Monday, September 05, 2005
Katrinaland
Maybe I'll change the name of my blog for awhile...Anyhow, after apologizing for losing yesterday's post, I see it went up...typos and all. Go figure! I came back to balance it. I don't mean to suggest that everything that is going on is racial. I think a good chunk of the failure to respond has been garden-variety ineptitude. And I also don't mean to paint Baton Rouge with a broad brush...many of the people here have been very nice and this experience has been traumatic for everyone. But like my favorite novel--Invisible Man--I couldn't help but to fill out the opportunities I've had to see how race continues to play out in this situation. That is what I am interested in, so that is what I muse on. I'll probably touch on class, gender and other social issues as well as occasionally having personal moments (pity parties, I got a right!) I'll get to put all that theory into praxis again. and I will write my posts before I log on...I'm seeing other people are finding my blog, please bear with the fact that I also use this site to communicate with my friends. If you would please consider the quasi-personal nature of what I may be posting here I would appreciate it. Translation...don't scare me by sending weird letters to me or my parents in my post office box, we've been through enough.
Katrinaland
First, off blogging and stress don't mix. I wrote a long-ass post yesterday talking about race and response, updating all on my social service experiences...Then pushed the wrong button and lost the whole damn post. So this is the deal, I looked at the comments some people posted. I'm totally on the people side right now. I hope they are calling the agencies and organization that formed to offer long term support to 9-11 survivors. Things are going to be on that order. Health-care for first and continuing responders, psychological support, relocation and job training efforts, etc. Did I already post that FEMA is nowhere in this area? At least that's what I was told Saturday at the Red Cross Center. I can't get a person on the phone at their toll-free number. I have no idea what's going on or what I'm supposed to do. We all are just following each other like sheep from one social service agency to another. "I heard such-and-such" "Really! I'll go over and check it out." So tomorrow I'm going to file for unemployment, I'm sure I'm ineligible...
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Katrina thoughts
So I promised more travails in the aftermath of Katrina. Being African-American--like American Express-sometimes has its benefits. After reading a fellow alum's BS post about how 'we' had no use for Kanye West's comments--which I saw after the fact on CNN--I feel compelled to address this recalcitrant notion that race is not playing a role in this unfolding crisis.
OK- so today, I ventured out of the house again. Though I fully expect to be denied, today I went to apply for emergency unemployment benefits. Before I got there, I stopped at the local Red Cross shelter. The volunteer there very sheepischly but very clearly told me that FEMA is NOT in the area. And by area, she meant Baton Rouge. I have a car and she was give me directions to different state social service offices that are open 24 hours a day this week (That's right, 24/7) to handle the needs of incoming displaced evacuees. The food stamp office-- where I refused to queue yesterday-- is open 24 hours until the 7th. Likewise there is a state Job Center office across the bridge in Baton Rouge that will be open 24 hours a day processing unemployment insurance claims. So again I say, lay off poor Kathleen Blanco. These Feds have been conning her all week, but she is doing all she can to make sure the state offers assistance.
So back to the racial stuff. I was in line behind a young white man. His family is homeless and displaced from Gulfport. He told me about '"the so-called Christians" (his words) at the church next to the office who all during their food giveaway referred to the mostly black people there as 'refugees.' He sad he walked away in disgust and gave their food back after he lectured them. He told them that until last Saturday he was hard at work and that everyone there white or black had the right to be treated with respect. Some of the younger, black adults in the line were talking loudly about being refugees taking up the word...like some do the "n"-word. He was clearly pained about it...
So my brush...Last night around 11PM, I am standing outside trying to get my cell phone to work. A fruitless, thankless ritual. A sheriff's deputy appears and tells me I have to 'go inside' because there is a 'curfew.' I startle him by questioning, "Since when?" His reply, "Just go inside!" My reply, "Sir"--because when confronted by law enforcement, the first rule of being stopped while black is to be very polite, even if ironically so--"Sir, I'm an adult, I do not have a curfew." He says, " Ma'am" --because the second rule of being stopped by being black is that law enforcement will be very polite to you even as they suggest the most outrageous abridgements of your rights--"Ma'am, I'm just trying to keep things safe. There's an 11 o'clock curfew. You need to go inside." I reply, "I am standing outside my own room trying to use my own cell phone. I am not going inside."
So he walks away. And sure enough fat, hot, little tears start rolling down my face. I am furious. And soon my nose is running and I am having a good, ugly cry. I have spent this past week being very philosophical about the fact that all my belongings are gone, that my parents house may be gone, that my grandmother's house may be gone, that my damn hometown may be gone. And now, I am being told to go on lockdown. All week in the local paper, evacuees have been referred to as "New Orleans thugs." I've felt the tension in the air as locals find their town swelling with lost, stressed out black people. Some disheveled, some destitute...
I decided that I was not going to be treated like an inmate. Especially since I am paying to be here! I marched over to the front desk. Of course, the damn deputy was there. So I begin to address my comments to the desk clerk. He, of course, chimes in. I want to say I am talking ABOUT you, not TO you. But I restrain myself. The deputy and I end up having a tense exchange. He tells me I have no grounds to be offended--because apparently he also a member of the emotion police!--and insinuates that if I don't like it, you guessed it! Well, I am fuming. I ask him if, in fact, he is suggesting that because I refuse to submit to his 'curfew'--did I forget to mention that on my way to the front office I walked past 5! white guests who apparently were free to come and go as they pleased--that if I would not be confined to my room that I should leave. He concedes that is what he means. I asked him when did I agree to a curfew, I didn't see one when I paid. That I was a GUEST, a paying guest...not an inmate. This cracker---sorry, gotta tell the truth---asks me how was he supposed to know who I was. I asked him as a law enforcement officer whether he was trained to discern between suspicious people and suspicious activity. Then I turned on my heel and told the front desk clerk that I hoped this was not going to become an unpleasant place to stay and I hoped it was possible for guests to be safe and comfortable.
