I joined an alumni site of my old high school a couple of months ago. At first, it was cool: a trip back down memory lane, reconnecting with some people I haven't seen in many moons and who, upon further thought, I wouldn't mind the reconnection.
Then there are the bible-thumping idiots who are ruining the site. (yeah, I said it).
My hometown is heavily religious. Churches abound and Christianity rules. Protestant-based religions are the norm, with Baptist being one of the big ones. Then there is the abundance of storefront churches and their ilk, with creative, rather long names like Temple of the Anointed Apostolic Assembly of God the Redeemer Who Lives. A small sect of Muslims have staked their claim, as evidenced by the Muslim school and mosque that have stood for at least the past 10 years.
Good for them.
Back to this alumni site. I was asked by one of the admins to contribute original content, which I did. I definitely didn't expect to be vilified by those who proclaim Jesus as their personal savior. If bibles could have been thrown, I would have been buried in them...all because I didn't feel like adding to my friend list those who made my high school life unpleasant. The"people change" and "forgiveness is divine" mantras flew so much, it was like the product of one huge Vulcan mind meld. One even went so far as to tell me that during his ten years of ministry, he noticed that those who didn't forgive didn't have a relationship with Jesus.
Hmm...someone else (a voice of reason!) brought up a point: just because someone has changed, and that I've forgiven them for being teenage demon seed, doesn't mean that I need to invite them into my personal space for them to demonstrate that they have indeed change. I also added that having x amount of years in anyone's ministry doesn't qualify one to be an expert on Jesus, God, and the Gospel, any more than standing in a garage makes you a car (word to Joyce Meyer).
I read the comments of these people, and also notice that one of the most popular groups is a group for those who love Jesus. Now, I'm not knocking anyone's spiritual path (I believe in God myself), but hitting everyone over the head with it is a bit much. Everyone has their own personal connection with God/Allah/Buddha/(insert your favorite deity here), and that is that person's choice on how to walk it.
Then again...my hometown is not known for its original thinking.
As noted in my blog profile, I state that my location is the Federal Witness Protection Program. Today, someone actually posted a comment telling me that he practiced law for many years and that I shouldn't be on the Internet if I was in this program.
*head in hands*
Jesus, be a critical thinker.
I never noticed how...cult-like the religious activity is in this town.
Loving God, Jesus, or whomever your Higher Power is is one thing, but the God I serve doesn't want His followers to fall for the okeydoke, either. He liked people to use the brains He gave them. There is a scripture about narrow is the way and strait is the gate to Heaven...well, a bunch of people spouting Scripture without thought of what it actually means brings to mind another incident--Jim Jones, anyone?
Well, the Kool-Aid must be mighty good down here. Or maybe it's anointed sweet tea (this is the South, after all).
I saw a bumper sticker that says it best: God wants spiritual fruit, not religious nuts. The people in this town are clear examples of the latter category, as is anyone who blindly follows a religious system that is predicated and mandates such blindness...especially since anyone other than a pastor/bishop/reverend is apparently too low on the totem pole for God to speak to and through directly.
Faith is one thing (and is highly recommended), but deliberate ignorance is unacceptable. Repeat the mantra: stupid people should be avoided because they will get you killed. You see what happens to lemmings. Exactly.
Speaking of religious leaders...the whole self-appointment of titles has always amused me. Call me a bit sheltered, but it has alwyas been my understanding that the only true Bishops are either of the Catholic faith--where the title of Bishop requires YEARS of study, work, and ceremony...even a special outfit, complete with purple sash and amethyst ring)--or of the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) faith (think Bishop Vashti Murphy McKenzie)--come to think of it, their bishops wear purple, too.
(y'all need to read The Thorn Birds. For real.)
Yet people are so quick to follow behind someone who adopts such a moniker and proclaims him-or herself to be on God's speed dial.
I guess slavery isn't outlawed after all.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Crossing The Same River Twice
I'm home for an extended visit, and the adage is indeed true: you can't cross the same river twice because at the point where you crossed, it's not the same river and you're not the same (wo)man.
*drops $20 in the collection plate*
Truer words were never spoken.
I've been gone a long time: 11 years and some change, to be exact. And I would expect that some changes would occur: new buildings, things like that. What I didn't count on was that the biggest change would be me.
To say that I am not the same person who left here 11 years ago is an understatement. I have lived on both coasts, and mainly up north. I've experienced things that a lot of people haven't (some of which I hope no one will ever have to deal with). I've met so many different types of people that have opened my eyes to the true vastness of this big rock we call Earth. I've been able to live a gypsy life due to being single with no children (I had a cat, God rest her furry soul, but she fit under an airplane seat and rather enjoyed flying), and my life is the richer for it (more financially challenged, but still richer).
My extended visit while I figure out my next move has, so far, been a challenge. Let's stick in another adage: the more things change, the more they stay the same. Yes, there are new buildings, new highways, and new housing developments, but the overall mentality is still the same. It's comforting, yet it also saddens me. I may have been a square peg among round holes back in the day, but now I'm like a camel trying to fit through the eye of a needle.
A relative kept asking me my plans for a Saturday, being that she was concerned about how much time I was keeping to myself. What she fails to understand is: I have friends here. Old friends, good friends, and they will always be such. However, over the years our lives have taken different paths: some have children. Some are in relationships or married. Some have to care for ailing relatives. Some are focused on careers. That being said, my absence may have created a slight vacuum that they have filled otherwise, and it would be arrogant of me to think that I could just slide back into my previous role. For one, I no longer fit and for two, that spot may no longer be available.
(more on my arrogance later).
When I was a Girl Scout many, many moons ago, I learned a song that said,
Make new friends but keep the old
One is silver and the other gold
Perhaps it's time to mine for silver and just keep the gold in a vault: something to be taken out once in a while and admired, and polished to keep it shining...before returning it to the vault due to being so valuable and in need of protection and security.
Now, back to my arrogance: I'm in an area with a lot of colleges within a 15-mile radius. In my hometown, one of them is extremely prominent (and a sister institution has bought up most of my hometown. *sigh*). Not trying to be mean, but one would think that with all of that brainpower concentrated in the same spot, there would be a higher level of...intellectual discourse, shall we say.
Nope.
Like most of us, we are loyal to our alma maters and, of course, think that we went to the best school in the universe. At home, with so many institutions of higher learning so close together, that cliquishness is taken to a whole 'nother level. One may be forgiven for attending a different school within that aforementioned 15-mile radius, and you may get a (albeit begrudging) pass for going to school outside of the radius but within the state (and it depends on the school as well)...but woe unto those who crossed state lines altogether (like me).
