On my new job, there are a bunch of plants in my office space, which I love. Unfortunately, the office was closed for about a week and a half (before I started here) for the Christmas and New Year holidays and the plants didn't get watered. When I started, I plucked off the dead leaves and gave them all a good watering.
One plant in particular concerned me. It is a pothos plant, also known as a "bachelor plant". You know...one of those plants that grow and grow and grow with little effort, forming long, trailing vines if they're not pruned.
Anywho...this little plant was wilted beyond measure. When I felt the leaves, they were still firm (though wilted), and the leaves were still very green with no signs of drying...so I figured the plant could still be saved. I gave it a lot of water and figured that if it perked up in a day or so, it would be good to go. I've revived the same type of plant in this fashion before, so it would work again.
Tuesday came...still wilted.
Wednesday...still wilted. I figured that f it was still wilted by the next day, it may be unsalvageable.
On Thursday, it was still wilted and I had resigned myself to the probability that the plant would have to be trashed.
Today...half of the leaves on the plant have completely perked up to their regular state. Not only that, but there are two (count 'em) brand-new leaves that were not there on Monday, and a third that is just budding. Seems like I did something right after all.
Hmm. Just goes to show that just because something doesn't seem to be growing or responding to your efforts, doesn' t mean that your efforts aren't working. Eventually, they'll pay off...and usually when you least expect it. So don't give up.
Never underestimate the teaching power of a plant.
Thanks for stopping by.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Win a Book: Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand
I first received a copy of Kitty and the Midnight Hour by Carrie Vaughn at the 2005 (?) Book Expo of America. I was hooked and impatiently waited for the next installment.
Fast foward 4 (or 5) years later and Kitty Norville (by virtue of Ms. Vaughn) is still going strong. Her latest book, Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand, is due for release on January 17, 2009. To follow is Kitty Raises Hell.
If you are a fantasy/sci-fi fan and like a little quirk with your novels, then this is a series for you.
Check out reviews of the Kitty Norville series, an interview with Carrie Vaughn, and enter a contest to receive a FREE copy of Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand by visiting Bitten by Books.
Make sure to tell a friend. Reading is fundamental, and a mind is a terrible thing to waste.
Thanks for stopping by.
Fast foward 4 (or 5) years later and Kitty Norville (by virtue of Ms. Vaughn) is still going strong. Her latest book, Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand, is due for release on January 17, 2009. To follow is Kitty Raises Hell.
If you are a fantasy/sci-fi fan and like a little quirk with your novels, then this is a series for you.
Check out reviews of the Kitty Norville series, an interview with Carrie Vaughn, and enter a contest to receive a FREE copy of Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand by visiting Bitten by Books.
Make sure to tell a friend. Reading is fundamental, and a mind is a terrible thing to waste.
Thanks for stopping by.
From the Commuter Files: The Art of the Bogart
Y'all, I know it's relatively early for a blog from me (especially on a weekday), but I had to get this off my chest.
This morning, I'm on the "Wait Bus", waiting for my bus to arrive.
(yes, this transit agency has passengers waiting on a bus--which is BEYOND bootleg--because the actual wait room/customer service center is still not finished...but that's a whole 'nother story)
Also on this bus is another regular, whom we'll call Jill*. Jill is...mentally challenged. Seriously. As in, she's documented as such, takes medication and is in a special work program due to her mental condition. All of the drivers know it, most of the passengers who encounter her on a regular basis know it. Her quirks are usually tolerated as a result. This morning, though, she went above and beyond her normal antics.
First off, Jill was having a morning snack while doing her usual See-A-Word puzzle. Once she finished her nosh, she put the trash on the seat in front of her...then had the nerve to call the transit agency guy who sells bus passes, etc. on the bus (I told y'all...BOOTLEG!) to put her trash in the trash can!
Mind you, the trash can was right in front of the seat upon which she put her trash...wouldn't have taken much of an effort for her to get up, move less than a foot to her left, and drop her trash in the trash can.
But that would be too much like right. I raised an eyebrow--especially when transit agency dude actually disposed of her trash as requested--and went back to my book.
Here's where Jill upped her game. There was a woman in the seat across from her, having her own morning snack of a granola bar. Jill asks in her trademark loud voice, "What are you eating?"
The woman looks at her strangely, but again: most folks know Jill's flow, so they just acknowledge and keep it moving. She replies, "It's a cereal bar."
Jill asks, "Can I hold it? Just for a minute?"
Now, I had to stop reading because I have NEVER seen nor heard of a person asking to view another person's food, especially while the other person was still eating it!
Again, the woman gave her a look but was probably a bit worried about what Jill might do if her request was denied, so she handed the granola bar over. Jill then looked at the woman and asked, "Do you want it?"
I was speechless, and so was the woman. Jill took advantage of the shock and said, "Thank you," and proceeded to eat the rest of the granola bar. And then PUT THE EMPTY WRAPPER ON THE SEAT IN FRONT OF HER, and asked transit agency guy to put it in the trash. Again. And he did it. Again.
My flabber was gasted.
My dumb was founded.
My as(s) was tonished.
I sat there in profound shock. This chick had the unmitigated gall to not only Bogart this other woman's breakfast, but to eat it like nothing was wrong!
Mentally challenged, my arse.
I looked at Jill in a whole new light after that. Having come from a family of women who take manipulation to another level, I have the sneaking suspicion that ain't nothing wrong with Jill. Sure, she may process information a bit more slowly than an average person, but she probably makes that work for her...as evidenced by behavior toward her this morning. Such behavior is probably par for the course for her. She has learned how to get what she wants, and people fall for it out of fear of being politically incorrect or that she would cause a big scene. Kinda like giving a screaming kid some candy or a toy to shut them up. Pavlov wrote books full of studies on this very phenomenon, and that's why experienced (and practical) parents tell new parents not to run to a baby every time he or she cries.
Stimulus and response...it's the American way.
Jill ain't slow. Jill is truly gangster. Act like you know.
