Lilly White

How do black people in Seattle handle it?

I forgot how white this city is! After spending over 5 years back East in Cleveland and in North Carolina where a multi-colored society is commonplace, the banal, monochrome population of this town is disconcerting. Seeing a black man or woman on the street is rare, and when I do, it is a welcome oasis of diversity. When I took one of those "racial preference" computer surveys in a Sociology class, my results came back "preference for black faces, strong preference for middle-eastern faces". And, I'm a boring old white girl. Not that I'm touting how "liberal" or "color blind" I am. I think I just find darker complexions more attractive. A common question my sisters used to ask me when I told them I had a date was "what country is he from?".

I wonder if Seattle African-Americans ever get used to being outsiders. My friends from around here seem almost afraid of differently-pigmented people. The "dominant minority" is Asian (Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Taiwanese etc.). Because of their large numbers, they have successfully integrated themselves in the area. But the Black people have had a much harder time. The best-known local gospel group, "The Total Experience Gospel Choir" looks to be about 1/3 white. But when January's Martin Luther King day rolls around, suddenly, everybody is black. The TV stations all have live broadcasts from the big Baptist church downtown and everybody speaks of his greatness.

If I were black in this town, hopefully I'd have a sense of humor and be able to laugh at the annual hypocrisy.

Three Thousand, Four Hundred and Thirty-Nine Miles

It has taken me over a week to recover from my journey. Thank goodness for acupuncture.

Have you ever driven 3,439 miles? It took me exactly 7 days, leaving Greensboro at 7pm on a Tuesday and arriving in Seattle at 6:30 pm the following Tuesday. I rarely drove more than 8 hours a day, having 2 kitties in tow. As soon as I got to Seattle, I wound up sitting in a 40-minute traffic jam across the I-90 bridge because there was a Sonics game that night. Good to be welcomed home in high style.

I had to take the Southerly route to extricate myself from North Carolina. Watching the weather channel in every Motel 6 along the way, it was clear that the safest route was to drive South on I-40 from NC to Flagstaff, AZ and then head north. What a treat that turned out to be! I took US 89 North and drove by the amazing "vermilion cliffs" and saw colors that I thought only existed in a Crayola box of 64 crayons!

Some things I've noticed since returning to Seattle:

1. People don't talk at the movies!!!! HOORAY!!!

2. No, I don't dress weird. I dress like people from Seattle. Hey North Carolina, how do you like that?

3. Strangers I pass on the street have been saying 'hello' to me! When did that start happening here? Or, maybe it is because I can't stop smiling and they're just responding to me?

4. You really DO need 4 coffee shops on every block here. 'Cuz they're all filled with people reading books or working on their laptops or talking. To other people. Not just talking on their cell phones.

I'm home. Sigh.

People Who Need People...

I have to write this lesson down before I forget it.

I have been a very independent, capable yet very lonely lady most of my life. Until today, I didn't know why I have been so lonely.

My sisters and I were raised by a mother who always criticized her children when they needed her help. Many times we were punished (or hit) for not knowing how to open a jar or operate the vacuum cleaner or whatever else she was too irritated to explain to her daughters. One of mom's favorite phrases was "figure it out".

So, we were raised to not ask for assistance. We learned that either we "figured it out" or it didn't get done. In adulthood, this has translated into a fierce independence, for my sisters and I. I think all of us feel ashamed of ourselves when we are vulnerable. For me this has translated into a real difficulty making friends and an even greater difficulty in meeting potential romantic partners.

It is not surprising that when I feel myself falling for a guy, I immediately start to feel some self-loathing. There is terrific vulnerability in romantic attraction. It leaves you wide open for rejection. In fact, it was quite common when I was growing up, to shut down when mom wanted a hug from me. If I let her see how much I needed her, I would be shunned. Only when I withheld affection could I feel powerful.

While I've needed and received assistance from friends and my sisters throughout my life, it was always accompanied by a strong sense of self-reproach.

This past week I have had to get rid of most of my possessions. I've done it via "Freecycle.org", a message board that pairs up those who need stuff with those who have it to give away. I can't get over how many great people I've met! I've also needed an acquaintance from college, another adult student, to take and store some of my things. Today, she came over with her husband to load up their pick-up with my furniture. They're such a wonderful couple! She needed some furniture, I needed someone to pick up and store my armoire and we were able to meet each others needs! There was no guilt or shame involved.

I finally understand what Barbra Streisand was singing about.

Give It Away Now, Give It Away Now!

I keep hearing that old Red Hot Chili Pepper's song in my head. "What I got I wanna give it to your mama...etc" (but I doubt they were singing about used furniture.)

I have not been able to find a cost-effective way to move (or drag)all my stuff back to Seattle. So, I've joined up with Freecycle.org. That is an online community dedicated to recycling stuff from one person to another. Why buy new stuff or send it to the landfill when there are people out there who either want to get rid of it or who need it?

I totally support the Karma of give-aways, even though it is VERY SCARY giving away all of my stuff. Really, really terrifying. Part of me feels like I'll never get anything back again. Another part of me feels like I must be ungrateful for what I have. But, I feel good when I see the happy faces of the people getting my stuff.

Today a lady picked up my plant stand and another woman picked up some old blankets and comforters. Tomorrow my microwave cart, ironing board, TV and CD player will be gone.

Also today I mailed in my application for graduate school. Big day. Big uncertain day. Crossing my fingers that I get into the grad program.

I'm exhausted and my nose is bleeding (I've probably got high blood pressure due to all of my stress)Or else it is bleeding from dry, polluted air.

And, the cats know something is up. They won't like loosing their comfy spots for napping. Hope they enjoy the backseat of a Nissan Sentra. A tiny Nissan Sentra for 3,000 miles.

Farewell Good Citizens. My Work Here is Finished!

I WON!!!

Three posts ago, (Why Do I Even Bother?) I lamented the insults perpetrated on me by the editor of Yes! Weekly and felt disgusted and demoralized.

Well, as of the latest issue published today, November 9th 2005, the weekly magazine no longer features any mention of "Yes! Girls"!!!!! There isn't a single trace of the sexist advertising campaign!

They may have insulted me in print but in the end, I got the moral victory! It is clear my letter must have prompted discussion in their offices. Also, I am aware of at least one letter written in my defense. Perhaps there were more? None of these letters made it in the magazine, however.

Yes, my work here in this backwater North Carolina town is through. I have prompted discussions on sexism, religion and freedom of speech. Parrhesia*, even in a town like this, is alive and well!


* Parrhesia - the open discussion of ideas that go against the popular opinion. (the word was first used by Plato - the concept of parrhesia is NOT allowed in the Bush administration)

Closure

Those who know me are aware that my only task at work, for the last month, has been removing staples from thousands of students' folders and shredding the unnecessary documents for their records.

Well, as it turns out, the very last box of student files I remove
staples from will be the box containing my student file.

I am removing the staples and shredding the unneeded information from my own records. There's something poetic in that. Finally, closure on
my undergraduate education.

Shredding my Adulthood

Sorry I haven't posted in a while.

I'm busy purging and packing and shredding in preparation for my move back across the country. I'm moving back to Seattle and applying to graduate school for ethnomusicology.

No guarantees I'll get in.

In fact, there are no guarantees about much in my life these days. My stuff is (might?) be moved by a "friend-of-a-friend" who owns his own tractor-trailer. But, I've yet to talk to this guy (who's name is Henry). All I know is that he's a friend of my friend, Marsha, and according to Henry's wife, he's up for the plan. I'm putting a LOT of faith in this. I don't usually (ever?)operate this way.

But, even when I've tried to have a plan and have moved in a straight line, somehow my path veered off course. I've never been one to walk the straight and narrow, even when I search for stability.

Last night I spent 5 HOURS shredding bank records, cancelled checks, car and house insurance forms, credit card bills and promotions and other miscellaneous stuff. I realized I was putting the record of my adulthood to rest. I was getting rid of history.

Here are some of the things I shredded:

1. A rent check to my landlord for $225 a month! (wish I could pay that again!)

2. A $25 donation to "Hands Across America" from 1986. Remember that? The whole country was supposed to join hands and have a human chain spread from coast-to-coast. I forget why, however.