It doesn't really help matters that my alma mater is considered one of the top schools in the country (it's even has a more prestigious reputation than the big-dog college in my hometown--we even spawned a two-term US president!). I went to school with minor royalty, celebrities and kids of celebrities (Missy Gold--that cute little girl on the old show Benson-- and Chutney Ross, daughter of Diana Ross, also graduated from there). It was difficult to get admitted to my alma mater, and even more difficult to get out. That, combined with the area in which the school is located, lends its alumni a...yes, an arrogance. We not only made the cut, but we ran the gauntlet and got out...bruised, battered, poorer, illusions shattered, but alive and with that huge piece of lambskin in hand. A lot of folks can't say that. It's understood (and even subtly encouraged) in the area where the school is, since a lot of us get tapped for jobs there after graduation. But outside of that area, well...the wicket gets sticky.
Outside of a college environment, there seems to be a lack of...well, people like me. I can't describe it; it 's just a feeling, a way of life that knows you've danced with the best of the best and came out on the other side, and the people around you are cut from the same cloth. I mean, staying in one place my whole life is such a foreign concept to me (and kids to boot!), yet I am surrounded by many who have done just that. Finding a common ground (for me) just becomes that much more difficult.
Sounds arrogant? Yep. But that's my head space right now, and I miss it.
I miss a certain level of intellectual stimulation, even as I understood that this may be the case upon coming back. I miss a certain level of acceptance of differences. I miss being able to truly be me. Coming back, I've had to try to stay true to myself in the face of those who wish to keep me in a box so that they could feel more comfortable (and safe), and it's beginning to stifle.
Sometimes I feel like Louis Farrakhan at a pig pickin'.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
*drops $20 in the collection plate*
Truer words were never spoken.
I've been gone a long time: 11 years and some change, to be exact. And I would expect that some changes would occur: new buildings, things like that. What I didn't count on was that the biggest change would be me.
To say that I am not the same person who left here 11 years ago is an understatement. I have lived on both coasts, and mainly up north. I've experienced things that a lot of people haven't (some of which I hope no one will ever have to deal with). I've met so many different types of people that have opened my eyes to the true vastness of this big rock we call Earth. I've been able to live a gypsy life due to being single with no children (I had a cat, God rest her furry soul, but she fit under an airplane seat and rather enjoyed flying), and my life is the richer for it (more financially challenged, but still richer).
My extended visit while I figure out my next move has, so far, been a challenge. Let's stick in another adage: the more things change, the more they stay the same. Yes, there are new buildings, new highways, and new housing developments, but the overall mentality is still the same. It's comforting, yet it also saddens me. I may have been a square peg among round holes back in the day, but now I'm like a camel trying to fit through the eye of a needle.
A relative kept asking me my plans for a Saturday, being that she was concerned about how much time I was keeping to myself. What she fails to understand is: I have friends here. Old friends, good friends, and they will always be such. However, over the years our lives have taken different paths: some have children. Some are in relationships or married. Some have to care for ailing relatives. Some are focused on careers. That being said, my absence may have created a slight vacuum that they have filled otherwise, and it would be arrogant of me to think that I could just slide back into my previous role. For one, I no longer fit and for two, that spot may no longer be available.
(more on my arrogance later).
When I was a Girl Scout many, many moons ago, I learned a song that said,
Make new friends but keep the old
One is silver and the other gold
Perhaps it's time to mine for silver and just keep the gold in a vault: something to be taken out once in a while and admired, and polished to keep it shining...before returning it to the vault due to being so valuable and in need of protection and security.
Now, back to my arrogance: I'm in an area with a lot of colleges within a 15-mile radius. In my hometown, one of them is extremely prominent (and a sister institution has bought up most of my hometown. *sigh*). Not trying to be mean, but one would think that with all of that brainpower concentrated in the same spot, there would be a higher level of...intellectual discourse, shall we say.
Nope.
Like most of us, we are loyal to our alma maters and, of course, think that we went to the best school in the universe. At home, with so many institutions of higher learning so close together, that cliquishness is taken to a whole 'nother level. One may be forgiven for attending a different school within that aforementioned 15-mile radius, and you may get a (albeit begrudging) pass for going to school outside of the radius but within the state (and it depends on the school as well)...but woe unto those who crossed state lines altogether (like me).
It doesn't really help matters that my alma mater is considered one of the top schools in the country (it's even has a more prestigious reputation than the big-dog college in my hometown--we even spawned a two-term US president!). I went to school with minor royalty, celebrities and kids of celebrities (Missy Gold--that cute little girl on the old show Benson-- and Chutney Ross, daughter of Diana Ross, also graduated from there). It was difficult to get admitted to my alma mater, and even more difficult to get out. That, combined with the area in which the school is located, lends its alumni a...yes, an arrogance. We not only made the cut, but we ran the gauntlet and got out...bruised, battered, poorer, illusions shattered, but alive and with that huge piece of lambskin in hand. A lot of folks can't say that. It's understood (and even subtly encouraged) in the area where the school is, since a lot of us get tapped for jobs there after graduation. But outside of that area, well...the wicket gets sticky.
Outside of a college environment, there seems to be a lack of...well, people like me. I can't describe it; it 's just a feeling, a way of life that knows you've danced with the best of the best and came out on the other side, and the people around you are cut from the same cloth. I mean, staying in one place my whole life is such a foreign concept to me (and kids to boot!), yet I am surrounded by many who have done just that. Finding a common ground (for me) just becomes that much more difficult.
Sounds arrogant? Yep. But that's my head space right now, and I miss it.
I miss a certain level of intellectual stimulation, even as I understood that this may be the case upon coming back. I miss a certain level of acceptance of differences. I miss being able to truly be me. Coming back, I've had to try to stay true to myself in the face of those who wish to keep me in a box so that they could feel more comfortable (and safe), and it's beginning to stifle.
Sometimes I feel like Louis Farrakhan at a pig pickin'.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
A Happy Meal in a Super-Sized World
It's official: having meat on your bones is the new black.
For those that beg to differ: have you seen clothing stores lately? Being petite is not the hotness. Petite Sophisticate (R.I.P.) closed its doors a few years ago. Cacique, which used to be my favorite lingerie store, made a change and now caters exclusively to full-figured women.
For those of you who have felt shunned by stores in the past, you may not give a whit; in fact, you may be rejoicing at the downfall of the single-digit-sized women. You may be gleeful that the pendulum is finally swinging your way. I, for one, ain't mad at y'all. Take back the...er...dressing rooms. Love your rolls. Do you.
However...this trend in clothing has left me feeling rather bereft as I continue to struggle and find decent clothes. It's not easy being a Happy Meal in a Super-Sized world.
Contrary to popular belief, being small is not all it's cracked up to be. My waist size corresponds properly to those in the Juniors department, but being over 30 has added layers of cellulite (and hips! Who knew?) that prevent me for getting a pair of pants in that department over my thighs. I'm too small for the Misses department, which also has the dubious distinction of offering lots of clothes with shoulder pads (which are so 1980s), metallic designs, and beads/mirrors. Yes, the better department stores offer petite sizes but depending on the store, the selections are either not that appealing, or the prices are out of control (when you don't fit--literally--the mainstream market, you have to pay the cost to be the boss).
