the kids bring something to school the next day, sending lists of things for you to buy for school activities, requesting certain types of notebooks or brands of supplies, or requesting that all the children bring a sack lunch on certain days. In Union Parish, doing such things were frowned upon because they 1)presuppose that the parents had time and money to go to the store 2) assume that the small local stores would have a wide variety of supplies for reasonable prices 3) ignore the fact that perhaps the parents of children receiving free or reduced price lunches (as the majority in my school did) had no money (especially in the middle of the week) to buy a lunch (duh!). Though the faculty at my son's school are nice, they are a bit cushioned and smug, I think, and sometimes I want to point these things out to them.
When people ask me why I gave up teaching, my answer amounts to something like, “I loved the kids, but teaching in poor school districts is hard.” They ask for examples—after all, aren’t teachers always complaining that there’s not “enough”—resources, time, money? And so I give them examples.
Like how, my first year, I had 33 fifth-graders in a small classroom in which you still had to get permission to turn on the air conditioner. Or, how our playground had one small swing set that the fourth through eighth grade had to share and a decrepit basketball court that the boys claimed, early-on relegating girls to the status of observers and facilitating the habit of standing around in small, exclusive cliques. Or, how the only ancillary was PE (no music, art, etc.) twice a week, for 45 minutes, if the PE teacher came on time--he wasn't going to keep them over if he was late.
That 45 minute period was the only during-school planning period we had. In addition to the lack of a planning period, there was no duty-free lunch, so you had to shuffle your kids through a 20-minute lunch break during which cafeteria employees and district officials expected you to keep the kids virtually silent.
Oh, and the textbooks that fell apart and (to the horror of a historian!!!) the social studies texts from pre-the fall of Communism. I taught there from 1999-2001. Some of my kids’ textbooks had my cousin Trinity’s name in them. Trinity was in the fourth and fifth grades in the 89-90 and 90-91 school years.
But mostly I tell people about the fraction test that I tried to give my fourth-grade class back in the winter of 2000 (yes, I remember). Black and white copies in my school were like some illicit drug—available, but you had to pay dearly, by begging and describing why you needed them, and endure abuse, from the office staff and teachers’ aides, to get them. Keep in mind, there is no Office Depot or whatever right down the street. The local bank would make a few copies for you for 25 cents per page or, if your pastor or church secretary felt sorry for you, you could use the church's copier.
The school wanted us to use, primarily, the purple ditto copies. When I taught fourth grade, the new principal
Blurry ditto copies on which the kids couldn’t see into how many sections a shape was divided or how many were shaded or if that number was 1/3 or 1/8 or 1/2. So I showed it to the principal.
And he said, “I’m sorry.”
I made a transparency of the original and had my kids copy the problems from the overhead. By the time they finished copying it, after I walked around pointing out errors and reminding them, "please don't begin until you have all the problems copied!", and I'd read over them aloud to make sure we were all on the same page (many children have problems transferring from board/screen to paper), they didn't have time to take the test that day. So, I took the original, drove the 20+ miles to Ruston and made copies.
And I realized, as much as I loved my kids, with a base salary of $18,600 (with a master’s degree), I couldn’t keep supplementing and buying things and trying to fill in the gaps. And I wasn’t one of those super-creative teachers who could make everything from scratch (scratch materials cost money, too, btw). That's always been strange to me, the expectation that teachers are to be these selfless, constantly giving, unconcerned about money, always super-resourceful, uber-noble individuals. Teaching in poor circumstances does inspire you... sometimes. I learned to love construction paper, glue, and cardboard. I learned to hoard nubby pencils, loose leaf, newspapers, and boxes.* But, sometimes, it just makes you exhausted beyond words.
So, I sent out the three PhD applications I’d been thinking about.