3. A $15 donation to "The Friends of Forest Park". This was an organization headed by this guy I was nuts for, John Malack. Forest Park was an old-timey amusement park near Philadelphia. I wonder if he saved it? Wonder how he's doing?

4. Checks made out to Art/Not Terminal gallery for "hanging fees" for paintings I used to display at the artist-run gallery.

5. The bill of sale for the very first new car I ever bought.

6. A letter from my old High School School District, saying I owed them back taxes from the years 1985, 86 and 87. They sent back the evidence I mailed to them, where I copied old bank records from those years that clearly showed my address to be in different cities and states. According to the school district, my bank records were from the "wrong months" in those years!!

And, lots of cancelled checks to credit cards and department stores and craft shops for lots of clothing, arts and crafts and jewelry that I "just had to have" at the time. Stuff I've long forgotten about or thrown away or given as gifts.

Maybe I didn't really need it after all? That's what I'm thinking, anyway, as I throw out or donate bags and bags of old clothing and nick knacks and other crap. I don't want to drag it back across the country with me as I start my life over again.

Why Do I Even Bother?

Grrrrrrr.

I'm so mad and sick to death of the antiquated attitudes in this backwards town.

Last year, a new, hipper and edgier weekly newspaper came on the scene. It reminded me just the tiniest bit of Seattle's "The Stranger" weekly. It had an attitude and a liberal take on life. But recently, they started a new ad campaign that featured scantily clad women. I felt strongly that they were shooting themselves in the foot with this new direction and decided to send them a letter. I also commented about psycho columnist Ann Coulter's stance on Supreme Court Justice nominee Harriet Meiers. Coulter agrees that the woman is unqualified and doesn't think her sex should matter. Here's my letter:

Offended reader of the week...(their title)
Dear Editors,

As a recent graduate of UNCG’s women’s and gender studies program, I feel it is my duty to point out sexism (and sexual evolution) when it is encountered.

I’ll begin with One Step Forward. For the first time in my life, I agree with a column written by Ann Coulter! Her stance on Supreme Court Nominee Harriet Miers is a giant leap for feminism. When conservatives can judge a woman on her merit and not solely on her sex, then it appears women have rounded the corner to achieve full-fledged personhood, instead of just tokenism. All Americans, liberals and conservatives alike, want the best person for the job, not just the President’s friend with a vagina.

Unfortunately, in this same issue, YES! Weekly has taken 2 steps back. This retrograde movement involves the way you are currently trying to position yourselves in the Greensboro marketplace. When you came on the scene, I was thrilled! Finally, a weekly that addressed the local political and cultural scene with humor and intelligence. I have been a loyal reader ever since.

As you may have guessed, I am a female reader. I can’t help but wonder if YES! Weekly is trying to abandon its educated and female audience by using marketing tactics usually reserved for male-oriented ‘crotch-rock’ radio stations. By this, I mean your out-and-out sexist attempt to position yourself as having “cool and hot” readers with your “YES! girl” models. I have nothing against beautiful women. I consider myself among them. However, what I do resent is using women (and notice I don’t refer to grown women as “girls” — a direct attempt to make these young women powerless and childlike) as window-dressing to promote a product. Especially when that product is aimed at the intellect, instead of the libido. Your marketing staff is taking the cheap and easy way out. Come on! Use some creativity!

I applaud you for using both women and men of all ages as your “Local Talent” models. But I believe you must reconsider your positioning as Greensboro’s “best read” (whatever that means) weekly. If you alienate your female readers, you are only hurting yourselves. Who’d have thought Ann Coulter would be more progressive than YES! Weekly?

Sincerely,

Ansapo

And, here's how they responded:

editor replies: We’ve never before heard of someone with a women’s studies degree being offended, but we must stand by our proclamations concerning the hotness (and coolness) of our readers. And we are assuming that you don’t like this week’s cover. Call it a hunch.

BASTARD MOTHERFUCKERS. They just don't get it. I wrote a well reasoned letter that included positives AND negatives. I complimented them in many ways. But NOOOO!!! These misogynist motherfuckers took the easy way out. I'm sure I'm not the only woman offended by their sexist tone. I hope they show up in bankruptcy court soon.

Bottle Brunette

Since I've been a student I haven't had the money to get my hair colored or highlighted. So, I've resorted to using over-the-counter hair colors (or hair colours as they say in Canada).

I guess I'm not alone. Walgreen's, up the road from me, carries an entire aisle FILLED with the manes and faces of sultry blondes, seductive brunettes and saucy redheads staring out from enticing boxes with the brand names Garnier, Miss Clairol, Preference, Excellence and Ferria, to name a few. Some of the boxes even have young men on them, looking more frisky and playful than sexy.

I have been a blonde, or "strawberry blonde" my entire life. Once I got closer to graduation from college, however, I wanted to become a brunette. Maybe I wanted my hair color to reflect my intellect. I wanted to tell the world to take me seriously. Funny, since I'm such a raging feminist. I should be the last person to believe that my hair color defines who I am. But maybe I just wanted a change. Besides, brown hair seems to highlight my fair complexion and blue eyes better.

I've gotten a little bolder with the color, too. Once, my hair turned the color of a watery hot chocolate and another time, I was furious to find brassy red highlights instead of the soft auburn that the box promised.

Wonder what shade this iced-mocha will be when I rinse it out of my hair. I'll let you know. The timer just went off! Better jump in the shower!

My Head Has Left the Building

Actually, my head has left The South! Even better. I'm applying to graduate school at the University of Washington and am planning on moving back home to Seattle in mid-December!

I finally had a vision of my future and am putting things into place to make that happen. Luckily, The Universe is cooperating! Funny how that is. When I finally got to North Carolina, everything fell into place. While getting my education in this state wasn't my first choice - I had planned on Ohio but after a year I needed to leave - once I got here, I quickly got a job and an apartment and met some cool people and found out how cheap North Carolinia schools are for state residents. It seems I was SUPPOSED to go to my school. I even found a wonderful apartment in a building I had driven by and said "It'd be so cool to live there!" And, there wasn't even a For Rent sign outside. Just fate and luck.

I'm crossing my fingers for more of that fate and luck as I travel back Northwest to study Ethnomusicology. It is the one disipline in the world that seems made for the unique way I process life. I had never heard about it until I got to this North Carolina school. And, what are the chances that I would find out about it from a guy who got his PhD from the University of Washington? And I wouldn't have taken his class had I not overheard a conversation in my "Masterpieces of Cinema" class. I would never have taken "Masterpieces of Cinema", from this particular teacher, had I not sat next to Lea in my French 101 class. And, I wouldn't have taken that 11:00 AM French 101 class had I been able to get up just a little earlier in the morning...

I think it is FATE.

So, I keep thinking how I'll get to the University from my sister's place. Will I park and ride the bus? Will I ride a bike? How many coffee places will I pass on my way to class? Ooooh. Cool and cloudy weather. Air I can breathe. So enticing after spending this sweltering summer in the South. I think about all of the wonderful movies that play in Seattle that never reach this backwater burg. Art and liberalism. God I miss those things.

Trying to push my head back into North Carolina so I can finish up the workday and head home. For just a couple more months...

Hello! I am Sock Buddy! I can make cupcakes!!

That is the line halfway through the children's book "Sock Monkey Boogie Woogie - A Friend is Made" that made me shell out $5 and become a believer in all things Sock Monkey.

Adorably drawn by CeCe Bell, the main character, Sock Monkey, described as "A Famous TV star" has been invited to the "Big Celebrity Dance". However, all of his housemates and good friends, Blue Pig, Froggie and Miss Bunn have made other plans and must be out of town. Sock Monkey, in a desperate search for a dance partner, posts signs and auditions all kinds of toys for the job. Alas, no one meets his expectations. So, he winds up creating a new friend for the dance. This is when Sock Buddy emerges with his immortal line "Hello! I am Sock Buddy! I can make cupcakes!" I don't believe anybody had asked him if he knew how to bake.

However, Sock Monkey, must get his new friend back on task. He immediately asks him the practical question "But can you dance?" To which Sock Buddy replies "I can try".

Bell fills the next few pages with images of the two friends as they hula, break-dance, tap dance and perform Russian dances, (all in the proper costumes, of course). Luckily, Sock Buddy proves to be a natural and says to Sock Monkey, "Let's Boogie".

