On January 1, 2011, the Oprah Winfrey Network (OWN) will launch on what was formerly the Discovery Health Channel. If you're like me, you've been a loyal viewer of the Oprah Show and have probably, time permitting, also watched Dr. Phil, Dr. Oz, Nate Berkus and Rachael Ray as regularly as possible. You've probably purchased books chosen as Oprah Book Club selections.
I don't mean to sound selfish, but what have you gotten in exchange for all your Oprah loyalty? It's not like you could buy stock in Harpo, Inc.
But you CAN buy stock in Discovery Communications, Inc., which will own OWN 50-50 with Harpo, Inc.
That's right, it's time for you to benefit from all your years of Oprah loyalty. Own some OWN.
Although Discovery Communications, Inc. has issued various series of stock the differences between which I have yet to discern, I'm seriously considering owning some OWN, or rather, Discovery Communications, Inc., in my 401K. Sure, it's a bet that Oprah is as much of a programming genius as she is a talk show goddess, but I think it's a pretty safe one given the success of the shows she's produced. It's not like I'm going to sink my entire fund into Discovery Communications stock.
Now it's time for you to get YOUR ownership on. Consider purchasing an ownership interest in OWN.
Happy New Year!
Teena Marie: She Was Us
I was shocked to hear of Teena Marie's passing. Just as there are those who will always believe that Elvis, Tupac and Biggie are still alive, I'm one of those who will always believe this: Teena Marie was black. Blacker than me.
Yes, I saw video of her mother on TV One's "Unsung." Yes, I've seen her perform on television numerous times. I just refuse to believe that a white woman could talk, sing, and move in the world the way she did and still be white. If we as black people could give honorary black status to anyone, Teena Marie would have been at the top of the list. But we wouldn't have thought she needed such status. She was us.
She didn't imitate R&B and hip-hop; she was R & B and hip-hop. She wasn't like us; she was us. Teena Marie could have used the N-word and I don't think a single black person would have flinched. She earned that right, if for no other reason, for putting up with Rick James' mess as long as she did and not turning away from us because of it.
It is because of her rap in "Square Biz" that I learned about Sarah Vaughn. I didn't realize until I was older that she was praising through imitation Sarah Vaughn's phrasing when she sang, "I'm. . . .talk. . . ing . . . square biz . . . I'mtalkingsquarebiztoyooooo . . ." Who else but a black woman could write a rhyme that sent up praises to Bach, Shakespeare, Maya Angelou and Nikki Giovanni in the same rhyme?
Teena Marie, that's who.
She lead the way -- no, blazed the way -- for so many female singer-songwriter-producers. She fought Motown and Berry Gordy and won, making legal precedent for artists so that record companies could not refuse to release their records while holding them hostage to their contracts. That she had the balls to go up against Motown near its apex and win speaks volumes.
But the moment I became absolutely certain that Teena Marie was black was when she was asked during the "Unsung" episode what she was most proud of and she replied, "My child." A black woman could be elected president, win the Nobel Peace Prize, and broker peace in the Middle East, but if you were to ask her what she's most proud of, she'd still say, "My child."
I will miss Teena Marie, but I will also celebrate her through her music. Our music. Because she was us.
And I don't care what anybody says, that sistah was black.
Yes, I saw video of her mother on TV One's "Unsung." Yes, I've seen her perform on television numerous times. I just refuse to believe that a white woman could talk, sing, and move in the world the way she did and still be white. If we as black people could give honorary black status to anyone, Teena Marie would have been at the top of the list. But we wouldn't have thought she needed such status. She was us.
She didn't imitate R&B and hip-hop; she was R & B and hip-hop. She wasn't like us; she was us. Teena Marie could have used the N-word and I don't think a single black person would have flinched. She earned that right, if for no other reason, for putting up with Rick James' mess as long as she did and not turning away from us because of it.
It is because of her rap in "Square Biz" that I learned about Sarah Vaughn. I didn't realize until I was older that she was praising through imitation Sarah Vaughn's phrasing when she sang, "I'm. . . .talk. . . ing . . . square biz . . . I'mtalkingsquarebiztoyooooo . . ." Who else but a black woman could write a rhyme that sent up praises to Bach, Shakespeare, Maya Angelou and Nikki Giovanni in the same rhyme?
Teena Marie, that's who.
She lead the way -- no, blazed the way -- for so many female singer-songwriter-producers. She fought Motown and Berry Gordy and won, making legal precedent for artists so that record companies could not refuse to release their records while holding them hostage to their contracts. That she had the balls to go up against Motown near its apex and win speaks volumes.
But the moment I became absolutely certain that Teena Marie was black was when she was asked during the "Unsung" episode what she was most proud of and she replied, "My child." A black woman could be elected president, win the Nobel Peace Prize, and broker peace in the Middle East, but if you were to ask her what she's most proud of, she'd still say, "My child."
I will miss Teena Marie, but I will also celebrate her through her music. Our music. Because she was us.
And I don't care what anybody says, that sistah was black.
Gifts I'm Giving Myself This Christmas
My mother didn't wait for or expect my father to buy her what she wanted for Christmas. She just went out and bought it herself. I think her logic was simple and still holds true: Why wait for or expect someone to not only determine your wishes but also fulfill them? I don't know about you, but I've never given myself a gift I didn't like.
In that vein, instead of waiting to be "surprised," for good or for bad, with a gift purchased for me, I'm giving myself the gifts I want this year. And they're not all monetary or consumption-driven. Sure, I went out and bought three Mulberry for Target handbags simply because I thought they were cute. I tried to score those Isabel Toledo for Payless Toreador pumps that keep selling out, only to become a victim of Payless' online inventory glitch and miss out totally. But the gifts I really want aren't all monetary, and I'm in the best position to give them to myself. They are:
The Gift of Boundaries. Too often I twist and bend my schedule, sublimate my desires, and make compromises to make others happy. I don't speak my mind in the face of audacious personal questions and outright rude statements in order to keep the peace and not rock the boat. This year, I'm giving myself the gift of boundaries. When confronted with the possibility of inconveniencing myself to make someone else's life more convenient without any acknowledgement of or appreciation for what I'm giving up, my new catchphrase will be, "No, I don't think so." When asked something that's nobody's business, my new catchphrase will be, "Gee, that's really personal. I don't think I'm going to answer that." When confronted with rudeness, I'll calmly respond, "How rude," smile and walk away, boundaries intact.
The Gift of a Room of My Own. Marriage requires you to share. A lot. Finances, a bedroom, a bed, cookware -- well, maybe not cookware, since I don't let BMNB anywhere near my All-Clad pans -- but you get the drift. Virginia Woolf meant it figuratively, but I mean it literally -- every woman should have a room of her own, her own place to think, create, or just enjoy solitude. I don't care if it's a cavern or a closet -- it just needs to be your own. I've had an office in our home since we moved in, but I haven't really configured it for my easy usage until now. BMNB and I have been working on getting our home cleaned and organized because we will have relatives staying with us for the holidays. The beauty of this cleaning and organization is that I finally have a usable room of my own in which to do all these things. I can actually walk to my desk or sit on my "throne" -- a five-dollar used, overstuffed chair and ottoman I bought from a thrift store in Denver, cleaned, and covered with a crimson slipcover. I plan to enjoy my space, by myself, over the coming year.
The Gift of Not Cooking and Not Feeling Guilty About It. One of the things BMNB and I went 'round and 'round about before marriage was domestic responsibilities. When we lived in Colorado, I moved into his home. In turn, I started doing most of the cooking and cleaning until I looked up and realized that I was doing most of the cooking and cleaning in addition to keeping up with the demands of my own job. At some point, we had an argument about it, and I said, "If this is marriage, why would I choose this?" It wasn't as if I hated cooking and cleaning -- it's just that I now had double the work and half the help to do it. It wasn't fair.
As part of our pre-marital counseling, this was an issue we discussed. BMNB agreed that he would learn to cook more than his repertoire of seven dishes. I, in turn, agreed that I would attend church with him.
He didn't keep his promise, so I didn't keep mine.
During the political campaign I worked on this summer, I felt guilty that I wasn't at home more often to cook for him. For Thanksgiving, despite being exhausted from the campaign , recovering from a sinus infection, taking no time off from my day job, and still working on post-campaign issue, I cooked for hours upon end -- turkey, dressing, green beans, candied yams, homemade rolls, pies, punch -- to make up for my months' long absence from the kitchen.
Fast forward to yesterday, when BMNB informs me that he is going to learn to cook for our holiday guests. Not for me, mind you, but our guests.
Needless to say, I don't feel guilty about not cooking anymore. I will cook what I want, when I want, if I want, for my own health and pleasure. And I'll feel free to kick back a good glass of wine with those meals. Not all who drink are drunks, BMNB.
