'those mulattoes sure are tragic'

Good lord. (via Racialicious, where I cribbed the title of this post - and you can read the original paper here.)

There is something to be said against reading half-assed academic crap in the morning before your coffee. Not only will you get gas, you will also want to take out your copy of Freakonomics and burn it at your desk in protest.

This paper might very well be a paragon of statistical analysis but, from a racial justice POV, this is what I find problematic about it:

The question - 'What's it like to grow up with one white parent and one black?' First, what value system is underlying this question? What impact will answering this question have if not to make us multiracial/biracial folks even more Other, or to pathologize interracial marriage or parents? And why this concentration on just black/white when biracial identity is so much more varied and complex? If we take their conclusions, on average, life for biracial kids pretty much sucks. How nice we're good to look at.

The sample of self-identifying biracial kids - extremely small. And then the overall study was 'informed' by conversations with a small focus group of 9 self-identifying biracial undergrads. Wha-huh?? And no one in this group said that this shit was problematic? That seems weird to me.

The survey - part of the big problem I have is with the negative behaviors that are coded 'black' and 'white.' Apparently, bad black kids are 'at risk' for sex and violence and white kids are 'at risk' for drinking and smoking. Mixed kids, the study concludes, take on both bad black and white behaviors. Nice way to codify some really problematic sterotypes and pass this off as value neutrality.

Numbers aren't without some kind of ideological underpinning. At one point the paper asserts 'For example, fighting is one aspect of behavior more associated with blacks than whites.' Really? By whom? School administrators? Is it more associated with blacks or is it that school fighting is punished more when the participants are black?

(see here for sources on race, equity and school discipline - as well as here and here.)

The conclusions - what's really interesting and frustrating is that the researchers try to overlay some kind of social or economic theory over their findings (1. black/white kids live in similar, fatherless homes like the average black kid, 2. black/white kids are middling academics, 3. but they sure are cute, and 4. they act out both black and white at risk behaviors) but end up saying "it is not obvious what type of economic model can reconcile the patterns in the data, particularly their especially bad behavior."

And the big red flag for me: Any study that links the social construct of race to 'bad' behavior, which negatively impacts people of color.

So economic theory can't provide any cover so where do they go to next? Here:

If we had to pick an explanation that best fits the facts, it would be the old sociology model of mixed-race individuals as the “marginal man”: not part of either racial group and therefore torn by inner conflict.

It sounds to me like some folks took a weekend to watch Imitation of Life and got all inspired.

I have a problem with the fact that the best theory they can come up with is something from 1928, not really a time known for solid, rigorous racial theory. And I have a problem that the basis for this bogus marginal man theory is the 'tragic mulatto' - hysterical, self-hating, sexually promiscuous (or easily compromised because they're just so desperate for affection), prone to criminality, alcoholism, and suicide.

Basically the Tragic Mulatto is fucked up - think Mariah Carey pre-Mimi or read Clotel and try not to gag - and that's what this paper is saying, ultimately. Roland Fryer, who I'm assuming is the primary author, may be an unapologetic voice on racial inequity who just follows where the data leads but his data goes to a place I would have thought we left behind.

on dating and hobos

prepare for a whiny, 'woe is me' mini-rant on the travails of dating while in your late 30s. 'travail' might be too strong. dating is no hardship (not compared to strategizing how to help launch a statewide legislative campaign) but it's not exactly filling me with light and joy. instead, what i feel is something akin to gas.

at this point in my life i'm thinking that celibacy might be the new black.

...

The Girl and the Hobo (as told to me by Roomie):

Roomie: So I'm waiting for my chiropractor and the door opens and this woman walks out. She's in a suit, pretty, very Lincoln Park lawyer type. So he opens the door and he's giggling and he says, 'Hurry up hurry up.' So I get on the table and he starts working on me and he's laughing so much I say what's up?

He says, 'So you saw that woman who just left? She comes into my office and the first thing she says to me is 'Oh my god. I fucked a hobo last night!''

Ding: Shut up! She fucked a hobo?!

Roomie: Oh, yeah. Apparently, she was at Friar Tucks -

Ding: Well, there you go. Friar Tucks is disgusting. No wonder she fucked a hobo. That's where they hang out! When I lived up there, we used to call it Tired Fucks.

Roomie: (snort) Tired Fucks! Classic. Anyway, she got plowed and woke up the next morning, naked, at her place, next to this guy.

Ding: Shut up!

Roomie: Wait for it. She wakes up and the guy is like, Hey, can I hang out here...today? She says, No fucking way! I'm taking a shower, going to work and I'll drop you off at your place. So they get in her car and - he gave her the address to the homeless shelter in Uptown!! She saw him get in the breakfast line!

Ding: Girl, no.

Roomie: Uh-huh. Fucked a hobo. She told Dr. X she thought he was a surfer!!

Ding/Roomie: Bwa ha ha ha ha!!!

The Front-Runner’s Fall: the Clinton Campaign memos

The Front-Runner’s Fall

If you haven't read the piece in The Atlantic about the internal workings of the Clinton campaign, you really should. Oh, not because it gives you a little thrill to have all your bad feelings against the Clinton campaign reaffirmed (if that was your wont) but because of what you can learn about basic lessons of management.

For me, especially if I put myself back in the strategic communications firm I worked in a few years ago, the story of the campaign's implosion was a textbook lesson of what happens when an organization A) fails to ensure proper values and strategy alignment among its teams, B) doesn't address bad information flow and C) lacks trust.

Not to sound all Fast Company, but values and strategic alignment is the glue that holds an organization together. In corporate speak, it's what folks talk about when they say they're 'on the same page.' Folks in suits talk a lot about 'being on the same page' but there is usually a big gap between where the Leader says they are and what folks on the frontline see. Say what you will about the GOP, in every single one of the candidates they run, values and strategy go hand in hand.

In the Clinton campaign's case, HRC and her staff seemed to come from totally different directions: Penn wanting to go immediately negative (which I'll note later), other key staff resisting, the Leader being conspicuously absent from the final decision. Did HRC really believe that BO was 'un-American'? I seriously doubt that. Yet, what made Penn think she'd be open to that? What values gap existed between them?

(And sharing the same goal does not mean people share the same values.)

My biggest takeaway from the piece was how important information flow is to any successful campaign (not just political campaigns, either.) The memos reveal how information was plugged, or viewed with distrust, at various points. Information on budgets, tactics, shifting electoral landscape - all, at some point, went ignored by key people after being floated 'up' or 'across' the organization from people on the frontline. As a result, the leader was left without the tools she needed to do the work she needed to do. Does this kind of isolation make a leader trust her team or does this make her assume more responsibility because she can't trust her team to do what it needs to do to deliver? And, in return, does a team look at their leader's withdrawal and respond positively or panic, withholding bad news and leading to more distrust?

High performing teams don't have these issues; they see and act (quickly) through the same goggles, acting with flexibility to good and bad environmental factors; ideas are evaluated on their value-addedness (is this idea going to enhance our mission and vision, stretch it or take us outside of it?); high performing teams act with autonomy but there's always an honest touchstone with leadership, marked by free flowing communication.

If only someone on Clinton's staff had read a few issues of the Harvard Business Review.
...
Reading the Atlantic piece, I was riveted. Reading Penn's memos where he suggested highlighting Obama's Otherness and 'un-American-ness,' I thought, 'Wow, he actually said it.' If we take his suggestion and pair it with his note that the campaign was trying to 'neutralize' race as a major factor, then we get a picture of a man with his head very far up his ass. You want to take 'race' out of the picture but you don't mind telling a whole bunch of black and brown people that a man of color is un-American.

Talk about problematic - and talk about an opportunity for the Dems to ask themselves if that kind of strategic thinking reflects the values of their party.

This piece also makes me hope the Obama camp will be careful of values/strategy misalignment, mission and vision creep, or perceptions thereof. (In other words, no more FISA or offshore drilling shit!) But I'm almost positive Obama reads the HBR. Right?

asshat, special infidelity edition: john edwards

You heard me. John Edwards is an asshat.

What kind of asshat runs for President knowing his adulterous shit is probably going to be made public, very very soon? And what would this asshat have done if, by a miracle, he had nabbed the nomination?

What kind of asshat gets his ass caught by the National Enquirer?
(OJ Simpson, you say? Touche.)

What kind of asshat still has an affair with a campaign aide?
(At least try for something different - a lonely, blind schoolteacher from Fresno who fears she'll never know the heat of passion, or something.)

For that matter, what kind of asshat still has affairs?

(Dear political dudes, have you learned nothing from Bill, Eliot or the scads of other political dudes who've been caught ball walking? For the love of the citizenry, develop a chemical addiction or something. We will readily forgive a big ol' pipe smoking meth head over a guy who cheats on his cancer-stricken wife!)