So, those who wish to believe that race is irrelevant can dismiss mine as an isolated anecdote...that's how it usually works. And those who are open to the possibility that there is something awry with all this can draw withever conclusion they wish as well.
Tomorrow I'll remember to type my post before I log on--smile.
OK- so today, I ventured out of the house again. Though I fully expect to be denied, today I went to apply for emergency unemployment benefits. Before I got there, I stopped at the local Red Cross shelter. The volunteer there very sheepischly but very clearly told me that FEMA is NOT in the area. And by area, she meant Baton Rouge. I have a car and she was give me directions to different state social service offices that are open 24 hours a day this week (That's right, 24/7) to handle the needs of incoming displaced evacuees. The food stamp office-- where I refused to queue yesterday-- is open 24 hours until the 7th. Likewise there is a state Job Center office across the bridge in Baton Rouge that will be open 24 hours a day processing unemployment insurance claims. So again I say, lay off poor Kathleen Blanco. These Feds have been conning her all week, but she is doing all she can to make sure the state offers assistance.
So back to the racial stuff. I was in line behind a young white man. His family is homeless and displaced from Gulfport. He told me about '"the so-called Christians" (his words) at the church next to the office who all during their food giveaway referred to the mostly black people there as 'refugees.' He sad he walked away in disgust and gave their food back after he lectured them. He told them that until last Saturday he was hard at work and that everyone there white or black had the right to be treated with respect. Some of the younger, black adults in the line were talking loudly about being refugees taking up the word...like some do the "n"-word. He was clearly pained about it...
So my brush...Last night around 11PM, I am standing outside trying to get my cell phone to work. A fruitless, thankless ritual. A sheriff's deputy appears and tells me I have to 'go inside' because there is a 'curfew.' I startle him by questioning, "Since when?" His reply, "Just go inside!" My reply, "Sir"--because when confronted by law enforcement, the first rule of being stopped while black is to be very polite, even if ironically so--"Sir, I'm an adult, I do not have a curfew." He says, " Ma'am" --because the second rule of being stopped by being black is that law enforcement will be very polite to you even as they suggest the most outrageous abridgements of your rights--"Ma'am, I'm just trying to keep things safe. There's an 11 o'clock curfew. You need to go inside." I reply, "I am standing outside my own room trying to use my own cell phone. I am not going inside."
So he walks away. And sure enough fat, hot, little tears start rolling down my face. I am furious. And soon my nose is running and I am having a good, ugly cry. I have spent this past week being very philosophical about the fact that all my belongings are gone, that my parents house may be gone, that my grandmother's house may be gone, that my damn hometown may be gone. And now, I am being told to go on lockdown. All week in the local paper, evacuees have been referred to as "New Orleans thugs." I've felt the tension in the air as locals find their town swelling with lost, stressed out black people. Some disheveled, some destitute...
I decided that I was not going to be treated like an inmate. Especially since I am paying to be here! I marched over to the front desk. Of course, the damn deputy was there. So I begin to address my comments to the desk clerk. He, of course, chimes in. I want to say I am talking ABOUT you, not TO you. But I restrain myself. The deputy and I end up having a tense exchange. He tells me I have no grounds to be offended--because apparently he also a member of the emotion police!--and insinuates that if I don't like it, you guessed it! Well, I am fuming. I ask him if, in fact, he is suggesting that because I refuse to submit to his 'curfew'--did I forget to mention that on my way to the front office I walked past 5! white guests who apparently were free to come and go as they pleased--that if I would not be confined to my room that I should leave. He concedes that is what he means. I asked him when did I agree to a curfew, I didn't see one when I paid. That I was a GUEST, a paying guest...not an inmate. This cracker---sorry, gotta tell the truth---asks me how was he supposed to know who I was. I asked him as a law enforcement officer whether he was trained to discern between suspicious people and suspicious activity. Then I turned on my heel and told the front desk clerk that I hoped this was not going to become an unpleasant place to stay and I hoped it was possible for guests to be safe and comfortable.
So, those who wish to believe that race is irrelevant can dismiss mine as an isolated anecdote...that's how it usually works. And those who are open to the possibility that there is something awry with all this can draw withever conclusion they wish as well.