The Gift of Spending as Much Time as I Damn Well Please on Myself. Fantasia declared the new women's anthem this year: "I'm Doing Me." We women should follow suit. How many of us twist our schedules to do stuff for the good of our families and leave our own basic needs unmet? Not this year, ladies. I'm doing me. I think I'll give myself a gift certificate for 312 hours of MY time next year for exercise (6 hours per week), 182 hours of MY time to read books (a half hour per day), 120 hours of MY time for hair, nails and massages, and 96 hours of MY time to go to the movies, visit museums, or visit the wine country by myself. Thank you, Fantasia, for freeing the rest of us.
The Gift of Spending Christmas How I Want. Admit it -- haven't you ever wanted to travel for Christmas instead of spending it at home? I know I have. However, I've always tried to spend Christmas they way I've been told I should want to spend it -- family, cooking, home. Next year: Hawai'i, for no other reason than I've never spent Christmas there.
The Gift of Not Caring What People Think. How often do we stifle our words, our actions -- even the clothes we wear -- for fear that they may offend someone or that others might not approve? Enough. I'm so done with that. Don't like my hair style or my outfit? Not my problem.
The Gift of Truly Living. I know I'm so guilty of living my life in a triangle -- home, work, doing stuff for home, with trips to Starbucks squeezed in between. I don't go to movies as much as I would like, I don't visit museums, and I don't travel as much as I did when I was single. When I was single, it was like, "Have money -- will travel." Girlfriend's going to the Bahamas? I was there. Hawai'i by myself-- on someone else's dime, no less? Did it. TWICE. The funny thing is that I did more and enjoyed life more when I was single, earning way less, AND had bad credit. I traveled more with bad credit than I do now with good credit. I want to put that joie de vivre back in my life. This girl just wants to have fun. Cyndi Lauper never lied.
The Gift of Charting My Own Retirement Planning Course. Marriage means trying to plan your finances together. That only works if you share the same goals and the same approaches to money. Sometimes BMNB and I do; sometimes we don't. We have different approaches to retirement planning, and I'm giving myself the gift of charting my own retirement planning course instead of seeking compromise. We'll see who chose right in 2025.
Instead of waiting for others to give you what you want for Christmas this year, go ahead and give it to yourself. You won't be disappointed.
Merry Christmas and thank you all so very much for your readership and words of encouragement. I'm still working on the book, in a room of my own, no less.
In that vein, instead of waiting to be "surprised," for good or for bad, with a gift purchased for me, I'm giving myself the gifts I want this year. And they're not all monetary or consumption-driven. Sure, I went out and bought three Mulberry for Target handbags simply because I thought they were cute. I tried to score those Isabel Toledo for Payless Toreador pumps that keep selling out, only to become a victim of Payless' online inventory glitch and miss out totally. But the gifts I really want aren't all monetary, and I'm in the best position to give them to myself. They are:
The Gift of Boundaries. Too often I twist and bend my schedule, sublimate my desires, and make compromises to make others happy. I don't speak my mind in the face of audacious personal questions and outright rude statements in order to keep the peace and not rock the boat. This year, I'm giving myself the gift of boundaries. When confronted with the possibility of inconveniencing myself to make someone else's life more convenient without any acknowledgement of or appreciation for what I'm giving up, my new catchphrase will be, "No, I don't think so." When asked something that's nobody's business, my new catchphrase will be, "Gee, that's really personal. I don't think I'm going to answer that." When confronted with rudeness, I'll calmly respond, "How rude," smile and walk away, boundaries intact.
The Gift of a Room of My Own. Marriage requires you to share. A lot. Finances, a bedroom, a bed, cookware -- well, maybe not cookware, since I don't let BMNB anywhere near my All-Clad pans -- but you get the drift. Virginia Woolf meant it figuratively, but I mean it literally -- every woman should have a room of her own, her own place to think, create, or just enjoy solitude. I don't care if it's a cavern or a closet -- it just needs to be your own. I've had an office in our home since we moved in, but I haven't really configured it for my easy usage until now. BMNB and I have been working on getting our home cleaned and organized because we will have relatives staying with us for the holidays. The beauty of this cleaning and organization is that I finally have a usable room of my own in which to do all these things. I can actually walk to my desk or sit on my "throne" -- a five-dollar used, overstuffed chair and ottoman I bought from a thrift store in Denver, cleaned, and covered with a crimson slipcover. I plan to enjoy my space, by myself, over the coming year.
The Gift of Not Cooking and Not Feeling Guilty About It. One of the things BMNB and I went 'round and 'round about before marriage was domestic responsibilities. When we lived in Colorado, I moved into his home. In turn, I started doing most of the cooking and cleaning until I looked up and realized that I was doing most of the cooking and cleaning in addition to keeping up with the demands of my own job. At some point, we had an argument about it, and I said, "If this is marriage, why would I choose this?" It wasn't as if I hated cooking and cleaning -- it's just that I now had double the work and half the help to do it. It wasn't fair.
As part of our pre-marital counseling, this was an issue we discussed. BMNB agreed that he would learn to cook more than his repertoire of seven dishes. I, in turn, agreed that I would attend church with him.
He didn't keep his promise, so I didn't keep mine.
During the political campaign I worked on this summer, I felt guilty that I wasn't at home more often to cook for him. For Thanksgiving, despite being exhausted from the campaign , recovering from a sinus infection, taking no time off from my day job, and still working on post-campaign issue, I cooked for hours upon end -- turkey, dressing, green beans, candied yams, homemade rolls, pies, punch -- to make up for my months' long absence from the kitchen.
Fast forward to yesterday, when BMNB informs me that he is going to learn to cook for our holiday guests. Not for me, mind you, but our guests.
Needless to say, I don't feel guilty about not cooking anymore. I will cook what I want, when I want, if I want, for my own health and pleasure. And I'll feel free to kick back a good glass of wine with those meals. Not all who drink are drunks, BMNB.
The Gift of Spending as Much Time as I Damn Well Please on Myself. Fantasia declared the new women's anthem this year: "I'm Doing Me." We women should follow suit. How many of us twist our schedules to do stuff for the good of our families and leave our own basic needs unmet? Not this year, ladies. I'm doing me. I think I'll give myself a gift certificate for 312 hours of MY time next year for exercise (6 hours per week), 182 hours of MY time to read books (a half hour per day), 120 hours of MY time for hair, nails and massages, and 96 hours of MY time to go to the movies, visit museums, or visit the wine country by myself. Thank you, Fantasia, for freeing the rest of us.
The Gift of Spending Christmas How I Want. Admit it -- haven't you ever wanted to travel for Christmas instead of spending it at home? I know I have. However, I've always tried to spend Christmas they way I've been told I should want to spend it -- family, cooking, home. Next year: Hawai'i, for no other reason than I've never spent Christmas there.
The Gift of Not Caring What People Think. How often do we stifle our words, our actions -- even the clothes we wear -- for fear that they may offend someone or that others might not approve? Enough. I'm so done with that. Don't like my hair style or my outfit? Not my problem.
The Gift of Truly Living. I know I'm so guilty of living my life in a triangle -- home, work, doing stuff for home, with trips to Starbucks squeezed in between. I don't go to movies as much as I would like, I don't visit museums, and I don't travel as much as I did when I was single. When I was single, it was like, "Have money -- will travel." Girlfriend's going to the Bahamas? I was there. Hawai'i by myself-- on someone else's dime, no less? Did it. TWICE. The funny thing is that I did more and enjoyed life more when I was single, earning way less, AND had bad credit. I traveled more with bad credit than I do now with good credit. I want to put that joie de vivre back in my life. This girl just wants to have fun. Cyndi Lauper never lied.
The Gift of Charting My Own Retirement Planning Course. Marriage means trying to plan your finances together. That only works if you share the same goals and the same approaches to money. Sometimes BMNB and I do; sometimes we don't. We have different approaches to retirement planning, and I'm giving myself the gift of charting my own retirement planning course instead of seeking compromise. We'll see who chose right in 2025.
Instead of waiting for others to give you what you want for Christmas this year, go ahead and give it to yourself. You won't be disappointed.
Merry Christmas and thank you all so very much for your readership and words of encouragement. I'm still working on the book, in a room of my own, no less.
Don't Forget -- It Is a Christmas "Season"
It's easy in the midst of shopping, planning meals, cleaning house and preparing for holiday guests that it is a Christmas "season." Seasons don't last forever. If you don't take time out to enjoy the season, you'll look up and it'll be gone.
Enjoying the season doesn't have to mean spending a wad of cash. It's as easy as walking around your neighborhood or any neighborhood at night to look at Christmas lights. When BMNB and I lived in Colorado, that was one of our favorite things to do around Christmastime -- drive around at night and see the Christmas lights in the different neighborhoods around Denver.
You can donate canned goods from your pantry to a food bank knowing that a family in need will be fed and appreciative.
You can take time for yourself. Take a walk and get some fresh air and exercise -- 30 minutes of walking a day can make a world of difference if you've been sedentary for a long time. Stop and meditate -- clear you mind of stresses and worry. Read a good book while taking a bubble bath.
You can attend a free performance of "Handel's Messiah" -- like the "Handel's Messiah Sing-A-Long" on December 19th at the Mormon Temple in Oakland, California at 6:00 pm. I'm sure there's a free performance of either "Handel's Messiah" or "Handel's Messiah - A Soulful Celebration" somewhere where you live.