________________________________________________
* On supplies, for comparison, my son attends public school here that is consistently ranked highly in the state accountability system. The school does not send out supply lists in the summer. Instead, the PTO puts together the supplies the teachers want, boxes them by grade, and sells them at a marked up price to raise money for the PTO. The teachers there have no qualms about sending out a note the night before requesting that the kids bring something to school the next day, sending lists of things for you to buy for school activities, requesting certain types of notebooks or brands of supplies, or requesting that all the children bring a sack lunch on certain days. In Union Parish, doing such things were frowned upon because they 1)presuppose that the parents had time and money to go to the store 2) assume that the small local stores would have a wide variety of supplies for reasonable prices 3) ignore the fact that perhaps the parents of children receiving free or reduced price lunches (as the majority in my school did) had no money (especially in the middle of the week) to buy a lunch (duh!). Though the faculty at my son's school are nice, they are a bit cushioned and smug, I think, and sometimes I want to point these things out to them.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Cotton Wool
Once, I read this romance novel (not literally once; I've probably read thousands), and because it was a Harlequin Presents, the hero and heroine were English (maybe not the hero. Apparently, while white English women are teh shit, the white English men are all bland and blond and boring. No, the hero was probably Italian. Or Greek. Or some "exotic other." But I digress.)
The heroine had a really hard life (her parents had done one of the standard Ds necessary in the line--Died, Disowned her, or Distanced themselves), as hard as it can be for the 21 years that you're gorgeous and brilliant until you meet your BILLIONAIRE husband (speaking of which, I don't read the Presents line anymore, but as I pass the titles, I am amazed by how many BILLIONAIRES there are in the world. And virgins. And sheikhs. But I digress). Because her life had been so hard, the hero, who back then was probably only a meager millionaire, revealed his love (after being a complete asshole out to ruin her for 180 pages) by telling her something like, "If I could, I would wrap you in cotton wool and ease all your pain."
And, being the ignorant American, I thought, "What the hell is cotton wool? (And fortnight. And gaol. But I digress). When I realized it was just cotton, I thought, "Ohhhh. How sweet."
That phrase has stuck with me since I was a teengager. The feminist in me balks at it--another attempt to pedestal-ize and "protect." But, part of me can't help loving the sentiment and that tenderness implied in the statement (even if it is a sentiment and tenderness predicated on the concept that this is a "hard, cold" world for women). And sometimes, I feel that way about people.
See, this isn't just a sarcastic explanation about why I no longer read that particular line. It is a response to these posts by Bint and Kactus. These are strong, smart, wonderful women whom I respect. When I hear of their suffering, I think about that phrase.
The cotton wool seems impractical, but I hope they know they are wrapped in love, respect, and admiration. And I hope it does ease the pain.
The heroine had a really hard life (her parents had done one of the standard Ds necessary in the line--Died, Disowned her, or Distanced themselves), as hard as it can be for the 21 years that you're gorgeous and brilliant until you meet your BILLIONAIRE husband (speaking of which, I don't read the Presents line anymore, but as I pass the titles, I am amazed by how many BILLIONAIRES there are in the world. And virgins. And sheikhs. But I digress). Because her life had been so hard, the hero, who back then was probably only a meager millionaire, revealed his love (after being a complete asshole out to ruin her for 180 pages) by telling her something like, "If I could, I would wrap you in cotton wool and ease all your pain."
And, being the ignorant American, I thought, "What the hell is cotton wool? (And fortnight. And gaol. But I digress). When I realized it was just cotton, I thought, "Ohhhh. How sweet."
That phrase has stuck with me since I was a teengager. The feminist in me balks at it--another attempt to pedestal-ize and "protect." But, part of me can't help loving the sentiment and that tenderness implied in the statement (even if it is a sentiment and tenderness predicated on the concept that this is a "hard, cold" world for women). And sometimes, I feel that way about people.
See, this isn't just a sarcastic explanation about why I no longer read that particular line. It is a response to these posts by Bint and Kactus. These are strong, smart, wonderful women whom I respect. When I hear of their suffering, I think about that phrase.
The cotton wool seems impractical, but I hope they know they are wrapped in love, respect, and admiration. And I hope it does ease the pain.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Who Gets to "Peaceably Assemble?"
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak out for me...
Remember, at the end of School Daze, when Lawrence Fishburne is ringing that damned bell, then utters a solemn, "Wake up"?
Yeah.
From Nezua:
See BfP here and here.
H/T Sylvia, who adds
Remember, at the end of School Daze, when Lawrence Fishburne is ringing that damned bell, then utters a solemn, "Wake up"?