Then again, we get the asshats we deserve. After all, what country still insists their public officials live like virgins?

So there you go. John Edwards, asshat.

ChurchGal: the Olympics, the Other and Orientalism

From my other blog, ChurchGal, a post is up on 'the Olympics, the Other and Orientalism':

I love the Olympics. Not for sports - I could care less, frankly, though I enjoy watching the more obscure things, like fencing. I like the Olympics because the nationalism is just so immensely wrong and amusing.

Friday, my friends and I made up a drinking game during the Beijing opening ceremonies. For kicks, and because we are students of the problematic ways our media covers other countries during the Olympics, we made a list of things that might be said or shown during NBC coverage of the games that might be a little problematic or just drive us nuts.

We weren't disappointed. You can catch the rest of my post over here.

the agony of the feet

What a weekend.

Friday: left work early (hello, summer hours), went to see a friend's condo I was thinking of renting (my bed won't fit in the bedroom so it's off my list), and on the bus ride back to my 'hood, got caught up in the most absurd email thread with girl friends who were coming over to celebrate Roomie's birthday and watch the opening ceremonies of the Beijing Games.

Giddily, we devised a drinking game but our mockery of the U.S. Orientalist coverage of the Games was too dead-on.

(Not only did we predict many mentions and camera shots of the Forbidden City, the use of the word 'ancient' and the imputation of Chinese 'inscrutability,' we also predicted the following exchange:
'Well, you know, Jim, the Chinese invented paper and the printing press.'
'As well as gunpowder, Bob.'
We howled.)

Within a half hour of the ceremonies, we were plowed. By the end of the ceremonies we were - well, I can't even remember what we were. (If you haven't seen the ceremonies, you should. It'll blow your mind. "And how do they do it? They do it with PEOPLE!!" Awesome.)

Saturday: a day of recovery.

Sunday: early morning tennis with Roomie and then more recovery while reading comic books.

Happy Olympics, folks.
...

2nd most favorite Olympic ceremony moment:

NBC Chinese 'expert': And this is the Chinese character for 'harmony,' which will be a repeating theme tonight of these Games. What's so ironic and interesting is how there are so many disharmonious things about Chinese culture and life - the environment, human rights. So it's really, you know, an ideal.

Ding: Yeah, sorta like our ideal of, you know, democracy.

ouch.

just in case i ever get too full of myself i can always count on the universe to keep me in check:

Ding (texting Boy): hey, you busy tomorrow night?
Boy: Who?
Ding: Just thought if you weren't busy you'd be up for hanging out.
Boy: When?
Boy: Who r u?

niiice.

asshat, international edition: Russia!

I was totally going to just keep on working but a pal sent me this: Sexual harrassment okay as it ensures humans breed, Russian judge rules - Telegraph

What. The. Hell.
There are no words to describe the frakked-up-ness of this news item.

Choice bits:

The unnamed executive, a 22-year-old from St Petersburg, had been hoping to become only the third woman in Russia's history to bring a successful sexual harassment action against a male employer.

The judge said he threw out the case not through lack of evidence but because the employer had acted gallantly rather than criminally.

"If we had no sexual harassment we would have no children," the judge ruled. Who knew the word 'Please?' could mitigate patriarchy? And where the hell did that judge get his law degree? A cereal box?

I could make a joke about mail order brides here, but I won't because it's just too messed up.

Sorry, poppets.
Ding has a job and is workin' it. Hard.

on patriarchy, Lolla and my 'build'

Patriarchy: My alter-ego,ChurchGal, has a post up on LaVena Johnson and sexual assault in the military, which has been a story I've been tracking for a bit. It's depressing but something needs to be done about it. Please visit and read.

Lollapalooza: Great show on Saturday; Roomie and I sat, sunburned, ate and tried to put off peeing as long as possible. Devotchka was fun, Jamie Liddel had a weird set (beat boxing? really??), Booka Shade sounded like a lot of fun, Brand New was meh, Sharon Jones was fabulous, and Broken Social Scene was teh awesome. Where to party your ass off? Perry's tent. Man, I wished I was young again, under a disco ball. Instead, I rocked gently to the electronic beats while standing next to two hot, strapping CPD officers who also loved the music. I was really surprised at how civilized and clean everything was. If every music festival could be this organized I'd go all the time. Note to self: next time, bring a whole packet of baby wipes.

My 'build': So my life insurance has told me that my policy needed to be adjusted because of my 'build.' My 'build' is dictating that I need to lose 15 pounds; my 'build' will be reevaluated in 6 months or so. But they reassured me that others with my 'build' have gone on to living quite happy and healthy lives. (Thanks, 'build!') While grocery shopping with Roomie, she reminded me that Weigh Watchers ice cream bars are 0 pts for my 'build.' Heh. My 'build' is happy with that.

bloggy shout out: tonya gross millinery

my pal, who has been working diligently at launching her millinery business has been raking in the public kudos, of late. she showed at last week's Sidewalk Sale and was written up here.

congratulations, Miz T!

open letter to lane bryant

unfortunately, i didn't write this complaint about a poorly fitting LB surplice top sundress but only wish i had:

I even doubted my bosom, questioning puberty and everything I ever knew about sex. Then I took the dress off and all was right with the world and my breasts.

In order to avoid such traumatic incidents from occurring in the future I’m forced to let you go. I could tolerate the polyester, inconsistent sizing, poor stitching, insane patterns, ill-advised employees, incorrect bra fittings, and discriminate bra sizing. But causing blunt trauma to my ego? Never, that’s where I draw the line.

if you haven't been reading Fatshionista!, you should.

Jitter jitter jitter.

What's with this free-floating anxiety today? I've had this feeling before - right before prelims.

There doesn't seem to be a reason for it. I had a wonderful weekend (loved the Randolph Antique Market and caught a movie with Roomie), cocktailed a little bit yesterday while watching TV and, this morning, woke up bright and early, managing to pull together an unexciting, yet serviceable, outfit; once in the office, I even managed to fob off a tedious project onto an intern. The day is golden!

What could possibly be bothering me??

Could it be the rather long Monday to-do list over there on my work notebook?
Could it be my body's way of marking the halfway point of the summer?
Could it be my body's way of telling me I'm kind of bored with stuff right now?

Or could it my body telling me I don't want to have coffee with MM on Wednesday but would rather get my eyebrows done? Hm. Coffee with MM, eyebrows. Eyebrows, MM.

So hard to tell. Clearly, I need to play tennis tonight to relax.
...
Two coworkers today sent me two articles from the Trib about race. I can't take it anymore (which is why I'm not linking to them - my head will explode.) I am declaring a month's moratorium on all things racial as of now. I have one month left of summer and I don't want to spend it gnashing my teeth about people's inability to make friends with brown people.

Because that's what needs to happen. If folks want to see this country's racial issues die down, then folks need to make friends with some other people in another ethnic group.
...
Back to my anxiety.
It's not bills (which are paid.)
It's not health (though it is time for my Pap.)
It's really not sex (which should be taken care of this weekend.)
It's not friends (who are all super busy like me this summer.)
It's not family (even Dad's sort of normal this time.)
And it's not future fears (I'm back to being cool about future change.)

What is it??
Now my stomach is burning. Frak. Maybe it's just heartburn.

Or, maybe it's PMS. I feel like I should either have a good crying jag, punch someone in the face or romp around on a bed of marshmallows while eating Doritos. Hm. It's starting to feel like PMS.

oh, wow. my old neighborhood!

via Negrophile: Leimert Park is the heart of Black Los Angeles!