Tomorrow I'll remember to type my post before I log on--smile.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Katrina Thoughts
OK-- This post will be brief. First, thanks for the phone calls. Apparently, the nice people at Sprint are not so ready to handle this mess. My cell phone has been useless for the past two days. It actually got worse a day or two after the storm. I haven't been able to retrieve my voicemail since Wednesday. But some of you managed to reach me at the motel. Which leads to the second thing, Tonya sagely suggested we get a post office box. We have. The address is P.O. Box 987, Port Allen, LA, 70767. Great idea. ........OK. So everybody is fighting about why the response has been so underwhelming and whether race and/or class plays a part. I do think there is a lot that needs be investigated about this 'response effort.' Somes of the comments have been particularly cruel, suggesting that people who didn't evacuate somehow deserve their fate. I will take some time and write more about that later. What I don't understand is why efforts are not being taken to control the flooding at the Tennessee Street breach in the levee system. The 17th Street breach they keep mentioning on the news and taking such care with, empties into a part of town that is largely populated by whites and is full of commercial interests. The Tennessee Street breach is the one that as most likely devasted my grandmother's neighborhood and perhaps added to flooding in the suburb where I live New Orleans East. The lower ninth ward is predominantly poor and lower working class African Americans and it gives way to a suburb--Chalmette-- of poor and lower working class whites. I had just finished reading Rising Tide by John Barry about the 1927 Mississippi River flood. Apparently that part of town has been sacrificed before. As for New Orleans East, I have long complained of the consumer racism in the city. Our suburb is shockingly underdeveloped. A shopping mall has wanted for tenants and capable developers for nearly a decade. Despite the presence of a stable middle-class population, commercial interests have not seen fit to attend to our area in the way they have Metairie, Jefferson, Kenner and the western end of the municipality. But I'm sure there are sound engineering reasons why the 17th Street breach is being attended to and not the other...Perhaps someone will tell me what they are. Next time I will tell you all about the life of a Katrina victim...I've registered with FEMA and for food stamps. Next week, I'll file for unemployment and who knows what else...This is definitely a new ball game.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Katrina Update
Ok- My family and I are displaced because of Katrina. Saturday night/Sunday morning I made the decision to evacuate. At 12:30AM I threw on about three t-shirts and six pairs of panties in a bag, loaded my grandmother into the passenger side of the Mazda and drove out. We ended up in a Motel 6 in Port Allen, LA where we've been ever since. After a lot of cussing and fussing, my parents caught up to us the following afternoon. So we've been holed up together through the storm.
From what I can gather on the news and radio, it's pretty good odds my grandmother has lost everything. Her house is about three blocks from Tennessee Street--though I don't know where the levee breach was. I see all these houses in the Lower Ninth Ward...well, I see their rooftops. Eventually, I let her see the news reports. She hasn't asked any details or commented, so we haven't pressed it. I didn't want her to be shocked though, so we stopped trying to shield her from the coverage.
As for our house...who knows? We live in New Orleans East and took a very hard hit. I have no idea what the scene is. If you hear anything about my neighborhood, please post a comment. We live in zip code 70127 and right off Morrison Avenue between Crowder and Read.
My cell phone is unreliable at best, so I haven't been able to call people. But thanks for your messages. Every once in while I can retrieve my voice mail.
I forwarded all my email to my yahoo account, so I should get those eventually.
It may take awhile for me to post again because I don't have a reliable Internet connection/access. But I wanted to let everyone know that we have our lives and our health and each other.
rth
From what I can gather on the news and radio, it's pretty good odds my grandmother has lost everything. Her house is about three blocks from Tennessee Street--though I don't know where the levee breach was. I see all these houses in the Lower Ninth Ward...well, I see their rooftops. Eventually, I let her see the news reports. She hasn't asked any details or commented, so we haven't pressed it. I didn't want her to be shocked though, so we stopped trying to shield her from the coverage.
As for our house...who knows? We live in New Orleans East and took a very hard hit. I have no idea what the scene is. If you hear anything about my neighborhood, please post a comment. We live in zip code 70127 and right off Morrison Avenue between Crowder and Read.
My cell phone is unreliable at best, so I haven't been able to call people. But thanks for your messages. Every once in while I can retrieve my voice mail.
I forwarded all my email to my yahoo account, so I should get those eventually.
It may take awhile for me to post again because I don't have a reliable Internet connection/access. But I wanted to let everyone know that we have our lives and our health and each other.
rth
Monday, August 08, 2005
Haven
Haven
I know I said the hardest thing about following the diet was going to be eating separate meals. I was so wrong. The hardest thing has been eating six frigging meals a day. I am stuffed with leaves at this point.
It is the end of day two. I did not eat dinner and my late night snack. Instead of dinner I had a fiber bar. I simply cannot eat another bite. This is my second day of drinking a gallon of water. That is going much better since I started adding lemon juice to it. I'm thinking of just switching to the lemonade cleanse sans maple syrup. I didn't gain any weight, I am after just stuffed with leaves and brown rice. But it's just sitting there, so I look fatter than when I started.
I won't be gross. But something is wrong with me for sure. There is no good reason why I should be able to hold this much food. After I decided to skip the last two meals, which the diet book absolutely says not to do I just observed how I felt. I literally feel full. I don't want to throw up, but I feel that full like if I had another meal it would just get stuck in my stomach or esophagus. After drinking two gallons of water, a whole bag of salad greens, a third of a pound of pea pods, and a whole cup of brown rice I should not be full of anything. And even though it was eight ozs total-- less than I could chow back at a fine steakhouse-- after four, two oz servings I literally felt stuffed with fish. So I was not looking forward to an additional four ounces of chicken. Perhaps this diet makes metabolic sense, but I cannot eat this much food.I am going to pop!
It was wrong, I know. But I took two little pink pills. If that doesn't help I don't think this diet is going to get past day three...
I know I said the hardest thing about following the diet was going to be eating separate meals. I was so wrong. The hardest thing has been eating six frigging meals a day. I am stuffed with leaves at this point.