Yeah.
From Nezua:
THERE IS NO PEACEFUL RIGHT OF ASSEMBLY IN AMERICA. There were signs earlier, it's true. But now it can be said to be official. File this along with what you read on blogs about habeas corpus and wiretapping, this latest display of contempt for our rights: here is a clear example of excessive use of police force, of tyranny by weaponry, of unwarranted police aggression, assault and battery—on women, children, and citizens alike.
See BfP here and here.
H/T Sylvia, who adds
Say whatever bullshit you desire about your racist and classist preferences of designating living, breathing people as “alienz,” but I have a hard time thinking that born and bred, tried and true American citizens are receiving any better treatment from our so-called “representative democracy.”
It is not a crime to seek a better life.
It is not a crime to seek out opportunities for your families.
It is not a crime to agitate for fair policy.
It is not a crime to challenge unjust laws.
Suggestions?
Okay, a few people have mentioned that I'm going to have to update the name of the blog. I, of course, am 96.37% in favor of "elle, phd." But I'm thinking that after all the hectivity of the last few weeks, maybe we can all ruminate on some options.
One I've discarded: Sistorian, you know, because I'm a sister and a--
You get the point.
One I sort of like: This Woman's Work, because I'm a woman and I study women and their work, etc., etc.
Anyway, while I 1) clean up the final draft 2) decide what I want to write about Union Parish, LA and 3) get ready for a conference, please leave suggestions in the comments.
Sway me from elle, phd. That's so predictable :-p
One I've discarded: Sistorian, you know, because I'm a sister and a--
You get the point.
One I sort of like: This Woman's Work, because I'm a woman and I study women and their work, etc., etc.
Anyway, while I 1) clean up the final draft 2) decide what I want to write about Union Parish, LA and 3) get ready for a conference, please leave suggestions in the comments.
Sway me from elle, phd. That's so predictable :-p
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
May Day
Lord, as a labor historian (there's a discussion going on on h-net about whether or not I should even be calling myself that!!) I have to at least acknowledge today.
Happy May Day, people.
For today, at least, I give you permission not to dwell on the sad state of labor in the U.S.
Happy May Day, people.
For today, at least, I give you permission not to dwell on the sad state of labor in the U.S.
Thinking
Three people have given me the Thinking Blogger Award (a distinction that means the world to me, btw), and I've been promising to sit down and think about who I'd like to give it to. Not going to do a full post at this moment, but a wonderful man at the top of my list is leaving the blogosphere.
Quaker Dave.
I am so very, very sad to see him go.
Quaker Dave.
I am so very, very sad to see him go.
Carnivals
Quickly (as usual):
22nd edition of the Carnival against Sexual Violence is up at abyss2hope.
History Carnival at Clioweb coming to a computer near you shortly.
22nd edition of the Carnival against Sexual Violence is up at abyss2hope.
History Carnival at Clioweb coming to a computer near you shortly.
Monday, April 30, 2007
I Haven't Forgotten...
...the promised series. Just been busy with more pressing matters.
And I've been thinking, maybe y'all should get together and raise a collection to send me to a spa or on a cruise or something...
...cuz it's DR. ELLE, now, baby!!!!!!!
And I've been thinking, maybe y'all should get together and raise a collection to send me to a spa or on a cruise or something...
...cuz it's DR. ELLE, now, baby!!!!!!!
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
What of Rural America?
I want to do a short series on my neck of the woods back in Louisiana, brought on by a number of recent events. I'm prompted by a post to the St. Louis White Citizen's Council of the 21st Century Council of Conservatives Citizens' blog. I was going to link, but I'm not trying to leave trackbacks.
Anyway, the post was about the nationally televised case at Spearsville High in which two fifth-graders had sex in school. Initially, the poster was alarmed because wikipedia said Spearsville was 96.7% white and it just couldn't be white kids having sex. It couldn't!!
Fortunately for his psyche, a Spearsville resident wrote in to let him know that the students were black and that Spearsville High was nowhere near majority white. He was relieved and started going on about how black children mature (sexually) more quickly and he knew it couldn't have been white kids, and how the guy who responded to him wrote about Spearsville High going to hell in a handbasket because of black children in school there.