Case in point: I was online, looking at some lingerie. I did a sort by bra size (yes, I am mammary-challenged) and was a bit dismayed to see my choices reduced from over twenty pages to ONE. From hundreds of bras to just 23.
GRRRRRR...
And, to add insult to injury, none of the bras were under $35. Yes, I know there are places I could get a lot less expensive bras, such as Marshall's and TJ Maxx...but 1) I prefer quality over quantity, and you're not going to find quality bras under $30 and 2) The mammary-challenged don't have much of a selection at discount stores. I know I'm not that big, but the next step down is a training bra, and I am NOT going there!
(for those who would suggest that I get a Wonderbra: the only thing a Wonderbra does for me is make me WONDER why I don't have much cleavage. But I digress.)
And WHY do bras in my size have padding?! I mean regular, everyday bras, not the push-up bras or specialty bras in that vein. If I wanted padding, I would get a Wonderbra, or one of those gel-filled ones. I like my bras rather unadulterated: underwire (sag does not discriminate), some nice trimming, comfort, and keep it moving. I do not want to be buried under layers of Lycra or whatever because a designer (probably male) is feeding into the societal brainwash of bigger breasts are better breasts. This goes back to the whole mother/whore, Oedipal complex type of thing, which is a whole 'nother discussion.
Okay...off to try and find something in my size. Thanks for stopping by.
T.
For those that beg to differ: have you seen clothing stores lately? Being petite is not the hotness. Petite Sophisticate (R.I.P.) closed its doors a few years ago. Cacique, which used to be my favorite lingerie store, made a change and now caters exclusively to full-figured women.
For those of you who have felt shunned by stores in the past, you may not give a whit; in fact, you may be rejoicing at the downfall of the single-digit-sized women. You may be gleeful that the pendulum is finally swinging your way. I, for one, ain't mad at y'all. Take back the...er...dressing rooms. Love your rolls. Do you.
However...this trend in clothing has left me feeling rather bereft as I continue to struggle and find decent clothes. It's not easy being a Happy Meal in a Super-Sized world.
Contrary to popular belief, being small is not all it's cracked up to be. My waist size corresponds properly to those in the Juniors department, but being over 30 has added layers of cellulite (and hips! Who knew?) that prevent me for getting a pair of pants in that department over my thighs. I'm too small for the Misses department, which also has the dubious distinction of offering lots of clothes with shoulder pads (which are so 1980s), metallic designs, and beads/mirrors. Yes, the better department stores offer petite sizes but depending on the store, the selections are either not that appealing, or the prices are out of control (when you don't fit--literally--the mainstream market, you have to pay the cost to be the boss).
Case in point: I was online, looking at some lingerie. I did a sort by bra size (yes, I am mammary-challenged) and was a bit dismayed to see my choices reduced from over twenty pages to ONE. From hundreds of bras to just 23.
GRRRRRR...
And, to add insult to injury, none of the bras were under $35. Yes, I know there are places I could get a lot less expensive bras, such as Marshall's and TJ Maxx...but 1) I prefer quality over quantity, and you're not going to find quality bras under $30 and 2) The mammary-challenged don't have much of a selection at discount stores. I know I'm not that big, but the next step down is a training bra, and I am NOT going there!
(for those who would suggest that I get a Wonderbra: the only thing a Wonderbra does for me is make me WONDER why I don't have much cleavage. But I digress.)
And WHY do bras in my size have padding?! I mean regular, everyday bras, not the push-up bras or specialty bras in that vein. If I wanted padding, I would get a Wonderbra, or one of those gel-filled ones. I like my bras rather unadulterated: underwire (sag does not discriminate), some nice trimming, comfort, and keep it moving. I do not want to be buried under layers of Lycra or whatever because a designer (probably male) is feeding into the societal brainwash of bigger breasts are better breasts. This goes back to the whole mother/whore, Oedipal complex type of thing, which is a whole 'nother discussion.
Okay...off to try and find something in my size. Thanks for stopping by.
T.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Bait and Switch: Reflections on Outsourcing and Name Changes
For those of you who are uninformed, I also do technical writing. I get emails and phone calls from recruiters all over the country for jobs...well, all over the country. They pull my contact info from the IT resume databases that are online, shoot me an email and/or give me a call, and hope for the best.
Within the past four hours I have received three emails for the same position, each one more personalized than the last. The final one was from a guy we'll call Josh Brady*, personalized with my name, his phone number, and a plea to call him since the position needs to be filled ASAP.
(for this particular position, since it's a state government position, your name can only be submitted by ONE recruitment agency or else you're disqualified for a YEAR from being submitted again, so choosing the right recruiter is key).
I figured, what the hay, and called, and got his voicemail. And got a surprise.
Josh Brady sounded like his name should have been Jakinpur Bhaddisatva...and I know his mama didn't name him Josh, and I doubt seriously that his father's last name was Brady (unless Dad rolled out during "Josh"'s formative years and Mom was the primary influence).
*sigh*
We all know that US companies, in the never-ending quest to keep a tight bottom line, have been outsourcing certain services overseas to India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, etc. because they don't have to pay as much to workers there in order to get the job done. I've noticed that when I contact customer service for a company (even via chat) names have been Americanized, perhaps in a pithy attempt to lessen the backlash from people such as myself who want to speak to someone AMERICAN, and who resent the whole outsourcing movement.
(we resent the whole H1-B visa thing too, but that's another story for another day).
I can't front: I did choose to contact this recruiter because his name sounded American. Yet and still, I didn't appreciate the bait-and-switch when I heard his voicemail message. I mean, if you're not American, that's cool; it is what it is. But faking the funk is unacceptable.
I may just give one of those other recruiters a chance, because they didn't try to misrepresent themselves.
BRING JOBS BACK TO THE USA!!
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
*names changed to protect the shady
Within the past four hours I have received three emails for the same position, each one more personalized than the last. The final one was from a guy we'll call Josh Brady*, personalized with my name, his phone number, and a plea to call him since the position needs to be filled ASAP.
(for this particular position, since it's a state government position, your name can only be submitted by ONE recruitment agency or else you're disqualified for a YEAR from being submitted again, so choosing the right recruiter is key).
I figured, what the hay, and called, and got his voicemail. And got a surprise.
Josh Brady sounded like his name should have been Jakinpur Bhaddisatva...and I know his mama didn't name him Josh, and I doubt seriously that his father's last name was Brady (unless Dad rolled out during "Josh"'s formative years and Mom was the primary influence).