You can attend local performances of any variety of "The Nutcracker" or other holiday plays or shows, from high school performances on up. One of my personal favorites is "Granny Dances to a Holiday Drum" by the Cleo Parker Robinson Dance Troupe in Denver.
If you live where it snows, have a snowball fight with your kids. Make snow angels.
You can bake cookies and share them with neighbors.
Or, you can just put up your own Christmas decorations and marvel at them over a good cup of coffee or eggnog while listening to your favorite Christmas music and counting your blessings.
But hurry. Before you know it, the season will be over. Seasons don't last forever.
Enjoying the season doesn't have to mean spending a wad of cash. It's as easy as walking around your neighborhood or any neighborhood at night to look at Christmas lights. When BMNB and I lived in Colorado, that was one of our favorite things to do around Christmastime -- drive around at night and see the Christmas lights in the different neighborhoods around Denver.
You can donate canned goods from your pantry to a food bank knowing that a family in need will be fed and appreciative.
You can take time for yourself. Take a walk and get some fresh air and exercise -- 30 minutes of walking a day can make a world of difference if you've been sedentary for a long time. Stop and meditate -- clear you mind of stresses and worry. Read a good book while taking a bubble bath.
You can attend a free performance of "Handel's Messiah" -- like the "Handel's Messiah Sing-A-Long" on December 19th at the Mormon Temple in Oakland, California at 6:00 pm. I'm sure there's a free performance of either "Handel's Messiah" or "Handel's Messiah - A Soulful Celebration" somewhere where you live.
You can attend local performances of any variety of "The Nutcracker" or other holiday plays or shows, from high school performances on up. One of my personal favorites is "Granny Dances to a Holiday Drum" by the Cleo Parker Robinson Dance Troupe in Denver.
If you live where it snows, have a snowball fight with your kids. Make snow angels.
You can bake cookies and share them with neighbors.
Or, you can just put up your own Christmas decorations and marvel at them over a good cup of coffee or eggnog while listening to your favorite Christmas music and counting your blessings.
But hurry. Before you know it, the season will be over. Seasons don't last forever.
A Prayer for Aretha, From All Her Daughters
I was saddened to hear of Aretha Franklin's pancreatic cancer and surgery. I am praying, as are many of her other spiritual daughters, that she will recover and continue to reign as the Queen of Soul.
Although Aretha Franklin has no biological daughters, she has millions of us spiritual ones. We learned to demand respect, tell men to think about what they're trying to do to us, and revel in what it feels like to be a natural woman just by listening to her songs. We rocked steady and went riding on the freeway of love. We learned of the universality of heartbreak when she demanded, "don't play that song," as well as the ephemeral hope within love lost when she promised to knock on her man's door, tap on his window pane, and walk by herself to prove that her love was true. Her songs, and the feeling with which she sang them, told our stories -- what we'd been through or would eventually go through as women. She reminded us and Lauryn Hill that "a rose is still a rose"and that WE still had the power, and then she put all of us and Fantasia "up on game."
If you are a woman, chances are that, at some point in your life, you drew inspiration, strength, or joy from an Aretha Franklin song. For a woman who didn't have daughters, you would have thought she'd been raising girls all her life.
In a way, she did.
Let all of us, Aretha's spiritual daughters, lift her up in prayer.
Although Aretha Franklin has no biological daughters, she has millions of us spiritual ones. We learned to demand respect, tell men to think about what they're trying to do to us, and revel in what it feels like to be a natural woman just by listening to her songs. We rocked steady and went riding on the freeway of love. We learned of the universality of heartbreak when she demanded, "don't play that song," as well as the ephemeral hope within love lost when she promised to knock on her man's door, tap on his window pane, and walk by herself to prove that her love was true. Her songs, and the feeling with which she sang them, told our stories -- what we'd been through or would eventually go through as women. She reminded us and Lauryn Hill that "a rose is still a rose"and that WE still had the power, and then she put all of us and Fantasia "up on game."
If you are a woman, chances are that, at some point in your life, you drew inspiration, strength, or joy from an Aretha Franklin song. For a woman who didn't have daughters, you would have thought she'd been raising girls all her life.
In a way, she did.
Let all of us, Aretha's spiritual daughters, lift her up in prayer.
A Prayer for Elizabeth Edwards
Elizabeth Edwards passed away today at the age of 61, leaving behind three children and joining a fourth. Keep her earthly children in your prayers.
Elizabeth had the forethought to record her advice and wisdom for her young kids knowing she would not be there when they needed it. It saddens me that she has left behind two children under the age of 18. I'm not a mom, but I know most mothers live for two things: To raise all their children to adulthood and, if they're lucky, live to see their own grandchildren. Elizabeth Edwards will not achieve either of these goals.
When I turned 18, it was the most momentous coming-of-age moment for my parents because my turning 18 signaled they were done. They had gotten six kids to the age of adulthood, without pregnancies or prison time and with high school diplomas. For two black parents who had not finished high school, they were relieved. Their job was done. And, they lived to see their grandchildren.
I'm not a mom, but I can't even imagine what a mother must feel leaving behind her young children and hoping that someone will love them as much as she would and will raise them as she would. Had John Edwards shown himself to be someone still capable of good moral choices, I would imagine this would not have been as much of a concern for Elizabeth. But he didn't.
I voted for John Edwards in 2008 presidential Democratic primary because he talked about issues of class divide and inequity, which even candidate Obama wasn't really addressing, and because I wanted Elizabeth Edwards to be First Lady. I thought her passion for children and compassion for others would be the gentle and loving presence the White House needed in a First Lady. I hoped she would lead us to be our better selves as people and as citizens. Luckily, through the example of how she lived her life and the words she left behind in the pages of her books, we can follow in her footsteps and be our better selves. I am thankful that she shared so much of herself with us.
I hope Elizabeth Edwards has ascended to a heavenly reunion with her son, Wade. Godspeed, Elizabeth Edwards, and may the Lord bless and keep you in his loving arms.
Elizabeth had the forethought to record her advice and wisdom for her young kids knowing she would not be there when they needed it. It saddens me that she has left behind two children under the age of 18. I'm not a mom, but I know most mothers live for two things: To raise all their children to adulthood and, if they're lucky, live to see their own grandchildren. Elizabeth Edwards will not achieve either of these goals.
When I turned 18, it was the most momentous coming-of-age moment for my parents because my turning 18 signaled they were done. They had gotten six kids to the age of adulthood, without pregnancies or prison time and with high school diplomas. For two black parents who had not finished high school, they were relieved. Their job was done. And, they lived to see their grandchildren.
I'm not a mom, but I can't even imagine what a mother must feel leaving behind her young children and hoping that someone will love them as much as she would and will raise them as she would. Had John Edwards shown himself to be someone still capable of good moral choices, I would imagine this would not have been as much of a concern for Elizabeth. But he didn't.
I voted for John Edwards in 2008 presidential Democratic primary because he talked about issues of class divide and inequity, which even candidate Obama wasn't really addressing, and because I wanted Elizabeth Edwards to be First Lady. I thought her passion for children and compassion for others would be the gentle and loving presence the White House needed in a First Lady. I hoped she would lead us to be our better selves as people and as citizens. Luckily, through the example of how she lived her life and the words she left behind in the pages of her books, we can follow in her footsteps and be our better selves. I am thankful that she shared so much of herself with us.
I hope Elizabeth Edwards has ascended to a heavenly reunion with her son, Wade. Godspeed, Elizabeth Edwards, and may the Lord bless and keep you in his loving arms.
Free Willie (Nelson)!
Willie Nelson was busted for possession of marijuana. That's like busting Santa Claus for possessing a beard and a jelly belly.
Mind you, I don't partake of the stuff or like to be around it because it makes me nauseous, but I really feel the resources of our law enforcement authorities are better spent chasing down violent felons and sex offenders, not stoners. That's why I voted for Prop. 19.
Besides, Willie Nelson is a national treasure. He gave us Farm Aid. For goodness' sake, didn't he get high on the roof of the White House with Hamilton Jordan during the Carter Administration? Marijuana is what Willie Nelson does. Given his age and his contributions to our nation, can't we just give Willie a ghetto pass on the weed thing? Busting Willie Nelson for possessing pot is, to borrow one of his song lyrics, "crazy." Heck, we out to give Willie a ghetto pass on pot simply because he wrote "Crazy." That's one of my favorite songs. It's a national treasure.
Also, Willie's done a lot for the Texas music scene. I would think the good people of the state of Texas would give a son of the soil some leeway on this.
Willie, come on over to California, where you can get a "recommendation" for some medical marijuana and smoke 'till you choke. Not that we'd want you to. You might have some trouble keeping Snoop Dogg off your tour bus, though.
Free Willie!
Mind you, I don't partake of the stuff or like to be around it because it makes me nauseous, but I really feel the resources of our law enforcement authorities are better spent chasing down violent felons and sex offenders, not stoners. That's why I voted for Prop. 19.