It is the end of day two. I did not eat dinner and my late night snack. Instead of dinner I had a fiber bar. I simply cannot eat another bite. This is my second day of drinking a gallon of water. That is going much better since I started adding lemon juice to it. I'm thinking of just switching to the lemonade cleanse sans maple syrup. I didn't gain any weight, I am after just stuffed with leaves and brown rice. But it's just sitting there, so I look fatter than when I started.
I won't be gross. But something is wrong with me for sure. There is no good reason why I should be able to hold this much food. After I decided to skip the last two meals, which the diet book absolutely says not to do I just observed how I felt. I literally feel full. I don't want to throw up, but I feel that full like if I had another meal it would just get stuck in my stomach or esophagus. After drinking two gallons of water, a whole bag of salad greens, a third of a pound of pea pods, and a whole cup of brown rice I should not be full of anything. And even though it was eight ozs total-- less than I could chow back at a fine steakhouse-- after four, two oz servings I literally felt stuffed with fish. So I was not looking forward to an additional four ounces of chicken. Perhaps this diet makes metabolic sense, but I cannot eat this much food.I am going to pop!
It was wrong, I know. But I took two little pink pills. If that doesn't help I don't think this diet is going to get past day three...
Monday, August 01, 2005
Pain is back...
The pain is back. This time in my hips and across my lower back. I can't be scientific about it, but I think it may be due to all the sugar and processed food I've eaten the past five days. I've had many pieces of chocolate brithday cake, sausages, and the kicker, lots of spaghetti and macaroni. Eliminating sugar, processed meat and refined flour seems drastic, but I must at least reduce my intake of it. The excuse for all this poor eating has been special events. Had to eat Mom's birthday cake, had to eat at my cousin's baby shower. But as soon as I did I felt like trash.
A deal's a deal, so I got up bright and early for my long-abandoned walk. I went about four miles. When I got back I was a soggy, sweaty mess. I started out at 7AM. The sun didn't start beating down on my until I turned around. If I leave at 6:30, I think I'll be fine. I'm trying to psyche myself up for this 6-Day diet. It cautions you can't follow it for more than ten. The food isn't the problem, the biggest issue will be eating separately from everyone else in the house. It's true about food and meals being social. Maybe I should spend the six days naked, that would remind me not to cheat.
A deal's a deal, so I got up bright and early for my long-abandoned walk. I went about four miles. When I got back I was a soggy, sweaty mess. I started out at 7AM. The sun didn't start beating down on my until I turned around. If I leave at 6:30, I think I'll be fine. I'm trying to psyche myself up for this 6-Day diet. It cautions you can't follow it for more than ten. The food isn't the problem, the biggest issue will be eating separately from everyone else in the house. It's true about food and meals being social. Maybe I should spend the six days naked, that would remind me not to cheat.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Dooced
I just read the blog of the nanny Tessy at subvic.blogspot.com --Very interesting. It seems the New York Times writer Olen is quite spiteful and off in her critique and analysis. I think the whole issue of firing employees over the content of their blogs is quite provocative. Of course, it hits close to home as an "ass-monkey" at my former job tried to get me in trouble for blogging. I steadfastly refused to concede any wrongdoing, invited my supervisor to read my blog and continued on about my merry may. It seems quite an erosion of our First Amendment protection to demand, even coerce a person to squelch their free expression. In the case of Tessy, the imbalance of power is even more striking. Ms. Olen-- an established writer-- used her position at the NYTimes to write a distorted piece that arguably damages the reputation and character of Tessy--and she has a right to do so as a journalist. She fired Tessy for blogging--a task she arguably knew she was engaged in, not because it affected her work, but because she didn't like what it said. How high-handed and unjust is that. A writer firing another writer for her expression. I'm going to think more about this. I really don't understand why a blogger can't on their own time write what they will about themselves and their lives, why this isn't protected expression...
Friday, July 22, 2005
Blogger fired
So another blogger bites the dust...this time some beauty editor in New York got the shaft from a new employer when an old employer got wind of her blog. I just read her stuff, pretty harmless. I don't understand this whole employer paranoia. Most of the stuff people write on their blogs is just harmless fluff and going to the extreme of firing people just seems, well, extreme andto validate that they have some bombshell to conceal. This chick didn't complain about her boss, reveal secrets about her employers, or reveal anything more than an arrogant disdain for the PR people she had to interact with daily. I guess that her demeanor could be sited as a relevant issue, but the posts were anonymous they didn't identify any publication in particular. But now, everyone knows the deal, the women at Ladies Home Journal aren't always very pleasant to deal with....so what. It's not like the identity of a CIA operative was revealed. That guy gets to keep his job until after he's convicted of a crime...
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Great lengths
Sometimes you travel a great distance to discover what is right in front of you. This week's excuse for not posting sooner is that I went to New York. My number one reason, Uncle Sam, was to have an informational interview for job leads and guidance. That went well. But I also got to see some friends. That went well too.
I am left with the observation that there are any number of places I could be and any number of things I could be doing. At the informational interview I got the heartening report that my relative lack of experience was not an insurmountable barrier to getting into producing. My concerns about laboring in relative poverty were only vaugely addressed. And it appears I may or may not be able to focus my efforts to a specific geographical area.
So since zip code is important and I am no longer willing to live a lifestyle that is held captive to the whims of my employer/vocation, I began contemplating--even in the midst of my informational interview--shifting some of my energies to other paths.