My dad, who called me last weekend wanting to be taken to Violet Hour (and other hipster Bucktown spots) when he comes to visit, will be glad to know that he's in the heart of black hipness back home.

a syllabus on whiteness, of sorts

thanks to stuff white people do: fail to give credit to non-white people for understanding whiteness.

from macon's post, some summer reading:

Damali Ayo, How to Rent a Negro (2005)

James Baldwin, "Stranger in the Village" (1955); "The Price of the Ticket" (1985); "Going to Meet the Man" (short story, 1965)

Valerie Babb, Whiteness Visible: The Meaning of Whiteness in American Literature and Culture (1998)

Mia Bay, The White Image in the Black Mind African-American Ideas about White People, 1830-1925 (2000)

Octavia Butler, Kindred (novel, 1979)

Shakti Butler, Mirrors of Privilege: Making Whiteness Visible (film, 2006)

Charles W. Chesnutt, "The Passing of Grandison" (short story, 1899)

Vine Deloria, Red Earth, White Lies: Native Americans and the Myth of Scientific Fact (1995)

W.E.B. DuBois, "The Souls of White Folks" (1920)

Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks (1952)

Cheryl I. Harris, "Whiteness as Property" (1993)

bell hooks, "Representations of Whiteness in the Black Imagination" (1992)

Langston Hughes, The Ways of White Folks (short stories, 1933)

Zora Neale Hurston, Seraph on the Suwanee (novel, 1948)

Michelle T. Johnson, Working While Black: The Black Person's Guide to Success in the White Workplace (2004)

Chang-rae Lee, Aloft (novel, 2004)

Joseph Marshall III, "White Lore" (1998)

Charles Mills, The Racial Contract (1997)

Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye (1970); "Recitatif" (short story, 1983); Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination (1992)

Adrian Piper, "Cornered" (art installation, 1988); "Passing for White/Passing for Black" (1992)

David Roediger, Black on White: Black Writers on What it Means to be White (anthology, 1999)

Danzy Senza, Caucasia (novel, 1998)

George Schuyler, Black No More (novel, 1931)

Ronald Takaki, Iron Cages: Race and Culture in 19th-Century America (1979)

Thandeka, Learning to Be White: Race, Money and God in America (2000)

Melvin Van Peebles, Watermelon Man (film, 1970)

Richard Wright, Savage Holiday (novel, 1954)

Frank H. Wu, Yellow (2002)

George Yancy, What White Looks Like: African-American Philosophers on the Whiteness Question (2004)

snort: the mccain 'cover'

Hi-larious.

Oh, can't see it?

I'll just throw it up here, then:


Hee.

new love: ill doctrine!

What I like about this clip is that the whole 'intent' thing gets thrown directly out the window. Excellent.

'responsibility' has more than one face

Hip Hop Leaders: Jesse Jackson’s Time Up | RaceWire

Two things:
1 - This is the reason why Season 1 of the Real World was the shit and they should have stopped there: Kevin Powell is running for Congress!

2 - I wonder if Powell and Nas, as the 'new' faces of black activism/accountability, are what folks think of when they deflect the conversation away from white privilege with 'when are black people going to start taking responsibility' waah waah waah whine whine whine?

Meaning, I think folks have a different picture in mind when they start saying, before we start unpacking white privilege, black folks should get their act together. (See Bill Cosby, whose talks about what's affecting various black communities never addresses structural issues.)

When they say 'get their act together' what are they talking about?

In my opinion, I think they're talking about conformity to a bourgeois/middle class identity. (And, no, I'm not talking about 'talking white.') I'm talking about the not so subtle codes that comprise middle class ideology: heterosexual normativity, 'bootstrap'/rampant individualism mythology, appropriate Judeo-Christian religious conformity (without any hint of liberation theology to it, and don't even think about being a part of the Nation), law and order obedience and a firm belief in, and support of, capitalism and its tools.

While middle class ideology has such an unshakeable belief in the Self it forgets that the Self comes handily wrapped in a colored skin. Middle class ideology, unfortunately, assumes we're all white. It is, in fact, built on the premise of white skin privilege and the access that white supremacy can bestow.

Now, turning this lens briefly to myself, I won't say that I, a brown woman, don't faintly resemble what I've just described. However, I am not unaware of niggling and persistent social structures that act as barriers for everyone to achieve the middle class dream. Let's call one such social barrier, oh, INSTITUTIONAL RACISM. If we begin to look at the world through this lens (and it's difficult and burdensome to do so because you start realizing that there is a lot of problematic shit all around you), then you begin to see (white) middle class ideology as a luxurious myth that's available to some people but not really to all, despite whatever aspiration they might have toward it.

I'm wandering a little. Let me go back to the RaceWire post, showing two very different young black men addressing black political identity and agency in different ways. Actually, there are 3 black men here:

Kevin Powell, Gen X writer, activist and candidate for public office. He is progressive, inclusive and looks good in a suit. He, presumably (and because I remember my Real World 1), listens to hip hop and is 'down.' Is he what black responsibility looks like?

NAS, hip hop artist and someone I'd never heard of before a month ago. (Shrug. I never liked carrying that black card, anyway.) His latest album was previously titled the N-word and he, uh, apparently has some strong opinions about the direction of his community:

"His time is up. All you old n---as, time is up. We heard your voice, we saw your marching, we heard your sermons. We don't wanna hear that sh-- no more. It's a new day. It's a new voice. I'm here now. We don't need Jesse; I'm here. I got this. We got Barack, we got David Banners and Young Jeezys. We're the voice now. It's no more Jesse. Sorry. Goodbye. You ain't helping nobody in the 'hood. That's the bottom line. Goodbye, Jesse. Bye!"

Is Nas black responsibility?

And the aforementioned Jesse Jackson, Sr., bogeyman for white conservatives and FOX News, the blurter of bigoted epithets and iambic pentameter-spouting symbol of a (bygone?) civil rights era. Likes to march a lot. We've already seen what Jesse has to offer. (Poor Jesse.)

I guess I'm asking if folks - the folks being asked in all these polls about their comfort with a black president and being asked if racism was really over and being asked what needs to happen for racism to go away without being asked about their own white privilege - would really want to see black self-empowerment and self-determination if that same empowerment was really politicized, conscious and aware that the myth of middle class aspiration isn't enough if you don't address our country's institutionalized race and ethnicity issues, among our other issues.

(Like upended dominoes covering a floor, one toppled piece must impact others.)

I mean, if there was a black leader leading a movement that really understood intersectionality and not just accumulating or accommodating power (like Jackson or Sharpton, easy targets, both of them), wouldn't that mean serious critiques of, and serious work against, our current power structure would have to take place? And wouldn't that mean that those who benefit from that power structure - those who are primarily privileged by it - are also implicated in that critique?

I guess I wonder if people really know what they're asking for when they call for a 'responsible' black community because, to me, a responsible black community is one that's grounded in politics, history and tradition - and its own interests, not necessarily the interests of the larger society. I'm not sure if this means a complete inward consideration, a kind of community self-hibernation while we work to change things, or something not so scary for other folks.

(Which reminds me of something my friend Prof. A- would say to me: 'Girl, there ain't nothing scarier than a black man with a degree.')

Responsibility perhaps isn't what people think it is. (And let's face it; our country does not have the greatest track record dealing with communities of color exercising self-determination, know what I mean?) For whom is the black community responsible? To whom or what is the black community, or the various black communities that exist, responsible? From where I sit, it's not the folks who want us to get our act together before addressing theirs.

I don't know. I'm just asking questions.

11 signs you're not as young as you used to be:

(why eleven? because the signs keep increasing.)

1. You have nothing to wear to a post-Pitchfork show on Saturday at some place called a Bottom Lounge.

2. You are dismayed to find that the headliner isn't going onstage until well after midnight.

3. You are doubly dismayed to find that it means you won't get home until much much later.

4. You are glad you wore comfortable shoes, though you suspect you look like someone's mom or older sister.

5. An offer of drugs, held out on a key, moves you not.

6. You are concerned about the state of the bathroom.

7. You are glad that you're going home alone (though there was a 50-50 chance that the evening could have turned out differently.)

8. The fact that the weather turned monsoon-like does not deter you from walking doggedly home, alone, after 1.30 am, barefoot, without an umbrella. The important thing is that you are going HOME.

9. You only think glancingly about the crime scene you are contaminating while you crawl, barefoot, over and under the police tapes at the shooting on Ashland, at 2 am, rather than walk around it. The important think is that you are going HOME.

10. You remember the nights, way back when you lived in Boystown, when you would have stayed at Fusion or Roscoe's until 3 am, ingested party favors, hit an after-hours party, hooked up with someone, stumbled home while the sun rose and still had the stamina for brunch in a few hours. You remember all this and want to slap that previous person you were - 8 years ago.

11. You also remember you have a tennis appt early in the morning and you don't think about canceling because you know you must and it would be good for you.

hands off my ovaries, part one million and ten

Abortion Proposal Sets Condition on Aid - NYTimes.com

This is the proposed intent:

The Bush administration wants to require all recipients of aid under federal health programs to certify that they will not refuse to hire nurses and other providers who object to abortion and even certain types of birth control.

Under the draft of a proposed rule, hospitals, clinics, researchers and medical schools would have to sign “written certifications” as a prerequisite to getting money under any program run by the Department of Health and Human Services.

How this report proposes to define abortion:

“any of the various procedures — including the prescription, dispensing and administration of any drug or the performance of any procedure or any other action — that results in the termination of the life of a human being in utero between conception and natural birth, whether before or after implantation.”

[bold emphasis mine]

This is the potential impact (from Womens eNews):

Organizations that don't comply with the proposed rule could be forced to scale back services due to lack of funding, leaving women who rely on government-funded family-planning clinics with fewer options for affordable services and supplies, Richards said. That would compound their financial difficulties at a time of rising rates of unemployment and higher costs for food and fuel.
...
The regulation could also undermine state laws that require hospitals to provide emergency contraception to rape victims and that require health care insurance plans to cover contraceptives if they cover other prescription medications, according to NARAL Pro-Choice America, an abortion rights lobby in Washington, D.C.