Thanks for stopping by.
*Names changed to protect the shady.
This morning, I'm on the "Wait Bus", waiting for my bus to arrive.
(yes, this transit agency has passengers waiting on a bus--which is BEYOND bootleg--because the actual wait room/customer service center is still not finished...but that's a whole 'nother story)
Also on this bus is another regular, whom we'll call Jill*. Jill is...mentally challenged. Seriously. As in, she's documented as such, takes medication and is in a special work program due to her mental condition. All of the drivers know it, most of the passengers who encounter her on a regular basis know it. Her quirks are usually tolerated as a result. This morning, though, she went above and beyond her normal antics.
First off, Jill was having a morning snack while doing her usual See-A-Word puzzle. Once she finished her nosh, she put the trash on the seat in front of her...then had the nerve to call the transit agency guy who sells bus passes, etc. on the bus (I told y'all...BOOTLEG!) to put her trash in the trash can!
Mind you, the trash can was right in front of the seat upon which she put her trash...wouldn't have taken much of an effort for her to get up, move less than a foot to her left, and drop her trash in the trash can.
But that would be too much like right. I raised an eyebrow--especially when transit agency dude actually disposed of her trash as requested--and went back to my book.
Here's where Jill upped her game. There was a woman in the seat across from her, having her own morning snack of a granola bar. Jill asks in her trademark loud voice, "What are you eating?"
The woman looks at her strangely, but again: most folks know Jill's flow, so they just acknowledge and keep it moving. She replies, "It's a cereal bar."
Jill asks, "Can I hold it? Just for a minute?"
Now, I had to stop reading because I have NEVER seen nor heard of a person asking to view another person's food, especially while the other person was still eating it!
Again, the woman gave her a look but was probably a bit worried about what Jill might do if her request was denied, so she handed the granola bar over. Jill then looked at the woman and asked, "Do you want it?"
I was speechless, and so was the woman. Jill took advantage of the shock and said, "Thank you," and proceeded to eat the rest of the granola bar. And then PUT THE EMPTY WRAPPER ON THE SEAT IN FRONT OF HER, and asked transit agency guy to put it in the trash. Again. And he did it. Again.
My flabber was gasted.
My dumb was founded.
My as(s) was tonished.
I sat there in profound shock. This chick had the unmitigated gall to not only Bogart this other woman's breakfast, but to eat it like nothing was wrong!
Mentally challenged, my arse.
I looked at Jill in a whole new light after that. Having come from a family of women who take manipulation to another level, I have the sneaking suspicion that ain't nothing wrong with Jill. Sure, she may process information a bit more slowly than an average person, but she probably makes that work for her...as evidenced by behavior toward her this morning. Such behavior is probably par for the course for her. She has learned how to get what she wants, and people fall for it out of fear of being politically incorrect or that she would cause a big scene. Kinda like giving a screaming kid some candy or a toy to shut them up. Pavlov wrote books full of studies on this very phenomenon, and that's why experienced (and practical) parents tell new parents not to run to a baby every time he or she cries.
Stimulus and response...it's the American way.
Jill ain't slow. Jill is truly gangster. Act like you know.
Thanks for stopping by.
*Names changed to protect the shady.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
From the Commuter Files: A Nice, Tall Glass of STFU
One of the things I miss about living up north is that: those who take public transportation to and from work understand the value of silence.
Here in the south, you can tell that folks don't really get into the groove of pub trans, and thus aren't digging on some of the unspoken etiquette rules of the morning commute. They especially are ignorant of the Golden Rule of Morning Commutes on Public Transportation:
BE. QUIET.
See, morning commute time is Quiet Time. It's comprised of those sacred seconds that exist between the time you leave the comfort of your own home, and arrive at the doorstep of the job which allows you to keep the roof of said home over your head. It's the time when you manage to catch a little bit of extra sleep, or do your morning crossword/Seek-A-Word/Sudoku/Word Jumble, or read a few more pages of your current book or the newspaper. Quiet Time allows you a peaceful place in which to do any or all of the above so that you can get your mind right for the Corporate Rat Race, lest one's nerves get pushed to the point of sniping people from the top of your cubicle walls.
However, as Wesley Snipes so eloquently stated in Blade II: "Some motherf***ers always gotta skate uphill."
I ride the area commuter buses to work (no subways, alas...*sob*). It's bad enough that the buses run no less than every thirty minutes, and even SHUT DOWN COMPLETELY on holidays (Good Lord...haven't these people heard of a Saturday or Sunday schedule?! *shaking head*), but my peace of mind shatters like a China vase dropped on the sidewalk. Why? Due to loud-arsed fellow commuters!
The main culprits are the cell phone junkies, who have lately been skewing toward those who have family overseas; with the time difference (which is as much as 12 hours), they utilize morning commute hours to catch up with relatives.
Then there are those who just like to talk...to anyone, about anything. They'll strike up a conversation with you (or anyone else on the bus) about the government, the increased price of potato chips at the grocery store, why a bus was late, when they want to get off work. Bonus irritants if they talk in a non-English language; triple irritants if talking in a non-English language while on a cell phone.
Then there are the sports junkies. These are primarily male and they like to loudly debate the virtues of sports teams and players, especially when there is a significant sports event on the horizon, such as the Super Bowl.
And God forbid if the school kids get on the bus; I'm not talking about the elementary, middle school, or high school crowds (they usually are on the 3pm - 5pm buses and will tax your sanity if you ever have to ride a bus during this time), but the college kids who are so pressed to get to class (even though they should have been on an earlier bus to make it on time), they keep asking the driver every ten minutes to let them off at the school. Think of the little kid in the backseat of a car saying, "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"
There's one guy on my bus who likes to crack jokes. Dude, it is WAY too early in the morning for you to star in your own personal Comedy Central show. The sad thing is, he and I used to ride the same bus home in the evenings, when I worked at a previous job. He was jokey and perky...too perky for someone who'd worked a long, 8-hour day under fluorescent lights. When I took this new job, I thought I was finally rid of him...only to see him start showing up on my morning commute bus, even more bright-eyed and bushy tailed.
