Whoa!

Conferences and campus visits and conflicts... oh my!!

Today was a pretty good day though. I felt like posting, but I have little to report. :-)

I've been hesitant to admit that I'm having the interviews--campus visits--anticipation cycle, cuz if I don't get a job, I'll probably be embarrassed.

But oh, well, this is part of the academic life, right? And y'all will still think I'm cool, huh?

Plus, I'm not exactly miserable where I am and this could become more than a visiting position because of faculty retirements.

So, yeah, that's what's up. I've done a black history month presentation. I have two conferences coming up. And I'm going to the OAH--rural Louisiana girl in New York for the first time? I'm excited and TERRIFIED!! Will I get lost? Should I carry my purse?

So this semester is CRAZY--add in a little personal turmoil and you get elle in the perpetual state of "running behind."

I'm feeling a lot more confident in the Western Civ class. Way too many decisions about the Post 45 class (it's my field!! I wanna show clips from every relevant film!! Deciding the book/article list was hell--I wanted to include like, a hundred things!!). And the pre-1877 class is okay--but the thing is, I promise myself each semester that I'm going to be all comfortable with that class because I've taught it forever... and then I add or subtract something, shift focus, etc.

My kid had a cool science project on the water cycle. My sister's baby shower is March 8. My IRL and internet friends are the most supportive, understanding women in the world.

And I am tired.

But, for today, I'm okay.

Support the New Jersey Four

Via BFP:

Amy Winter has designed a beautiful new website dedicated to the New Jersey 4. At www.justice4nj4.com, you’ll find ways we can help the four imprisoned young women. There’s also a discussion board, so you can share your opinions, ideas, experiences, announcements, and any actions you plan to take on behalf of the NJ4. We’ll be adding more to the site soon, including:

* additional ways to help the 4 and their families
* upcoming events in support of the 4
* more information about the case, including the media coverage
* updates about the young women and their legal appeal
* personal messages from members of the 4 and family members

I'ma Get On It, Really

This so-called black historian of black history must defer to her colleagues in their timely celebrations of Black History Month:

Shark-Fu posted about Mrs. Fannie Lou Hamer, whom I absolutely love, love, love. She was just so strong and real and vibrant.

Anxious Black Woman wrote about Mrs. Hamer, as well, as part of her Black Herstory focus. She's also written about Ida B. Wells, Harriet Tubman, and Mary E. Pleasant.

And Sylvia is going to explore the theme "we are more alike, my friends, than we are unlike."

Because I'm reading about SNCC right now, I'm determined to write about Diane Nash and Ruby Doris Smith Robinson this month.

A Brighter Moment

My mom found this at the dollar store. After laughing uncontrollably, I have decided this is my new slogan:

My mom laughed with me and told me she figured it would make me smile. Have I mentioned lately that I adore her?

Aggravation

So once her mom put her out, my parents and I started to help care for Alexandria, though she lived primarily with her girlfriend.

After three weeks, a talk with the pastor, and dealing with her issues about "what people are saying," Alexandria's mom decided she should come home. But she didn't just tell her she should come home. She threatened to get the police involved again--if Alex wouldn't come home voluntarily she'd ship her to a girl's home.

Initially, Alex chose the home. But after tears, pleas, and arguments from her girlfriend, my best friend, another friend, and me, she went home.

I worry, of course, but I really try to put myself in her mom's place.

She really believes Alex is going to hell because she's a lesbian.

She really believes Alex is the most rebellious teen ever and that her (the mom's) reactions and disapproval and repeatedly putting her out have nothing to do with that.

She really believes I should have, hell, could have influenced Alex in some way. Basically, she is mad that Alex and her girlfriend have been around me together. She expected more from me, she says. Something is not quite right about me, she has decided. In short, she has displaced a lot of her negative feelings about a whole lot of things onto me.

I'm trying to figure out how to deal with it. On the one hand, I have friends telling me to let it ride--she expected that I shared her beliefs. She's a bit insecure because it seems that Alex has bonded better with another mother figure. She really just didn't know me and is surprised.

And in a sense, I am trying to wash my hands of it. But, in another way, I can't. She's beginning to attack my character--because I am not against Alex's relationship with her girlfriend, because I love Alex despite the fact that she does need to humble herself and learn to listen sometimes, I have become, in her view, a "bad" person.

And I have asked her, "When you put her out, did you expect me to turn my back?"

She said no, but that seems to be exactly what she expected.

Sometimes, I really regret moving back here.

Did You Know...