What does it mean to stand at the juncture of many roads without a clear preference for one or another? Last week I wrote that life was a series of days. Today I realize it is also a collection of experiences, all potentially enlightening and fulfilling. Why privilege one path over another a priori?
So I am low on reserves again. I am resting and thinking......
I am left with the observation that there are any number of places I could be and any number of things I could be doing. At the informational interview I got the heartening report that my relative lack of experience was not an insurmountable barrier to getting into producing. My concerns about laboring in relative poverty were only vaugely addressed. And it appears I may or may not be able to focus my efforts to a specific geographical area.
So since zip code is important and I am no longer willing to live a lifestyle that is held captive to the whims of my employer/vocation, I began contemplating--even in the midst of my informational interview--shifting some of my energies to other paths.
What does it mean to stand at the juncture of many roads without a clear preference for one or another? Last week I wrote that life was a series of days. Today I realize it is also a collection of experiences, all potentially enlightening and fulfilling. Why privilege one path over another a priori?
So I am low on reserves again. I am resting and thinking......
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Life is
...just a series of days sometimes. My mother was offering me some unsolicited advice and the observation that she thinks I often too idealistic. Rather than be defensive, I remained quiet. I can't say honestly that I was truly listening, only that I indeed heard what she was saying. I think it will take some time for me to really understand and process what she was conveying. Today she came in and good naturedly shared some of the angst she's experiencing...
In so many ways my life is not turning out the way I expected it would. I mean that in the existential sense. Try as I might, I could not even muster the energy for my usual pity party. Maybe I'm further gone than I realize, but I'm not depressed. Mom and I rather darkly exchanged an inventory of people who were worse off than both of us. In the scheme of things, I know that things for me aren't that bad. I am--to be euphemistic-- unencumbered. And in many ways that means I am open for any possibility, there is nothing I cannot pursue. But there is nothing that I passionately want to pursue. By that I mean, I could apply myself and do well at any number of things, commit to any number of worthy causes or endeavors. But at the end, I am afraid that all we are left with is ourselves and it seems a rather long walk to take to arrive at exactly the same spot.
Despite my lack of enthusiasm, I continue to search for gainful and hopefully meaningful employment. There are certain material obligations to which I must attend. But I am motivated by neither money nor ambition. I have developed a healthy respect for the reality that there will always be more things that I do not know than I can master. That there is always someone more than I-- smarter, hungrier, clever--and I am not envious or more determined for it. And I think that hard work at any station is as noble as another.
I am mostly happy with my own company. In the midst of one of my occasional, tongue-in-cheek tirades that I would become a cat-loving spinster, I realized I already was one. That gave me great amusement. Paradoxically, I am instantly repelled by men who are not taken with me. So rejection wears off quickly, especially when I realize that I will not have to suffer the quirks of another. Having spent all this time on my own, the idea that I'd continue as such seems reasonable and not at all unpleasant, if not occasionally predictable.
My health continues to float. My mother is annoyed that I have in her words 'claimed lupus.' In fact, I have not. I do not have a definitive diagnosis. But my aches persist and sleeping remains a pleasure unparalleled. My top priority is monitoring my physical, mental and spiritual well-being. It has also had the unforeseen benefit of tempering my anxiety about other matters. When, like today, my armpits ache--who knew they could hurt-- and my hip throbs, I could care less about the minor dust-up or major misunderstanding I may have had with whoever. I must sheepishly confess that I do not relish going on in this manner or worse into an unforeseen future. But Idon't know or care to explore what that means, so I figure I'll just take it as it comes. And as much as I can, without falling into self-indulgence I'll honor whatever emotions surface--even self-pity and then promptly move on to the next thing when I start inevitably annoying myself with self-awareness.
When my body hurts or my life falls short, I retreat to my mind. Not necessarily my thoughts. I have almost adamantly been avoiding any of the deep introspection or close analysis that usually wracks my brain. Instead I have been going on flights of fancy, distracting tangents, and so on. Not productive, but hardly a waste of time. While rummaging in my brain, I thought idly, I had the rather jarring observation that my life has hardly turned out as I expected. By now I thought I would have attained some, if not all of the trappings of so called success or progress. I have not. In fact, I question whether I actually want them or ever did. Maybe I was just pursuing them in lieu of admitting that I would rather meander.
So life has become, for now, a series of days. Perhaps a new passion will emerge, perhaps not. But either way life continues inevitably, so perhaps it doesn't matter either way.
In so many ways my life is not turning out the way I expected it would. I mean that in the existential sense. Try as I might, I could not even muster the energy for my usual pity party. Maybe I'm further gone than I realize, but I'm not depressed. Mom and I rather darkly exchanged an inventory of people who were worse off than both of us. In the scheme of things, I know that things for me aren't that bad. I am--to be euphemistic-- unencumbered. And in many ways that means I am open for any possibility, there is nothing I cannot pursue. But there is nothing that I passionately want to pursue. By that I mean, I could apply myself and do well at any number of things, commit to any number of worthy causes or endeavors. But at the end, I am afraid that all we are left with is ourselves and it seems a rather long walk to take to arrive at exactly the same spot.
Despite my lack of enthusiasm, I continue to search for gainful and hopefully meaningful employment. There are certain material obligations to which I must attend. But I am motivated by neither money nor ambition. I have developed a healthy respect for the reality that there will always be more things that I do not know than I can master. That there is always someone more than I-- smarter, hungrier, clever--and I am not envious or more determined for it. And I think that hard work at any station is as noble as another.