(There is a karmic lesson in all of this, but I am (un)blissfully ignorant of it at this time.)
And it's not just the commuters; some of the bus drivers are extra perky in the mornings. The last thing a sleep-deprived commuter wants to be faced with is a booming "GOOD MORNING!" as you insert your fare or bus pass into the fare box. I mean, dude...can a sista make it to her seat first? On my bus, the bus driver and the jokester dude like to feed off each other, like an unholy mass transit tag team. Makes for a nerve-grating (and loud) ride.
Sometimes wish that I carried a nice, tall glass of STFU** in my travel mug to offer my fellow riders, instead of Irish Breakfast tea.
Thanks for stopping by.
**STFU = Shut The F*** Up
Here in the south, you can tell that folks don't really get into the groove of pub trans, and thus aren't digging on some of the unspoken etiquette rules of the morning commute. They especially are ignorant of the Golden Rule of Morning Commutes on Public Transportation:
BE. QUIET.
See, morning commute time is Quiet Time. It's comprised of those sacred seconds that exist between the time you leave the comfort of your own home, and arrive at the doorstep of the job which allows you to keep the roof of said home over your head. It's the time when you manage to catch a little bit of extra sleep, or do your morning crossword/Seek-A-Word/Sudoku/Word Jumble, or read a few more pages of your current book or the newspaper. Quiet Time allows you a peaceful place in which to do any or all of the above so that you can get your mind right for the Corporate Rat Race, lest one's nerves get pushed to the point of sniping people from the top of your cubicle walls.
However, as Wesley Snipes so eloquently stated in Blade II: "Some motherf***ers always gotta skate uphill."
I ride the area commuter buses to work (no subways, alas...*sob*). It's bad enough that the buses run no less than every thirty minutes, and even SHUT DOWN COMPLETELY on holidays (Good Lord...haven't these people heard of a Saturday or Sunday schedule?! *shaking head*), but my peace of mind shatters like a China vase dropped on the sidewalk. Why? Due to loud-arsed fellow commuters!
The main culprits are the cell phone junkies, who have lately been skewing toward those who have family overseas; with the time difference (which is as much as 12 hours), they utilize morning commute hours to catch up with relatives.
Then there are those who just like to talk...to anyone, about anything. They'll strike up a conversation with you (or anyone else on the bus) about the government, the increased price of potato chips at the grocery store, why a bus was late, when they want to get off work. Bonus irritants if they talk in a non-English language; triple irritants if talking in a non-English language while on a cell phone.
Then there are the sports junkies. These are primarily male and they like to loudly debate the virtues of sports teams and players, especially when there is a significant sports event on the horizon, such as the Super Bowl.
And God forbid if the school kids get on the bus; I'm not talking about the elementary, middle school, or high school crowds (they usually are on the 3pm - 5pm buses and will tax your sanity if you ever have to ride a bus during this time), but the college kids who are so pressed to get to class (even though they should have been on an earlier bus to make it on time), they keep asking the driver every ten minutes to let them off at the school. Think of the little kid in the backseat of a car saying, "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"
There's one guy on my bus who likes to crack jokes. Dude, it is WAY too early in the morning for you to star in your own personal Comedy Central show. The sad thing is, he and I used to ride the same bus home in the evenings, when I worked at a previous job. He was jokey and perky...too perky for someone who'd worked a long, 8-hour day under fluorescent lights. When I took this new job, I thought I was finally rid of him...only to see him start showing up on my morning commute bus, even more bright-eyed and bushy tailed.
(There is a karmic lesson in all of this, but I am (un)blissfully ignorant of it at this time.)
And it's not just the commuters; some of the bus drivers are extra perky in the mornings. The last thing a sleep-deprived commuter wants to be faced with is a booming "GOOD MORNING!" as you insert your fare or bus pass into the fare box. I mean, dude...can a sista make it to her seat first? On my bus, the bus driver and the jokester dude like to feed off each other, like an unholy mass transit tag team. Makes for a nerve-grating (and loud) ride.
Sometimes wish that I carried a nice, tall glass of STFU** in my travel mug to offer my fellow riders, instead of Irish Breakfast tea.
Thanks for stopping by.
**STFU = Shut The F*** Up
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Love Means Never Asking for a Kidney
I read this hilarious (yet pathetic) article in the Seattle Times newspaper today.
Divorcing Husband Wants Kidney Back
Apparently, this guy gave his wife a kidney when they were still married and in love and everything. Now that they are going through a divorce, he wants his kidney back. And here's the best part: he's put a value of $1.5 million on the donated kidney.
I can't make this stuff up.
Of course, the peanut gallery thinks he's an idiot (although stated in more polite terms). But this guy really thinks he has a case, and apparently so does the Supreme Court of Mineola, NY, where the case is being heard.
I don't know what's sadder: that the husband is pulling some crap like this, or that the state Supreme Court is actually entertaining the crap. I love seeing my tax dollars hard at work; don't you?
Somehow, I don't think they cover this specific topic in law school. I mean, how do you sit across from your client's soon-to-be-ex and keep a straight face with something like this?
"As to the possessions acquired during the course of this marriage, my client would like to keep the summer house in Tahoe, half of the joint IRA, and reclamation of the kidney donated to save his wife's life."
Which makes me wonder what would happen if this had occurred in a community property state, like California or Louisiana? Under community property law, only assets acquired during the marriage are eligible for division during a divorce (I used to work for a family law attorney in California. :D). Dude's kidney was his BEFORE the marriage...so it wouldn't be eligible as community property. He technically gave it as a gift, and gifts aren't listed as community property, either.
Speaking of gifts...since dude is putting a $1.5 million price tag on his kidney, that makes him liable to the IRS since one is not allowed to give gifts over $15,000 without having to pay taxes on it. So he's kind of committed a bit of tax fraud.