Besides, Willie Nelson is a national treasure. He gave us Farm Aid. For goodness' sake, didn't he get high on the roof of the White House with Hamilton Jordan during the Carter Administration? Marijuana is what Willie Nelson does. Given his age and his contributions to our nation, can't we just give Willie a ghetto pass on the weed thing? Busting Willie Nelson for possessing pot is, to borrow one of his song lyrics, "crazy." Heck, we out to give Willie a ghetto pass on pot simply because he wrote "Crazy." That's one of my favorite songs. It's a national treasure.
Also, Willie's done a lot for the Texas music scene. I would think the good people of the state of Texas would give a son of the soil some leeway on this.
Willie, come on over to California, where you can get a "recommendation" for some medical marijuana and smoke 'till you choke. Not that we'd want you to. You might have some trouble keeping Snoop Dogg off your tour bus, though.
Free Willie!
No, That's Alright. I'm Good. (Save the Va-Jay-Jays)
My husband, Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), cuts his own hair. As he stands in front of the mirror in nothing but a towel, clippers in hand, I often suggest in jest that he let me take the clippers in hand and tidy him up "down there." "You know, some man-scaping, " I say with a wink and a smile. He always smiles, shakes his head and says, "No, that's alright. I'm good." Of course he says this. What man would let anyone -- male, female or otherwise -- close to his manly parts with a pair of clippers?
This is where, I'm sorry to say, men have more sense than women.
I spent much of Sunday on the couch watching TV and recuperating from the cooking marathon that was Thanksgiving. I happened upon a documentary on the BBC America channel about women getting surgery on their personal lady parts to make them "perfect." I'm talking slicing labia, ladies, in pursuit of some idea of what the perfect punani looks like.
Ieeeuuuw!!!!! You don't see men going around getting cosmetic surgery on their stuff. Most men are born thinking their stuff is perfect and, if you don't think so, that's YOUR problem, not theirs.
We ladies need to think more like them.
Think of all the things we do to ourselves in pursuit of some idea of perfection -- we wax our eyebrows, upper lips, chins, legs, personal lady parts, and, for porn stars, butt cracks. We inject collagen in our lips and Restylane, Juvederm and Botox in our faces. We use lasers to remove underarm hair. We dye the hair on our head and sometimes the hair down under to "make sure the carpet matches the drapes." We get breast implants and breast reductions, butt implants and butt liposuction. For goodness' sakes, we wear Booty Pop panties!
Do men do any of this stuff? Noooooooo. Why? Because they think, "No, that's alright. I'm good."
The documentary featured a teen-aged girl who wanted to get surgery on her hoo-hoo because she had been teased about it by her sister and her friends. WTF?
First, I haven't seen any of my sisters' va-jay-jays since I was a kid in the bathtub. The only people who should be seeing your hoo-hoo is you, your gynecologist, and maybe your husband. Maybe. Heck, I can't even think of the last time I took a mirror and explored my Netherlands. Why bother? I can wash without looking -- I could wash my stuff in the dark. Why do I need to look? Why does anybody need to look? As long as everything is clean, healthy and in good working order, who cares?
Second, maybe it's because I'm older, but I'm not getting surgery on anything unless it's a last resort. Surgery is by definition an invasive procedure that opens the body up for infection. Va-jay-jays, by virtue of their location, are a prime spot for infection. Can you imagine how stupid you would feel going to get cosmetic surgery on your personal lady parts and coming out of the hospital with flesh-eating bacteria on your personal lady parts? How stupid would that be?
Third, I think God put all those nerve endings down there for a reason -- so it would hurt if you messed with his creation. Imagine how you would feel once the anesthesia wears off.
Fourth, I think this is just another conspiracy from the plastic surgery industry to get women to part their legs and part with their money. Who said there's an ideal look for pocketbooks? What next -- Va-jay-jay beauty contests, complete with scholarships and talent competitions? Just skip the foolishness. If you feel insecure about your personal lady parts, just go put a tiny tiara on them and keep stepping. Tiaras always make me feel better.
Ladies, let's save the va-jay-jays. If someone suggests that yours doesn't look right or needs surgery, just smile, shake your head, and say, "No, that's alright. I'm good." Because you are.
This is where, I'm sorry to say, men have more sense than women.
I spent much of Sunday on the couch watching TV and recuperating from the cooking marathon that was Thanksgiving. I happened upon a documentary on the BBC America channel about women getting surgery on their personal lady parts to make them "perfect." I'm talking slicing labia, ladies, in pursuit of some idea of what the perfect punani looks like.
Ieeeuuuw!!!!! You don't see men going around getting cosmetic surgery on their stuff. Most men are born thinking their stuff is perfect and, if you don't think so, that's YOUR problem, not theirs.
We ladies need to think more like them.
Think of all the things we do to ourselves in pursuit of some idea of perfection -- we wax our eyebrows, upper lips, chins, legs, personal lady parts, and, for porn stars, butt cracks. We inject collagen in our lips and Restylane, Juvederm and Botox in our faces. We use lasers to remove underarm hair. We dye the hair on our head and sometimes the hair down under to "make sure the carpet matches the drapes." We get breast implants and breast reductions, butt implants and butt liposuction. For goodness' sakes, we wear Booty Pop panties!
Do men do any of this stuff? Noooooooo. Why? Because they think, "No, that's alright. I'm good."
The documentary featured a teen-aged girl who wanted to get surgery on her hoo-hoo because she had been teased about it by her sister and her friends. WTF?
First, I haven't seen any of my sisters' va-jay-jays since I was a kid in the bathtub. The only people who should be seeing your hoo-hoo is you, your gynecologist, and maybe your husband. Maybe. Heck, I can't even think of the last time I took a mirror and explored my Netherlands. Why bother? I can wash without looking -- I could wash my stuff in the dark. Why do I need to look? Why does anybody need to look? As long as everything is clean, healthy and in good working order, who cares?
Second, maybe it's because I'm older, but I'm not getting surgery on anything unless it's a last resort. Surgery is by definition an invasive procedure that opens the body up for infection. Va-jay-jays, by virtue of their location, are a prime spot for infection. Can you imagine how stupid you would feel going to get cosmetic surgery on your personal lady parts and coming out of the hospital with flesh-eating bacteria on your personal lady parts? How stupid would that be?
Third, I think God put all those nerve endings down there for a reason -- so it would hurt if you messed with his creation. Imagine how you would feel once the anesthesia wears off.
Fourth, I think this is just another conspiracy from the plastic surgery industry to get women to part their legs and part with their money. Who said there's an ideal look for pocketbooks? What next -- Va-jay-jay beauty contests, complete with scholarships and talent competitions? Just skip the foolishness. If you feel insecure about your personal lady parts, just go put a tiny tiara on them and keep stepping. Tiaras always make me feel better.
Ladies, let's save the va-jay-jays. If someone suggests that yours doesn't look right or needs surgery, just smile, shake your head, and say, "No, that's alright. I'm good." Because you are.
Give Perfection The Finger
I can't make gravy. And I don't care.
I'm not fond of sweet potato pie, either, and I don't make any at all. Way too much competition and way too many critics in black families for that, which is why I don't make gumbo, either.
Chitlins? As if.
But I do make some mean dinner rolls from scratch, if I do say so myself. In fact, there's not much in the way of baked goods with yeast that I can't do if I put my mind to it. If there's yeast involved, I'm your girl.
Wait. That didn't come out right. But you get my drift.
In other words, I'm not your quintessential Martha Stewart or Patti Labelle -- women who seemed to be blessed with a multitude of talents they perform with equal excellence. Some things I'm good at; others, not so much. And I no longer care. I've given perfection the finger, and so should you.
You see, I haven't lead the typical female life in America. I didn't settle down with some guy right after college and start having kids. There are many skills I would have been forced to acquire had my life taken that turn, like making gravy and soothing colicky babies. But it didn't. Instead, I traveled, worked hard, and dated for, oh, about twenty or so years. I have no regrets.
And I'm not alone. My best friend can kick butt at trial, get your company's diversity and inclusion program up and running from scratch, produce plays, and organize fundraisers that will take a non-profit's balance sheet from red to black. But cook? Not on your life. She's proud of it, and so am I. She is the daughter of a caterer. Why learn to cook when you've got professional grade food at the ready? She focused her energies on her talents and developed them well -- extremely well. Cooking just wasn't one of them. To this day, she refers to me as "one of them cookin' bitches" (because I actually attempt to cook) and says about holiday meals, "That's what caterers are for." I agree.
Look, life doesn't give everybody everything. There are things I can do that not a lot of people can do, like write an appellate brief that can make your dog of a case sound compelling, or run a winning political campaign. Conversely, there are things a lot of people can do that I can't, like make gravy. And at this stage in my life, especially as the holiday season approaches, I'm at peace with this. I've given perfection the finger, and so should you.
Mind you, your imperfections are manna from heaven for your haters. They will publicize and celebrate them. "Do you know the girl can't even make gravy?" I can already hear it. But I don't care. I'm giving perfection, and them, the finger. And so should you.
So if you burn the turkey this year, guess what? Flip that bird the bird. And keep steppin'. That's what caterers, or rather, Boston Market, is for. They make gravy, too.