And I thought...
1) Not once is anyone talking about how the census counted not one black person in Spearsville in 2000, when I know that the village has a significant black population (there's an all black subdivision, for one). Let me just say, the fact that the historical trend of undercounting (and not counting) people of color/ignoring our communities continues ought to tell you something about our life in North Louisiana.
2) The letter-sender-inner glossed over the horrible state of education and schools in Union Parish (which I will happily tell you about in an upcoming post). No money, corruption, overpaid administrators, underpaid teachers, you name it, they got it.
3) In the high-speed car chase mentioned in the post (in which a black Spearsville High School student was killed), black people in Union Parish are very loudly suspecting foul play. The kid was being chased by police who (allegedly) left the scene of the crime then returned and were (allegedly) seen doing something questionable to the car. Now, whether or not that is true, my point is to give you an indication of how very much the police are distrusted by the black community in Union Parish. And trust me, it's for a good reason.
4) The racial divisions there are so sharp it's almost unbelievable. Almost.
So I will tell you about how this little area of rural America is dying and how so many of us who care, who crack about our country, backwards homes love them and worry and have absolutely no idea what to do.
Anyway, the post was about the nationally televised case at Spearsville High in which two fifth-graders had sex in school. Initially, the poster was alarmed because wikipedia said Spearsville was 96.7% white and it just couldn't be white kids having sex. It couldn't!!
Fortunately for his psyche, a Spearsville resident wrote in to let him know that the students were black and that Spearsville High was nowhere near majority white. He was relieved and started going on about how black children mature (sexually) more quickly and he knew it couldn't have been white kids, and how the guy who responded to him wrote about Spearsville High going to hell in a handbasket because of black children in school there.
And I thought...
1) Not once is anyone talking about how the census counted not one black person in Spearsville in 2000, when I know that the village has a significant black population (there's an all black subdivision, for one). Let me just say, the fact that the historical trend of undercounting (and not counting) people of color/ignoring our communities continues ought to tell you something about our life in North Louisiana.
2) The letter-sender-inner glossed over the horrible state of education and schools in Union Parish (which I will happily tell you about in an upcoming post). No money, corruption, overpaid administrators, underpaid teachers, you name it, they got it.
3) In the high-speed car chase mentioned in the post (in which a black Spearsville High School student was killed), black people in Union Parish are very loudly suspecting foul play. The kid was being chased by police who (allegedly) left the scene of the crime then returned and were (allegedly) seen doing something questionable to the car. Now, whether or not that is true, my point is to give you an indication of how very much the police are distrusted by the black community in Union Parish. And trust me, it's for a good reason.
4) The racial divisions there are so sharp it's almost unbelievable. Almost.
So I will tell you about how this little area of rural America is dying and how so many of us who care, who crack about our country, backwards homes love them and worry and have absolutely no idea what to do.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Caution!
Intense navel-gazing in process.
Watch out for undue self-absorption, crying jags, unprovoked anger, ceaseless guilt, and self-thrown pity parties.
I'll tell y'all all about it later.
Watch out for undue self-absorption, crying jags, unprovoked anger, ceaseless guilt, and self-thrown pity parties.
I'll tell y'all all about it later.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
When Will It Be Taken Seriously?
From the beginning, the fact that police and school officials defended their actions by dismissing the initital shootings at Virginia Tech as a "domestic issue" has shocked me. From BfP:
Her name is Emily Jane Hilscher, and she was not just a "domestic" abuse victim and she was not, as this vile account tries to fetchingly entitle “The girl who led to massacre.”* Why, why, why are we still having to assert and defend women's humanity?
Then, as I am/was typing this post, I click more links (in the comments here) and find that the shooter may have actually been stalking Hilscher, that their may never have been a romantic relationship. Thus the dismissal of her death is further problematized by the fact that it was based on assumptions and undoubtedly, the purview of people who think they've seen it all before. I can't wait for the articles that discuss how she led to her own stalking.
I know that I am not being coherent; I just can't right now, because I am so fucking angry. So, so, damned mad.
__________________________________
*I included the link so that you could go leave a comment. Please leave a comment.