Wearing their Travolta-esque white suits and singing "Yes, we have no bananas" the two travel to the Big Celebrity Dance and take to the floor. The triumphant evening ends with a conga line of Sock Monkey, Sock Buddy, A helicopter, crayon, bear, elephant, space alien and wind-up mouse boogieing to the tune "Hot Hot Hot".

The next day Sock Buddy fears he will be left out in the cold when Sock Monkey's friends (Blue Pig, Froggy and Miss Bunn)return. He greets them with the line "Hello, I am Sock Buddy! Do you like cupcakes?" to which the friends readily agree and eat the baked goods. They decide they like Sock Buddy and keep him as their friend in their house.

And they all lived happily ever after.

What I Really Miss...

My family and friends are a little confused about my last post.

What I really miss about being a traffic reporter is the research and my analytical expertise. I knew my job inside and out and also knew who to contact to affirm my traffic theories. I don't miss the environment, the uncertainty, the egos, lying and game-playing of the radio industry. Every now and then I felt exhilarated while doing the actual broadcasting. When the chemistry was right between the DJ and myself being on the air was fun. But, I never felt like a "star" and I was always uncomfortable in that role.

My life right now doesn't have the dramatic highs and lows that occurred on a daily basis when I was on the radio. I don't beat myself up for saying the wrong word or sounding too boring. I can just be who I am. If I feel depressed one day, I can just be depressed. If I have trouble getting the right word out of my mouth, so what? I value and much prefer authenticity.

However, I do have an incredible uncertainty about my future. I am trying out different career ideas as I go on job interviews at my school. (I just had an interview to be a departmental secretary today. Don't think I'd like that job). Working in a university means I am never the "expert". Even though I've just completed my Bachelor's degree, I am still on the bottom rung of the ladder in this environment. What I'm wondering now is how far I want to climb?

Backed up from Albro to the Brewery

In an ongoing exercise of self-exploration, I consider my past, present and future on a daily basis. I think about where I've been, who I am now and what I want to do in the future. (I almost never know what I want to do in the future. Sometimes I wonder if I'm afraid to plan for the future because I've been disappointed so many times before?)

Today, I've been looking at my past.

In a fit of boredom, I travelled to the Washington State DOT website and to the traffic cameras I used to consult frequently during my former life as a Seattle Traffic reporter. I examine the grid-like traffic-flow map and then, if I see a black or red patch of freeway, I click on the camera icon to determine the problem. I used to pride myself on finessing the traffic map better than any other reporter I knew. I used to predict problems and call the DOT to move the traffic cams in order to verify my hypothesis. More often than not I was correct.

So, today I noticed that traffic on "Northbound I-5, just before the I-90 interchange" seemed a little slow on the map. Sure enough, when I checked the live cam, there were two State Trooper cars with an accident. I found myself remembering the correct lingo I'd hear on the police scanners: "Seattle Zone two: Northbound 5 south I-90 two-car accident, lanes one-and-two blocked". Off and on I challenge myself to remember this language and the correct names for all of the interchanges in the Seattle Highway system. I don't know why I don't want to forget it. Maybe because it took so long to get the system down.

I became a traffic reporter in Seattle after living in town for only 2 years. There was much to learn and I had to sound like an expert very quickly. After a while, I enjoyed the process of researching traffic and the detective work involved in getting to the root of the problem. When I worked at independent radio stations, instead of at the Metro Networks "traffic clearing house", I could also depend on listeners to help find accidents. I was on a first-name-basis with many 9-11 operators in three counties. Everybody loved "Smith" in Snohomish county. He had a great voice and was always cracking silly jokes. I wonder if he's still doing that job?

Sometimes it feels like ages since I was a traffic reporter. Sometimes it feels like just yesterday. And sometimes I miss it.

Emotional Blog

What a crappy weekend.

Well, maybe it would be the ideal weekend for a stressed-out working single mother but not for me. I was alone all weekend and was a total slug. I stayed in my PJs all day Saturday.I slept and slept and slept. Probably slept 16 hours on Saturday alone! I tried to be more active on Sunday but then just gave in to the lethargy. I only left my apartment to get some groceries. Then I went back to sleep. I was in bed for the night at 8pm and got up at 4am this morning, catching another nap between 5 and 6:30 before getting ready for work.

Part of my malaise is because I don't know what to do in this town. I don't know where to go and I feel like such a freak amongst the locals. I don't want to fit in with their provincial god-fearing world. I don't have the raw materials (ie: a family and a belief-system that incorporates a patriarchial supreme being ruling over all).

Then, when I got to work nobody said good morning to me. I always have to say "good morning" first. I decided to just let it slide and see if anybody took up the reigns. Nope, they all just sat in their miserable little desks in this miserable little office and ignored everybody else.

I think I hate my job, my city and my life today.

Panda Cam to Soothe the Soul

Hurricanes and war, disasters and death. It is almost too much to bear. In order to cope, one needs a diversion. Well folks, I've found mine.

It's PANDA CAM!!!

The new baby boy panda was born on July 9th at the National Zoo in D.C. They've closed the exhibit to onlookers and instead are offering live feeds of the Pandas on streaming internet. The two sites I use are:

The National Zoo: http://nationalzoo.si.edu/Animals/GiantPandas/

and

Animal Planet with enhanced video much cleaner than from the zoo: http://animal.discovery.com/cams/pandavidr.html

Today the baby has been trying to take his first steps. He squirms, struggles, strains and takes a nap. The cycle then repeats. Such absolute cuteness! The camera on the Animal Planet switches back and forth from him and his mother, who's sleeping on the rocks outside. She's totally oblivious to the activity inside the den. But, I'm sure she needs a break from her son.

Yes, Panda Cam will help you get through the day.

Goodbye Puppy Friends, Part 2

I think the puppies and I are being weaned off of each other.

They are now only living at the house across the street on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday mornings. I think their Daddy is only teaching Tues. and Thurs classes at the university and their Mommy isn't teaching this semester. I haven't seen her in a couple of weeks. Perhaps the family is living at another location during their long weekends? Or, maybe she's gone on to San Antonio to prepare their new home?

All I know is that I am trying to squeeze every drop of puppy love I can from 'Peros and Jumping Dog while I still can. I'm insisting on over-the-fence back scratches and If I'm lucky, 'Peros will let me rub under her chin. I'm using up the last of my dog biscuits and haven't bought any new Snausages or Jerky Treats lately. I suppose I'm subconsciously weaning them off of me by giving them less-tasty treats.

It is kind of sad and would be sadder...if there wasn't a brand new golden retriever puppy down the block... He already knows me on sight and stands up on his hind legs to get his treats. I wonder what I should name him? Goldie? Squeaky?

Aah. The circle of life.

What is Wrong with the Air?

Everybody I know has a headache, is sniffling and has periodic spells of dizziness. What's going on? Some people say they have allergies and some say it is just a sinus infection. I suspect it is really the foul air we are breathing.

For the past couple of days, the folks of this North Carolina city have awoken to humid and foggy skies that trap the carbon monoxide and other filth in the air and keep it low to the ground.

Of course, as a former fan of Art Bell and George Noory's "Coast to Coast AM", I might be persuaded to believe these symptoms are also the result of the transmissions of the HAARP antenna array in Alaska. But, that would just be crazy, right?

Green Bible Terrorists

This morning while on my North Carolina state-run college campus I was once again accosted by members of the Gideon society pushing their Green Bibles on everyone who passed them by. This morning, I could take it no longer so I wrote a letter to my college newspaper. Here is what I wrote:
------------------------------------------------

I have kept my mouth shut about this for 3 years, but I am sick to death of being accosted every year by the Green Bible Terrorists of the Gideon society! Every year I have gone out of my way to avoid their witnessing as I walk to class or work.

Why are these predatory, smiling men allowed to roam freely on this campus while other organizations, with just as zealous an agenda, are relegated to the "free speech zone"?

This university is not a private college run by a Christian organization! This university is a public, state-run university!! Doesn't this brand of missionary work
violate the separation of church and state guaranteed by the constitution? I am as offended by the Gideon's yearly presence as an evangelical Christian would be to the presence of Muslims handing out copies of the Koran on campus.