I am mostly happy with my own company. In the midst of one of my occasional, tongue-in-cheek tirades that I would become a cat-loving spinster, I realized I already was one. That gave me great amusement. Paradoxically, I am instantly repelled by men who are not taken with me. So rejection wears off quickly, especially when I realize that I will not have to suffer the quirks of another. Having spent all this time on my own, the idea that I'd continue as such seems reasonable and not at all unpleasant, if not occasionally predictable.
My health continues to float. My mother is annoyed that I have in her words 'claimed lupus.' In fact, I have not. I do not have a definitive diagnosis. But my aches persist and sleeping remains a pleasure unparalleled. My top priority is monitoring my physical, mental and spiritual well-being. It has also had the unforeseen benefit of tempering my anxiety about other matters. When, like today, my armpits ache--who knew they could hurt-- and my hip throbs, I could care less about the minor dust-up or major misunderstanding I may have had with whoever. I must sheepishly confess that I do not relish going on in this manner or worse into an unforeseen future. But Idon't know or care to explore what that means, so I figure I'll just take it as it comes. And as much as I can, without falling into self-indulgence I'll honor whatever emotions surface--even self-pity and then promptly move on to the next thing when I start inevitably annoying myself with self-awareness.
When my body hurts or my life falls short, I retreat to my mind. Not necessarily my thoughts. I have almost adamantly been avoiding any of the deep introspection or close analysis that usually wracks my brain. Instead I have been going on flights of fancy, distracting tangents, and so on. Not productive, but hardly a waste of time. While rummaging in my brain, I thought idly, I had the rather jarring observation that my life has hardly turned out as I expected. By now I thought I would have attained some, if not all of the trappings of so called success or progress. I have not. In fact, I question whether I actually want them or ever did. Maybe I was just pursuing them in lieu of admitting that I would rather meander.
So life has become, for now, a series of days. Perhaps a new passion will emerge, perhaps not. But either way life continues inevitably, so perhaps it doesn't matter either way.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Lil Kim
So Lil Kim got a year and one day. I hardly see the justice in that. Martha "M Diddy" Stewart served five months in jail and five months probation for insider trading--which I still do not understand to be a crime, but I digress. I harldy see how Lil Kim's trangression was more serious. I do not condone lying. Lying is bad. It usually comes to no good end. But let the punishment fit the crime. On another note, if she's telling the truth about her age, Lil Kim's prosecution adds fuel to my theory that being 30 sucks. My 30th year was as Queen Elizabeth quipped 'annus horribilis.' I know other women who report having equally crappy thirtieth years. So Ms. Jones, you're in good company. Keep your nose clean, I'll buy your album when you get out!
Cindy...
was a beast. We lost power last night and didn't regain it until about eleven this morning. Just in time to find out we're probably in line for Dennis, which may be a hurricane by then. Ah, love those tropical summers!
There were branches and leaves all over the yard and little Robi got sick all over the kitchen floor. My mother is vowing to find a hotel room for next time, which I've never heard before. Usually I have to beg them just to get batteries. Even a tropical storm is nothing to sneeze at--though I did sleep through most of it, by design-- you can never tell how things will go. In some neighborhoods power cables and poles blew over. Luckily, my grandmother has power.
Meanwhile, I am back on my imaginary diet. I imagine I am losing weight. I thought about going for a walk and surveying the damage but then blew it off.
During the Essence Festival, I got a cute free do at a Carol's Daughter promotion. Now I'm thinking I need to wash and style my hair more often, not look like such a scruff. In fact, i think I'll go lather up now...
There were branches and leaves all over the yard and little Robi got sick all over the kitchen floor. My mother is vowing to find a hotel room for next time, which I've never heard before. Usually I have to beg them just to get batteries. Even a tropical storm is nothing to sneeze at--though I did sleep through most of it, by design-- you can never tell how things will go. In some neighborhoods power cables and poles blew over. Luckily, my grandmother has power.
Meanwhile, I am back on my imaginary diet. I imagine I am losing weight. I thought about going for a walk and surveying the damage but then blew it off.
During the Essence Festival, I got a cute free do at a Carol's Daughter promotion. Now I'm thinking I need to wash and style my hair more often, not look like such a scruff. In fact, i think I'll go lather up now...
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Celebreality
Why is the programming on VH1 so damn good? On the one hand, VH1 has become MTV--there are more 'shows' than music. Where are the video hits? On the other hand, the shows are hilarious.
Currently I am TiVo'ing Best Show Ever (genius) and when it comes back I'll get my doses of Surreal Life and Celebrity Fit Club. I accidentally started watching Kept and Strip Search too. I love all the special top 100 countdowns. In short, I'm addicted!
Maybe I should be worried. My certain amusement at these shows must signal some decline in brain cell activity. But who can't laugh at guys who are competing to become strippers or Jerry Hall's man-whore? Weekly sendups of the most ridiculous goings-on in pop culture have completed skimmed the limelight off what used to be Talk Soup--now just The Soup and a shadow of its former hilarity.
They've got Wendy Brings the Heat, I Love the (decade), Ego Trip's Race-O-Rama...There isnt' enough time in the day for me to watch all this!
Maybe my brain is turning to mush...But I like it.
Currently I am TiVo'ing Best Show Ever (genius) and when it comes back I'll get my doses of Surreal Life and Celebrity Fit Club. I accidentally started watching Kept and Strip Search too. I love all the special top 100 countdowns. In short, I'm addicted!