*sigh*
We all know that US companies, in the never-ending quest to keep a tight bottom line, have been outsourcing certain services overseas to India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, etc. because they don't have to pay as much to workers there in order to get the job done. I've noticed that when I contact customer service for a company (even via chat) names have been Americanized, perhaps in a pithy attempt to lessen the backlash from people such as myself who want to speak to someone AMERICAN, and who resent the whole outsourcing movement.
(we resent the whole H1-B visa thing too, but that's another story for another day).
I can't front: I did choose to contact this recruiter because his name sounded American. Yet and still, I didn't appreciate the bait-and-switch when I heard his voicemail message. I mean, if you're not American, that's cool; it is what it is. But faking the funk is unacceptable.
I may just give one of those other recruiters a chance, because they didn't try to misrepresent themselves.
BRING JOBS BACK TO THE USA!!
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
*names changed to protect the shady
Thursday, June 19, 2008
What Were They Smoking? Reflections on Not-So-Smart Food Trends
"Advertising tells you what's wrong with you, and then tells you how to cure it."
--"I'm Still Waiting" by Colin Channer, Got To Be Real (anthology)
Back on the food thing again: as I walked through the grocery store in a sticker shock-induced fog, I did notice some of the oddest things. I've seen some of these things before but, in the grand scheme of things, I had to ask myself: WHY? Who thought these things up? And how much money did they get to do so?
Zero calories. Wow. I can get the same effect from drinking...water! And guess what: water's free (from the tap, that is)!
(this was promptly and hilariously pointed out by that classic movie, The Princess Bride. Watch it sometime).
Folks get caught up in that zero-calorie kick, forgetting about little things like artificial coloring and flavoring, cancer-causing aspartame and its spinoffs, and the teeny fact that Coke products contain phosphoric acid and thus will literally remove the enamel from your teeth...along with rust from a car battery, rings from a toilet, and stains from your clothing. If you don't believe me, do a Google search and find out.
There are probably more things that my fogged brain missed, but these were the ones that stood out. I wonder how many of these gimmicks will fall by the wayside as the recession creeps along? Who knows...maybe one day they will end up on informercials, sandwiched between pleas for Anushka cellulite cream, Ginsu knives, and psychic hotlines.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
--"I'm Still Waiting" by Colin Channer, Got To Be Real (anthology)
Back on the food thing again: as I walked through the grocery store in a sticker shock-induced fog, I did notice some of the oddest things. I've seen some of these things before but, in the grand scheme of things, I had to ask myself: WHY? Who thought these things up? And how much money did they get to do so?
- Salad spray. You've seen these: they are flavored sprays of salad dressing that you spray on your salad. Allegedly, they have a lot less calories than actually pouring regular salad dressing from a bottle onto your salad.
- 100-calorie packs of cookies and crackers. These are little bags of cookies and crackers that add up to a 100-calorie serving. They are all prepackaged for your convenience in boxes of a certain number of bags.
- Coke Zero.
Zero calories. Wow. I can get the same effect from drinking...water! And guess what: water's free (from the tap, that is)!
(this was promptly and hilariously pointed out by that classic movie, The Princess Bride. Watch it sometime).
Folks get caught up in that zero-calorie kick, forgetting about little things like artificial coloring and flavoring, cancer-causing aspartame and its spinoffs, and the teeny fact that Coke products contain phosphoric acid and thus will literally remove the enamel from your teeth...along with rust from a car battery, rings from a toilet, and stains from your clothing. If you don't believe me, do a Google search and find out.
There are probably more things that my fogged brain missed, but these were the ones that stood out. I wonder how many of these gimmicks will fall by the wayside as the recession creeps along? Who knows...maybe one day they will end up on informercials, sandwiched between pleas for Anushka cellulite cream, Ginsu knives, and psychic hotlines.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
Grow Your Own: Reflections on the Economy vs. Food Prices
...and you know it's never funny
when you're shoes are run through
and there's a rumble in your tummy...
--Neneh Cherry, "Buffalo Stance"
I'd heard about the drastic changes in food prices as a result of the unholy combination of spiked gas prices, severe global weather patterns, and the (still unspoken) recession of the US economy. I had been blissfully ignorant until I went to the store today and got a dose of reality.
My flabber was gasted.
My dumb was founded.
My as(s) was tonished.
A box of Lipton Black Pearl tea: $3.79. A 5-lb. bag of granulated (white) sugar: $3.19. Bananas: 69 cents per pound. A head of iceberg lettuce: $1.99 (we won't even discuss romaine lettuce). A 5-lb bag of potatoes: $3.99. An 8-oz. jar of store-brand mayonnaise: $2.88. A 24-oz. loaf of store-brand wheat bread: $2.79.
Jesus, keep me near the cross.
I had a Lil John moment, and started screaming "WHAT?!" each time I examined the shelf tag of a particular item. I think I scared the stocker who was nearby.
I quickly revised my shopping list and got the bare basics, paying close attention to the clearance and sale items. I bought 5 items, and my bill came to $8.55. And that was with the use of the store savings club card.
Jesus wept.
Even with the frequent use of various savings club cards, folks are going to come out of pocket mightily. Word on the curb is that food banks are actually being depleted to record levels; people can't afford to eat and charitable organizations can't afford to feed people; a lot of these places count on food donations but nowadays, people need that food for themselves (especially staples such as rice).
There has also been a serious increase in the number of people applying for public assistance (also known as welfare), in order to get food stamps. And here's a news flash for you: all of these folks are not black or Hispanic/Latino, and quite a few of them have full-time jobs.
I had a discussion with the supervisor of the store deli and she talked about driving ten miles from her home in a rural part of the city, in order to take advantage of deeply discounted produce. She is willing to burn up gas in order to get those better prices so her family could be fed longer.
I understand that areas of the world upon which the US imports produce, rice, etc. has been hit with some horrific weather that has affected the crops; even Iowa, a mass producer of corn and soybeans, is under water due to broken levees (hmm...they sure are getting a lot of timely press...more than the Katrina victims did. Skin privilege strikes again! And I wonder who built their levees? Was it the same military people who made the New Orleans levees?). But there has to be some sort of surplus, somewhere, to help people out...just like all of that oil that has been sitting off the coast of Alaska for the past 27 years, and has been protected by a no-drill treaty.
Mmph.
Before I checked out, I just wandered around the store in a kind of culture shock. I just couldn't believe the prices. I need to find a nice patch of grass and grow my own produce (and maybe some herbs to numb the pain of the recession). In the meantime, I may have to take it back to my college days and stock up on ramen noodles and the macaroni in a box, with the powdered cheese sauce. Sure, my blood pressure will be sky high due to all the sodium in those items, and my tongue may end up a permanent shade of Day-Glo orange (from the powdered cheese sauce), but at least I could afford to eat.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
when you're shoes are run through
and there's a rumble in your tummy...