...Under Ulrich Zwingli, New Hampshire became the first Protestant state outside Germany?

...Transubstantiation is when you burglarize the church?

...Martin Luther had more than 95 Theses; it's just that only 95 would fit on the door?

...said truncated theses primarily critiqued the Church's selling of 1) Bibles or 2) alcohol?

Brought to you by "elle's Tales from Western Civ."

A Late...

Get more at LayoutsMania.com

To all my Sorors of the illustrious Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc.

95 years strong today!

Political Commentary

In the fine tradition of passing the buck, let me ask y'all what my BFF sort of asked me this morning: any thoughts about the unfolding presidential brouhaha?

My quick ideas:

I was surprised Obama won in Iowa.

I was pissed about the big deal made of Clinton's show of emotion.

I was surprised Clinton won in New Hampshire.

Ummm, where the hell did Mike Huckabee come from?

Who the hell are the candidates for the two big parties going to be?

And showcasing my political ignorance: What is the big deal about caucuses and primaries? I know what they are. I understand to a certain extent why they're important for judging the proverbial lay of the land, but it seems like a lot of time and effort are expended on these things. Is it worth it?

Thoughts? Observations? School me!

What the Weather Should Be

D.C. was cold. If you've read my blog for any length of time, you know that temperataures below 55 are just uncalled for in my opinion. Had it not been for the fact that I stayed with a dear friend (who had my ass traipsing through Georgetown in heels in the cold--I must love him), I would've spent all my downtime shivering beneath the covers.

Tomorrow, the projected high here is 72. In January. I am so glad to be home.

On My Way...

to the AHA.

See y'all soon!

Just an Observation...

So a few days ago, the LA Lakers wore retro (short, close-fitting) shorts in a game versus the Celtics. Kobe was not so thrilled:

I don't know what it feels like to wear a thong, but I imagine it feels something like what we had on in the first half. I felt violated. I felt naked. It's one thing to see films with guys wearing those things. ... I'd rather stay warm, man.

Which leads me to wonder if he's at all empathic towards his co-workers who regularly have to sacrifice "warmth" for "uniform gimmicks" like short shorts, in order to entertain the fans?

Just sayin'.

Late Night Snack

So late last night/early this morning, I experienced my usual craving for a snack. I decided to make a sandwich. My mom had turkey, but I didn't feel like warming it up.

**An aside, my grandmother used to tell us if we ate cold lunch meat, we'd get worms. So we had to warm everything in a skillet (hot dogs had to be washed and boiled) before ingesting it. Later on, I would eat cold ham, justifying my choice by saying, "Duh, elle, it's a cold cut." Then I realized, I don't like cold meat (the people who eat cold fried chicken on picnics really intrigue me). Just last week, my grandmother's claim was given some credence (sort of) by my sister's OB/Gyn who told my sis to avoid cold cuts because of bacterial issues.**

Back to the story already in progress. I pulled out two slices of bread. I was absolutely delighted by how soft they were (that's something else I don't like-hard bread!!! Not even bread that's supposed to be hard). I grabbed a jar of peanut butter and spread a thin layer on one slice of bread. Then, I opened the refrigerator, already anticipating the sweet contrast of that cold grape jelly and...

we were out. Which is when it dawned on me that my last night time snack, a delightful eggs-bacon-and-toast sandwich, had required the use of the last of the grape jelly.

I should note that my son is the only person in this family who eats peanut butter solo. It's too thick and plain for that! But what could I do? Cause, according to my grandmother, even worse than eating cold cold cuts, is wasting food. So I tried to find a jelly-substitute.

I thought briefly of syrup--my cousin used to fix us syrup and peanut butter sandwiches when we were little. Then I remembered all his baby teeth rotted out so I nixed that idea. My search revealed a can of whipped cream, some chocolate syrup and a pack of apple jelly left over from one of my father's sausage biscuit breakfasts. No, no, and no. My gaze alighted briefly on some jars of honey and I pondered that, but it just didn't sound appealing.

So plain peanut butter it would be. I had some misgivings, a sense of something's-not-quite-right, but I was hungry. Dejected, I placed the un-jellied slice of bread back in the bag, decided to make a little fold-over, and ate it.

The reasons for my misgivings were soon clear. Somewhere on it's leisurely journey down the esophageal path, that damned sandwich got stuck. Right in the middle of my chest. And no amount of drinking or moving would dislodge it. So, not only was I unsatisfied, I was in pain.

I took some acid reflux medicine and eventually the knot moved.

But I am even more convinced that peanut butter is not meant to stand alone.