But I'm sure the Muslims would be made to do their work in the campus "free speech zone" behind the Student Center.
-------------------------------------------------

This may seal my fate and get me fired from my temp job. But I am so pissed off at the moment that I don't care.

I'm So Angry I Can't Write

Having received complaints about not updating this blog in several weeks, I thought I'd make an attempt. Although, I don't feel very creative.

It is all of the fury and frustration I feel over Hurricane Katrina, Our horrible, horrible government and yes, my miserable little life. It just gets to me sometimes.

Since the criminals in the White House have taken siege of this country I have written at least 500 letters to Senators, Congressmen, heads of corporations and yes, even the dunderhead in the Oval Office. While most of the time my letters have been simply edited versions of the suggested letters written by the many political, environmental and activist groups to which I subscribe, I have written several on my own, including words of praise for my Congressman, Rep. Brad Miller, one of the "good guys".

I'm pretty sure, with the exception of Miller, my words have fallen on deaf ears. So have the words of MILLIONS of other Americans. The protests, actions and marches have also been pointless. Merely exercises designed to encourage and empower those involved in the activities. The leadership doesn't care. They have their own terrifying agenda that they continue to force-feed the entire world.

It is because of the past several years of calculated "ineptitude" that I must now come clean with my crazy and unspeakable "conspiracy theory".

Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, John Ashcroft, Condi Rice and all of the other bastards in the neo-conservative bunch planned and orchestrated the "terrorist acts" of 9/11. To use a famous quote, "follow the money". WHO has benefited from the events of that horrible day except this Bush administration and their corporate cronies? Why was it possible we knew the names of the hijackers within just a couple of weeks? Better yet, another question: why is it that two of the "hijackers" were actually stolen identities of Pakistani men who were in their own country at the time and are still alive?

Who has gained the most from this "war on terror"? Halliburton, Bechtel and other defense contractors and others, connected to this administration. No bid contracts are now the norm in war and in natural disasters. We never hear the truth in the main stream media. The reporters are either banned from the scene of the action or the conglomerates that own their journalistic outlets are just mouthpieces for the administration. I have no idea what kind of pressure Scott McClellan and his bosses put on news outlets but I can guess.

Finally, the professional response that followed the attacks of 9/11 could not be duplicated in a hurricane that everybody knew was coming and everybody had days in which to prepare. Thousands and thousands of people suffered horribly and will continue to suffer for many years to come. An entire city has been destroyed. The problem was that the Neo-Cons didn't have years to plan this one, like they orchestrated 9/11. They didn't have speeches prepared and couldn't make themselves look like great leaders and heroes. Yet, they have been able to control the media and have a blackout of photographs of the destruction and the dead. They have been able to give Halliburton more no-bid contracts to fill their corporate coffers. They have been able to rid a city filled with poor black people of its inhabitants for a long, long time.

Yeah, this is why I can't write in my blog right now. Because this is what I have to say and I know, nobody wants to hear the rantings of a crazy woman.

Somebody, Help Oprah!

It seems every time I tune into "Oprah After the Show" on the Oxygen network, she's saying something that saddens me or pisses me off. (See previous blog of April '05).

Last night, I tuned in while cooking dinner. She had on bizzaro actress Kirstie Alley who was showing off her fancy-schmancy bedroom, complete with a French chandelier, antique Itallian writing desk and an inflatable, blanket-filled swimming pool where her pet rabbit, "Strawberry" lives.

After the clip, Oprah and Kirstie spoke at length about how they "love their houses" and how they have "the best houses in the world". Oprah then told us her housekeeper said "I love my house, too". Proving to her devoted fans that even lowly service workers can love the little shit boxes they call home.

But what really made my jaw drop to the floor was Oprah's next comment:

"It was my house that finally made me lose my weight. I felt I owed it to myself to live up to such a beautiful home. I couldn't be my big-butted old self and still live there!"

WHAT THE FUCK?????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jesus, Oparah? Why don't you go and bleach your skin so you can prove what you're really saying?

'A po' black woman don't deserve to live in no rich white woman's palace!'

I feel sad for Oprah. To her and the millions like her, superficiality is reality. An inanimate house, created by human beings, that does not possess a consciousness and is as benign as a Swingline stapler, has become her judge and jury.

I am reminded of my mother, who's favorite excuse for not taking a photography class or going on a vacation or even taking herself out for lunch is "Before I do that I need to get rid of this weight". She has put off an entire life because she hates the way she looks.

So, she sits at home and watches Oprah on TV and agrees with everything she says.

Goodbye Puppy Friends - Part I

'Peros and Jumping Dog are moving!

Their Mommy and Daddy are getting jobs in Texas and my puppy friends must go, too. They have been an important part of my life while living in this god forsaken Southern town.

Three years ago, when I moved into my apartment not far from the University, I noticed the saddest looking dog I'd ever seen sitting across the street on the porch. The black-and-white border-collie mix was outside, every day, chin resting on her paws and looking glum. She barely raised her head or showed any interest in passers-by. I tried and tried to get her attention. "Hello Puppy! Who's the prettiest dog in the world?" I'd say as I walked outside my door. She just ignored me and it broke my heart.

Despite the rejection I kept on trying. After a month or two of this, one Friday afternoon I was inspired while carrying a fish sandwich home for lunch. I asked her "Puppy, would you like some fish?" To my astonishment, she trotted off the porch and up to the fence to have the tasty treat. She ate the morsel of cod right from my hand. I knew I had made a friend. "Hey, Pupperos", I said, "I'll bring you another treat tomorrow."

I gave her a dog biscuit the next day and every day after that. It was easy to fall in love with her warm brown eyes and wet nose. She ran out to greet me every day as I walked out of my apartment building crying "Peros!"

It seemed she had been transformed by the cookies. When I looked outside she was no longer just slumped over looking depressed. Before my very eyes 'Peros became a happy, active dog. She started taking an interest in other pedestrians in the hopes they'd also provide treats. Some did and then they became her friends, too.

In the summer after my first year in town, I was lucky enough to study abroad in France for 6 weeks. I explained to my new puppy friend that I was leaving for a little while but would return. I left to have the time of my life but she was lonely and soon fell back into her old habit of moping on the porch. I didn't know this until...

I returned, went out on my steps and called out her name. To my surprise, Peros ran out to greet me, joined by a miniature version of herself!! But, instead of being a part Border Collie, the new puppy was part Jack Russel Terrier with a springy step and a two-foot vertical leap. I called him, "Jumping Dog", of course! Their daddy came outside to tell me they thought I had moved so they got 'Peros a friend.

A struggling student doesn't have much ready cash but I considered it a necessity to double my doggie-treat budget.

Stay tuned for part II......

JESUS AND THE POPSICLE

This post is being written in response to the inaccuracies stated by my sister, "Miss Patsycat" in her blog, "Patsycat Cafe".

According to her writings, I stopped beleiving in Christianity due to an ORANGE CREAMSICLE. This is a bald-faced lie. The culprit was, in fact, A BANANA POPSICLE! There is not now and never has been any similarity between the two. An orange creamsicle is an orange popsicle shell covering a delicious vanilla ice cream center. The two tastes combine to make a light and fruity confection. A banana popsicle is yellow from the outside to the wooden stick inside and tastes like how a skunk scent would taste if it could be frozen and packaged 6-to-a-box. DuPont probably has a patent on the flavor.

Here is the true and factual story, to the best of my recallection:

It was a sweltering Illinois summer in 1968. I was 7 and NOT 10 years old, as my sister incorrectly stated. My mother, in an ongoing attempt to turn her daughters into little boot-stepping Christians, once again sent us to Vacation Bible School - this one held at the Church of Christ in the suburban north of Decatur, IL.

During the week, the church ladies would, after lunch, offer us popsicles for desert if we would agree to "be saved" and "accept the Lord Jesus Christ" as our personal "Lord and Savior". I resisted for 4 days, after I saw some children crying when they came back from the dark room inside the church where the ladies did their "holy" work. I thought it might hurt.

On the fifth day, they bribed us with fudgesicles, the most glorious and delicious of all popsicles. Finally, a hungry little Ansapo agreed to submit to their taunting and "accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as my Personal Savior". And that was all. It didn't hurt, I didn't cry and I couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. I just wanted my goddamned fudgesicle!