--Neneh Cherry, "Buffalo Stance"
I'd heard about the drastic changes in food prices as a result of the unholy combination of spiked gas prices, severe global weather patterns, and the (still unspoken) recession of the US economy. I had been blissfully ignorant until I went to the store today and got a dose of reality.
My flabber was gasted.
My dumb was founded.
My as(s) was tonished.
A box of Lipton Black Pearl tea: $3.79. A 5-lb. bag of granulated (white) sugar: $3.19. Bananas: 69 cents per pound. A head of iceberg lettuce: $1.99 (we won't even discuss romaine lettuce). A 5-lb bag of potatoes: $3.99. An 8-oz. jar of store-brand mayonnaise: $2.88. A 24-oz. loaf of store-brand wheat bread: $2.79.
Jesus, keep me near the cross.
I had a Lil John moment, and started screaming "WHAT?!" each time I examined the shelf tag of a particular item. I think I scared the stocker who was nearby.
I quickly revised my shopping list and got the bare basics, paying close attention to the clearance and sale items. I bought 5 items, and my bill came to $8.55. And that was with the use of the store savings club card.
Jesus wept.
Even with the frequent use of various savings club cards, folks are going to come out of pocket mightily. Word on the curb is that food banks are actually being depleted to record levels; people can't afford to eat and charitable organizations can't afford to feed people; a lot of these places count on food donations but nowadays, people need that food for themselves (especially staples such as rice).
There has also been a serious increase in the number of people applying for public assistance (also known as welfare), in order to get food stamps. And here's a news flash for you: all of these folks are not black or Hispanic/Latino, and quite a few of them have full-time jobs.
I had a discussion with the supervisor of the store deli and she talked about driving ten miles from her home in a rural part of the city, in order to take advantage of deeply discounted produce. She is willing to burn up gas in order to get those better prices so her family could be fed longer.
I understand that areas of the world upon which the US imports produce, rice, etc. has been hit with some horrific weather that has affected the crops; even Iowa, a mass producer of corn and soybeans, is under water due to broken levees (hmm...they sure are getting a lot of timely press...more than the Katrina victims did. Skin privilege strikes again! And I wonder who built their levees? Was it the same military people who made the New Orleans levees?). But there has to be some sort of surplus, somewhere, to help people out...just like all of that oil that has been sitting off the coast of Alaska for the past 27 years, and has been protected by a no-drill treaty.
Mmph.
Before I checked out, I just wandered around the store in a kind of culture shock. I just couldn't believe the prices. I need to find a nice patch of grass and grow my own produce (and maybe some herbs to numb the pain of the recession). In the meantime, I may have to take it back to my college days and stock up on ramen noodles and the macaroni in a box, with the powdered cheese sauce. Sure, my blood pressure will be sky high due to all the sodium in those items, and my tongue may end up a permanent shade of Day-Glo orange (from the powdered cheese sauce), but at least I could afford to eat.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
Here We Go Again: Are HBCUs Still Relevant?
I've been writing and rewriting my response for the past ten minutes but no matter how I say it, I'm going to ruffle some feathers. But what else is new? :D
****DISCLAIMER: the views expressed here are solely those of my somewhat bougie, pseudo-elitist, quasi-militant, bluntly outspoken self.*****
I graduated from a PWI (predominately white institution) and if I had to do it all over again, I would do the same thing.
Why? Because the way we regard our HBCUs (historically black colleges and universities) is a microcosm of how we regard our community: we do not seem to have an overall comittment to excellence these days. Some may say that I think the white man's ice is colder; it's not a question of the white man's ice being colder, but of the white man usually having ice in the first place.
Back in the day, it used to really mean something to attend an HBCU, especially the "major" ones like Howard, Fisk, Hampton, Spelman, Morehouse, Tuskegee (shoot, my mother attended Spelman). The Talented Tenth attended these schools and during a time when education was a priority and upward mobility was expected (honest trades, doctors, lawyers, teachers, accountants).
(and if you don't know what the Talented Tenth is, look it up)
Nowadays, HBCUs seem to be synonymous with marching bands and step shows; School Daze,Drumline, and Stomp the Yard may have done our community more harm than good...and we as a people haven't done much of a job in dissuading those who will be hiring students from those colleges, from this particular point of view. We as a people already have a mythical reputation of being lazy, partygoing (to the exclusion of all else), underachieving, and hypersexed...and don't forget loving to dance. *rolling eyes* Why add fuel to the fire?
Then there is the financial aid issue. I remember my senior year and while some classmates (those whose parents weren't paying for their education) were struggling to get money and housing from HBCUs so that they could attend, I and other classmates who attended PWIs had our education paid for by those institutions...and on-campus housing too.
Secondly: giving back. Why are endowments so low across the board? A college education used to be considered like a prize pearl; so why are HBCUs not maintained to reflect that prized status (since campus upgrades, etc.are largely funded by alumni donations)? Why do we have to wait for a Bill and Camille Cosby to drop a few million here and there, especially when the doors are threatening to be closed on an institution? The alumni of PWIs come out of pocket on the regular, and it shows: better stocked libraries, recent technology, maintained and updated grounds, research programs, and yes: scholarships for need-based students such as myself.
Which brings up the topic of admissions. With all due respect, the admissions requirements for most HBCUs tend to be lower than comparable institutions. Perhaps this is to give ALL students a chance at an education, and I'm not mad about that, but people tend to take for granted that which is easily obtained. We are not a stupid people, so why are we not challenged to show that off the break? Okay, everyone may not want a challenge and just want to go through life without rocking the boat, and that's your business. But if we want to retain the best and the brightest who do, we've got to give them something to sink their teeth into. Raising the required SAT scores and/or GPAs isn't going to kill us.
Someone brought up a good point: organization and customer service. The same argument of HBCUs vs. PWIs can be applied to BOBOs (black owned/black operated) businesses vs. white businesses. We seem to think that the color of our skin is a predicate for automatic support--regardless of the way we handle things--and that thinking is across the board: businesses, marriages, politics. Look at how we as a community blindly support Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, and the Democratic Party (but that's a whole 'nother discussion).
Which brings me to my final point: are HBCUs still relevant? Perhaps, but they need to first treat themselves as relevant, which means investing in curricula and not aesthetics (new buildings, etc.). Pretty campuses are all well and good, but that's just putting a dress on a pig. Everything ain't for everybody, and everybody isn't built for a PWI. But until HBCUs step up their game and make a conscious effort to provide a viable alternative to PWIs, things won't really change.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
****DISCLAIMER: the views expressed here are solely those of my somewhat bougie, pseudo-elitist, quasi-militant, bluntly outspoken self.*****
I graduated from a PWI (predominately white institution) and if I had to do it all over again, I would do the same thing.