Maybe I should be worried. My certain amusement at these shows must signal some decline in brain cell activity. But who can't laugh at guys who are competing to become strippers or Jerry Hall's man-whore? Weekly sendups of the most ridiculous goings-on in pop culture have completed skimmed the limelight off what used to be Talk Soup--now just The Soup and a shadow of its former hilarity.
They've got Wendy Brings the Heat, I Love the (decade), Ego Trip's Race-O-Rama...There isnt' enough time in the day for me to watch all this!
Maybe my brain is turning to mush...But I like it.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Not Guilty
So I was asked if I thought Michael Jackson was guilty and if celebrities 'get off' becuase they are rich and famous. Today I heard more scuttlebutt around the shampoo bowl. I'll share what I had to say about the whole matter; luckily I had a chance to think all this through for the unfinished diss of mine.
I actually think rather than getting a different standard of treatment in the courts, celebrities are able to purchase the illusory construct the average defendant cannot "innocent until proven guilty." The average person--accused, arrested and charged by the state--would be hard pressed to field 12 people who could honestly set aside all their presuppositions about their guilt. In my experience, most people think if a person has been arrested or charged with an offense, they probably did it--the old where there's smoke there's fire. Since most people feel a sense of false familiarity with celebrities, they are more likely to see a famous defendant and think "Hmm, I'm not sure I think this guy would do that." And that is exactly what they are supposed to think. Setting race aside, the state-- in the Simpson, Bryant, and now Jackson case--put forth some flawed presentations. And the respective jurors were underwhelmed. For some unknown, I would hope juries are as stubbornly divorced of their presumptions of the accused innocence as they are with celebs.
Do I think MJ is a sexual predator? I waffle. I think he's looney tunes and definitely has an unhealthy preoccupation with 'boyhood.' But my opinion is not evidence, is not grounds for conviction. Is it possible he's a manipulative deviant who has perfected the pursuit of his prey--isolating the least credible, least sympathetic victims ever? It is possible. My friend wondered why the state didn't have any experts testify about how predators choose their victims. That would have been helpful. No. The state paraded a bunch of famewhores to the stand-- the accuser's mother being the ringleader-- and said there, convict him. The jury-- who apparently has stated they don't believe MJ has never assaulted a child-- said sorry, not today.
So the story continues to unravel. It is clearly tragic. The headlines today: no more sleepovers. Well, it's about time. I hope someone of conscience has convinced this man to get some help. But cynically, in due time I think he'll be at it again.
Additionally, despite the press' ostensible standard of objectivity-- I actually heard Bryan Williams go on NBC forever about what a freak MJ was. I mean, that's hardly journalistic. That's opinion. We don't even pretend that we don't give people a fair shake. They are guilty even if acquitted. I won't even bother with Nancy Grace--I think she has some sort of psychological problem.
I would never ever allow MJ to watch my kids. But I wouldn't let any grown male stranger do that. I also believe that I have no right to judge a person that I only know from tv and pop culture. Maybe he's weird--that's not a crime. Maybe he is a sexual predator. Maybe is not grounds for my condemnation. Twelve people were selected to make a decision, They did. I think the reasonwhy these spectacles are so interesting, especially related to race, is that the reveal that we never suspend our prejudices and presuppositions...until perhaps we asked under oath to do so.
This case is closed.
I actually think rather than getting a different standard of treatment in the courts, celebrities are able to purchase the illusory construct the average defendant cannot "innocent until proven guilty." The average person--accused, arrested and charged by the state--would be hard pressed to field 12 people who could honestly set aside all their presuppositions about their guilt. In my experience, most people think if a person has been arrested or charged with an offense, they probably did it--the old where there's smoke there's fire. Since most people feel a sense of false familiarity with celebrities, they are more likely to see a famous defendant and think "Hmm, I'm not sure I think this guy would do that." And that is exactly what they are supposed to think. Setting race aside, the state-- in the Simpson, Bryant, and now Jackson case--put forth some flawed presentations. And the respective jurors were underwhelmed. For some unknown, I would hope juries are as stubbornly divorced of their presumptions of the accused innocence as they are with celebs.
Do I think MJ is a sexual predator? I waffle. I think he's looney tunes and definitely has an unhealthy preoccupation with 'boyhood.' But my opinion is not evidence, is not grounds for conviction. Is it possible he's a manipulative deviant who has perfected the pursuit of his prey--isolating the least credible, least sympathetic victims ever? It is possible. My friend wondered why the state didn't have any experts testify about how predators choose their victims. That would have been helpful. No. The state paraded a bunch of famewhores to the stand-- the accuser's mother being the ringleader-- and said there, convict him. The jury-- who apparently has stated they don't believe MJ has never assaulted a child-- said sorry, not today.
So the story continues to unravel. It is clearly tragic. The headlines today: no more sleepovers. Well, it's about time. I hope someone of conscience has convinced this man to get some help. But cynically, in due time I think he'll be at it again.
Additionally, despite the press' ostensible standard of objectivity-- I actually heard Bryan Williams go on NBC forever about what a freak MJ was. I mean, that's hardly journalistic. That's opinion. We don't even pretend that we don't give people a fair shake. They are guilty even if acquitted. I won't even bother with Nancy Grace--I think she has some sort of psychological problem.