What else is impacted?
My fricking right to control my fertility without having a bunch of patriarchal asshats forcing me to tie my tubes (or stop having sex.)

Why am I kvetching about tying my tubes?
Because if hospitals are suddenly to be staffed by squeamish religious types who believe the Pill (and other devices) kills homunculi babies, then the only way to prevent pregnancy, clearly, would be to sterilize myself.

But would that really be cost effective for me (or any woman, for that matter)?
Tying ones tubes is not like having a vasectomy; it is not a simple snip-snip that can be done with a local anasthetic, in a soothing doctor's office while a little blue napkin lays across your lap. You don't go home and stay in bed for a few days with an ice pack between your legs. It's major surgery. It's invasive, expensive and hellishly inconvenient.

It looks like this.

Contraception, on the other hand, looks like this .

I've already done this, thank you very much. I would be more than a little resentful if I had to to it again.

As for the petty, ignorant, anti-woman Bush administration, I wonder if they convene meetings with agendas titled "How to Do the Most Damage in What Little Time We Have Left."

everyone needs a supervillain musical!!

how much do i love joss whedon?!
how much do i wish i dated a guy like joss whedon?!
how much do i love his new Dr.Horrible's Sing Along Blog?

and how much do i love this pithy description of a labor union dispute:

Once upon a time, all the writers in the forest got very mad with the Forest Kings and declared a work-stoppage. The forest creatures were all sad; the mushrooms did not dance, the elderberries gave no juice for the festival wines, and the Teamsters were kinda pissed.

read his Master Plan and check out the vocal stylings of Doogie Howser (aka Neil Patrick Harris) here.

more on clarity

By this time, all 8 of my readers should know that I read the Vows column in the Times every Monday. It's a 'thing' with me. I can't help it. I read them for the romance, for the little stories of love found, lost, delayed, diverted, grabbed, pursued, stalked, and finally landed, culminating in a gorgeous ceremony full of wine, friends and cake.

Reading these stories of love and marriage, I feel like I'm walking past the shop windows on Michigan Ave, catching a glimpse of something gorgeous and totally out of my reach, like a Cartier watch or a Chanel shoe.

If my therapist was sitting in front of me right now, she'd press me. She would ask me if I was aware that there's a gap between what I say I want ('The cheese stands alone!') and what my inner whisperings clearly indicate I want ('The cheese could use some company.') I am aware of this gap - I am even aware of a few reasons why this gap exists. I just don't know quite how to traverse it.

Oh, there's a map of sorts in front of me: continue the forward motion that was retarded when my mother died 7 years ago (an event that was like a flaming meteorite falling from the sky into my life); put down roots (i.e., stop living with a roommate); and explore the possibility that my life might have a very different trajectory than the one I thought it would have.

But knowing the general plan of action and then thinking about the mountain of details that plan will require is daunting. I have clarity but not enough.

Vows - Annette Berry and Dan Miller - NYTimes.com

me, in a nutshell.

i have just found my new personal anthem.

hm: is my airline pulling my leg?

though they say one is born every minute, i would hesitate to call myself a 'sucker.' so it is with a cocked eyebrow and skeptical face that i read an email from United Airlines, asking me to lobby on their behalf:

Dear Ms. Ding,

Our country is facing a possible sharp economic downturn because of skyrocketing oil and fuel prices, but by pulling together, we can all do something to help now.

For airlines, ultra-expensive fuel means thousands of lost jobs and severe reductions in air service to both large and small communities. To the broader economy, oil prices mean slower activity and widespread economic pain. This pain can be alleviated, and that is why we are taking the extraordinary step of writing this joint letter to our customers. Since high oil prices are partly a response to normal market forces, the nation needs to focus on increased energy supplies and conservation. However, there is another side to this story because normal market forces are being dangerously amplified by poorly regulated market speculation.

Twenty years ago, 21 percent of oil contracts were purchased by speculators who trade oil on paper with no intention of ever taking delivery. Today, oil speculators purchase 66 percent of all oil futures contracts, and that reflects just the transactions that are known. Speculators buy up large amounts of oil and then sell it to each other again and again. A barrel of oil may trade 20-plus times before it is delivered and used; the price goes up with each trade and consumers pick up the final tab. Some market experts estimate that current prices reflect as much as $30 to $60 per barrel in unnecessary speculative costs.

Over seventy years ago, Congress established regulations to control excessive, largely unchecked market speculation and manipulation. However, over the past two decades, these regulatory limits have been weakened or removed. We believe that restoring and enforcing these limits, along with several other modest measures, will provide more disclosure, transparency and sound market oversight. Together, these reforms will help cool the over-heated oil market and permit the economy to prosper.

The nation needs to pull together to reform the oil markets and solve this growing problem.

We need your help. Get more information and contact Congress by visiting www.StopOilSpeculationNow.com.

don't you feel sorry for all the big airlines? doesn't your heart just bleed??

i know how these things work. Big Conglomerate gets hit with bad business or bad publicity, the first thing they do is hire a firm to get them out - and one surefire strategy is 'Get the public on your side.' (Wal Mart has yet to grasp that concept, what with their suing brain dead women and all.) that site was created by some strategic marketing/communications firm and i wonder which one it was; i also wonder what the angle is.

because it's *almost* altruistic. an industry actually calling for market regulation??

that's almost anti-capitalist.

celebrating freedom and wanting a do-over

Yesterday, in the middle of cleaning my room (yes, I still do this) and unpacking some bins from the move last September, my Roomie found me standing stock still in the middle of my bedroom, looking down at a stack of papers, reading.

'What's up?' she asked.

'Oh, nothing,' I said, crushing some trash into a Hefty bag. 'Just wishing I was fucking smarter when I was younger and could have seen what was right in front of me instead of wanting what I couldn't have. Fucking idiot.'

'What?'
I said, 'You know when you realize how you got everything totally, completely, wrong because you thought you were sooo smart but you were really a fucking bitch and now you realize that your life could have taken a completely different turn but it didn't because you weren't paying enough attention? And you know that feeling you get when you realize you got it wrong and it's all because you found some fucking piece of writing that brings it all back and IT'S TOO FUCKING LATE?'

Roomie nodded. 'Ah. Regret.'
'Yeah, regret. Memories fucking suck.' Roomie nodded in understanding; she had some of her own to get rid of.

Like the main character in Emma, I had misread everything around me and set myself on a course of dissatisfaction and just plain old idiocy. Thank goodness for a tendency to look at my life with some kind of humor, or I'd have to add bitter to that list.

The epiphane I experienced had me shaking my head in disbelief. Aargh! Covered in dust and sweat (cleaning my room is serious business, especially when it requires assembling an IKEA bookshelf) I suddenly felt all of my 38 years, looking back at the myopic, stupid, wrong-headed girl I had been.

I wanted to build a time machine, go back to the year 1996, and shake some frakking sense into my head. If I had a time machine, I would be tearing holes in the space/time continuum right and left, exhorting my self, 'Pay attention! See - look! This, right here, is significant!'

I know exactly the moments of intervention I'd choose. Right before leaving for a certain party, I'd pop up in my machine and coolly explain to my self what's going to happen later that night and advise my self to stay home and study for my prelims; right before I open my window after hearing my name called, I'd rush in and whisper in my ear that this torn feeling, this wrenching thing that I'm feeling is ok but not to count on it - for heaven's sake don't make any decisions because of it; or, for a change of pace, maybe I'd just show up the afternoon before I lose my virginity and wryly encourage my self, 'Tonight will be great. Carry it with you. But if it can't always be like this, it's not worth it.' I would be my own annoying fairy godmother.

But science fiction was not a solution so, instead, I threw out all the papers related to my long-defunct dissertation.

Roomie said, 'Are you sure? You don't want to keep any of it? All that work?'
I snorted. 'J- threw her dissertation chapters into the Seine when she left her program. It's been 10 years. About time I stopped lugging all this crap around with me.' I shrugged. 'I'm never going back. Why carry it?'

Indeed. Why carry any of it around?

This is what's great about having some therapy under my belt - it brings a little clarity. Of course, the clarity is a little late in coming but it's something. (Woulda been great to have this kind of clarity when I was 26!) If not for clarity, recent blasts from the past would have been uncomfortable.

In short, Facebook is not something to fool around with, people.

Ghosts will pop up, make you their 'Friend' and before you click 'Approve' you will have to come to some kind of decision about your relationship to the past and whether you have enough clarity to be friends with a ghost. There is regret, yes. Regret for some missed chances and wasted opportunities - opportunities that would have forced me to take a step toward something that was real, that could have, for me, shortened this weird search for...something.