If you're still beating yourself up and trying to pursue perfection, remember this: Beyonce can't cook. Clearly, she's given perfection the finger, too, and I adore her for it. She's put her life's energies into her true talents. That's something we should encourage all of our daughters to do, no matter where that leads them, because in the end, they'll be happy, even if they aren't perfect or can't make gravy.
Happy Thanksgiving!
I'm not fond of sweet potato pie, either, and I don't make any at all. Way too much competition and way too many critics in black families for that, which is why I don't make gumbo, either.
Chitlins? As if.
But I do make some mean dinner rolls from scratch, if I do say so myself. In fact, there's not much in the way of baked goods with yeast that I can't do if I put my mind to it. If there's yeast involved, I'm your girl.
Wait. That didn't come out right. But you get my drift.
In other words, I'm not your quintessential Martha Stewart or Patti Labelle -- women who seemed to be blessed with a multitude of talents they perform with equal excellence. Some things I'm good at; others, not so much. And I no longer care. I've given perfection the finger, and so should you.
You see, I haven't lead the typical female life in America. I didn't settle down with some guy right after college and start having kids. There are many skills I would have been forced to acquire had my life taken that turn, like making gravy and soothing colicky babies. But it didn't. Instead, I traveled, worked hard, and dated for, oh, about twenty or so years. I have no regrets.
And I'm not alone. My best friend can kick butt at trial, get your company's diversity and inclusion program up and running from scratch, produce plays, and organize fundraisers that will take a non-profit's balance sheet from red to black. But cook? Not on your life. She's proud of it, and so am I. She is the daughter of a caterer. Why learn to cook when you've got professional grade food at the ready? She focused her energies on her talents and developed them well -- extremely well. Cooking just wasn't one of them. To this day, she refers to me as "one of them cookin' bitches" (because I actually attempt to cook) and says about holiday meals, "That's what caterers are for." I agree.
Look, life doesn't give everybody everything. There are things I can do that not a lot of people can do, like write an appellate brief that can make your dog of a case sound compelling, or run a winning political campaign. Conversely, there are things a lot of people can do that I can't, like make gravy. And at this stage in my life, especially as the holiday season approaches, I'm at peace with this. I've given perfection the finger, and so should you.
Mind you, your imperfections are manna from heaven for your haters. They will publicize and celebrate them. "Do you know the girl can't even make gravy?" I can already hear it. But I don't care. I'm giving perfection, and them, the finger. And so should you.
So if you burn the turkey this year, guess what? Flip that bird the bird. And keep steppin'. That's what caterers, or rather, Boston Market, is for. They make gravy, too.
If you're still beating yourself up and trying to pursue perfection, remember this: Beyonce can't cook. Clearly, she's given perfection the finger, too, and I adore her for it. She's put her life's energies into her true talents. That's something we should encourage all of our daughters to do, no matter where that leads them, because in the end, they'll be happy, even if they aren't perfect or can't make gravy.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Waitey Katey? More Like In-Law Willies. Ain't Love Grand?
Prince William and Kate Middleton recently announced their engagement. When asked what took them so long, Prince William responded that he wanted to give Kate the chance to witness the incredible pressure of living in a fishbowl and, if she couldn't handle it, to back out.
That may be what they told us, and that may even be what she told him, but I'm betting the truth is a little different.
What no one really talks about with marriage, especially with the newly-engaged, is this: When you marry the person, you marry the person's family.
I don't think it was the prospect of paparazzi that gave Kate cause to pause. I'd bet you dollars to doughnuts she was trying to decide if she could handle living among the royals, not as a royal.
Think about it: As sweet as Prince William may be, but for the jewels, castles, titles, and history, his family would be considered, well, ghetto. His dad, Prince Charles, brought a mistress into his marriage from day one. Not some hot babe, mind you, but a woman who paled in comparison to his wife and looked like a breed mare on her best days. He later voiced his desire to be reincarnated as this woman's tampon. Prince William's brother Harry liked to dress up as a Nazi and may very well be the world's most famous "Mama's Baby, Daddy's Maybe." His aunt, the Duchess of York, previously liked getting her toes sucked in public and most recently got caught on video pimping access to his uncle, her ex-husband. And technically, the whole lot of them are on welfare.
Were Kate some down-on-her-luck commoner with no education, no money, and no prospects, Prince William's family might not be such a potential deal breaker. But given that she comes from money and what appears to be a relatively stable family, she would really have to love this guy to marry into this royally dysfunctional family.
And that's what makes this love story so endearing -- that, knowing what she knows about her in-laws to-be, she's still willing to to marry the guy and join their gene pools. Love never ceases to amaze me.
However, just because you love someone doesn't mean everyone else does. I'm talking to you, Prince Charles. Had you a shred of decency, you'd abdicate instead of giving even a hint of a possibility that the Duchess of Cornwall could be queen and you the nominal head of the Church of England. I'm not a Brit, but even I find that offensive. If Wallis Simpson was unfit to be queen, you know good and well that Camilla shouldn't even be in the running. Should you be so socially tone deaf as to ascend the throne, may I suggest that your mother bestow upon your beloved the title, "Duchess of Ho-Tramp"? Maybe you'd be the "Archbishop of Tampax"?
Ain't love grand?
That may be what they told us, and that may even be what she told him, but I'm betting the truth is a little different.
What no one really talks about with marriage, especially with the newly-engaged, is this: When you marry the person, you marry the person's family.
I don't think it was the prospect of paparazzi that gave Kate cause to pause. I'd bet you dollars to doughnuts she was trying to decide if she could handle living among the royals, not as a royal.
Think about it: As sweet as Prince William may be, but for the jewels, castles, titles, and history, his family would be considered, well, ghetto. His dad, Prince Charles, brought a mistress into his marriage from day one. Not some hot babe, mind you, but a woman who paled in comparison to his wife and looked like a breed mare on her best days. He later voiced his desire to be reincarnated as this woman's tampon. Prince William's brother Harry liked to dress up as a Nazi and may very well be the world's most famous "Mama's Baby, Daddy's Maybe." His aunt, the Duchess of York, previously liked getting her toes sucked in public and most recently got caught on video pimping access to his uncle, her ex-husband. And technically, the whole lot of them are on welfare.
Were Kate some down-on-her-luck commoner with no education, no money, and no prospects, Prince William's family might not be such a potential deal breaker. But given that she comes from money and what appears to be a relatively stable family, she would really have to love this guy to marry into this royally dysfunctional family.
And that's what makes this love story so endearing -- that, knowing what she knows about her in-laws to-be, she's still willing to to marry the guy and join their gene pools. Love never ceases to amaze me.
However, just because you love someone doesn't mean everyone else does. I'm talking to you, Prince Charles. Had you a shred of decency, you'd abdicate instead of giving even a hint of a possibility that the Duchess of Cornwall could be queen and you the nominal head of the Church of England. I'm not a Brit, but even I find that offensive. If Wallis Simpson was unfit to be queen, you know good and well that Camilla shouldn't even be in the running. Should you be so socially tone deaf as to ascend the throne, may I suggest that your mother bestow upon your beloved the title, "Duchess of Ho-Tramp"? Maybe you'd be the "Archbishop of Tampax"?
Ain't love grand?
Take A Small Piece
For most of this year, I've been working on a political campaign. The good news is that my candidate won; the bad news is that I've neglected a lot of people and projects along the way.
For example, my house is a hot mess. I can't remember the last time I cleaned baseboards. But for my husband, the film crew from "Hoarders" would be on my front door step. And that's just the tip of the iceberg of things that I neglected or ignored during the campaign, including my husband.
Anyone who has ever worked on a campaign can tell you that it is a job unto itself. Add to that my day job, and, but for the furloughs, I'd have been hospitalized for exhaustion.
When I think of all the things I neglected and all that lies ahead, like getting ready for the holidays, I just want to go back to bed and pull the covers over my head until, say, January 2011.
To make matters worse, I'm reading Condoleezza Rice's memoir of her family, "Extraordinary, Ordinary People," in which she admits that not only has she been a procrastinator, she remains so to this day.
Great. One of the most accomplished women in the world procrastinates, just like I do. I really wish she hadn't shared that. Not the encouragement I need right about now.
I do have to give myself credit, though. Instead of being totally overwhelmed into procrastination, my usual M.O., my mantra for trying to get my life back on track has been this: Take a small piece.
It's so easy to feel overwhelmed by the enormity of the tasks before you, especially if you've neglected them for, say, six and a half months. Now I don't even allow myself to think about how much I have to do or how much time I have in which to do it. I just say to myself, "Take a small piece."
For example, I desperately needed to organize my office at work, especially my desk. My inability to find files for my cases and projects was starting to hamper my work performance. But when I looked at my office and the two foot high piles on my desk, I just wanted to crawl under my desk.
Instead, I said, "Just start with a corner of your desk. Take a small piece and work on that." I'm ashamed to admit to the undeserved degree of accomplishment I felt just by getting the files off of one corner of my desk and organized into my file cabinet. It was childlike, for sure, to the point that I even rewarded myself with Starbucks because I felt like I had "done something." But I did: I started. And if just saying to myself, "Take a small piece," was what I needed to do to get me started, it worked.