But NO! The lure of the fudgesicle was great and the supply had been depleated! The Church Ladies had run out before I could get mine! In an attempt to appease a poor, sobbing, freshly minted little Christian girl, they offered me what they had left, A VILE, POISONOUS BANANA POPSICLE.

It was at that moment I had an epiphany. I had been lured into a religion that did not keep its word. A religion that did not honor the needs of its flock. A religion that would deny the faithful in order to increase in numbers. In short, a SHAM RELIGION! It was at that moment that I became a doubter of Christianity and though I've tried countless churches, Christianity has never taken a hold of me.

Dear ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I believe I have provided sufficient evidence why I can not believe in Christianity and why I can not be blamed for my actions.

Miss Patsycat, in the future, I would appreciate it if you would check your facts before recklessly publishing them.

Thank you for your time.

HOT! HOT! HOT!

Oh my god it is so hot!

Plus, the pollution levels are very high in North Carolina and it is hard to breathe!

Last night on TV they were running well-produced ads reminding people what they can do to reduce pollution (like carpooling and combining errands - the usual stuff). They were also running commercials telling us to stay inside when the "heat index" is dangerously high.

The heat index has been dangerously high for the past 3 days. What that means is, even though the temperature "only" reads in the low-to-mid-90's, it actually feels like 105 - 110 degrees...IN THE SHADE!

Last night I had to take 2 breaks in my mile-long walk home. The first break lasted about 2 hours 'cuz I decided to read a book in the library until it cooled off a little. By 7pm, the temperature was down to 88 degrees, so I walked further. After a few blocks, I reached the Chinese restaurant. I was gasping for breath and drenched in perspiration. So,I took another break and ordered dinner to go. By the time I made it up the big hill, around the block and across the street (to give my puppy friends a treat)I was once again slick with sweat.

Dangerously high heat and outlandish humidity is NO FUN. However, dinner was delicious.

Harry Potter Midnite Madness

I've read Clark Humphrey's Miscmedia.com online posts since 1996. He has a keen eye for trends and pop culture. I find his writing style concise yet poetic and he has influenced my own writing. Not being a night owl, myself, I read Clark Humphrey's explorations into the midnight Harry Potter madness in Seattle with relish. Here is what he had to say:

"THE WITCHING HOUR:
I should've come to Harry Potter Midnite Madness last night with a mom and kid, so I could take digipix of the scene whilst pretending to take digipix only of my own party.
The Potter events, at both Borders and B&N, were just what I'd expected and more. Both stores did their best to keep the way-past-their-bedtime girls n' boys awake and entertained.

B&N had a children's choral group, storytellers, and costumed employees cavorting with wands. They even gave away plastic Potter eyeglass frames. They also had an elaborate purchasing system, reminiscent of Southwest Airlines' boarding routine. You reserved your place in "line" by pre-registering and getting a wristband. At midnight, as the colorfully-printed cardboard cases of books were wheeled out to behind the counter on hand trucks, a clerk called all-points bulletins on the PA for numbers 1-50, etc.

The Borders fete was simpler. No wristbands or numbers; simply a line. The line included at least two teens who sat on the floor and stared into laptop computers. There was a crafts table where kids could make and decorate their own conic construction-paper wizard hats. There was a Potter trivia quiz, and Harry and Hermione lookalike contests, all with Potter-merchandise prizes. And, thankfully for the way-past-their-own-bedtime parents, there were vats of coffee (which, alas, ran out around 11:35).

A clerk on the PA system counted down each of the last five minutes until midnight. As the hand trucks wheeled in the cases of books from a back storeroom, the clerk counted down the seconds, while other employees unpacked the books and stacked them to be plopped into customers' anxious hands. Finally, at the stroke of midnight, the customers at the front of the line were prompted to stand up and single-file their way toward the sales counter, where all transactions were handled promptly and efficiently.

Along the walk back to B&N, the streets were still boistrous and joyous. When I'd first spied on B&N at 10:30, ACT and the Paramount had let out their audiences, who'd spilled onto Pine. This, my friends, is what big-city life is all about--happy upeat total strangers in crowds, milling about and sharing each other's auras. After midnight, the scene was still busy, with diners/drinkers from Von's and the Cheesecake Factory, lingering Cineplex Oedipus theatergoers, and Potter purchasers ranging from post-collegiate fantasy geeks to tots barely big enough to hold the weighty tome (which, at 650-some pages, is actually shorter than the previous sequel volume).

Overheard quotes: Outside B&N, a fantasy-dude in a beard and Utilikilt said he was "just happy to see all these kids waiting in line for A BOOK." I tried to convince him that reading had not become an unpopular activity in general, as evinced by the size and prominence of big-box chains such as B&N. I don't think I succeeded. Oh well--some people like to fantasize about themselves as the only magicians in a world of "muggles;" other people like to fantasize about themselves as the only literates in a world of hicks. As the Potter books prove, myth is a powerful thing.

On the escalator down from B&N's small street-level storefront in Pacific Place, toward the basement-level bulk of the store, I was in front of two high-school dudes as anxious as anybody else to grab the novel. But once they caught their first glimpse of the wristbanded preteen hordes already down there, anticipation turned to frustration: "I just wanted the fucking book! I don't give a fuck about fuckin' little kids in costumes!" I didn't stick around to see if the teens stuck around, but I'm sure they have their copies now.

It's a quiet Saturday morning as I write this. Throughout the English-speaking world, happy parents are waking to stillness and serenity. No shrieking, no sibling-fighting, no running indoors, no video-game explosions. In millions of households, peace reigns today.

For some grownups, that alone qualifies as magic."

Oh Those Wacky Kids

As I entered the student center this morning, I encountered a group of 4 boys, walking in a circle, over and over. Another group of 6 or 7 guys joined them. When asked what they were doing, one of the boys answered,

"We're just walking around."

Damn! That's a lot of work for a silly pun.

I am a Cranky Old Lady

Aah youth.

For the next two weeks, my University is being invaded by one-thousand seven-hundred and thirty kids, aged 10 through 18. The school of music is holding its annual Summer Music Camp and swarms of them are congregating in the student center between classes. This makes the life of a staff member very difficult. Just getting a cup of coffee now becomes an ordeal.

"Oh My Gawd, like what's a carmel match-oh-tow?" says one gangly-limbed girl to her equally confused friend.
"I dunno. Maybe its from Mexico?"

Trudy, the ever-patient barista calmly describes the drink to the girls, standing 4 people ahead of me in line. The girls pool their money and after another minute or two of "I'll drink whatever you want", "No, it's OK, I'll get what you want. Do you like chocolate..." They decide on an iced mocha.

Then the NEXT child in line places his order, dumps all his change out and SLOWLY counts out $2.09 for an iced drink. He has a lot of nickles in his pocket.

I AM NOW LATE FOR WORK.

Finally my turn comes and I get my drink. I ask Trudy how she handles all of these kids and she replies,

"They don't know it, but I'm givin' 'em all decaf. The last thing these kids need is more caffene!"

Trudy is a Cranky Old Lady, too. A sneaky Cranky Old Lady.

Heh heh heh.

FREE ICE CREAM!!!

The best day ever.

Free ice cream at lunchtime AND free ice cream after dinner!

This afternoon the school held an ice cream social for everybody who helped out with freshman advising this month. I made a chocolate and vanilla sundae with strawberry topping, nuts and chocolate sauce. YUMMMMYYYY!

Then, after work I went to the grocery store to get a salad for supper. Attached to the store is a Starbucks with a sign in their window that read "FREE STARBUCKS ICE CREAM ALL DAY!" Well, what's a girl to do but go in and get more free ice cream?

The only thing that would make this day any better is a sign reading "Free Ice Cream AND Free Puppies!!!"

Brain Dead

I am EXHAUSTED today!

After getting a full 8 hours of sleep last night, I am just DRAGGING. I worked hard yesterday during the final day of freshman orientation and registration at my university. I was just supposed to print out class schedules but have wound up doing actual student advising for the entire month of June!

Because yesterday was the final registration session of the summer, most of the freshman courses were filled and it took a while to get each student registered for classes. At one point, a girl I was helping started crying. I felt so bad for her. At each session, the students have been through a day and a half of a whirlwind orientation and the very last thing they do before going home is register for classes. They are dog tired and their brains so packed with new info their heads are spinning.