Why? Because the way we regard our HBCUs (historically black colleges and universities) is a microcosm of how we regard our community: we do not seem to have an overall comittment to excellence these days. Some may say that I think the white man's ice is colder; it's not a question of the white man's ice being colder, but of the white man usually having ice in the first place.
Back in the day, it used to really mean something to attend an HBCU, especially the "major" ones like Howard, Fisk, Hampton, Spelman, Morehouse, Tuskegee (shoot, my mother attended Spelman). The Talented Tenth attended these schools and during a time when education was a priority and upward mobility was expected (honest trades, doctors, lawyers, teachers, accountants).
(and if you don't know what the Talented Tenth is, look it up)
Nowadays, HBCUs seem to be synonymous with marching bands and step shows; School Daze,Drumline, and Stomp the Yard may have done our community more harm than good...and we as a people haven't done much of a job in dissuading those who will be hiring students from those colleges, from this particular point of view. We as a people already have a mythical reputation of being lazy, partygoing (to the exclusion of all else), underachieving, and hypersexed...and don't forget loving to dance. *rolling eyes* Why add fuel to the fire?
Then there is the financial aid issue. I remember my senior year and while some classmates (those whose parents weren't paying for their education) were struggling to get money and housing from HBCUs so that they could attend, I and other classmates who attended PWIs had our education paid for by those institutions...and on-campus housing too.
Secondly: giving back. Why are endowments so low across the board? A college education used to be considered like a prize pearl; so why are HBCUs not maintained to reflect that prized status (since campus upgrades, etc.are largely funded by alumni donations)? Why do we have to wait for a Bill and Camille Cosby to drop a few million here and there, especially when the doors are threatening to be closed on an institution? The alumni of PWIs come out of pocket on the regular, and it shows: better stocked libraries, recent technology, maintained and updated grounds, research programs, and yes: scholarships for need-based students such as myself.
Which brings up the topic of admissions. With all due respect, the admissions requirements for most HBCUs tend to be lower than comparable institutions. Perhaps this is to give ALL students a chance at an education, and I'm not mad about that, but people tend to take for granted that which is easily obtained. We are not a stupid people, so why are we not challenged to show that off the break? Okay, everyone may not want a challenge and just want to go through life without rocking the boat, and that's your business. But if we want to retain the best and the brightest who do, we've got to give them something to sink their teeth into. Raising the required SAT scores and/or GPAs isn't going to kill us.
Someone brought up a good point: organization and customer service. The same argument of HBCUs vs. PWIs can be applied to BOBOs (black owned/black operated) businesses vs. white businesses. We seem to think that the color of our skin is a predicate for automatic support--regardless of the way we handle things--and that thinking is across the board: businesses, marriages, politics. Look at how we as a community blindly support Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, and the Democratic Party (but that's a whole 'nother discussion).
Which brings me to my final point: are HBCUs still relevant? Perhaps, but they need to first treat themselves as relevant, which means investing in curricula and not aesthetics (new buildings, etc.). Pretty campuses are all well and good, but that's just putting a dress on a pig. Everything ain't for everybody, and everybody isn't built for a PWI. But until HBCUs step up their game and make a conscious effort to provide a viable alternative to PWIs, things won't really change.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
Between God and Gangsta Rap
Father, help your children
And don't let them fall by the side
Of the road...
---Commodores, "Jesus is Love"
I recently visited the graves of my grandparents, who are buried in Glenview Cemetery in Durham. Unfortunately, I had an unwitting soundtrack to my homage, courtesy of whomever lived behind the trees that bordered the cemetery.
It's kinda hard to commune with one's ancestors to the tunes of "Shake That Booty Meat", "Bust It Baby", and "She rocks her hips/and waves/and sips".
Perhaps I witnessed the ever-increasing gap between this generation and the next. There are those who do not understand certain customs that are inherent among the black community, especially if they were never taught. Indeed, those who may have taught them are either unable (via illness or death) or are ignorant themselves. One might argue that things such as not blasting rather lewd lyrics in the immediate vicinity of a cemetery is common sense but as someone once told me, "Common sense ain't common."
(I'm probably trampling all over someone's First Amendment rights, but I don't care. It was a cemetery, y'all.)
The area, as has much of Durham, has changed; or perhaps I never noticed the slow creep of...shall we say, a certain element. It bothered me that I didn't feel that safe visiting graves in broad daylight. It bothered me that I kept looking over my shoulder as I entered the Kangaroo/BP store on the corner to get something to drink. It was especially worrisome to see a police car parked across the street at the Pure gas station, and cops posted up in the laundromat next door. Are people jacking washing machines for coins now? Is that's what's hot in the streets? But I digress.
As I just stated, it's a free country and if someone wants to blast Young Jeezy or Ne-Yo or whomever is the flavor of the airwaves this month, that's their business. I agree with that normally, but when it comes to showing respect for the dead, that's a whole 'nother issue. Cemeteries are hallowed, if not holy. Despite one's religious/afterlife beliefs, there is a certain reverence to witness when faced with the tangible markers of mortality. It deserves a certain level of circumspectness, restraint, and morality. It would be too much like right for some sort of noise ordinance to be in effect around cemeteries, yet alone enforced; if there is one in place, then I am not aware of it.
I shudder to think what happens in Glenview when the sun sets; there is no true barrier to the cemetery except for a chain across the entrances. That will keep out cars, but not foot traffic. Then again, maybe the most hardened gangster draws a line at partying in a graveyard. On the other hand, someone who shows such disrespect for the deceased probably doesn't care one way or another.
Yet and still, this is further evidence that the village that we used to rely upon to raise a child needs desperately to be reinstated. Each one, teach one.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
And don't let them fall by the side
Of the road...
---Commodores, "Jesus is Love"
I recently visited the graves of my grandparents, who are buried in Glenview Cemetery in Durham. Unfortunately, I had an unwitting soundtrack to my homage, courtesy of whomever lived behind the trees that bordered the cemetery.
It's kinda hard to commune with one's ancestors to the tunes of "Shake That Booty Meat", "Bust It Baby", and "She rocks her hips/and waves/and sips".
Perhaps I witnessed the ever-increasing gap between this generation and the next. There are those who do not understand certain customs that are inherent among the black community, especially if they were never taught. Indeed, those who may have taught them are either unable (via illness or death) or are ignorant themselves. One might argue that things such as not blasting rather lewd lyrics in the immediate vicinity of a cemetery is common sense but as someone once told me, "Common sense ain't common."
(I'm probably trampling all over someone's First Amendment rights, but I don't care. It was a cemetery, y'all.)
The area, as has much of Durham, has changed; or perhaps I never noticed the slow creep of...shall we say, a certain element. It bothered me that I didn't feel that safe visiting graves in broad daylight. It bothered me that I kept looking over my shoulder as I entered the Kangaroo/BP store on the corner to get something to drink. It was especially worrisome to see a police car parked across the street at the Pure gas station, and cops posted up in the laundromat next door. Are people jacking washing machines for coins now? Is that's what's hot in the streets? But I digress.