The most horrible thing I’ve heard throughout the coverage of the Virginia Tech shooting has been that police did nothing after the first shootings because they had believed it to be “just” or “only” a “domestic” issue. Nobody will even call it for what it is. They thought some crazy asshole had killed his girlfriend. Sad, but not important enough to shut down a thriving campus. Disturbing, but not urgent enough to send swat teams up and down the hallways, banging on doors, pushing people out of classrooms at gunpoint.This window they provided of how people, fuck it, how police still think about "domestic" abuse--unimportant, only between two people, normal--I just don't have the words to express my disgust.
Her name is Emily Jane Hilscher, and she was not just a "domestic" abuse victim and she was not, as this vile account tries to fetchingly entitle “The girl who led to massacre.”* Why, why, why are we still having to assert and defend women's humanity?
Then, as I am/was typing this post, I click more links (in the comments here) and find that the shooter may have actually been stalking Hilscher, that their may never have been a romantic relationship. Thus the dismissal of her death is further problematized by the fact that it was based on assumptions and undoubtedly, the purview of people who think they've seen it all before. I can't wait for the articles that discuss how she led to her own stalking.
I know that I am not being coherent; I just can't right now, because I am so fucking angry. So, so, damned mad.
__________________________________
*I included the link so that you could go leave a comment. Please leave a comment.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Look What Gwyn Wrote!
Not that it's surprising--Gwyn and writing kind of go together. But I felt this the moment I read it.
Side Step
I remember being eleven and doing steps in front
of the four-story tenement we called home
twist
sophisticated lady—you know that’s me
spelling Mississippi
and saying ooo-chie-wally-wally
long before nas and the bravehearts made it a hook
I remember older black women looking at us
and shaking their heads as we battled the girls around the corner
to see who could pop that coochie and twist like this
I remember pumping with all my might
and not really knowing what I was pumping
but most of all
I remember what it felt like to be with my girls
as we each took our turn in the circle
giving off more attitude than anyone under fifteen had a right to
and knowing that we were the baddest girls out there
because we deemed it so
we said things little girls shouldn’t even know
but when I remember how we were when outside
playing
and what it was like to be one with them
and how later we’d jump double-dutch
or skate around the block
I think of how innocent we all were even as we chanted
“my man made me do it, he really, really, really . . . got on down”
slapping our hands and stomping our feet in unison
we must have felt invincible
and all of our steps occurred in the dawn
before we learned that black women’s sexuality
should be concealed
lest it be used against her in the court of public opinion
itself steeped in legacies and histories of lies
when I remember what it felt like to be so free
from cloaked and hidden sexualities
it amazes me that girlhood games gave it to me
and I hold on to it now as I smile at kim, foxy, trina, and khai
maybe they took the side step and remembered what we all forgot
I wonder if I can reclaim some of that innocent
yet brazen and brave little black girl back
Prayers
I'm just now sitting back down and seeing news reports about the shootings at Virginia Tech.
I'm keeping them in my heart.
I'm keeping them in my heart.
I'm It
Sylvia tagged me... and I need the brain break!!
A- Available or Single? The body is available but the mind is way too preoccupied.
B- Best Friend. V and KHB.
C- Cake or Pie. Cake.
D- Drink of Choice. Most Commonly--Strawberry Margaritas. But I have some good memories from my early 20s with Pink Panties
E- Essential Item. My computer and wide-ruled notebooks.
F- Favorite Color. Brown.
G- Gummi Bears or Worms. Worms.
H- Hometown. Small town, North Louisiana (I am still at least nominally pseudonymous, right?)
I- Indulgence. Romance Novels, Smirnoff Ice, and beef fajita quesadillas. All together. Preferably in bed.
J- January or February. February--January always seems rushed
K- Kids. One. If you ever hear that I have another, say to yourself, "Damn, elle slipped up!!"
L- Life is incomplete without… Humor. I need it desperately sometimes. Oh, and chocolate. Life is not worth living without chocolate.
M- Marriage Date. I don't think so.
N- Number of Siblings? Two plus Trinity.
O- Oranges or Apples? Oranges.
P- Phobias/Fears. Really (sadly) I worry that my dissertation won't meet expectations. And I worry about my child. And in the phobia category--anything that slithers, hisses, or is green.