If I were just a normal temp in the registrar's office and not a recent graduate of my school, I would never be able to help out these kids like I have. I offered suggestions on cool classes to meet core requirements. I gave tips about my favorite professors. I eased worries by letting them know if their classes met in buildings close together or far apart. I told them where to find good pizza and coffee.

Even though I get frustrated sometimes, I really like helping out 18-year-olds. Because I've never been a parent, I don't see them as "just kids". Since I spent so many hours in classes with students half my age (or more), they became my peers. As a result, I think there is more of a give-and-take communication between us. Or at least I like to think so. Every once in a while, I am startled by their ignorance at a pop culture reference I make and have to remind myself of the difference in ages (and generations!).

But, sometimes the age-gap narrows. Like yesterday. One of my advisees hailed from Connecticutt. I asked her if she lived in "Stars Hollow" and she smiled and said "I love that show" I was so thrilled I could share a "Gilmore Girls" reference with an 18-year-old!

Thinking about that connection makes me smile and feel a little less brain dead.

What I Like the Most about the South

Thank goodness there's something I like about the South.

Every day I toy with the idea of moving back to the Northwest and mostly every day I feel wistful about the climate, beauty and liberal attudes native to the area.

But, if I move back, there is one thing that I will miss about the South. And that thing is this: strangers who look you in the eyes and say "Hi".

I am a walker. I commute to work by foot and urban walking is my preferred form of exercize. Along the way, when I pass people I usually greet them, either with a smile, a wave or a friendly "hi" or "hey". Here in the South others frequently greet me, first. It makes me feel good, acknowledging the humanity in others.

In Seattle, I walked two to three miles a day, 3 to 5 days a week for about 10 years. And I have to say that in that time, not ONCE did someone say hello to me first! Usually, when I would smile and nod my head, I would encounter a downward glance or an uncomfortable tight grin. Never a full-on friendly hello. Seattle's preferred walking path is the asphalt ring surrounding Greenlake. If you live there, think about it. Have you ever said hello to the people you pass more than once as you make your way around the lake? No, it's like a circular cavalcade of drones, going about their business, alone in a sea of others.

What's the deal? I frequently felt like a freak when I ventured out for my walks and said hello to others passing by. Sometimes, even ashamed. What's up with that, anyway? Why don't Northwesterners say hello to strangers? Heck, I'm white and they're all mostly white so it can't be a racial prejudice thing! Is it really, as I've been lead to believe, a Nordic conservative attitude? Loosen up, people!

And I don't even consider myself a people-person! Just a little friendly contact is all it takes to brighten my day. Now that I know its not my fault, if I do move back to Seattle, I will make it my mission to start a "cheery greeting" campaign, to urge Northwesterners to start saying hello to strangers. It is nothing to be afraid of, people!

The Professor and his WIFE

I know he got what he deserved. I've seen his kind before. Heck, I've fallen hopelessly in love with his "type" before.

You know the type: brilliant, handsome, articulate, gets your sense of humor and you have a great connection with him...but no way would he ever find you attractive. Instead, he goes for either Asian women or very beautiful women (not that Asian women aren't beautiful...but if you've ever lived in Seattle or Vancouver, you are well aware of white men who only date Asian women).

This time, I didn't fall for him, only shared common interests with him. He happened to be my professor at the time and steered me in a direction I should have been going my entire adult life. I had seen him with his young beautiful, blond girlfriend who seemed rather inarticulate and whom I assumed had the profession of either beautician or aerobics instructor.

Boy was I wrong. She was also a PhD and a professor and about 12 years his junior! From the first time I met her, she was hostile towards me. What I didn't know at the time was that she was pregnant with Mr. Professor's son and felt threatened by my common bond with her husband. Something I didn't understand, as I've become quite used to being the woman men are "just friends" with. Especially cute, smart guys.

After they were married, I thought maybe she'd warm to me. Occasionally, she has. Once, she even inited me to sit with them (and the new baby)at a lecture. But today, I ran into the little family at the farmer's market and she was, once again, very cold and distant to me. She dragged her husband away, before I could even talk to him about his research abroad.

He's mentioned, in passing, that maybe they got married because they were both new to town and felt a little lost.

I really think he got what he deserves. I look at him as a representitive of all men of his type. Only this one got caught. Now he's in an unhappy marriage and saddled with a (OK,absolutely adorable)kid. I do feel a little sorry for him.

But, I wish we could continue our friendship.

Diploma

I got my diploma today.

This week, working in my University's Registrar Office, I've mailed out HUNDREDS of diplomas. Then, when mine was handed to me, suddenly, it looked different from all the rest.

The University of North Carolina

confers upon

Ansapo

who has honorably fulfilled the requirements prescribed

by the Faculty and the Board of Trustees, the degree of

Bachelor of Arts

Magna Cum Laude

together with all the rights, honors, and privlieges thereunto appertaining

I started to cry.

22 years after the rest of my peers got their degrees and I started hanging my head whenever someone asked me "Where did you go to college?" I got mine.

It means so much to me.

It's Going to be a LONG Month

While I was able to get a job following graduation, It is with the University - run by the State of North Carolina.

This means that I only get paid once a month and the pay period runs from the 11th of the month until the 10th of the next month. The checks are distributed on the last day of the month. So, I won't get my first non-student paycheck until June 30th. Since I started work on the 23rd of May, my check will only be for a partial month. I won't be able to pay off all of my monthly expenses. I'll be left with a deficit. I currently have $72 in my bank account left over from last month, when I took out a $1,200 loan from my credit card to cover bills.

My first decent (in relative terms) paycheck won't arrive until July 30th. This leaves me with a grand total of $ 72 for the next six weeks for groceries, gas, medicine, cat food (!), and anything else that pops up. I can forget about movies, going out for dinner and getting my car tuned-up and having the brakes checked (yikes!).

I am re-thinking the decision I made a few weeks ago to buy a new pair of shoes, using the $200 graduation gift from my mom. At the time, I treated it like "found money" and bought myself something I not only needed, but wanted. These shoes are made in Germany and not only look nice enough for the office but are comfortable and supportive enough for my walk to and from work each day.

I know this period of absolute angst over money will end but this will be the 3rd summer in a row that I have had a very rocky July! I just want it to stop.

Being broke has kept me isolated. I don't have the resources to check out local music or indy film happenings at the local coffe shop/nightspot. I can't just "hang out" in a coffee shop (or bar...not that I would) and try to strike up a conversation with somebody. I can't drive to a town 50 miles away and visit with my best friend. It is hard and if you've been there, you know.
I CAN go to the library, limit myself to $15 a week for groceries at the farmer's market and try to enjoy cooking. There's always TV to watch but it keeps me inside my apartment - not a bad thing when the temperature rises above 90 degrees. I also love spending time with my cats, Saturn (who I profiled in a previous blog) and Panda, an adorable black-and-white-kitty with white fur over one eye, black fur over the other and a black nose. He is a master at Cat Dancer, a great goalie and his antics make me laugh.

I'm not destitute, just frustrated. If this is a learning experience to help me grow, it can stop now! I'm big enough, thank you very much!

Waiting for the work to begin

I'm graduated and (semi) employed now, having begun a long-term temp position in the Registrar's office at my medium-sized Southern university.

Now that I have a degree (which should arrive next week...) I am taken more seriously by employers and I am FINALLY getting the analytical-type of work I crave. No more receptionist/multi-tasking/heavy-interruption/ask-permission-to-go-to-the-bathroom-so-somebody-else-can-get-the-phones types of jobs for me, fingers crossed.

But, in order for me to grasp the intricacies of my work, I need to wait for others to complete their parts of the process so I can be trained on mine.

So, I wait. And surf the web. And brush-up on my Excel skills with online training. And sneak a few M&M's. And read my predecessor's notes. And walk sloooowwwlllyyy to the ladies room.

15 minutes and it will be lunch time.

I B a Kolej Grajuate

(aka: I am a college graduate!)

I did it! I did it! I did it! I did it!

The day finally arrived. I wore my very cheaply constructed $38 cap and gown and became an official graduate of my university!