(mind you, I don't work for the IRS, nor do I play an IRS agent on TV).
People, this is why you get a prenuptial agreement. Spell out AHEAD OF TIME, while you and your significant other still have happy feelings, how you want to divvy things up (including body parts) in the event of divorce. Your bank account (and kidneys) will thank you.
Thanks for stopping by.
Divorcing Husband Wants Kidney Back
Apparently, this guy gave his wife a kidney when they were still married and in love and everything. Now that they are going through a divorce, he wants his kidney back. And here's the best part: he's put a value of $1.5 million on the donated kidney.
I can't make this stuff up.
Of course, the peanut gallery thinks he's an idiot (although stated in more polite terms). But this guy really thinks he has a case, and apparently so does the Supreme Court of Mineola, NY, where the case is being heard.
I don't know what's sadder: that the husband is pulling some crap like this, or that the state Supreme Court is actually entertaining the crap. I love seeing my tax dollars hard at work; don't you?
Somehow, I don't think they cover this specific topic in law school. I mean, how do you sit across from your client's soon-to-be-ex and keep a straight face with something like this?
"As to the possessions acquired during the course of this marriage, my client would like to keep the summer house in Tahoe, half of the joint IRA, and reclamation of the kidney donated to save his wife's life."
Which makes me wonder what would happen if this had occurred in a community property state, like California or Louisiana? Under community property law, only assets acquired during the marriage are eligible for division during a divorce (I used to work for a family law attorney in California. :D). Dude's kidney was his BEFORE the marriage...so it wouldn't be eligible as community property. He technically gave it as a gift, and gifts aren't listed as community property, either.
Speaking of gifts...since dude is putting a $1.5 million price tag on his kidney, that makes him liable to the IRS since one is not allowed to give gifts over $15,000 without having to pay taxes on it. So he's kind of committed a bit of tax fraud.
(mind you, I don't work for the IRS, nor do I play an IRS agent on TV).
People, this is why you get a prenuptial agreement. Spell out AHEAD OF TIME, while you and your significant other still have happy feelings, how you want to divvy things up (including body parts) in the event of divorce. Your bank account (and kidneys) will thank you.
Thanks for stopping by.
USA and TNT: Places to Make Friends
Y'all,
Original basic cable programming is the new hotness. And no one does it better than USA and TNT.
USA is really coming correct in the new millenium. I love me some Burn Notice, and In Plain Sight eventually grew on me. I've already sung the praises of House, MD and NCIS in a previous post. And the franchises (Law & Order SVU and Criminal Intent) are good to watch; Vincent D'Onfrio is THE MAN.
If you don't know, now you know.
Monk is a decent show, but I tend to watch it when nothing else is on. I don't know if its the way that the show is broadcast, but it has this vintage feel/look to it: very Magnum, PI. It's hard for me to watch the show and reconcile it with this current point in recent times. I also watch the show and keep seeing the police captain from The Fast and the Furious; he's a strong secondary character on the show.
I just cannot get into Psych. Crazy white dude fakes being psychic to solve murder cases, aided by his streetwise black sidekick: very Miami Vice meets The Odd Couple, minus the fast cars and boats, suits worn over T-shirts and loafers with no socks, sex appeal, and hordes of scantily clad, sex-crazed women. I watched the 2008 Christmas special, and I was blown away by the sheer triteness of the plot. But what can I say; stupidity is popular, as evidenced by the staying power and proliferation of soap operas.
On to TNT: The Closer ended up being a really good show. The character of Chief Brenda Johnson is off the hook with her deep Southern accent and designer outfit. And of course, I gotta give her dap for attending my alma mater and liking to eat so much. :D But my new best friend is Leverage, starring Timothy Hutton. LOVE IT! The series started off a bit slow, but by the time episode 3 came around, it had grown legs and was off running. If you get a chance, check it out. Age of the geek, baby! And you can't go wrong with reruns of the original Law & Order...this is the time to catch the Briscoe/Green episodes, especially the ones with Arthur Branch as the DA.
Thumbs down, though, to Saving Grace and Raising the Bar. While I thought I'd really like Saving Grace, the character of Grace (played by Holly Hunter) is just too off the rails for my taste. Raising the Bar was supposed to be the Next Great Law Show Hope (in the vein of L.A. Law, The Practice, etc.); the ratings apparently reveal that the show is popular, but I'm in that minority camp that isn't feeling it. I am glad that Mark-Paul Gosselaar is continuing to find prominent acting life after Saved by the Bell, and it's always good to see Gloria Reuben (although I wonder if she will join Tina Turner on her upcoming tour, since she sang backup for Tina on her last farewell tour--which was why Reuben left ER?).
Well, mid- to end of January will bring lots of new seasons of new shows, so get ready!
Thanks for stopping by.
Original basic cable programming is the new hotness. And no one does it better than USA and TNT.
USA is really coming correct in the new millenium. I love me some Burn Notice, and In Plain Sight eventually grew on me. I've already sung the praises of House, MD and NCIS in a previous post. And the franchises (Law & Order SVU and Criminal Intent) are good to watch; Vincent D'Onfrio is THE MAN.
If you don't know, now you know.
Monk is a decent show, but I tend to watch it when nothing else is on. I don't know if its the way that the show is broadcast, but it has this vintage feel/look to it: very Magnum, PI. It's hard for me to watch the show and reconcile it with this current point in recent times. I also watch the show and keep seeing the police captain from The Fast and the Furious; he's a strong secondary character on the show.
I just cannot get into Psych. Crazy white dude fakes being psychic to solve murder cases, aided by his streetwise black sidekick: very Miami Vice meets The Odd Couple, minus the fast cars and boats, suits worn over T-shirts and loafers with no socks, sex appeal, and hordes of scantily clad, sex-crazed women. I watched the 2008 Christmas special, and I was blown away by the sheer triteness of the plot. But what can I say; stupidity is popular, as evidenced by the staying power and proliferation of soap operas.