Clarity, for me, isn't about 'making peace,' 'letting go,' or 'coming to terms with.' It's about looking at my self and saying, 'Wow, ten years and you've been an idiot the whole time. Remember this feeling. Because maybe you should stop being an idiot now.'

Ok, enough navel gazing. My closet isn't going to clean itself.
(Though if I had a magic wand...)

3rd of July: why am I in the office?

topics of conversation at work so far:

bill cosby is crazy and hates poor black people

the total problematic-ness of wanting to ship 'bad' people to the southern suburbs

where to buy bras

if bougie black people go to dive bars

names and possible goals for Ding's as-yet-unnamed all-female vigilante group (The Black Van Cabal? UPS - Underground Patriarchy Shitkickers)?

why the Taste grosses us out

how much more we like HRC now that she's shut up

why jesse jackson and al sharpton can't shut up (hint: because they're Boomers)

what eliot spitzer and jesse jackson and bill cosby have in common

why it's good to have a few things in your wardrobe that cost more than $16

the state of single black womanhood today (or, How to Remove Chocolate Stains/Doritos Powder from Sleepwear)

(why Kung Fu Panda? because he makes me giggle.)

work hell

ohmigod.

i am stuck in work hell. oh, work is fine but our state's frakking budget crap is putting all social services in illinois on the chopping block. i know there's going to have to be some kind of compromise and we won't get everything we're asking for, but right now we have zip. basically, we're all caught in the middle of some freaking, testosterone-fueled standoff between the governor and the speaker of the house. i don't really give a flying frak who comes out of this, but in the meantime, all us agencies who depend on state funding are standing in the middle about to get hit by a stray bullet.

the situation is dire - more than dire. imagine a state without any rape crisis centers. none. no rape crisis hotlines. no counselors. no prevention educators. no one to train the police force on the proper collection of evidence or how to interview a woman presenting as a rape victim.

yup. this is my day.
...
Update: how quickly a day can change. the governor backed down! after every rape crisis center in the state lobbied our members, clients and constituents, funding for rape crisis services was declared 'preserved' at his press conference today!

Whoo hoo!

i really can't take this kind of excitement. my stomach is in knots.

long time, no see, bookslut

i haven't read a real book in ages and i can't drum up the energy to plan my reading the way other people do. so i depend on the recommendations of others.

like bookslut. this recommendation, however, is not the latest business manual from Fast Company.
but if you've always wanted to stick it to your boss, have at it.

how i feel today

Scene: Ding sitting with Roomie and Guest at Gibson's, after being stood up.

Ding: I'm so hungry I could eat a small child.

Roomie: Look at all the meat...mmm...

Ding: Hm. Maybe I could eat half a child.

Roomie: And the sides. Mmm. Asparagus?

Ding: Omigod. Hashbrowns. Ok, I could eat half a child, some hashbrowns and asparagus.

Roomie: They have strawberry shortcake.

Ding: Jesus. One third a child, hashbrowns, asparagus, and strawberry shortcake.

Guest: You guys always like this?

Roomie/Ding: Yes.

(later, halfway through a gorgeous Chicago cut steak, 1/2 order of hashbrowns and asparagus)

Roomie: Is it rude to suck on the bone?

Ding: Do it. Suck the bone.

(disapproving look from unhealthily skinny Asian woman at the next table. Fascinated stares from the business men across the aisle, watching me and Roomie feast like Henry 8th.)

Roomie: (sucking her steak bone) Mmm. I love meat.

Ding: I want to eat until my panties roll down.

Guest: (snorting out his wine) I don't think I've ever heard a girl say that.

Ding: Welcome to Chicago.

yeah, no.

Obama asks supporters to help Clinton pay off debt - Yahoo! News

asshat: karl rove

Yesterday, Karl Rove called Obama 'cooly arrogant:'

"Even if you never met him," Rove said, "You know this guy. He's the guy at the country club with the beautiful date, holding a martini and a cigarette that stands against the wall and makes snide comments about everyone who passes by."

Clearly, if making snide comments was all that counted I guess that makes all of Gen X 'cooly arrogant.'

Rove's comment prompts some deep thoughts:

1. how many black people actually belong to a country club?
2. of those black people, how many would actually make snide comments about their fellow privileged country clubbers?
3. how many country clubs actually allow smoking?
4. since when does 'cooly arrogant' mean something bad when pop culture/literature/cinema tells us 'cooly arrogant' men are frakking hot?

A Few Cooly Arrogant Men We (ok, I) Have Loved:
Mr. Darcy
Captain Wentworth
Toby Stephens
Cary Grant
James Bond
Daniel Craig, James Bond
Pierce Brosnan, Thomas Crown
Steve McQueen
Rupert Everett
Omar Sharif
Peter O'Toole (when he was less cadaverous)
Jean Reno, Swept Away
Morpheus
George Clooney
Clive Owen
almost every Regency romance hero ever written
Batman
Magneto
Bruce Willis
Prospero
Severus Snape
Nick Charles
Mr. Tibbs
Han Solo
Spencer Tracy
Paul Henreid
Humphrey Bogart
Spock

In the meantime, the GOP needs to resolve their collective cognitive-Obama-dissonance if the best they can come up with is calling Obama a milk chocolate WASP.

(Feel free to add your own 'cooly arrogant' object of desire in comments - male or female, all are welcome.)

not far enough

it's thursday and i really must get some work done so i'll just throw up some links to some articles i think you should read against one another.

Liking What White People Like - TIME is a rather soft piece that falls apart a little trying to problematize the word 'white.' or something.

then we have the blog Stuff White People Do, which takes a slightly different view of the 'empowering' laughter at white culture.

at the same blog, there's a post up about the 'mask' of whiteness that, though i think it could have gone a little deeper, touches on an aspect of white performativity that is very different from What White People Like ever imagined. (it also has a rather revealing clip of a very angry woman who, perhaps, might want to rethink some things.)

and then there is this, Tim Wise's strongly-worded post about that very mask of whiteness slipping in some circles. (is Wise's tone a bit sharp? yes. how else to get people to pay attention to anti-racism work?) there is a (very) brief discussion of it on Bitch PhD, but it's funny how the whole whiteness conversation gets swallowed by a discussions of gender, class and a 'heard it before' discussion of electoral strategy.

anyway, carry on.

summer of love, take 3

it's been a while since i shared what's going in the game called my social life: nothing.

the bench is empty, the players on the field are about to get traded.

B3 (who lasted until right before italy) is about to find out that i really wasn't kidding when i warned him about my intimacy issues - if only he'd answer his email.

B- (!!!), referencing a hot and naughty message i sent him LAST YEAR, sent me a message right before i boarded the plane to italy asking how i was; when i returned, i told him that particular boat of dysfunction had sailed. i kept it friendly! (yes, i have processed this with Dr. C- . with the help of a few friends, i have resisted the siren call of do-over sex with a person who makes my homicidal rage peak.)

and that's about it. sure, there are possibilities (Dr. Cop; Old Irish; NatureDude) but, for all intents and purposes, Ding's dancing card is blank.

i'm fine with it. really.

actually, i'm not, but whatever.

just for snarky, horrifying fun: crap email from a dude - Jezebel via Siddity (on my blogroll, silly.)

this, i could get behind: 'Genius'

Girls read comics » Adam Freeman and Genius.

As a comics reader, I have a certain love of superhero stories. What's not to love? Costumes, shoes, hot dudes, hot chicks, kick ass fighting, some great storylines. (Some. Not all.)

But I tend to like those comics that break the formula a little bit - like Powers. Or even those titles that aren't about capes and tights at all - like BPRD, The Losers, 100 Bullets or The Damned.

I'm sort of excited to read this new one, Genius. It asks what if the world's most formidable military genius was a girl gangbanger in South Central Los Angeles mounting a war against the LAPD?

I already like the art but my fingers are crossed that the story will give us a female character who is complex, ferocious and smart. (And not just a hot brown chick in a belly t-shirt carrying a gun.)

And if it's ever made into a movie and frakkin' Angelina Jolie is tapped to play her I will shoot myself. Swear. To. God.

a belated father's day tribute to pastor john

Some of the photos I like most during this election season have been the ones showing Obama in the role of father. Images of him embracing his girls make my little adamantine heart sort of clench, you know?

I've written a lot about my dad on ChurchGal. He reads that site and has been incredibly gracious about standing in as my occasional straw man against which I throw my screeds and opinions.