I Almost Said...

Living in a world in which we have to deal with other people and their -isms/assumptions/stereotypes, the art of telling people off is a valuable skill to possess. In my late teens (three or four years ago), my proficiency was limited to "Bitch, I know you didn't-" and name-calling.

But over time, I have honed and refined my ability, learned to use the sweetest words to make the sharpest point. Sometimes, I am so clever and adroit, that it takes people a minute to realize they've even been told off. There's nothing like watching that uncertain, flickering smile disappear from the face of someone who has insulted you as awareness dawns.

Time has wrought another change as well--I'm not as easily offended as I once was. I've learned to bite my tongue, give people the benefit of the doubt, and comfort myself with the knowledge that I know the truth that undermines ignorant assumptions.

Still, there are the occasions when I feel the need to set people "right." And there's no worse feeling than lost opportunities. I've been thinking of times I should've told someone off and was simply too shocked or too slow to do so. Prime examples:

1. When the white girl with whom I'd been having a pleasant conversation in a store reacted with shock at my assertion that I'd taught classes at Louisiana Tech. "Are you sure?" she asked me, "It must have been Grambling [the local HBCU]. I'm sure it wasn't Tech."

2. When the best friend of a person I'd been sharing a reciprocal flirtation with told me he didn't think I was his best friend's type because of my Pretty, Hot, And Tempting physique. Not that his friend had said anything like that but he'd never seen his friend with someone "like me."

3. Every single time I pass this certain male professor in the hallway and he looks me up and down then smirks. I can just see his desire to pet me on the head.

So, whom should YOU have told off?

Unproductive

So usually when I'm slacking on one thing, I'm on the ball on some other. But lately, I am thoroughly unproductive.

I'm not cooking.
I'm not prepping for the spring semester.
I'm not reading.
And most upsetting to me, I'm not writing.

I can't even have a good cry to get over this spell. I cry like two minutes at wide-spaced intervals and that's it. Last night, tears actually got caught in the corners of my eyes and would not fall.

Perhaps, I thought, I am tired of the house. So last night, in a really inconsiderate way, I called up a guy to whom I'd given a raincheck and was like, if you can meet me in one hour, we can do something.

But, as sweet as he was (is!), when I got home, I felt the same. I decided to write something, at least catalogue how I was feeling. I grabbed looseleaf and a blue pen (that's my serious writing gear) and...

nothing.

All I could think of was a story from my long ago days teaching elementary. In the middle of class, one of my students was trying to describe how she felt about some event and she told her classmate, "Girl, my bones were even sad."

And I said something to the effect of, "Hush, little grown girl, your bones can't be sad."

She insisted that, yes, they could.

Eventually, I understood her. And right now, my bones are even sad. I'm frozen (dreading going to the AHA next weekend!) in space. I'm also apparently not fooling anyone because my BFF came up here this morning. I cried for two minutes again.

For three hours, she worked her usual magic to reassure and support me and to kick my ass in gear. And while I don't think I feel better, I must.

Because I wrote this, right?

The Totally Unbiased, Cutest Baby in the World Post.

My new niece. Why, yes, we know!

Free Concert!

My nine-year-old son ripped his whole dance style from Chris Brown and Columbus Short's character in Stomp the Yard. He's not quite as rythmic or flexible, but that's another story.

Apparently, the Chris Brown madness begins even earlier. Check out my four-year-old godson:

How I Know I'm Back in the Rural South

Actual sign from the high school basketball game I attended tonight:

The Problem with the Blogging...

...is that it's hard for me right now. The words, despite temporary blocks, used to come easily. I've been looking through my archives, and I realize I used to come here and tell the silliest stories--sometimes with a point, sometimes with absolutely none.

And then I realized, I don't feel free to do that anymore. I have these self-imposed standards, this habit of comparing myself to others and judging myself way insufficient. I always want to say something profound and meaningful and... right. Like, I play posts out in my head a million times to try to figure out the ways they might be perceived. For example, the post with pictures of my son below--it took me a while to put that up because I have so many feelings about the military in general and about who the military uses and how it uses them and the effects on our communities. But on the other hand, my child loves Coti and he was glad to share that day with her.

So, I'm trying to reclaim my blog, trying to make it personal, political, silly, serious, reflective of the whole me.

Even More Cuteness...

Trying to placate a sleepy Nick.

The pacifier just isn't sufficient! This just might work... Going... Gone.

More pictures!

Coti took The Kid to drill for family day.

This one includes Coti's best friend, Nicarlo.