On to TNT: The Closer ended up being a really good show. The character of Chief Brenda Johnson is off the hook with her deep Southern accent and designer outfit. And of course, I gotta give her dap for attending my alma mater and liking to eat so much. :D But my new best friend is Leverage, starring Timothy Hutton. LOVE IT! The series started off a bit slow, but by the time episode 3 came around, it had grown legs and was off running. If you get a chance, check it out. Age of the geek, baby! And you can't go wrong with reruns of the original Law & Order...this is the time to catch the Briscoe/Green episodes, especially the ones with Arthur Branch as the DA.
Thumbs down, though, to Saving Grace and Raising the Bar. While I thought I'd really like Saving Grace, the character of Grace (played by Holly Hunter) is just too off the rails for my taste. Raising the Bar was supposed to be the Next Great Law Show Hope (in the vein of L.A. Law, The Practice, etc.); the ratings apparently reveal that the show is popular, but I'm in that minority camp that isn't feeling it. I am glad that Mark-Paul Gosselaar is continuing to find prominent acting life after Saved by the Bell, and it's always good to see Gloria Reuben (although I wonder if she will join Tina Turner on her upcoming tour, since she sang backup for Tina on her last farewell tour--which was why Reuben left ER?).
Well, mid- to end of January will bring lots of new seasons of new shows, so get ready!
Thanks for stopping by.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Food, Folks and Fun: A Discourse on The Food Network
I'm getting hooked on the Food Network. I love to cook, and I like finding new recipes to try (I like how the recipes are listed for each episode of a show, and you can save, print, and/or email them). I am my best test kitchen, although sometimes I have to take it to the masses sooner than planned (like the jambalaya I made for my contribution to Christmas dinner. Who knew that cayenne pepper came in two levels of hotness...and I accidentally got the REALLY hot one?).
Watching some of these celebrity chefs is a hoot. Iron Chef America is a favorite show, just because I like to see the weird combinations they come up with on each show with the "Special Ingredient". I also confess to liking the overly dramatic act of The Chairman (who I last remember seeing in the movie From the Cradle to the Grave, starring DMX and Jet Li). The way his eyes pop from his head at random times (particularly when he's showing the Secret Ingredient) is a trip. And the posing of the Iron Chefs in the beginning, like they're about to come off the stage and throws some 'bows.
Obviously, you had to have graduated from a culinary school to go where they go with regard to food pairings. I have seen some speshul combos, such as cranberry risotto and a pork ear, banana, and strawberry sandwich (with a shot of almond milk on the side). Bobby Flay did these biscuit rounds with slices of goat cheese and a cranberry relish on top during the "Cranberries" challenge. WTF? Goat cheese and cranberries? Who THINKS of these things?
And why do they seem to serve polenta (in some shape or form) on every show? Polenta is like an Italian version of grits...but different. Garlic polenta, cranberry polenta, black truffle polenta (!)...polenta must be one of the first things they teach you to make in culinary school. It's the "save your butt" side dish. But during the "Cranberries" battle between Bobby Flay and Giada De Laurentiis against Mario Batali and Rachael Ray, the Batali/Ray won with some cranberry polenta. LOL).
More favorite shows:
I really enjoyed The Next Food Network Star (all praises due to God for holiday show marathons!). I was pleasantly surprised to see Aaron "Big Daddy" what's-his-name win Season 4, and get his show Big Daddy's House. Although the amount of black folks cooking on The Food Network were astounding (Sunny Anderson, The Neelys, that guy who runs the cooking camp for troubled teens, and Aaron). Food is truly one of the great equalizers (other than death).
You know I'm digging Miss Rachel Ray and her 30-Minute Meals. She gets mad props for boiling pasta in red wine. :D Although marriage must be good to her, 'cause ol' girl has gotten a bit chunky. I ain't mad at her, though. It lends to the credence of the show. Dinner: Impossible is a cool show too. I watched it for the first time when Michael Symon did a Crayola meal, where each course had to physically match the color of a crayon in a special palette chosen for the dinner (I think it was grape, salmon, sage, yellow, tomato, blueberry, and orange crayons). That was totally wild and creative!
I was finally glad to find out the name of the guy with the spiky blond hair and dark brown goatee (his name is Guy, and he won season 2 of The Next Food Network Star. Keep coming back; it really works!).
Favorite chefs: I like Michael Symon and Cat Cora (especially when she tosses back some ouzo at the end of her cooking. Go Cora!). Mario Batali is cool, too (even though the Food Network did him kinda dirty). Bobby Flay...he has his moments. He's arrogant, yet likeable...but he's also very New York City, and I have to take that into account. I like Ann Burrell because she talks to her food while cooking. I also like Robert Irvine, even though he falsified some of his credentials. He can still cook.
Now for my dislikes. Paula Deen is too Southern for this southern girl, and Ina Garten (the Barefoot Contessa) is just too monotone and low-key for me. Giada De Laurentiis irritates me for some reason (she's too perky), and Susan Lee is just too skinny (I'm sorry...a skinny cook, especially on the Food Network, is just wrong). The Neelys are too over-the-top lovey dovey. Guy what's-his-name is just too excitable, like a Jack Russell Terrier. He's kind of like Emeril Lite. Something about Aida (of Ask Aida) just doesn't sit right with me, and I can only take Bobby Flay in small doses.
Can't wait to watch season 5 of The Next Food Network Star, and the new reality show Chopped. (for some reason, T-Pain's "Chopped and Screwed" plays in my head when I see the commercial).
Thanks for stopping by.
Watching some of these celebrity chefs is a hoot. Iron Chef America is a favorite show, just because I like to see the weird combinations they come up with on each show with the "Special Ingredient". I also confess to liking the overly dramatic act of The Chairman (who I last remember seeing in the movie From the Cradle to the Grave, starring DMX and Jet Li). The way his eyes pop from his head at random times (particularly when he's showing the Secret Ingredient) is a trip. And the posing of the Iron Chefs in the beginning, like they're about to come off the stage and throws some 'bows.