If you looked at him today, with his distinguished gray hair, glasses and the goatee (that makes all the old ladies love him), you'd see an educated, charismatic older black man. A man who looks like he could be a jazzer or a popular philosophy professor at a city college. A man who looks comfortable wearing the collar of a reverend as well as the crazy red cashmere sweater-gym shorts-dress socks-sandals combo he wears to his daughters' chagrin during Saturday brunch. He looks settled, comfortable, successful. But his life story is, to me, the typical African American bildungsroman.

My father grew up in the ghetto. Literally. THE GHETTO. The projects of Compton and Watts might as well have been a sharecroppers plot. But from the ghetto, he went into the Army, married my mother, went to school to earn two degrees (including one from Talbot Seminary), became the young associate pastor of our church, then senior pastor.

I think growing up in the ghetto gave my dad some resilience. He built several ministries from scratch, launched a radio show and a web ministry; he survived a number of professional rivalries, controversies and church schisms. He survived the sudden death of his wife, the new world of dating in the 21st century and has somehow managed to avoid getting leg-shackled again. I remember a story he told me about dating a woman who became so frustrated at his unwillingness to 'take it to the next level' she sicced her little yappy dog on him and dumped water over his head on a beach date. Clearly, my relationship issues are a family trait.

My pops has lost several friends, made quite a few enemies, and earned grudging respect because of his unwavering integrity and willingness to call bullshit on the black church's excesses and hypocrisies. He's often an exasperating object of frustration to his two daughters.

(A common refrain: "Dad, why don't you do things the way they're meant to be done?!"
A common response: "Oh, girl. You worry too much.")

In his middle age, my dad has become a different dad. The authoritarian i grew up with has been replaced by a more mellow, cigar smoking, wine-sipping, Christian libertarian whose motto is 'That is between you and God. But you know you're wrong.' And he leaves it at that. Free will means free will, you know?

This later incarnation of my dad is a very cool, though befuddling, one.

So this is what my father taught me:

He taught me how to argue. Dinnertime was usually 90 minutes of my dad and I exhausting my mother and sister while I argued why it wasn't a sin to go to the Homecoming Dance or the weekend ski trip and he'd block me every time - until I figured out how to flip his rhetoric around on him. Good times.
He taught me how to fight. Watching my dad constantly turn the other cheek in the name of the Lord, I formed different opinions about the value of strategic conflict. I mean, David was a warrior, right?
He taught me how to think critically. Listening to my dad tear apart the faulty logic of his opponents was cool; having that same logic-tearing applied to me, not so much.
He taught me how to tell a story to make a point. These were always the best parts of his sermons.
He taught me how to lose. Like that Elizabeth Bishop poem, 'One Art.'
He taught me how to start over. Watching a pastor incubate and launch new ministries will do that.
He taught me that education counts. My dad is who he is because of the higher education. It can save a life.
He taught me that integrity and character count more.
He taught me that it is possible to change.
He also taught me there are some things you can't change - who you are is WHO you are. It's just that some folks lie about who they are.
He taught me how to charm. The moms in the PTA liked my dad for a reason.
He taught me about jazz.
He turned me into a feminist (when he told me I needed to learn how to make a man a sandwich.)
He is a walking lesson in vulnerability, sacrifice, faith and dedication to one's Call. (Yes, he might have *said* he wants to give his congregation the finger but he's still there.) This is a lesson I'm still trying to get.
He taught me that you make your own path. One thing I've always loved about my dad (both of my parents, actually) is that he has never, despite the unfortunate sandwich incident, tried to dictate my identity.

My memories of dad are those of unwavering support, whatever my decision has been. He was the one who drove across the country with my stuff when I started at UofM; he was the one who helped move me to Chicago when I decided to leave UofM; he was the one who didn't blink an eye when I told him I was going to jump into the unknown world of the non profit. He was the one who shut down his congregation when they had the nerve to whisper about my gay friends attending and helping out with my mother's funeral. He was the one who showed me that when other people start telling you how they need you to be someone you know you're not, you need to walk away and say, 'You crazy.' Consequences be damned. Most likely, there won't be any.

So, thanks, Dad. You've made me the feminist, bitchy, snarky, authority-hating loudmouth bougie snob I am today.

Love you! Happy Belated Father's Day!

i knew it! MoDo=misogyny!

Media Matters - Report: Maureen Dowd repeatedly uses gender to mock Democrats

since the Gore/Bush election, and the putrid swell of media coverage from that election, i've always suspected that MoDo was riding a whisper thin line between political commentary and outright sexist bullshit. i can well remember her attacks on HRC, Howard Dean's wife, Teresa Heinz. i remember her columns about sweaters, wardrobes, mannerisms, and haircuts. i remember how infuriated her columns made me, with their high school gossip girl slam book feel.

and now it's confirmed!! ha ha ha ha!

she's a bitch!

(yes, i use that term in full knowledge of baggage, meanings and all the rest. i use it deliberately. MoDo is a craven, bitter, patriarchy-loving bitch.)

not so funny now, huh?

stuff white people do is not stuff white people like.

where the latter is mild satire, poking fun at a certain class of white folks, SWPD is a blog where the writer lays down some serious posts about white privilege and the funnies are...rare.

personally, i love it. it's so much better for my blood pressure when white folks say things i get tired of pointing out. if only there would be a post about from a white person why it's bad to be too preoccupied with a black woman's hair...oh, wait. there is.

via Alas, a Blog, here is a really good post (and scary photo) on whiteness and trustworthiness that says things i have only ever said to other people of color: i don't expect much from white folk.

('but, ding,' you say. 'you have white friends!' indeed. my really close white friends are, to me, exceptions - in much the same way white people have said to me: 'oh, ding, you're not like other black people.')

but for every other white person, when it comes to race and identity issues, i set the bar waaaaay down here. why? cuz y'all's track record ain't so good.

from his post:
"Most of the people reading this blog believe that it’s racist and unfair to mistrust a black person, simply because he or she is black. And I agree. But as I’ll try to show here, in most cases it’s actually realistic, not racist, for a black person to withhold trust from a white person. This is because black people tend to know more about white people than white people do about black people. And what they tend to know is that white people who haven’t untrained themselves can be annoying, and even dangerous."

read the post. read the whole blog, actually.
you won't chuckle but you'll learn something.

rhetorical devices, 101: hyperbole

"This is the happiest day of my life." Really? Are you sure? I mean, out of all your days on earth you're sure that this day, this particular day, is the one that gives you the best feeling of happiness (well-being, satisfaction, contentment and joy) you have ever experienced? Can you measure that happiness and back that up with some sort of empirical evidence - and can you be sure that this zenith of happiness will hold firm in the future?

"Oh my god, that was the worst sex ever." Really? Ever? In your lifetime of sexual activity, this one instance was measurably worse than (and exceeded the badness of) the sex you've had before? So bad that it may put you off sex forever? If you run an analysis of all your lovers, taking into consideration their various techniques and the quality of the sexage, will this one lover top the list as the worst, or just one of the worst?

"For the first time in my life, I am really proud of my country." Oh, please. You mean you have lived in a state of perpetual and uninterrupted dissatisfaction with this country since the day you were born? I mean, you haven't even felt a little swelling of pride during the Olympics?? And what makes this particular moment so great for you it erases all other, potential pride-inducing moments a country could give, huh?

"Mission: Accomplished." Sigh.

So. Out of all these dramatic, hyperbolic declarations, which one is the most damaging to our civic psyche? Which one exposes the speaker as a liar or, at least, someone with only a glancing familiarity with the truth?

the media and the dap: or, how to tell who skipped diversity training

having had my Black Card revoked so many times before, i didn't know it had a name but i've at least seen the fist bump thing before. so imagine my total jaw-dropping surprise when the dap suddenly becomes 'a terrorist fist jab.'

again, i implore the heavens: do white people NOT have friends of color?? (or at least watch tv?) swear to god, listening to the MSM dissect the dap is like having some clueless white girl ask to touch my hair. it is tired, tired, tired.

i wonder what else will become signifiers for Otherness?

• as one blog put it, if the Obama girls start sporting corn rows, will that be dissected as too ethinic or perhaps a juvenile declaration of Black Power?
• will the mention of ashy skin suddenly become interpreted as code for 'terrorist derma disguise'?
• will photos of michelle obama with her hair wrapped become a sign of 'secret-muslim-ness'?
• will knowing the words to the Black National Anthem become a code for 'kill whitey'?

sigh.

this isn't anger. today, i am actually amused by our media's vanilla-ness. i will be angry another day. but, lord. shit is about to get triflin' real fast in this election.