Q- Favorite Quote(s). From my good friend, Kate September: "My writing is a bunch of good intentions and no time." "Indifference, then, is not only a sin, it is a punishment." - Elie Wiesel (thanks, Dave); "If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich." -John F. Kennedy
R- Reasons to smile. 1) The dissertation is progressing. Unevenly and with a healthy dose of blood, sweat, and tears, but it's progressing. 2) The school year is almost over.
S- Season. Autumn.
T- Tag Three. Mon, Fab, and Southern_Lady. (If you haven't already)
U- Unknown Fact About Me. It will stay unknown.
V – Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animals. I'm thinking of what I could oppress for lunch right now.
W- Worst Habit. Spending way too much time on the internet. (Had to keep that one from Sylvia. Hell to the yes!)
X – X-rays or Ultrasounds. Depends on what you're looking for. Your doctor should decide.
Y- Your Favorite Foods. Most any ;-p Seriously, when my mom is not trippin' , I love her soul food.
Z- Zodiac. Sagittarius.
A- Available or Single? The body is available but the mind is way too preoccupied.
B- Best Friend. V and KHB.
C- Cake or Pie. Cake.
D- Drink of Choice. Most Commonly--Strawberry Margaritas. But I have some good memories from my early 20s with Pink Panties
E- Essential Item. My computer and wide-ruled notebooks.
F- Favorite Color. Brown.
G- Gummi Bears or Worms. Worms.
H- Hometown. Small town, North Louisiana (I am still at least nominally pseudonymous, right?)
I- Indulgence. Romance Novels, Smirnoff Ice, and beef fajita quesadillas. All together. Preferably in bed.
J- January or February. February--January always seems rushed
K- Kids. One. If you ever hear that I have another, say to yourself, "Damn, elle slipped up!!"
L- Life is incomplete without… Humor. I need it desperately sometimes. Oh, and chocolate. Life is not worth living without chocolate.
M- Marriage Date. I don't think so.
N- Number of Siblings? Two plus Trinity.
O- Oranges or Apples? Oranges.
P- Phobias/Fears. Really (sadly) I worry that my dissertation won't meet expectations. And I worry about my child. And in the phobia category--anything that slithers, hisses, or is green.
Q- Favorite Quote(s). From my good friend, Kate September: "My writing is a bunch of good intentions and no time." "Indifference, then, is not only a sin, it is a punishment." - Elie Wiesel (thanks, Dave); "If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich." -John F. Kennedy
R- Reasons to smile. 1) The dissertation is progressing. Unevenly and with a healthy dose of blood, sweat, and tears, but it's progressing. 2) The school year is almost over.
S- Season. Autumn.
T- Tag Three. Mon, Fab, and Southern_Lady. (If you haven't already)
U- Unknown Fact About Me. It will stay unknown.
V – Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animals. I'm thinking of what I could oppress for lunch right now.
W- Worst Habit. Spending way too much time on the internet. (Had to keep that one from Sylvia. Hell to the yes!)
X – X-rays or Ultrasounds. Depends on what you're looking for. Your doctor should decide.
Y- Your Favorite Foods. Most any ;-p Seriously, when my mom is not trippin' , I love her soul food.
Z- Zodiac. Sagittarius.
Friday, April 13, 2007
R.I.P. Eddie Robinson
Lord, I've been remiss in posting about him. But you can't imagine what Coach Rob meant to generations of black children who grew up in North Louisiana. Grambling was our school, whether you had a family member who attended or not (I did--my grandfather and my Aunt Jo graduated from there).One of my best childhood memories revolves around Grambling football. One Saturday, every fall, we'd get up, when it was barely light, to get ready for the homecoming parade. We had to drive a little bit and you had to get up early to get a good spot. So, we'd freeze to death, but be so excited. And it was wonderful--from the high school bands who emulated the Tiger Marching Band (including the Carroll High band affectionately known, in North Louisiana, as "Little Grambling") to the ultimate appearance of Miss Grambling.