Obviously, you had to have graduated from a culinary school to go where they go with regard to food pairings. I have seen some speshul combos, such as cranberry risotto and a pork ear, banana, and strawberry sandwich (with a shot of almond milk on the side). Bobby Flay did these biscuit rounds with slices of goat cheese and a cranberry relish on top during the "Cranberries" challenge. WTF? Goat cheese and cranberries? Who THINKS of these things?
And why do they seem to serve polenta (in some shape or form) on every show? Polenta is like an Italian version of grits...but different. Garlic polenta, cranberry polenta, black truffle polenta (!)...polenta must be one of the first things they teach you to make in culinary school. It's the "save your butt" side dish. But during the "Cranberries" battle between Bobby Flay and Giada De Laurentiis against Mario Batali and Rachael Ray, the Batali/Ray won with some cranberry polenta. LOL).
More favorite shows:
I really enjoyed The Next Food Network Star (all praises due to God for holiday show marathons!). I was pleasantly surprised to see Aaron "Big Daddy" what's-his-name win Season 4, and get his show Big Daddy's House. Although the amount of black folks cooking on The Food Network were astounding (Sunny Anderson, The Neelys, that guy who runs the cooking camp for troubled teens, and Aaron). Food is truly one of the great equalizers (other than death).
You know I'm digging Miss Rachel Ray and her 30-Minute Meals. She gets mad props for boiling pasta in red wine. :D Although marriage must be good to her, 'cause ol' girl has gotten a bit chunky. I ain't mad at her, though. It lends to the credence of the show. Dinner: Impossible is a cool show too. I watched it for the first time when Michael Symon did a Crayola meal, where each course had to physically match the color of a crayon in a special palette chosen for the dinner (I think it was grape, salmon, sage, yellow, tomato, blueberry, and orange crayons). That was totally wild and creative!
I was finally glad to find out the name of the guy with the spiky blond hair and dark brown goatee (his name is Guy, and he won season 2 of The Next Food Network Star. Keep coming back; it really works!).
Favorite chefs: I like Michael Symon and Cat Cora (especially when she tosses back some ouzo at the end of her cooking. Go Cora!). Mario Batali is cool, too (even though the Food Network did him kinda dirty). Bobby Flay...he has his moments. He's arrogant, yet likeable...but he's also very New York City, and I have to take that into account. I like Ann Burrell because she talks to her food while cooking. I also like Robert Irvine, even though he falsified some of his credentials. He can still cook.
Now for my dislikes. Paula Deen is too Southern for this southern girl, and Ina Garten (the Barefoot Contessa) is just too monotone and low-key for me. Giada De Laurentiis irritates me for some reason (she's too perky), and Susan Lee is just too skinny (I'm sorry...a skinny cook, especially on the Food Network, is just wrong). The Neelys are too over-the-top lovey dovey. Guy what's-his-name is just too excitable, like a Jack Russell Terrier. He's kind of like Emeril Lite. Something about Aida (of Ask Aida) just doesn't sit right with me, and I can only take Bobby Flay in small doses.
Can't wait to watch season 5 of The Next Food Network Star, and the new reality show Chopped. (for some reason, T-Pain's "Chopped and Screwed" plays in my head when I see the commercial).
Thanks for stopping by.
New Year, New (Blogging) Attitude, and Cable Television
Hi there!
Happy New Year!
Okay...I logged into Blogger and saw that my last post was July 23, 2008. Which is a shame because I've had so many thoughts running through my head, and you probably would have enjoyed them (if nothing else but to shake your head and think, "maybe she should get some medication."
In this new year, I am going to make a greater effort to avail you of my brain droppings (c) the late, great George Carlin. So get ready, do an RSS feed (if that's available on this site), and tell a friend.
I have a thought! Wanna hear it? Here it go! (shout out to In Living Color)
I start a new job on Jan. 12. This is my first permanent foray in Corporate America in over 7 years...but hustling and flowing as a freelancer just wore a sister out (hey, 7 years is still a pretty good run, and I do take the occasional project just to keep my feet wet).
Anywho...I've had the past week and some change off until the start of my new gig. What did I do, besides read and write? Channel surf.
One really needs a lot of free time to truly sift through the wonder that is cable television. Granted, I only have basic cable, but that is more than enough (I mean, I have over 80 channels, including TNT, USA, The Weather Channel, and The Food Network. What more do I need?).
I officially became addicted to House, MD over the summer. Gregory House, MD is me...in a white male package that is addicted to Vicodin (though my limp is nowhere that pronounced). I am drawn to shows with smartass characters who tend to be loners (hey, I used to be a fan of Xena, Warrior Princess too.). I've also become fond of NCIS, especially the episodes with Ziva David, the Mossad officer (home girl kicks major arse). Then again, I've been a fan of Mark Harmon since his St. Elsewhere days (ha! I'm showing my age).
I'm also getting into the Food Network (since I like to cook) and The Learning Channel. For some odd reason, I like to watch the shows about gastric bypasses and multiple births.
Last night I stumbled across an episode of The Bad Girls Club (which includes that chick who was in Kanye West's "The New Workout Plan" video--the one talking about Ray Ray). My favorite on the show is my namesake from Chicago. She is off the meat rack.
Tonight I stumbled across Confessions of a Teen Idol. My flabber was gasted. Time has not been kind to some of these dudes, and I didn't even recognize some of them (Christopher Atkins from The Blue Lagoon! WHOA! And the dude who sang "How Do You Talk To An Angel"!). And the show was hosted by Chachi himself, Scott Baio (on whom I had a major crush back in the day...him and Leif Garrett :D).