I'm glad to report that 90% of the piles on my desk are gone, replaced with photos of my husband, pets, and siblings. My file cabinet is organized, and I'm still taking a small piece, so to speak -- working on discrete sections of my office and the one remaining pile, a little at a time. I've got other things I have to work on, too, but now I can work on them because I can actually work at my desk. I'm even back to editing my book, a small piece at a time.
So if you're like me and you've been feeling overwhelmed by large tasks that grew bigger while you ignored them or while you procrastinated, stop beating yourself up about it. Take a small piece. Just get started. And reward yourself when you finish with that small piece. Trust me, it will get and keep you motivated.
For example, my house is a hot mess. I can't remember the last time I cleaned baseboards. But for my husband, the film crew from "Hoarders" would be on my front door step. And that's just the tip of the iceberg of things that I neglected or ignored during the campaign, including my husband.
Anyone who has ever worked on a campaign can tell you that it is a job unto itself. Add to that my day job, and, but for the furloughs, I'd have been hospitalized for exhaustion.
When I think of all the things I neglected and all that lies ahead, like getting ready for the holidays, I just want to go back to bed and pull the covers over my head until, say, January 2011.
To make matters worse, I'm reading Condoleezza Rice's memoir of her family, "Extraordinary, Ordinary People," in which she admits that not only has she been a procrastinator, she remains so to this day.
Great. One of the most accomplished women in the world procrastinates, just like I do. I really wish she hadn't shared that. Not the encouragement I need right about now.
I do have to give myself credit, though. Instead of being totally overwhelmed into procrastination, my usual M.O., my mantra for trying to get my life back on track has been this: Take a small piece.
It's so easy to feel overwhelmed by the enormity of the tasks before you, especially if you've neglected them for, say, six and a half months. Now I don't even allow myself to think about how much I have to do or how much time I have in which to do it. I just say to myself, "Take a small piece."
For example, I desperately needed to organize my office at work, especially my desk. My inability to find files for my cases and projects was starting to hamper my work performance. But when I looked at my office and the two foot high piles on my desk, I just wanted to crawl under my desk.
Instead, I said, "Just start with a corner of your desk. Take a small piece and work on that." I'm ashamed to admit to the undeserved degree of accomplishment I felt just by getting the files off of one corner of my desk and organized into my file cabinet. It was childlike, for sure, to the point that I even rewarded myself with Starbucks because I felt like I had "done something." But I did: I started. And if just saying to myself, "Take a small piece," was what I needed to do to get me started, it worked.
I'm glad to report that 90% of the piles on my desk are gone, replaced with photos of my husband, pets, and siblings. My file cabinet is organized, and I'm still taking a small piece, so to speak -- working on discrete sections of my office and the one remaining pile, a little at a time. I've got other things I have to work on, too, but now I can work on them because I can actually work at my desk. I'm even back to editing my book, a small piece at a time.
So if you're like me and you've been feeling overwhelmed by large tasks that grew bigger while you ignored them or while you procrastinated, stop beating yourself up about it. Take a small piece. Just get started. And reward yourself when you finish with that small piece. Trust me, it will get and keep you motivated.
The Unwritten Rules of Life
I wrote these a long time ago while sitting in a boring meeting, and I recently ran across them. Mind you, I've definitely broken a few of these rules myself, like trying to raise grown boyfriends and not saving enough money, but these pearls of wisdom I've learned from my parents, family and friends might help you, too.
THE UNWRITTEN RULES OF LIFE
1. You are responsible for your children's education, not the government. If they drop out of school, they'll probably be living in your house, not the government's.
2. You are not where you live, what you drive, or what you wear.
3. Do not attend funerals of co-workers' relatives unless it is clear your presence is requested. Your co-workers are not your family.
4. Pets are not disposable. If you cannot commit to caring for a pet for its lifetime, consider gardening instead.
5. If you drive a luxury vehicle and live in the ghetto, the barrio, or a trailer park, your priorities are misplaced.
5a. Same if you have rims on your vehicle and live in the ghetto, the barrio, or a trailer park.
6. If you are wealthy and your parents live in poverty, you are most certainly going to hell.
7. Three things women cannot and should not share: 1) A kitchen; 2) underwear; and 3) a man.
8. There is no shame in these four words: I can't afford it.
9. Never be financially dependent on anyone, especially if you are a woman. A man is not a plan.
10. Appearances do matter IF the judgments people make based on your appearance prevent you from achieving your goals, like trying to work in corporate America.
11. The Joneses are frontin', plain and simple. Do not try to keep up with them.
12. Blame and anger, in excess, are wastes of energy. Redirect that energy towards achieving something positive.
13. A dog that will bring a bone will carry a bone. Beware the office gossip.
14. Never give your adversaries the tools of your own demise.
15. Your children don't really care about your work. At best, they feign interest to make you feel better.
16. If you are still seeking the approval and validation of others after the age of 40, seek therapy instead.
17. You cannot raise a grown person.
18. If you are underrated, chances are you are underpaid, too.
19. A line of credit does not equal savings.
20. Nobody owes you anything, especially your parents. If you want something, you better work for it.
21. Ain't nothing free but Jesus.
22. To the persistent go the spoils.
23. Your children will value what you value. Conversely, they will not value what you don't.
24. There are no atheist parents in a pediatric emergency room.
25. If you don't teach your children to distinguish their wants from their needs, they will grow up believing that all their wants are needs.
26. Things you should never buy new: a car; musical instruments; wooden furniture; books; music; DVDs. Things you should never buy used: underwear; mattresses.
27. "Please," "Thank You," "Yes, Ma'am," and "No, Ma'am" aren't just for southern children.
28. Before you have a child, ask yourself, "If I were coming into the world, would I choose myself as a parent?" If the answer is "no," don't have a child.
29. No tombstone has ever read, "Beloved lawyer." Who you were to others in life will be reflected on your tombstone.
30. We all dine at the table of the consequences of our decisions. Choose wisely.
31. If your significant other is a liar, a thief, or a philanderer, just walk away. See Rule # 17.
32. The only people who want to hear about your sex life are perverts. Don't engage them.
33. Money is not the root of all evil -- it is a means to financial peace of mind. Save as if you have no one to help you if things go bad. Chances are, you won't.
34. If you really like something at Target and you can afford it, buy it. Merchandise turns over quickly there.
35. If you have ever hit your parents in anything other than self defense, you are pond scum.
36. Your children neither want nor need your negativity. If you are constantly criticizing your children, maybe you aren't happy with yourself.
37. Do not drag infant children by one arm on the bus or subway. They are not rag dolls. Pick them up.
38. Anger is no excuse for hitting a child. If you're the adult, act like it.
39. A well-rounded education includes knowledge of the arts, foreign languages, and different cultures.
40. If you don't travel, you are less likely to see the humanity in people unlike yourself.
41. The world isn't fair, and when it comes to Scrabble and Monopoly, you probably aren't either.
42. Disabled people aren't office pets. Don't treat them as such.
43. Before your criticize, analyze.
44. If you want your child to marry a good spouse, you should be married to a good spouse and be a good spouse yourself. Children model what they see.
45. Do not teach children that it is acceptable to disrespect teachers. If they disrespect teachers, they'll have problems with authority figures for the rest of their lives. See Rule # 1.
46. You are responsible for your children's nutritional habits.
47. Marriage does not excuse you from self-sufficiency.
48. Your spouse or significant other is not your:
a. Parent
b. Child
c. Bank
d. Credit card company
e. Maid
f. Social secretary
g. Tech support
h. Laundry service
i. Therapist
j. Sex worker
k. Repair person
l. Personal stylist
m. Mechanic
n. Proofreader
o. Teacher
p. Cook
q. GPS for lost household items
49. You may not get what you deserve in this life, but you'll damn sure get what you settle for.
THE UNWRITTEN RULES OF LIFE
1. You are responsible for your children's education, not the government. If they drop out of school, they'll probably be living in your house, not the government's.
2. You are not where you live, what you drive, or what you wear.
3. Do not attend funerals of co-workers' relatives unless it is clear your presence is requested. Your co-workers are not your family.
4. Pets are not disposable. If you cannot commit to caring for a pet for its lifetime, consider gardening instead.
5. If you drive a luxury vehicle and live in the ghetto, the barrio, or a trailer park, your priorities are misplaced.
5a. Same if you have rims on your vehicle and live in the ghetto, the barrio, or a trailer park.
6. If you are wealthy and your parents live in poverty, you are most certainly going to hell.
7. Three things women cannot and should not share: 1) A kitchen; 2) underwear; and 3) a man.
8. There is no shame in these four words: I can't afford it.
9. Never be financially dependent on anyone, especially if you are a woman. A man is not a plan.
10. Appearances do matter IF the judgments people make based on your appearance prevent you from achieving your goals, like trying to work in corporate America.