[things to read: Too Sense: How American Culture Works

Jack and Jill Politics

MoDo's latest craziness]

oh, italy.

i LOVED italy.

the views, of course, were stunning and gorgeous. (even the rainy days were glorious. i mean they were the kind of days that made you want to throw open your windows, lean out and belt an aria. you don't get days like that in Chicago.)
the wine, natch, was unbelievably good (even the cheap farmers' wine we guzzled at the villa. 50 bottles of it.)
the roads were treacherous and the italian style of 'driving' terrifying. (yet energizing in a 'you're going to meet your Maker very soon' kind of way.)

but you know what i really liked about italy?

their pace was my pace - slow. i don't think i saw anyone actually 'hurry.' you really could sit and drink and eat all day and no one looked at you like you were a wastrel.

sure, i could have stuffed my days with shopping and touring and running from this museum to that old church. instead, in siena, i sat on my butt in the main piazza and read my book; in volterra, i eye-flirted with a hot syrian alabaster sculptor and then ate a load of gelato that gave me gas. (hello, lactaid.) in florence, i sat with friends off the Duomo and ate lunch and ordered liter after liter of wine, smoked at least two packs of cigarettes, wandered to another cafe for several glasses of prosecco, had a round of drinks bought by the kind old israeli vendor who liked Obama (and our friend K-), then stumbled across the street to the restaurant and stuffed myself full of rabbit, beans and more wine.

i LOVE italy!

photos will be posted when they're all downloaded so patience, all 5 of my readers.

i'll be buzzing off this italian high for a while.

ciao!

[ps: who has the best bathroom in Florence? the Ferragamo Show Museum. it's worth the 5 euro to pee in it.]

just a plane away...and other things

Emily Gould - Exposed - Blog-Post Confidential - Gawker - NYTimes.com

i wish i had time to write about this today. often, i've thought about the random way i stumbled onto blogging. (yes, a boy was involved.) often, i wonder why i continue - some of my friends wonder why i say things here i've never said in conversation. the only thing i can do is shrug and say, 'It's different. I don't know.'

remind me to come back to this when i get back from ITALY!

enjoy the beginning of summer and i'll see you in about 10 days.

i-tal-ya! i-tal-ya!

am i crazy?

the italy trip is in a scant 5 days and i'm just sort of puttering about, making random lists in my head of 'to-dos', and i haven't done a single thing, yet, except buy a really great travel purse.

my friends are frantically burning CDs, shipping books, making lists of local sights, finding grocery stores, poring over maps, copying down recipes, or blurting out random italian phrases at each other.

('Non interferisca il bambino!' ok, i'll be honest. that's just me and Roomie saying that.)

meanwhile, i'm making stick figure sketches of my Italy outfits, imagining that i'm going to roll off an international flight looking JUST LIKE that!

lame. i should be buying more tampons in preparation for the menstruation tsunami that shall engulf me when i'm crossing the Piazza Pave.

5 days. so excited.

'Fertilized egg is a person' ballot proposal scares doctor : The Rocky Mountain News

that does it.
i need a drink.

who gets to be american? a jeremiad.

Well, according to Kathleen Parker, it's all about the blood.

From her column:

It’s about blood equity, heritage and commitment to hard-won American values. And roots. Some run deeper than others and therein lies the truth of Fry’s political sense. In a country that is rapidly changing demographically — and where new neighbors may have arrived last year, not last century — there is a very real sense that once-upon-a-time America is getting lost in the dash to diversity.
We love to boast that we are a nation of immigrants. But there’s a different sense of America among those who trace their bloodlines back through generations of sacrifice.

It's the blood that somehow conveys heritage, values, national identity and civic belonging. If you don't have the right kind of 'blood' then you're not a 'real' American. You're a wannabe, a poser, a fake. You have no claim on this American birthright because you aren't 'pure-blooded' American. You're a mutt, impure, Other.

Is any of this ringing anyone's bells? Even without graduate degrees in history?

Because we should know about bloodlines and blood spilt for sacrifice. Sweet holy jesus, this Parker woman dares to tell anyone in this country (who isn't white) that the sacrifices their families were forced to make because they were Other in this great country of 'opportunity' and 'plenty' don't count.

Who hasn't sacrificed to be an American? Who?
Have black people not sacrificed?
Have the Chinese not sacrificed?
Have the Japanese not sacrificed?
Have the Native Americans, for god's sake, not sacrificed?
Have the Mexicans and the South Asians not sacrificed?
Who is shirking off the responsibility to sacrifice so that they can participate in and assume this twisted American identity of ours?

All our histories in the past two hundred years have all been litanies of the sacrifice and 'blood' of Others. Why does our 'blood' not count and other 'blood' does?

This column so infuriated me, the only thing that could make me feel good about my anger was this Lincoln quote:

"Our progress in degeneracy appears to me to be pretty rapid. As a nation, we began by declaring that 'all men are created equal.' We now practically read it 'all men are created equal, except negroes.' When the Know-Nothings get control, it will read 'all men are created equal, except negroes, and foreigners, and catholics.' When it comes to this I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretence of loving liberty — to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocracy."

Oh, Abe. If you only knew.

I knew this election season would bring out people's subterranean ugliness, the thoughts that whisper around their heads they would never dare bring out into the light, but I thought folks would treat this historical moment with a little bit more class. How naive of me. Once again, the white supremacist underpinnings of this country have jumped the leash.

You are killing me, America!

I keep giving you chances; I keep thinking, this isn't everyone. It's the media; it's some snaggle-toothed nutter living in the woods; it's just some run of the mill white person who doesn't know any people of color so they're just sort of stupid; or it's Fox News (see nutter). But this came out in a nationally syndicated column. This piece of xenophobic, nativist trash (which reads no different from the xenophobic, nativist trash from the 19th and early 20th centuries) was approved by someone. Someone's lizard brain read this and thought, 'Eh, what's the big deal? It's just an op-ed.'

Gah! America, if you were a person standing in front of me I'd slap you!

Pat Buchanan wants me to 'be grateful.' He wants me to shut up and be grateful I live in a place that suffers from the worst case of degenerate racism, a place that makes no significant movement toward recognition of or reconciliation for its white supremacist past. But here's our chance! Here's a moment - a gorgeous, breathtaking moment! And what do we do with this moment? We say he is not (and by extension, we are not - I am not) a 'full-blooded American'!

Oh, America, you make we wanna holler!

I can't be grateful when I keep waiting for this country to grow. the fuck. up. I keep waiting for it to do some frakking introspection. Look back at OUR history and make some little effort to change. But this country, rather than look backward with a critical and regretful eye, looks behind like Lot's wife and can't feel its limbs turning to salt.

[h/t: Too Sense: Oh, Hell No.
And here's that excellent post back in March on the Buchanan 'black gratitude' mess at Obsidian Wings.]

swoony, swoony, swoon: obama edwards bromance!

PostBourgie Witnesses Obama-Edwards Lovefest. « PostBourgie

in the midst of dealing with some pre-italy tension yesterday the news came through that Edwards endorsed Obama - and what a relief that is!

PostBourgie has a very good eyewitness account of the announcement and you should read it.

come on, joe six pack! now you have the Great Blue Collar Communicator telling you it's ok to vote for the black guy! get on board!

i shook Arianna Huffington's hand today at the luncheon i attended today. she gave a great speech and one thing that stood out was her statement that, when it comes to issues like fair pay, the economic empowerment of women, or policies that enable women to strengthen and take care of their families, there is no 'other side.'

cue massive girl-crush.

new love: tano handbags!

you will love these bags. they are awesome to touch, they're made of leather, the colors are deep and saturated, they're urban and sleek and so so chic.

they also don't have that awful tacky, oversized, obnoxious hardware look so many bags have now. (really, handbag makers? you really need to put buckles the size of fenders on women's bags?)

i stimulated myself as soon as i received my stimulation from our government. this is my new italy bag (in fudgesicle.) and this is the bag i really really want. maybe i'll save it for my birthday.

sigh. aren't they lovely? I got my Tano bag at RR1 Chicago (Chicago/Ashland); you can go there or to these locations in Illinois.

shoes and bags, shoes and bags. there really isn't anything that comes close.

Reproductive Justice Bill in Illinois Mobilizes New Allies | Reproductive Health | RHRealityCheck.org

Reproductive Justice Bill in Illinois Mobilizes New Allies Reproductive Health RHRealityCheck.org

over on my other spaces, i've been writing pretty vociferously about reproductive rights and the religious right's push to limit access to contraception. nutty though they may be, they're organized and well-funded, which could mean the difference between your ability to control your fertility the way you want and being forced to remain pregnant if you don't want to be pregnant because someone thinks an egg is a person.

anyway, there's a bill on the books here in illinois that you need to be aware of. read about it (check out the bill number on the illinois general assembly site here) and start to call your representative to get his/her thoughts on women being able to create the families they want.

don't assume you know where your representative stands; look into their voting records, write out some talking points and ring up their capitol office and see where they stand on HB 5610.

come on!
pretend you're on the West Wing and do some grassroots lobbying.

ah, memories.