Guilty Pleasure of the Week: The Secret Life of an American Teenager, on ABC. Despite the fact that you can play some serious drinking games based on how many times the phrase "have sex" is mentioned throughout an episode-- and the tie for "most irritating" between the girl who plays Amy Jurguens and the guy who plays her boyfriend, Ben--I was glad to see Molly Ringwald (of Sixteen Candles) holding down her role quite well--she is not just a Brat Pack flashback; this chick can ACT. Molly looks good, too! Go'n, girl! And though the storylines are as transparent as wet tissue paper, and the show has its beat-you-over-the-head-with-morality premise, it's like a car wreck that I can't stop watching...and part of that is due to sexual abuse survivor and resident sociopath Ricky. This dude is like a junior Hannibal Lecter, but without the cannibalism.
You know...I may actually need to be medicated. Let's hear it for health insurance!
Thanks for stopping by.
Happy New Year!
Okay...I logged into Blogger and saw that my last post was July 23, 2008. Which is a shame because I've had so many thoughts running through my head, and you probably would have enjoyed them (if nothing else but to shake your head and think, "maybe she should get some medication."
In this new year, I am going to make a greater effort to avail you of my brain droppings (c) the late, great George Carlin. So get ready, do an RSS feed (if that's available on this site), and tell a friend.
I have a thought! Wanna hear it? Here it go! (shout out to In Living Color)
I start a new job on Jan. 12. This is my first permanent foray in Corporate America in over 7 years...but hustling and flowing as a freelancer just wore a sister out (hey, 7 years is still a pretty good run, and I do take the occasional project just to keep my feet wet).
Anywho...I've had the past week and some change off until the start of my new gig. What did I do, besides read and write? Channel surf.
One really needs a lot of free time to truly sift through the wonder that is cable television. Granted, I only have basic cable, but that is more than enough (I mean, I have over 80 channels, including TNT, USA, The Weather Channel, and The Food Network. What more do I need?).
I officially became addicted to House, MD over the summer. Gregory House, MD is me...in a white male package that is addicted to Vicodin (though my limp is nowhere that pronounced). I am drawn to shows with smartass characters who tend to be loners (hey, I used to be a fan of Xena, Warrior Princess too.). I've also become fond of NCIS, especially the episodes with Ziva David, the Mossad officer (home girl kicks major arse). Then again, I've been a fan of Mark Harmon since his St. Elsewhere days (ha! I'm showing my age).
I'm also getting into the Food Network (since I like to cook) and The Learning Channel. For some odd reason, I like to watch the shows about gastric bypasses and multiple births.
Last night I stumbled across an episode of The Bad Girls Club (which includes that chick who was in Kanye West's "The New Workout Plan" video--the one talking about Ray Ray). My favorite on the show is my namesake from Chicago. She is off the meat rack.
Tonight I stumbled across Confessions of a Teen Idol. My flabber was gasted. Time has not been kind to some of these dudes, and I didn't even recognize some of them (Christopher Atkins from The Blue Lagoon! WHOA! And the dude who sang "How Do You Talk To An Angel"!). And the show was hosted by Chachi himself, Scott Baio (on whom I had a major crush back in the day...him and Leif Garrett :D).
Guilty Pleasure of the Week: The Secret Life of an American Teenager, on ABC. Despite the fact that you can play some serious drinking games based on how many times the phrase "have sex" is mentioned throughout an episode-- and the tie for "most irritating" between the girl who plays Amy Jurguens and the guy who plays her boyfriend, Ben--I was glad to see Molly Ringwald (of Sixteen Candles) holding down her role quite well--she is not just a Brat Pack flashback; this chick can ACT. Molly looks good, too! Go'n, girl! And though the storylines are as transparent as wet tissue paper, and the show has its beat-you-over-the-head-with-morality premise, it's like a car wreck that I can't stop watching...and part of that is due to sexual abuse survivor and resident sociopath Ricky. This dude is like a junior Hannibal Lecter, but without the cannibalism.
You know...I may actually need to be medicated. Let's hear it for health insurance!
Thanks for stopping by.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
The Opiate of the Masses
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Keep It Moving
As life progresses, we grow (hopefully). This usually includes the mastering of old lessons in preparation for new ones; new challenges; new levels of faith.When you go to another level in your life, it is necessary to leave some people behind. Not because they did you dirty or are bad people, but because they just are not going the same way you are. Likewise for places and things. It's a sad but true fact of life.
Surrounding yourself with like-minded people can be a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that they will understand why you do what you do, because they are often doing the same or similar things. A curse in that when you are ready to do something different, something that is not within the insular world in which you all comfortably inhabit, you will find yourself on the outside.
Comfort is nice to have, but it too often leads to complacency. And when you lose your edge in this life, you tend to miss out on a lot of good things, and you also fail to realize just how far you can go. This is especially hard to discern when one has been through turbulent situations and is just glad to gain some measure of peace (or rather, non-turbulence. The two are not necessarily synonymous). Sometimes what one may perceive to be a destination is merely a rest stop; this is especially true when the rest stop spans a time period of years (which implies permanence) rather than months or weeks (which implies impermanence).
A pool of water quickly grows stagnant, especially if it is not replenished with fresh water. Moving water remains fresh. Let it marinate.
I have a hard time letting go: people, places, things, situations. It is a hallmark of my sign; in fact, many moons ago I read a birthday horoscope which said, "learning when to let go will be one of your life lessons." I've gotten better as I've gotten older, but I am still a work in progress. As a result, I find it hard to differentiate between seasonal and permanent. It's easy to figure out if one is referring to a retail job, but not when dealing with life.
For the past few days, my daily devotionals have been hitting me in the gut. Wednesday's stated, "If you are struggling to make things happen and they are not happening, it's you, not God, running the show." Today's devotional read, "Until today, you may not have been aware that you can do too much. In fact, you may have been a stumbling block on your own path." This speaks to recent events in my life, and makes me wonder if I need to let go of yet another thing.