As I just stated, it's a free country and if someone wants to blast Young Jeezy or Ne-Yo or whomever is the flavor of the airwaves this month, that's their business. I agree with that normally, but when it comes to showing respect for the dead, that's a whole 'nother issue. Cemeteries are hallowed, if not holy. Despite one's religious/afterlife beliefs, there is a certain reverence to witness when faced with the tangible markers of mortality. It deserves a certain level of circumspectness, restraint, and morality. It would be too much like right for some sort of noise ordinance to be in effect around cemeteries, yet alone enforced; if there is one in place, then I am not aware of it.
I shudder to think what happens in Glenview when the sun sets; there is no true barrier to the cemetery except for a chain across the entrances. That will keep out cars, but not foot traffic. Then again, maybe the most hardened gangster draws a line at partying in a graveyard. On the other hand, someone who shows such disrespect for the deceased probably doesn't care one way or another.
Yet and still, this is further evidence that the village that we used to rely upon to raise a child needs desperately to be reinstated. Each one, teach one.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
Reflections on Alumni Weekend 2008
This past weekend, I attended my first Old School Alumni Weekend. I didn't go to all of the events, just the basketball game and the cookout. Still, those two events were enough for me.
I wasn't sure what to expect: after all, there were schools other than Hillside being targeted in the alumni population. Still, I did want to see what some of the hype was about, and why this event has been a Durham staple for the past 7 or so years. What I did realize was that the more things change, the more they remain the same.
Once Lucy and I made our way past the flossers (you know...the line of expensive cars parked near the building--which I hope weren't rented just for the weekend) and entered the building for the basketball game, I was almost knocked out by all of the testosterone. Literally. I'm only 5'2", and there were plenty of much taller guys with builds like those of football players gone to seed, giving each other enthusiastic high fives and soul shakes...most of which took place in the general area around my head. I had to bob and weave in order to make it to the bleachers without a concussion.
I saw some people I hadn't seen in a looong time, and it was good to do so. Shout outs to Reggie Davis, Coach Marshall, Anthony Burnette, Carl Farmer, LaManda Chestnut, Melodie Richardson, Abosede Copeland, Antonia Evans, Mike Brooks, and Earl Starks. I also saw an ex (he went to Northern...bless his heart), and we'll just leave it at that. :D
The basketball game was...interesting: a bunch of guys (re)living their hoop dreams. I saw more botched alley-oops and pick-and-rolls than a little bit. I appreciate people trying to add spice to what may be seen as a rather mundane affair (I mean, why just go in for a guaranteed lay-up when you can try to dunk...and miss), but sometimes you just need to do what you need to do and skip all the extra stuff (yes, Larry Johnson, I'm talking to you). I was disappointed that T-Tot (that's Rodney Rogers for the uninformed) didn't play. On a side note, I have to give props to #10 on Jordan's team. Dude was nice with his.
(another side note: even though the concessions were overall way too overpriced, that red velvet cake was the truth--and worth every penny.)
The day after the game and the rather, um, entertaining Old School Dance Contest, I went to the alumni cookout. It was Africa hot...I saw the Devil sitting on a block of ice with a funeral home fan (you know...the ones with MLK on one side and a wooden handle), trying to cool off. It was the cookout that recapped most of my personal observations about the weekend.
The more things change, the more they stay the same. Alumni Weekend, for me, was a time capsule of our high school years, and not necessarily in a good way. Yes, it was a time for reconnection, but I didn't see much of that, perhaps because I don't live in Durham on a full-time basis and only visit once or twice a year. What I saw were adults in arrested development: the "cool" kids still hung with other "cool" kids; the athletes rolled with the athletes; the band rolled with the band. There were those whose claim to fame was having a child or two (or even three) by one of the "cool" kids. There were others who were still seeking an MRS degree (like the women who attended the cookout in 100-degree heat, wearing yeast infection-tight jeans, tight shirts, and HEELS), desperate to be noticed in the wrong way. There were those who were determined to put Durham on the map, for whatever reason, and try to show that we are not just a poor relation of Raleigh or Chapel Hill.
Alumni Weekend helped me see how much I have grown. I'm not the same person who once walked the halls of the 1900 Concord St. I've had to come to terms with a lot of things about myself, and while it's been a rather daunting task, it was necessary. The best thing about Alumni Weekend was realizing that I no longer had anything to prove, even to myself.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
I wasn't sure what to expect: after all, there were schools other than Hillside being targeted in the alumni population. Still, I did want to see what some of the hype was about, and why this event has been a Durham staple for the past 7 or so years. What I did realize was that the more things change, the more they remain the same.
Once Lucy and I made our way past the flossers (you know...the line of expensive cars parked near the building--which I hope weren't rented just for the weekend) and entered the building for the basketball game, I was almost knocked out by all of the testosterone. Literally. I'm only 5'2", and there were plenty of much taller guys with builds like those of football players gone to seed, giving each other enthusiastic high fives and soul shakes...most of which took place in the general area around my head. I had to bob and weave in order to make it to the bleachers without a concussion.
I saw some people I hadn't seen in a looong time, and it was good to do so. Shout outs to Reggie Davis, Coach Marshall, Anthony Burnette, Carl Farmer, LaManda Chestnut, Melodie Richardson, Abosede Copeland, Antonia Evans, Mike Brooks, and Earl Starks. I also saw an ex (he went to Northern...bless his heart), and we'll just leave it at that. :D
The basketball game was...interesting: a bunch of guys (re)living their hoop dreams. I saw more botched alley-oops and pick-and-rolls than a little bit. I appreciate people trying to add spice to what may be seen as a rather mundane affair (I mean, why just go in for a guaranteed lay-up when you can try to dunk...and miss), but sometimes you just need to do what you need to do and skip all the extra stuff (yes, Larry Johnson, I'm talking to you). I was disappointed that T-Tot (that's Rodney Rogers for the uninformed) didn't play. On a side note, I have to give props to #10 on Jordan's team. Dude was nice with his.
(another side note: even though the concessions were overall way too overpriced, that red velvet cake was the truth--and worth every penny.)
The day after the game and the rather, um, entertaining Old School Dance Contest, I went to the alumni cookout. It was Africa hot...I saw the Devil sitting on a block of ice with a funeral home fan (you know...the ones with MLK on one side and a wooden handle), trying to cool off. It was the cookout that recapped most of my personal observations about the weekend.