First, they made everybody line up according to departments. Since mine, women's and Gender Studies was at the end of the alphabet, I was at the back of the line. Only one other student from my department showed up, so there were only 2 of us! Eventually, we all filed into the big Coliseum and took our seats.

And then, the nearly never-ending story of the 90-year old commencement speaker began. What I've learned: Sometimes you have to kick the door of a Studebaker to get it to open. It took the old broad an hour to say that.

Finally, they began handing out diplomas (only to the PhD. Students) the Masters candidates and Bachelors just stood up by department and cheered. But, that turned out to be OK. Kids brought confetti and champagne bottles and silly string. All hell broke out when their departments were announced. And when "Women and Gender Studies" was announced, Shauna and I stood up and I couldn't help myself. I screamed "Yes! Yes! Yes!" in my best Meg Ryan impression and had the whole Coliseum audience laughing and clapping with me!

In the end, I'm glad I went. I am now a college graduate. Looking for a job. Know anybody who's looking for help?

Yankee Talk

I work as a student employee at a medium-sized Southern University. Today, while minding my own business, I overheard a PhD and a department secretary having this discussion:

"I feel so pampered. I just got off the phone with a lady from Princeton and she was really nice to me!" Said the PhD.

"So, what's strange about that?" inquired the secretary.

"She's a Yankee!" responded the much-lauded professor.

"Maybe she was originally from the South?" offered the kindly secretary.

Now, I used to respond to this kind of talk thusly:
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! People, people, people. You lost the war!!! Get over it!! "

However, I recently made the following realization. I was born in Baltimore, MD! That's south of the Mason-Dixon line. Which means, technically, I'm a Southerner! I am planning on using this tidbit to my advantage, the next time my regionality comes in to question. Until I move back North or out West, at which point I won't care anymore where I was born. Only Southerners care about that crap.

'CUZ THEY LOST THE FRICKIN' WAR!

My Barista Hates Me!

It used to be the most satisfying of relationships. Every bleary-eyed morning, I could depend on Trudy and J. to get me my short iced Americano. Every morning they had my drink ready when I walked up to the counter. I felt special and loved.

But, something changed last week.

I think it was when Trudy forget to get my baklava. I didn't remember until after I left the store and came back. I explained the situation to J. because Trudy was on break. Maybe she told Trudy, who thought I stole it? Or, perhaps I became too picky about my drink. You see, J. is the far superior barista. Usually she tends to the coffee and Trudy to the cash register. But, when Trudy makes the coffee, her drinks are too strong. She started putting them in a bigger cup to fit more ice. J. still used the small cup and it always tastes great. Today, however, J. used a big cup and made me a weak drink. I don't think they want my business anymore, for some reason.

Now, there is never any drink when I come up to the counter. Trudy just stares at me like she hasn't a clue in the world what I want to drink. I have to say "short iced Americano, please" just like all of the other schmoes. My one perfect relationship is over. I can't wait until I graduate and can try another off-campus coffee place. Maybe its all for the best.

Oprah Winfrey, You're Not for Me!

As feminists, we can talk forever about achieving equal rights with men and demanding gay, lesbian and transgender people fundamental freedoms. But until we stop accepting the systematic oppression of women in popular culture, we won’t get anywhere. There is a demonic presence sweeping across this nation today. This presence is an unflappable, funny, honest multi-multi-millionaire by the name of Oprah Winfrey.

I know what you’re thinking. Oprah! Not her! She is the darling of most American women, regardless of race, class or dress size. We have supported her in her struggles with weight loss and cried with her when she lost those battles. We think of her as “our Oprah”. Her shared life experiences and “you go, girl” matter-of-fact slang bring us closer to her each day during her talk show.

But over the past few years I have detected a change in her. I think she first fell out of favor after the movie “Michael” came out in 1996. There was Oprah, dancing onstage with star John Travolta, and going on and on about what a “wonderful movie this is” and how “y’all have to go see it”. Prior to the TV show taping, her entire audience was treated to a screening of this film about the Archangel Michael, who falls back to earth to do some good deeds and live a little life with a couple of reporters. The audience was as ecstatic as the host, beaming at Travolta and praising his work. Surely Oprah Winfrey wouldn’t steer me wrong about the quality of a movie. Well, naturally, I had to head to my local Cineplex and check it out.

What a piece of garbage! I nearly walked out of the film about half way through when I realized that it wasn’t going to get any better! I was infuriated at myself for wasting my good money on this formulaic Hollywood pabulum. I was even madder at Oprah for conning me into going to see it. How could she think so little of the intelligence of her audience to think that we would enjoy this? And, this wasn’t the last time she has showered praise on a mediocre Hollywood product. Just last year, I fell for it again when she had most of the cast of “Ocean’s 12” on for an interview. Now, granted I loved the original, “Ocean’s 11” and have seen it about 10 times. But when I went (on opening day) to see the sequel, I nearly fell asleep. All of the camaraderie the cast expressed on Oprah’s show must have been left off-screen. I had been duped again.

The latest trend that I notice (when happening on the show while channel-surfing) is how much Oprah has fallen into the trap of women and gendered identity. She has always had “makeover” shows, where a frumpy audience member is transformed into a high-fashion hottie. But now she is making me uncomfortable. Just recently, two British women from the TV show “What Not to Wear” were guests. Women from the audience were asking their ‘expert’ opinions on fashion. They went too far for me when they started discussing shoes. All the women who inquired about what kind of footwear to buy were asked to hike up their pant legs and expose their ankles. If the woman had a thin ankle, then she was advised to wear delicate shoes. If she had larger ankles, then “chunky soled” shoes were recommended. My first thought was “What about comfort? What about protecting your knees and spine?” Oprah lifted up her pant leg to reveal three inch stilettos on her feet. I hope she didn’t have to walk far or run, for that matter, in those masochistic devices. How can the most powerful woman in the entertainment business be that independent and successful and still be forced to teeter around on unreasonable, pointy-toed shoes? Why, as women, are we accepting this trap? Why do so many women consider themselves shoe junkies? We’ll never be able to keep up with men if we can’t walk as fast as them. Maybe that’s the point.

I see Oprah Winfrey subscribing to the gendered trap of reducing ourselves to a series of body parts, regardless of our whole being. I’ve seen her ‘dis’ her butt, thighs and stomach. I’ve watched her praise other women, like supermodel Tyra Banks, on their physically perfect faces and figures. This isn’t liberation. It is a sisterly bonding ritual that women have perfected, to keep ourselves in line for the patriarchy.

Oprah Winfrey could redeem her demonic presence to me by portraying more of the inner qualities of women as desirable, as opposed to just the outer package. I know she has her “Angel Network” that rewards the good deeds of schoolteachers, nurses, social workers and the like and perhaps this is meant to be a balance to the superficiality often portrayed on her program. But, the focus of her show always goes back to reinforcing the Beauty Myth (to quote Naomi Wolfe) and the gendered expectations that women have for themselves. Think of the powerful force she could be for most of us if she just became the “real girlfriend” she is professed to be. A real girlfriend, to me, would encourage my strengths, be concerned about my comfort and health and support my intellectual growth, not tell me what idiotic movies to see and what shoes look best, despite their comfort. When she becomes that kind of friend, maybe I’ll watch again. Until that time, Oprah Winfrey, you’re not for me!

We Still Have a Long Way to Go

I was stunned last Thursday in my English Literature class. We are currently reading The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri. In the book, two of the characters marry but their union only lasts for one year. In the class discussion prompted by the professor, I was astonished by the opinions offered up by the mostly female class.

“Well, I knew that marriage wasn’t going to make it because she didn’t take his last name” said one girl.

“Yeah, anytime that happens, you know the woman isn’t committed to her man” agreed another.

I couldn’t sit by quietly and let this discussion continue without my input. “Well, he could have taken her last name, or they might have hyphenated both names” I said, and then continued with, “When a woman gives up her last name, she is giving up part of her identity, especially if she is known professionally by that name”.

This logic was completely lost on the class. One young woman, a senior, looked at me with much hostility and retorted “That is just ridiculous! My last name doesn’t define who I am! When I introduce myself, I say my name is Sherri, not Miss Stone!” (Not her real name).