I admit to having a vision of how my life is to be and the things I wish to accomplish; but one thing I have learned is that prayers are always answered, but not in the way we think they should be answered. Which means that perhaps I should let go of my preconceived notions of how/when/where I should realize my particular life vision. This means broadening my horizons and realizing that perhaps I am merely at a rest stop, not my permanent destination. This also means that I may once again be on the outside should my path end up diverging in a direction which others in my life are not upon, and may not be able to follow.
Oh well. I'll figure it out by and by. Thanks for stopping by.
Surrounding yourself with like-minded people can be a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that they will understand why you do what you do, because they are often doing the same or similar things. A curse in that when you are ready to do something different, something that is not within the insular world in which you all comfortably inhabit, you will find yourself on the outside.
Comfort is nice to have, but it too often leads to complacency. And when you lose your edge in this life, you tend to miss out on a lot of good things, and you also fail to realize just how far you can go. This is especially hard to discern when one has been through turbulent situations and is just glad to gain some measure of peace (or rather, non-turbulence. The two are not necessarily synonymous). Sometimes what one may perceive to be a destination is merely a rest stop; this is especially true when the rest stop spans a time period of years (which implies permanence) rather than months or weeks (which implies impermanence).
A pool of water quickly grows stagnant, especially if it is not replenished with fresh water. Moving water remains fresh. Let it marinate.
I have a hard time letting go: people, places, things, situations. It is a hallmark of my sign; in fact, many moons ago I read a birthday horoscope which said, "learning when to let go will be one of your life lessons." I've gotten better as I've gotten older, but I am still a work in progress. As a result, I find it hard to differentiate between seasonal and permanent. It's easy to figure out if one is referring to a retail job, but not when dealing with life.
For the past few days, my daily devotionals have been hitting me in the gut. Wednesday's stated, "If you are struggling to make things happen and they are not happening, it's you, not God, running the show." Today's devotional read, "Until today, you may not have been aware that you can do too much. In fact, you may have been a stumbling block on your own path." This speaks to recent events in my life, and makes me wonder if I need to let go of yet another thing.
I admit to having a vision of how my life is to be and the things I wish to accomplish; but one thing I have learned is that prayers are always answered, but not in the way we think they should be answered. Which means that perhaps I should let go of my preconceived notions of how/when/where I should realize my particular life vision. This means broadening my horizons and realizing that perhaps I am merely at a rest stop, not my permanent destination. This also means that I may once again be on the outside should my path end up diverging in a direction which others in my life are not upon, and may not be able to follow.
Oh well. I'll figure it out by and by. Thanks for stopping by.
The Song Lives On
Last night I watched the HBO debut of Life Support, the movie with Queen Latifah in which she stars as Anna, a woman living with HIV, and her subsequent community activisim and dealing with her personal demons as a result of said illness (and the events that led up to it).It was a pretty good flick, even if it was only one hour. The movie was produced by Jamie Foxx, and I was glad to see his name behind the scenes for once. I think he even sang on the soundtrack.
There was a lot of quality star power in the movie besides Queen Latifah: Wendell Pierce (Anna's husband, Slick), Anna Deavere Smith (who played Anna's mother. If you don't know who she is, then go outside and kill yo'self...after you Google her), Gloria Reuben (a fellow Life Support group leader and staff member). Evan Ross did a very credible job as Amare, a gay crackhead with full-blown AIDS. Tracee Ellis Ross, as his sister Tonya, did an unconvincing job as a reformed hood rat who still lived in the projects. Even when she was speaking Ebonics, she still sounded like she was delivering a speech to an audience of professors. And she was supposed to be in/from the Brooklyn projects? Nah, son.
However...I kinda understood her point of view. It's hard watching someone die, especially when you were close to that person and knew that their behavior got them to this point...they didn't have to die.Wendell Pierce was very poignant. I mean...to watch someone have to dose up on 12 horse pills a day because of something you did or did not do...that is some serious karma for you.
Anywho...the movie addressed the complexities of living with HIV from a woman's perspective, and the impact the virus has on relationships (and/or lack thereof) within a woman's life. The movie also brought back some memories, particularly when I heard some of the commentary of the folks who were watching the movie with me.
My aunt died of complications due to AIDS in 1995; she was diagnosed in January 1994 and dead by August 1995. Her ex-husband was a heroin addict. She left him due to his addiction but contracted the disease when she decided to reconcile. My cousin, their daughter, was and remains HIV-negative (she is 23 now). She was one of my favorite aunts and it was difficult to watch her die.She struggled with many of the things that the women in the Life Support group spoke of: anger; depression; simply wanting to be touched without fear; dating.
In the movie, Queen Latifah's character Anna said that when her husband Slick called her from prison and suggested that she be tested for HIV, she knew that not only did he have it, but she probably did too. My aunt once said that when she got a call telling her that her ex-husband was in the hospital and he was dying due to AIDS, she knew that she may have been infected as well. I suspect that she knew long before that, but I digress. Anywho...her decision to go back to her husband may have been deemed stupid on her part, especially since she paid the ultimate price for her decision.
She did not adhere to her HIV treatment. Her behavior and mindset was much like that of Amare, who pretty much gave up on himself and his life when a series of bad choices led to people giving him tough love and letting him sink or swim on his own. He chose to sink, but he tried to enjoy himself as much as possible as he drowned.
We did not give my aunt tough love, but rather unconditional love. Still, she got sick and tired of being sick and tired. And while we tried our best to shield her, the world is very cruel to that which it does not understand. Because she willingly went back to her HIV-infected husband (even if she didn't know), she was seen as being at fault for her illness; however, she would have been seen as blameless had she contracted HIV via a blood transfusion, or something like that.
Gotta love the skewed view of the world.
Anywho, the movie brought back the complicated emotions present when dealing with a loved one who has HIV/AIDS. I hope people watch the movie and take what they need from it, especially black women: we are now the demographic with the highest incidence of HIV/AIDS infection in the United States.
Ladies, use your head as well as your heart. Let's protect ourselves. Let's protect each other. And while love is not enough, it is certainly important.Thanks for stopping by.
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