11. The Joneses are frontin', plain and simple. Do not try to keep up with them.
12. Blame and anger, in excess, are wastes of energy. Redirect that energy towards achieving something positive.
13. A dog that will bring a bone will carry a bone. Beware the office gossip.
14. Never give your adversaries the tools of your own demise.
15. Your children don't really care about your work. At best, they feign interest to make you feel better.
16. If you are still seeking the approval and validation of others after the age of 40, seek therapy instead.
17. You cannot raise a grown person.
18. If you are underrated, chances are you are underpaid, too.
19. A line of credit does not equal savings.
20. Nobody owes you anything, especially your parents. If you want something, you better work for it.
21. Ain't nothing free but Jesus.
22. To the persistent go the spoils.
23. Your children will value what you value. Conversely, they will not value what you don't.
24. There are no atheist parents in a pediatric emergency room.
25. If you don't teach your children to distinguish their wants from their needs, they will grow up believing that all their wants are needs.
26. Things you should never buy new: a car; musical instruments; wooden furniture; books; music; DVDs. Things you should never buy used: underwear; mattresses.
27. "Please," "Thank You," "Yes, Ma'am," and "No, Ma'am" aren't just for southern children.
28. Before you have a child, ask yourself, "If I were coming into the world, would I choose myself as a parent?" If the answer is "no," don't have a child.
29. No tombstone has ever read, "Beloved lawyer." Who you were to others in life will be reflected on your tombstone.
30. We all dine at the table of the consequences of our decisions. Choose wisely.
31. If your significant other is a liar, a thief, or a philanderer, just walk away. See Rule # 17.
32. The only people who want to hear about your sex life are perverts. Don't engage them.
33. Money is not the root of all evil -- it is a means to financial peace of mind. Save as if you have no one to help you if things go bad. Chances are, you won't.
34. If you really like something at Target and you can afford it, buy it. Merchandise turns over quickly there.
35. If you have ever hit your parents in anything other than self defense, you are pond scum.
36. Your children neither want nor need your negativity. If you are constantly criticizing your children, maybe you aren't happy with yourself.
37. Do not drag infant children by one arm on the bus or subway. They are not rag dolls. Pick them up.
38. Anger is no excuse for hitting a child. If you're the adult, act like it.
39. A well-rounded education includes knowledge of the arts, foreign languages, and different cultures.
40. If you don't travel, you are less likely to see the humanity in people unlike yourself.
41. The world isn't fair, and when it comes to Scrabble and Monopoly, you probably aren't either.
42. Disabled people aren't office pets. Don't treat them as such.
43. Before your criticize, analyze.
44. If you want your child to marry a good spouse, you should be married to a good spouse and be a good spouse yourself. Children model what they see.
45. Do not teach children that it is acceptable to disrespect teachers. If they disrespect teachers, they'll have problems with authority figures for the rest of their lives. See Rule # 1.
46. You are responsible for your children's nutritional habits.
47. Marriage does not excuse you from self-sufficiency.
48. Your spouse or significant other is not your:
a. Parent
b. Child
c. Bank
d. Credit card company
e. Maid
f. Social secretary
g. Tech support
h. Laundry service
i. Therapist
j. Sex worker
k. Repair person
l. Personal stylist
m. Mechanic
n. Proofreader
o. Teacher
p. Cook
q. GPS for lost household items
49. You may not get what you deserve in this life, but you'll damn sure get what you settle for.
It's The Economy, Mr. President . . . And Some Better Communication, Too
Dear Mr. President,
You described the turn of events in Tuesday's mid-term elections as a "shellackin'." The Republicans have claimed victory and a rejection of your policies, Speaker-Elect Boehner has declared himself the new sheriff in town, and Speaker Pelosi is pondering her future.
Were this about any of you personally, your collective opinions might matter. But they don't because it's not about any of you, your parties, or the normal shift of power that happens during the midterms.
It's the economy, Mr. President, plain and simple. Oh, and some better communication, too. At the risk of being brash, let me, as the young kids say, break it down for you, Mr. President.
With all due respect, Mr. President, when people were losing their jobs and their homes, you failed to make the case clear as to why bailing out the Wall Street whackjobs was going to make Michael and Mary Middle-Class or Wendell and Wanda Working-Poor any better off. Bailing out AIG, BofA, and Goldman didn't translate into apparent gains for the middle class and the working poor. Sure, you probably staved off having the entire world economy go off the cliff, but you never clearly answered the gut-level, self-interested, Adam Smith-esque question on every financially terrorized taxpayer's mind -- "What's in it for me?" You simply failed to connect the dots or show your work in this transitive equation. Plus, you didn't dot your I's and cross your T's to make sure that the bailed-out banks that were "too big to fail" were also required to start lending again and to start modifying the very mortgages that got them in this hot mess in the first place. And when Goldman was getting zero interest loans from the Fed and turning around to buy t-bills, basically pimping the government that helped them, I know I felt like a piece of taxpayer tail. I'm sure other hard-working, tax-paying Americans did, too.
Second, you failed to make people who were losing their jobs and their homes understand why health care was such a high priority that it had to be dealt with first before the economy got back on track. Sure, you passed the stimulus, but you got so bogged down in the health care debate that you failed to again connect the dots as to when, where and how the stimulus would work. With unemployment higher now then when you took office, you no longer get to blame your predecessor --even if it is his fault -- because things got worse on your watch. I'm to blame, too, as I got caught up in health care reform fever and the idea of what could be accomplished, and I did so from the comfort of a secure job, albeit one with wage cuts. But health care reform isn't and wasn't a priority to folks who don't have jobs and don't have homes, especially when no emergency room is ever going to turn them away if they're in dire straits.
Third, you failed to communicate consistently and substantively about your accomplishments. Frankly, Mr. President, I think you assume a level of understanding that's over the head of most of the people you lead. Sure, you need the facts and figures to back up your assertions, but you need to speak simply, plainly, and consistently about the results you've achieved. When you face setbacks, as you have with unemployment, you need to do more than commiserate -- you need to state simply, plainly and consistently what you're going to do differently when confronted with bad results.
Fourth, you didn't take the Tea Party seriously until it was too late. I live in Tea Party Central, and I have friends and neighbors in the Tea Party. They know I'm a liberal Democrat, and on local issues, we are actually in agreement -- local governments have to be fiscally conservative because they don't print their own money. You needed to not only respect the Tea Party but address their concerns early and head on, as well as confront their policy inconsistencies -- like opposing health care reform as Socialist but not wanting to lose Medicare or Social Security -- in a consistent and respectful manner. And you needed to ask this very important question: What would you do differently, and how would that accomplish the goal of lowering spending and reducing the deficit? I get along with Tea Partyiers for two reasons: One, I'm respectful and admit they do have some valid points, because they do; and Two, I have the luxury you don't have -- I don't have to engage them on issues of national policy. I'm able to agree with them on local issues. Maybe you need to find some issues -- ANY ISSUES -- with which you can agree with them and make peace. If they fail to meet you halfway in finding solutions to the nation's problems, then that reflects on them, not you. Perhaps you should have just the newly-elected Tea Party candidates to the White House for -- what else -- tea?
Fifth, you failed to keep the momentum of your campaign going. You got all these new young voters and unlikely voters to the polls, and then you hunkered down with the usual wonks and pols and didn't use them, didn't call them until the midterms came around. Pardon my language, Mr. President, but you made the movement you created in 2008 into an electoral booty call. The problem with a booty call is that you can't call two years later asking for another one. By that time, the other person has moved on. So did your youth vote and your unlikely voters.
Finally, you forgot that you are a black man in America. There are people out there who want to see you fail just because of that and the fact that they believe you're not entitled to what you have because of your Ivy League pedigree that they don't have. As you know, politics is all about relationships, and maybe you need to be more accessible and overcome the latent prejudices I know some of our political leaders may have by simply getting to know folks better. Quite frankly, when I voted for you for president of the Harvard Law Review, I thought you were kinda aloof then, but since the Law Review tries to appear to be a meritocracy, it didn't matter -- you were able to win on the sheer strength on your intellect. And, quite frankly, I hated Law Review and was pretty aloof myself. Well, Mr. President, the nation isn't a meritocracy -- in fact, we embody the "tall poppy" syndrome of our neighbors south of the equator and enjoy taking down in size the folks who are smarter than we are, especially if we believe their good fortune is undeserved. People can oppose you as a smart-ass Ivy League elite when in fact they despise you because of your race, and they can find common ground with those who despise you because you appear to be a smart-ass Ivy League elite. That's why Republicans are doing the happy dance on a whole host of fronts. That's why Bill Clinton never played the "Rhodes Scholar" card in public -- he understood that he had to get along to go along and not to appear as smart as he was. In other words, instead of appearing to be a tall poppy, he chose to embrace being a Bubba poppy in public. With all due respect, stop being a tall poppy and start being the likable poppy.
But net-net, as my best friend says, you gotta get people back to work. Co-opt the Republicans' plans to do this if you must, but if people aren't back to work soon, all of you in Washington will be turned out in 2012. It's the economy, Mr. President, plain and simple. It's not personal when people don't have any money. They'd vote for a goat if it had a workable economic plan.