Another student tried to diffuse her anger by saying, “Don’t pay any attention to her, (meaning me) she’s a Women’s Studies major”!

The fact that my opinions can be offhandedly dismissed because my major course of study focuses on women, our rights, our histories and our place in society absolutely infuriates me! What it says to me is that the status of women is still not being taken seriously by other women and that despite all of our hard feminist work; we still have a long way to go. These young women have internalized societal oppression, accepted second-class citizen status and have no trouble defining themselves by their relationship to a man, instead of by their own individual merit. It makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Is it because this university is in North Carolina? Is the South really that backwards? Or do these women represent a larger portion of the United States population? The cultural messages that have been broadcast for decades still promote the fairy tale endings of the Cinderella story. Popular movies aimed at teenaged girls still lead up to a happy-ever-after ending, where the white knight (figuratively) rides up on his trusty steed to rescue a damsel in distress. Hell, even the liberated HBO series “Sex and the City” ended its run by having Carrie, the protagonist, rescued from a bad relationship in Paris by another man, the elusive “Big” who dragged her back to her beloved New York City. (Why she couldn’t do it on her own, I’ll never know). But these are the messages the patriarchy sends out in the media and darned if these women in my English class haven’t fallen for them, hook, line and sinker!

I wonder if women will ever truly gain equality with men when it comes to relationships. When our sisters are secretly whispering behind our backs and plotting for our demise, we cannot move forward. As a whole, we must stand together for the equal person-hood of our gender. If we don’t who will?

True Love

I've had a life without romantic love. Not that I haven't tried. My heart's been broken more times than I can count, and usually by men who barely knew I existed.

I've wasted my love on disinterested men, sarcastic men, gay men, reckless men and married men. I've cried over unfaithful men, and truly faithful men, wishing I could feel for them what they felt for me.

The purest love of my life has been my cat, Saturn.

We met on an early fall day in the parking lot of my old condominium complex. He was sitting on the hood of a Mitsubishi, washing his belly. I had never seen such a beautiful animal, silver, white and grey with big blue eyes and a cinnamon-colored nose. Like a cross between a Siamese and a big tabby cat. I remember my first words to him: "Hello, who is this?"

He dropped what he was doing and came right over to me, bumping his head against my calves. I gave him my special cat-scratch on his back. Soon, every time I went outside, there he was, waiting for me. I started bringing him little cat treats every day. He began standing up against my driver's side door, on his hind legs and looking in the window every time I got in the car to head to work.

One day, after much prompting from friends, I brought down my kitty-carrier and swooped him up into the box. He never meowed and never, ever wanted leave my apartment. Even when his owners, the loud beer-swilling neighbors behind my building, called out his former name, "Charlie", he never blinked. Never even looked wistfully out of the window. He was mine and I was his. His new name became Saturn, after the ringed-planet that reminded me of his tail.

He is the most affectionate cat I have ever known with a loud, rhythmic purr that rumbles across the room. Occassionally, his 18 pound frame sits on my chest and his warm glows radiates. It feels like the biggest and most satisfying hug on the planet. I feel so happy and content that I just melt.

He and I have lived together for 13 years in four seperate apartments (in 3 different states). Last year I almost lost him to a kitty virus. Thankfully, he made a full recovery. Saturn and I have endured in ways most couples never do. Certainly in ways I never have with a human man.

I guess the love of my life will be covered by fur, have four legs instead of two and eat his food out of a bowl. I think I can live with that.

You Can Take Starbucks Out of Seattle but...

You definitely can't put Seattle into every Starbucks!

Case in point: Yesterday was a gloomy day in my North Carolina town. The kind where the gestating clouds are going to deliver any second. I decided it was perfect latte weather and headed out to my nearby Starbucks for a cafe Americano. As I was sipping my coffee, I overheard the following conversation between the Asian American male barista and an older, mustachioed Tennessee Williams type:

"So, ya seen the new semi-automatics yet?"
"Not yet. I'm headed to the gun show to check 'em out."
"Wonder if the Pentagon will put in for a new contract?"
"Well, you know how them boys are. It's all about the money."
"Hey, you headed to the range any time soon?"
"Might be. Wanna shoot off a few?"

The South never ceases to amaze. I just hope caffeine doesn't affect their trigger fingers!

Rednecks with Chainsaws

Nobody wants to be awakened by the sounds of Rednecks with Chainsaws!

They've been surrounding my house and hacking at shrubbery and tree branches for more than 2 hours now!! When the deaffening whir of their deadly machinery isn't making my ears bleed, their shouting "Hey, BJ, you might-could get that there big 'un for me!" (a direct quote) is making me wince!

(One thing I've not been able to get used to here in North Carolina, Redneck accents and convoluted vocabulary. Now, the word "y'all" is a different issue. I think that 'y'all' is a very useful word, one that encompasses all sizes and genders of people.)

Back to the Rednecks with Chainsaws issue: Those two words should never go together! Rednecks and Chainsaws reminds me of the punchline of one of my favorite Southern jokes:

Q: What are a Redneck's last words?

A: "Hey y'all, watch this!"

Enough said.

Tornado Warning!

Yesterday, I got home from work and turned on the TV to watch a "Gilmore Girls" rerun. After about 15 minutes, a big blue screen popped up on the tube with the words "TORNADO WARNING" shouting at me in red letters. The official voice over, from the National Weather Service in Raleigh, NC told me, in no uncertain terms that a tornado had been spotted several miles west of me and was headed in my direction at a speed of 35 miles per hour. Yikes!!! I was instructed to get to the lowest floor of my building, in a hallway or interior room and cover my head.

I put on a pair of sturdy shoes, got some pillows and blankets, filled up a pitcher of water and made sure the gas was turned off in my fireplace. I rounded up the cats and prepared to sit in the hall for the next ten to twenty minutes. I alerted a couple of my neighbors.

I haven't been in a "tornado warning" area in a long time. When I was a little girl, we lived in Decatur, IL and (although a tornado never hit the town) we were very familiar with the fear of having our homes razed and trailers toppled by a giant funnel cloud. We had tornado drills in elementary school where we'd all file out in the hall, sit with our heads facing the wall and cover ourselves with our arms. Scary stuff when you're a kid!

So, somewhere deep in my psyche I was prepared for this disaster. I pulled down the window blinds to keep the flying glass debris to a minimum. I got my little Red-Cross Emergency Kit out of the closet and the cats and I waited.

Nothing happened. My neighbors left the building and went on with their lives. I went back inside my apartment and turned to the TV news. The funnel cloud went back up into the clouds and the big, bad storm headed north. Crisis averted. Phew!

Plumbing Problems

Last night, after 10pm my toilet overflowed! Badly! And instead of turning off the water flow, I turned the handle the wrong way and made even more water spurt out! Lefty loosey, righty tighty...gotta remember that. Needless to say it was not a pretty (nor a sanitary) sight. I didn't have a plunger, hardware stores were closed and my landlord lives a half an hour away. So, I laid a bunch of towels on the floor and went to bed.

I woke up at 6 am and had to ... pee in the tub ... Ew. Ick. GROSS. I understand that guys wouldn't have a problem with this due to that outside hose apparatus and it is a natural occurence in the shower but NOT FOR WOMEN! I rinsed out the tub and then poured peroxide in it for good measure, then got dressed and went to Home Depot. Wow. they had around five different types of plungers and after trying out the suction on 3 kinds, I bought the industrial yellow-with-sturdy-black-rubber-plunger. When I got to the cashier, she asked me if I was having a good morning. I nodded and said I was.

But, NO! A woman buying a big yellow plunger at 7 am is NOT HAVING A GOOD MORNING!!!!

Luckily, the thing worked, the toilet got unclogged and I had just enough quarters to clean all of the soiled towels in the building's washing machine.

Now I just have to scrub the floor with Murphy's Oil Soap. Maybe tomorrow.

Writing is HARD

Here I am, 44 years old and almost a college graduate! What I don't understand is why these last 7 weeks of college are so hard! I still have several papers due before comencement and each one feels like I am pulling an elephant through a keyhole. Painful and nearly impossible. Perhaps I am just sick to death of writing? Maybe I don't have anything else to say? Will I graduate, after 26 years of work, shame, fear and then more work?

God I hope so!

And THEN WHAT???