I would never ever allow MJ to watch my kids. But I wouldn't let any grown male stranger do that. I also believe that I have no right to judge a person that I only know from tv and pop culture. Maybe he's weird--that's not a crime. Maybe he is a sexual predator. Maybe is not grounds for my condemnation. Twelve people were selected to make a decision, They did. I think the reasonwhy these spectacles are so interesting, especially related to race, is that the reveal that we never suspend our prejudices and presuppositions...until perhaps we asked under oath to do so.
This case is closed.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Cookie Puss Requiem
We had to put our family cat Sugar to sleep this past Saturday. She was around 18 or so. She was my Cookie Puss. I took some pictures of her a few months ago and I thought it would be a fitting tribute to put her face on my blog. She enjoyed having people compliment her face anyway. Over the past few weeks, she lost a great deal of weight and almost all her energy. In her heyday, Sugar was a bitch on wheels. She bit people, scratched too and was generally cranky. But she was well-loved and had a great capacity for affection when it suited her. When we first got her, Sugar would climb into bed with me and she was quite heartbroken when I left for college. When I'd return for breaks, she'd give me a piece of her mind so I'd know how displeased she was. When I introduced first Nairobi, then Sam into her life, Sugar was hardly gracious. She let them know she was not interested in making new friends. In fact, she let them know everyday, screaming kitty expletives, demanding they move aside. In short, she loved having them around. They loved her too. Robi has been looking in corners for her for days. And Sam is absolutely heartbroken. He knows that Sugar is neither inside nor out. He spent the last few weeks, quietly following Sugar around making sure she was OK. Though she doesn't go outdoors, I think Robi knows Sugar is gone for good too. There haven't been any canned meals for her to finish. The vet says they'll get over it soon. I'm not sure if we will. My mother had bought a few weeks worth of canned food for Sugar even though she had stopped eating. every morning Sugar would stand at the pantry screaming and cursing until my mother came and fed her. She'd do the same at lunch and dinner. She'd find me to open doors for her, check her face, lift her onto the couch. She'd bother my dad for his dinner and bask in his baby talk. We're all bereft. It's good that Sam and Robi are here, but we all miss Sugar. Goodbye Cookie Puss, I miss your cute face!
Monday, June 06, 2005
Patience
The cliche goes...patience is a virtue. That and other crap I have gullibly believed. Long I thought patience fell down upon us like grace, like sweet little raindrops. That, in fact, may be the case for others. For me, patience is a tortuous ordeal. I thought it was some charactersitic, like height and weight. I felt inadequate because like diabetics and insulin, I apparently lacked an adequate supply. I fake patience. I sit with my hands folded nicely, but inside I scream like a willful two-year old. NOW! I want what I want right now. I want to know the answers. I want dessert. I want to ride up front. I want to go first. I want to go again. I want to open the box. I want my cookie. I want, I want, I want. At least that's not broken. For a long time I couldn't muster a want for anything. Now I want...not specifically, just diffuse. But soon, I hope, I'll gain control of my powers and focus with laser precision on something or other.
I wonder how many other people pretend to be patient. Maybe it's fake it until you make it. I am tired on sitting on my hands. I want to just scream! Gimme! Tell me! Let me! Show me! ME! ME! ME!
I wonder how many other people pretend to be patient. Maybe it's fake it until you make it. I am tired on sitting on my hands. I want to just scream! Gimme! Tell me! Let me! Show me! ME! ME! ME!
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
So it begins
I woke up this morning and felt pretty good. I have a little discomfort but my spirits are high. My plan was to begin daily five mile walks today, but I just wasn't up for it. Instead I remained still and just tried to observe myself objectively. This past weekend it rained continuously and today was overcast and grey. I do feel relieved that I have more knowledge about what's going on with my body, but this journey is only just beginning. Now I have to master my mind and thoughts.
Tomorrow my mother and I are driving my father to Convent, LA for a retreat. That should be interesting.
In national news, the infamous Deep Throat's identity has been revealed. I was hoping it was the Supreme Court justice. Instead it turns out to be W. Mark Felt who may or may not have had an axe to grind with the Nixon admininstration and ended up getting in hot water himself for doing a little breaking and entering. An interesting historical development nonetheless. I think the man, regardless of his political or personal motives, did the country a great favor. We must always remain critically engaged with our government and administrators. Nixon relied in part on the nation trusting the infallibility and virtue of the office of president and falling short of questioning the person in that position. In recent years, we've swung back toward that position. The "you're with us or against us" variety of unscrutinized patriotism is used to suppress, distort, or stifle debate and critique. It is still the case that absolute power corrupts absolutely; hopefully the case of Deep Throat will continue to remind us that government should be for the people...
Tomorrow my mother and I are driving my father to Convent, LA for a retreat. That should be interesting.
In national news, the infamous Deep Throat's identity has been revealed. I was hoping it was the Supreme Court justice. Instead it turns out to be W. Mark Felt who may or may not have had an axe to grind with the Nixon admininstration and ended up getting in hot water himself for doing a little breaking and entering. An interesting historical development nonetheless. I think the man, regardless of his political or personal motives, did the country a great favor. We must always remain critically engaged with our government and administrators. Nixon relied in part on the nation trusting the infallibility and virtue of the office of president and falling short of questioning the person in that position. In recent years, we've swung back toward that position. The "you're with us or against us" variety of unscrutinized patriotism is used to suppress, distort, or stifle debate and critique. It is still the case that absolute power corrupts absolutely; hopefully the case of Deep Throat will continue to remind us that government should be for the people...
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