The more things change, the more they stay the same. Alumni Weekend, for me, was a time capsule of our high school years, and not necessarily in a good way. Yes, it was a time for reconnection, but I didn't see much of that, perhaps because I don't live in Durham on a full-time basis and only visit once or twice a year. What I saw were adults in arrested development: the "cool" kids still hung with other "cool" kids; the athletes rolled with the athletes; the band rolled with the band. There were those whose claim to fame was having a child or two (or even three) by one of the "cool" kids. There were others who were still seeking an MRS degree (like the women who attended the cookout in 100-degree heat, wearing yeast infection-tight jeans, tight shirts, and HEELS), desperate to be noticed in the wrong way. There were those who were determined to put Durham on the map, for whatever reason, and try to show that we are not just a poor relation of Raleigh or Chapel Hill.
Alumni Weekend helped me see how much I have grown. I'm not the same person who once walked the halls of the 1900 Concord St. I've had to come to terms with a lot of things about myself, and while it's been a rather daunting task, it was necessary. The best thing about Alumni Weekend was realizing that I no longer had anything to prove, even to myself.
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
Reflections on Growing Older
Back in the day, when I was young
I'm not a kid anymore
But some days, I sit and wish I was a kid again...
-- Dred Scott, "Back In the Day"
All this nostalgia has a sister thinking on how it was, how it is, and how it may be.
I recently turned 35 in April.
35.
3-5.
Five years from 40.
Wow.
As I reflect on how I've grown and matured (physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually), I have to sit and laugh about the things I used to be able to do and no longer can (or rather, the things I used to be able to do with no consequences and still can, but perhaps should not).
In high school, I was 97 lbs. wore a size 3, and shopped at 3-5-7 (that's a shop for little people like me). Now? Well, let's just say that I'm no longer 97 lbs and I'm larger than a size 3. LOL I dress to camouflage the pinchable inch around my middle. Juniors department? HA! A few years ago, I actually tried on a pair of Levis 501 jeans, like I used to wear (in a larger size, though LOL). Um...couldn't get them past my thighs. No joke. And I don't even have any kids yet.
I could go to school or work, five days a week, complete with extracurricular activities, hit parties and whatnot all weekend, catch a few hours sleep, and roll to work or class on Monday morning; sometimes, I'd roll straight to work after arriving from out of town and survive on coffee to keep me awake during the day.
Nowadays, I need to get at least 6-8 hours of straight sleep. I'm doing good to only hit the snooze alarm three times before I finally wake up in the morning. At one point, "sleeping late" meant waking up somewhere between 12 and 2 pm. Now, I sleep late if I wake up at 8 or 9 am.
About a week ago I was in Durham and hit the Dog House (when did Dog House dogs start costing so much?). I ordered 2 Bull Dogs and while it was good going down, those onions had me clutching my chest after a couple of bites. I almost wanted to scream, "'Lizabeth! I'm comin' to join ya, honey!"
I used to be able to eat anything I wanted, anytime I wanted. Now? I actually read the labels on the back of stuff in the grocery store. I buy "lite" instead of regular. I buy items lower in sodium. I make a point to buy fresh fruits and vegetables, and to order salad or another vegetable (instead of fries) when I'm at a restaurant.
I look at my thighs and notice cellulite (!) for the first time.
My hair is rather gray, once I stopped coloring it (but I still have a box of Feria in the closet. Don't sleep.). And I noticed gray hair...elsewhere. I needed a drink after that.
I also think about my family health history. Like most black folks, I have a family history (on both sides) of diabetes, high blood pressure, and elevated cholesterol. I knew that if I wanted to stay on this earth as long as I hoped, I would need to make some changes. I cut back on fast food, which wasn't a hardship because I love to cook--and I baked chicken, fish, etc. instead of frying it. I cut back on bread. I increased my water, fruit, and vegetable intake. I make a conscious effort to exercise, and I walk at least a mile every day. Plus, walking helps me think. I miss being in an area where I got to walk most places; it kept my weight down.
I am loving my matured body, though; I kinda have hips for the first time in my life! And my walk apparently can still stop traffic. ;)
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
I'm not a kid anymore
But some days, I sit and wish I was a kid again...
-- Dred Scott, "Back In the Day"
All this nostalgia has a sister thinking on how it was, how it is, and how it may be.
I recently turned 35 in April.
35.
3-5.
Five years from 40.
Wow.
As I reflect on how I've grown and matured (physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually), I have to sit and laugh about the things I used to be able to do and no longer can (or rather, the things I used to be able to do with no consequences and still can, but perhaps should not).
In high school, I was 97 lbs. wore a size 3, and shopped at 3-5-7 (that's a shop for little people like me). Now? Well, let's just say that I'm no longer 97 lbs and I'm larger than a size 3. LOL I dress to camouflage the pinchable inch around my middle. Juniors department? HA! A few years ago, I actually tried on a pair of Levis 501 jeans, like I used to wear (in a larger size, though LOL). Um...couldn't get them past my thighs. No joke. And I don't even have any kids yet.
I could go to school or work, five days a week, complete with extracurricular activities, hit parties and whatnot all weekend, catch a few hours sleep, and roll to work or class on Monday morning; sometimes, I'd roll straight to work after arriving from out of town and survive on coffee to keep me awake during the day.
Nowadays, I need to get at least 6-8 hours of straight sleep. I'm doing good to only hit the snooze alarm three times before I finally wake up in the morning. At one point, "sleeping late" meant waking up somewhere between 12 and 2 pm. Now, I sleep late if I wake up at 8 or 9 am.
About a week ago I was in Durham and hit the Dog House (when did Dog House dogs start costing so much?). I ordered 2 Bull Dogs and while it was good going down, those onions had me clutching my chest after a couple of bites. I almost wanted to scream, "'Lizabeth! I'm comin' to join ya, honey!"
I used to be able to eat anything I wanted, anytime I wanted. Now? I actually read the labels on the back of stuff in the grocery store. I buy "lite" instead of regular. I buy items lower in sodium. I make a point to buy fresh fruits and vegetables, and to order salad or another vegetable (instead of fries) when I'm at a restaurant.
I look at my thighs and notice cellulite (!) for the first time.
My hair is rather gray, once I stopped coloring it (but I still have a box of Feria in the closet. Don't sleep.). And I noticed gray hair...elsewhere. I needed a drink after that.
I also think about my family health history. Like most black folks, I have a family history (on both sides) of diabetes, high blood pressure, and elevated cholesterol. I knew that if I wanted to stay on this earth as long as I hoped, I would need to make some changes. I cut back on fast food, which wasn't a hardship because I love to cook--and I baked chicken, fish, etc. instead of frying it. I cut back on bread. I increased my water, fruit, and vegetable intake. I make a conscious effort to exercise, and I walk at least a mile every day. Plus, walking helps me think. I miss being in an area where I got to walk most places; it kept my weight down.
I am loving my matured body, though; I kinda have hips for the first time in my life! And my walk apparently can still stop traffic. ;)
Thanks for stopping by.
T.
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