After the parade, we'd go eat. No light fare on Homecoming Day, uh-uh. The more grease, the better, apparently. So, sometimes we went to Spivey's Chicken in Grambling--I still remember the slogan of Spivey-licious--but it was usually too crowded. And other years we went to the Griff's Hamburgers in Ruston, across the street and a world away from Louisiana Tech. The cooks there did their own thing to those burgers and they were good--if you didn't mind the arterial damage.
And then there was the game. Baby, the Orchesis Dancers would have you wishing for rhythm and synchronization. Those sisters were always on point. And halftime? I won't even go into the show the bands put on--you know all the stereotypes. :-) 90% of the time, I didn't even know who won the game and I had a good time anyway.
And Eddie Robinson presided over it all for fifty-seven years. Yep, I had to spell that one out. Fifty-seven years of dignity, humor, grace and love. Love for football and, more importantly, love for the generations of players whose lives he touched.
“When he walked on that field in 1941, it wasn't flat, it wasn't even, it was slanted up sharply,” [LA Senator Mary] Landrieu said. “It's not level yet, but because of his life it's getting there and we all are beneficiaries of that.”God bless Coach Rob.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
F*ck Don Imus
I walked into my labor history class late today, in the midst of a discussion on Don Imus. My professor said, "Ms. elle, please join us. Do you have any comments?"
"Not any that should be spoken in a classroom," I answered (in fact, my whole commentary at that point consisted of the title of this post). He laughed and assured me that whatever I wanted to say would be okay. All semester, we've joked that a camera was hidden somewhere, documenting for posterity (and eventual trials) our way-left-of-center commentary and reviews. Today, my professor said, the camera was off.
I really didn't have much to say. I'm sick of the "If rappers do it, why is it wrong for poor Imus?" And I feel badly for anyone who was shocked by this--naive, naive souls. But mostly, I am tired. As Deborah Gray-White says, it's too heavy a load--this burden black women bear of having to constantly defend ourselves against racism and sexism. I wanted to ask, "Where the hell did that even come from?" but that would imply that there was some logic, some reason behind Don Imus and people of his ilk.
And there's just not.
Some better analyses:
Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson speak for black women?
Four Questions
“Nappy Headed Hos”
Dear MSNBC: It's time to FIRE Don Imus.
Two Weeks Ain’t Enough! and Imus Updates and Commentary
"Not any that should be spoken in a classroom," I answered (in fact, my whole commentary at that point consisted of the title of this post). He laughed and assured me that whatever I wanted to say would be okay. All semester, we've joked that a camera was hidden somewhere, documenting for posterity (and eventual trials) our way-left-of-center commentary and reviews. Today, my professor said, the camera was off.
I really didn't have much to say. I'm sick of the "If rappers do it, why is it wrong for poor Imus?" And I feel badly for anyone who was shocked by this--naive, naive souls. But mostly, I am tired. As Deborah Gray-White says, it's too heavy a load--this burden black women bear of having to constantly defend ourselves against racism and sexism. I wanted to ask, "Where the hell did that even come from?" but that would imply that there was some logic, some reason behind Don Imus and people of his ilk.
And there's just not.
Some better analyses:
Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson speak for black women?
Four Questions
“Nappy Headed Hos”
Dear MSNBC: It's time to FIRE Don Imus.
Two Weeks Ain’t Enough! and Imus Updates and Commentary
Monday, April 09, 2007
Easter Pics
My older nieces and nephew. Almost 18, 16, and 17. My 20-year-old niece was recuperating from Sunrise service.
My son's little brother, my goddaughter Belle, my nephew, my godson G, and my son immediately after church.
The kid and his little brother. I cherish the moments they get along.
My oh-so-grow-up cousin. Eight going on 28!
My sister pretending to watch the annual, after-Easter-services softball game. Apparently, it was too cold to smile.
A fuzzy Trinity and me.
Another cousin, Crys
The kid and Belle.
My Belle
Just because she is the most amazing going-on-five-year-old on the planet, a post dedicated to my goddaughter Belle! (Just ignore the ketchup beside her mouth.)With my son at a church league basketball game over spring break.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Blog Against Sexual Violence
Today is the Blog Against Sexual Violence Day sparked by A Day to End Sexual Violence. While I regrettably don't have time to write up a post (at least today), I'm going to provide links tomorrow. Thanks to Marcella for coordinating this.
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