Riding into work the other morning with Roomie, we were reminded of something that happened while we worked for one of the Big 5 consulting firms in the city, years ago.

Roomie (who wasn't my Roomie back then) and I had been hanging out in the pantry getting our coffee and yogurt when the head of HR stepped in with one of her HR friends. Back then, HR was run like a sorority and it wasn't an overstatement to say that no one liked them much.

Trying to ignore them, Roomie and I had busied ourselves with our coffee and yogurt but couldn't help but overhear a conversation that went like this:

HR Director (in her deep, whiskey and cigarette-whipped voice): I am so exhausted. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night.

HR Flunky: Oh, no! What happened?

HRD: It was Dan. He peed on me again.

HRF: Gasp!

(Roomie and I exchange a silent, shocked glance.)

HRD: Oh, you know. When he drinks, he doesn't remember things and last night he totally peed on me. (Sigh) I had to clean up the bed, the closet...

(I mouth to Roomie - 'The closet??')

HRF: Ohmygod. Uh, I'm so sorry?

HRD: (sigh) But what are you gonna do, you know? I just hope he doesn't drink so much at the wedding and pee on me during the honeymoon.

(They leave the room. We wait until we can't hear their footsteps anymore and then immediately burst into raucous laughter.)

When Roomie and I remembered this story the other morning, it was like being there all over again.

'Oh my god, she actually married him!' I said, tearing up and laughing my ass off.

'They had a baby! Ha ha ha!' Roomie said.

I said, 'Oh, wait. Didn't we start calling her Urinal Cake after that?'

Roomie howled. 'Urinal Cake! Ha ha ha ha!'

We laughed so loud and hard, the people standing for the bus could hear us through the car windows.

a real mother's day

A co-blogger from Bitch Ph.D. writes this about the upcoming Mother's Day weekend:

What I want for Mother's Day is some demonstration that the adult-ish people to whom my mothering matters (which is currently only my husband as our daughter is young) have reflected on what it means to try to mother with intelligence, grace, courage, and kindness in this historical moment. I want a recognition that I am under-served by social and business policies that do not value the work I do as a mother, and that I am under-served by the sentimentalization of motherhood. I want awareness that while the domestic labor I do is unpaid, it is not, de facto, my labor and has very little to do with mothering. I want conscious decisions to value the social and political influence of mothering, and commitments to increasing the visibility of the ways mothers are disenfranchised.

Here, here.

A real happy mother's day to all you moms out there. Really. Y'all deserve more than that.

seek and ye shall find

I don't have time for a full blown post today but this is just some stuff that caught my eye this week, so far:

Manola Dargis' piece about the gradual disappearance of women from film.

Too Sense has a bunch of new posts up, including one about the latest craziness from Jonah Goldberg.

There's also a post from Jack & Jill, taking a closer look at that recent Wright/Obama poll.

And, of course, some of the new blogs I'm reading:
Field Negro
Skeptical Brotha

And there's the always reliable Negrophile, who is just a compendium of articles and news about brown folk. I still don't know how he has the time to do this!


The big comic book movie season is beginning and, inevitably, I wonder, 'Gee. Sometimes I think representations of race and gender could be better in comics. But since I don't see women or people of color represented within the comics world, we must not exist. Golly, we must not be comics' audience.' (roll of eyes.) Ridiculous.

So here are some women and bloggers of color I've been reading, lately, in the world of geekiness:

Afrogeeks (the post about the voicemail his friend left about McCain just about made me snort out my coffee.)

Written World (this post contrasting the self-policing the geek/comics community enacted when the lame Boob Project popped up vs. the lack of self-policing within the feminist community during Marcotte-gate led me to read her other posts and I think she rocks - and she's a Green Arrow fan!)

From Written World, I came across this PoC Sci Fi Carnival and it's also very cool: links to all things sci-fi, geekery and through a lens of race. Excellent; I can't wait to explore more of the links and really see what people are writing about.

Glyphs, a blog on PopCultureShock, on the Black Comics Community.

Iron Man: my new boyfriend

oh. my. god.

i don't care if you've never heard of Iron Man, never read a comic book (what are you, a philistine?), never even knew comic books existed and don't give a crap who Stan Lee is. i don't care if your boyfriend owns all these weird dolls (oh, action figures) and they're taking over your apartment and all you want to do is pile them in the backyard and set them on fire.

this movie is teh bomb.

it's better than the X-Men movies (not that hard); better than Spiderman and his tired adolescent angst; and gives the recent Batman a serious run for its money, if not totally surpassing it with the quality of the script, acting and action. this movie made a man encased in titanium erotic. hello!

favorite bits:

1. Robert Downey, Jr. - how hot is he? how funny and witty and sad can he be? and when his eyes get all teary and he's regretting all his life decisions in a cave in Afghanistan? sigh.

2. The bromance - at last, masculine friendship that isn't totally about measuring the size of one's dick.

3. The pacing - hail to Jon Favreau for making a movie that actually captures the 'ohmygod what's going to happen now???' spirit of comic books. every beat in the story was struck blam blam blamblamBLAM!

4. The script - wow. dialogue that was actually character-driven and not merely 'cartoony.' it was sly, spry and wry. loved it.

5. Women I could like - ok, there's only one woman who really matters and Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow) wasn't a screamer, a frail chick who needed to be rescued or a belligerent neurotic with issues. she was capable, supportive, knowing and decidedly not foolish. (the other woman in the movie just needed to be recast. the actress was awful and bland.)

6. Humor - at last! a comic book movie with a sense of humor! i'll chalk this up to Favreau and Downey's snarky sensibilities. yeah, the Christian Bale Batman has a certain hangman's noose humor about it, but it's so...heavy. blah. and the X-Men movies? pullease. dour, overbearing and way too earnest about its own allegory. give me the wink and the sharp quip delivered by a guy you can actually believe can carry it off.

7. Robert Downey, Jr. - sigh. really. he is just so...yummy. sure, he's short; he's in his 40's; he's a little worn on the edges. that's history, baby! and sure, when he takes off as Iron Man there's a little balletic grace to that little hand flip he gives that might not be really very macho. but i don't care! he's hot!

i'm about to start babbling about this movie. i should stop.
but one more thing!

now i'm gonna have to start reading Iron Man - and isn't *that* the measure of success for a comic-based movie?

(thank goodness saturday is Free Comics Day.)

countdown to italy

4 weeks.

then i'm blowing this pop stand and lolling in the hot Tuscan countryside, drinking wine, eating pizza and saying things like 'Non sono Americana. Sono Canadian. Whatever.'

4 weeks and i will leave this horrific primary season behind me (only to come right back to it); i will try to leave behind our nation's unexpiated racist past and present.

(come on, sean bell's killers get off completely?? no punishment at all? people go to jail for accidentally killing someone with their motor vehicle! 50 rounds! unarmed! LORD JESUS!)

4 weeks and i will be on fricking vacation from this frakking mess of a country that i love with all my heart, even though recent events are making me struggle with my affection. my love comes at a price and every little privilege i enjoy feels like a bribe. or like a stack of crumpled bills on the side of a bedstand, at the very least.

in 4 weeks, i will sleep deeply, i will explore eagerly and i will float lethargically in the villa's 4 ft pool Roomie chose so that i don't drown.

thank god there's italy because lord knows here ain't feeling really good right now.

...

there's so much still to do.

i know we're 4 weeks out but i have a running list in my head of the things that need to be taken care of: i have to hold the mail, unlock my phone, alert my bank, transfer funds, wrap up work stuff, make a list of things to pack, copy recipes, learn a bit more italian (i'm actually not bad with the accent!), and resign myself to the fact that, yes, i will be on my period while in italy.

dammit.

(i had to buy some cute black pants for this trip. forget that summer fantasy of white linen and a summery light wardrobe. i will be bleeding like MacDuff's mam.)

an acquaintance last night gave this piece of advice: "Never pass up an opportunity to sit, eat or pee. You never know when you'll get another chance."

i will take that advice to heart, slowing down my group of friends as i take every opportunity to sit, eat and pee. perhaps all at the same time.

and did you know urban outfitters has really cute, cheap cameras? unlike coldly perfect pictures taken with digital cameras, these take really wonderfully lo-fi photos, sort of blurry and saturated with light and all sorts of imperfections. i'm thinking about getting the Diana+Edelweiss or the Holga.

and i need to get my hair done. i think i'm officially over being completely 'natural.' not for anything political, but for danged expedience. the summer is around the corner and i do not want to mess with the frizz. Tia at Shake Your Beauty mentioned something called a 'conditioning relaxer' and i think want to try that. i just need to loosen the curls here and be less frizzy.

wow. a whole post on totally frivolous crap.

excellent.