Mr. President, I would really like to see you have a second term because, more than any other president in my lifetime, I think you understand that the decisions you make have to be good for the country for generations to come and not just for the next election cycle. I believe the Democratic Party and Speaker Pelosi believe the same. But if you don't get people back to work, you won't have the privilege of making the long-term decisions for our country's best interests. I think that if you take these points under advisement and plan accordingly, you can have a second term. You're not the first president to get shellacked during the midterms. This is your challenge, and I believe you can rise above it.
Sincerely,
Black Woman Blogging
P.S. Could you also get a consistent policy on "Don't Ask, Don't Tell"? If you don't support it, let it die, no matter how it gets killed.
P.P.S. Please tell Speaker Pelosi to man up . . . uh, I mean, woman up. As my mom used to say, "We all get knocked down in life. And you can lie there for a little while. But then you have to get back up." If she allows this defeat to keep her down, she's going to take a generation of future women leaders with her.
You described the turn of events in Tuesday's mid-term elections as a "shellackin'." The Republicans have claimed victory and a rejection of your policies, Speaker-Elect Boehner has declared himself the new sheriff in town, and Speaker Pelosi is pondering her future.
Were this about any of you personally, your collective opinions might matter. But they don't because it's not about any of you, your parties, or the normal shift of power that happens during the midterms.
It's the economy, Mr. President, plain and simple. Oh, and some better communication, too. At the risk of being brash, let me, as the young kids say, break it down for you, Mr. President.
With all due respect, Mr. President, when people were losing their jobs and their homes, you failed to make the case clear as to why bailing out the Wall Street whackjobs was going to make Michael and Mary Middle-Class or Wendell and Wanda Working-Poor any better off. Bailing out AIG, BofA, and Goldman didn't translate into apparent gains for the middle class and the working poor. Sure, you probably staved off having the entire world economy go off the cliff, but you never clearly answered the gut-level, self-interested, Adam Smith-esque question on every financially terrorized taxpayer's mind -- "What's in it for me?" You simply failed to connect the dots or show your work in this transitive equation. Plus, you didn't dot your I's and cross your T's to make sure that the bailed-out banks that were "too big to fail" were also required to start lending again and to start modifying the very mortgages that got them in this hot mess in the first place. And when Goldman was getting zero interest loans from the Fed and turning around to buy t-bills, basically pimping the government that helped them, I know I felt like a piece of taxpayer tail. I'm sure other hard-working, tax-paying Americans did, too.
Second, you failed to make people who were losing their jobs and their homes understand why health care was such a high priority that it had to be dealt with first before the economy got back on track. Sure, you passed the stimulus, but you got so bogged down in the health care debate that you failed to again connect the dots as to when, where and how the stimulus would work. With unemployment higher now then when you took office, you no longer get to blame your predecessor --even if it is his fault -- because things got worse on your watch. I'm to blame, too, as I got caught up in health care reform fever and the idea of what could be accomplished, and I did so from the comfort of a secure job, albeit one with wage cuts. But health care reform isn't and wasn't a priority to folks who don't have jobs and don't have homes, especially when no emergency room is ever going to turn them away if they're in dire straits.
Third, you failed to communicate consistently and substantively about your accomplishments. Frankly, Mr. President, I think you assume a level of understanding that's over the head of most of the people you lead. Sure, you need the facts and figures to back up your assertions, but you need to speak simply, plainly, and consistently about the results you've achieved. When you face setbacks, as you have with unemployment, you need to do more than commiserate -- you need to state simply, plainly and consistently what you're going to do differently when confronted with bad results.
Fourth, you didn't take the Tea Party seriously until it was too late. I live in Tea Party Central, and I have friends and neighbors in the Tea Party. They know I'm a liberal Democrat, and on local issues, we are actually in agreement -- local governments have to be fiscally conservative because they don't print their own money. You needed to not only respect the Tea Party but address their concerns early and head on, as well as confront their policy inconsistencies -- like opposing health care reform as Socialist but not wanting to lose Medicare or Social Security -- in a consistent and respectful manner. And you needed to ask this very important question: What would you do differently, and how would that accomplish the goal of lowering spending and reducing the deficit? I get along with Tea Partyiers for two reasons: One, I'm respectful and admit they do have some valid points, because they do; and Two, I have the luxury you don't have -- I don't have to engage them on issues of national policy. I'm able to agree with them on local issues. Maybe you need to find some issues -- ANY ISSUES -- with which you can agree with them and make peace. If they fail to meet you halfway in finding solutions to the nation's problems, then that reflects on them, not you. Perhaps you should have just the newly-elected Tea Party candidates to the White House for -- what else -- tea?
Fifth, you failed to keep the momentum of your campaign going. You got all these new young voters and unlikely voters to the polls, and then you hunkered down with the usual wonks and pols and didn't use them, didn't call them until the midterms came around. Pardon my language, Mr. President, but you made the movement you created in 2008 into an electoral booty call. The problem with a booty call is that you can't call two years later asking for another one. By that time, the other person has moved on. So did your youth vote and your unlikely voters.
Finally, you forgot that you are a black man in America. There are people out there who want to see you fail just because of that and the fact that they believe you're not entitled to what you have because of your Ivy League pedigree that they don't have. As you know, politics is all about relationships, and maybe you need to be more accessible and overcome the latent prejudices I know some of our political leaders may have by simply getting to know folks better. Quite frankly, when I voted for you for president of the Harvard Law Review, I thought you were kinda aloof then, but since the Law Review tries to appear to be a meritocracy, it didn't matter -- you were able to win on the sheer strength on your intellect. And, quite frankly, I hated Law Review and was pretty aloof myself. Well, Mr. President, the nation isn't a meritocracy -- in fact, we embody the "tall poppy" syndrome of our neighbors south of the equator and enjoy taking down in size the folks who are smarter than we are, especially if we believe their good fortune is undeserved. People can oppose you as a smart-ass Ivy League elite when in fact they despise you because of your race, and they can find common ground with those who despise you because you appear to be a smart-ass Ivy League elite. That's why Republicans are doing the happy dance on a whole host of fronts. That's why Bill Clinton never played the "Rhodes Scholar" card in public -- he understood that he had to get along to go along and not to appear as smart as he was. In other words, instead of appearing to be a tall poppy, he chose to embrace being a Bubba poppy in public. With all due respect, stop being a tall poppy and start being the likable poppy.
But net-net, as my best friend says, you gotta get people back to work. Co-opt the Republicans' plans to do this if you must, but if people aren't back to work soon, all of you in Washington will be turned out in 2012. It's the economy, Mr. President, plain and simple. It's not personal when people don't have any money. They'd vote for a goat if it had a workable economic plan.
Mr. President, I would really like to see you have a second term because, more than any other president in my lifetime, I think you understand that the decisions you make have to be good for the country for generations to come and not just for the next election cycle. I believe the Democratic Party and Speaker Pelosi believe the same. But if you don't get people back to work, you won't have the privilege of making the long-term decisions for our country's best interests. I think that if you take these points under advisement and plan accordingly, you can have a second term. You're not the first president to get shellacked during the midterms. This is your challenge, and I believe you can rise above it.
Sincerely,
Black Woman Blogging
P.S. Could you also get a consistent policy on "Don't Ask, Don't Tell"? If you don't support it, let it die, no matter how it gets killed.
P.P.S. Please tell Speaker Pelosi to man up . . . uh, I mean, woman up. As my mom used to say, "We all get knocked down in life. And you can lie there for a little while. But then you have to get back up." If she allows this defeat to keep her down, she's going to take a generation of future women leaders with her.
BWB's 2010 California Voters Guide
To encourage each and every one of you who reads my blog to get out and vote, I'm going to share how I voted (I vote absentee) and why.
Governor: Jerry Brown. Why: Because this is no time for rookies or anyone else who hasn't figured out that we already have "policy groups" in the Legislature -- they're called "committees," Meg. Besides, you don't seem to know a voting ballot, so my voting ballot doesn't know you.
Lieutenant Governor: Abel Maldonado. Why: Even if Abel is in bed with Big Oil, he's not in bed with his best friend's wife. Yes, Gavin, character DOES count, and I'm not THAT much of a Democrat to vote for you.
Secretary of State: Debra Bowen. Why: For demanding integrity and accountability from the voting machine manufacturers. I'll forgive her putting up a logo from her alma mater, Michigan State, on the Secretary of State's website during the NCAA basketball tournament. Don't do it again though, Deb.
Controller: John Chiang. Why: I think he's done a good job, although his lawyer threw state employees under the bus during her oral argument on the furlough cases, arguing that awarding backpay would be a gift of public funds.
Treasurer: Bill Lockyer. Why: Because his office hired me as an intern when he was in the Assembly and I was a high school senior. I had been turned down by Speaker Willie Brown's office because I was "too political" in my belief that Proposition 13 would be the downfall of the state and public education as we then knew it. Turns out I was right, Willie Brown. Just because I was young didn't mean I was stupid.
Attorney General: Kamala Harris. Why: Because she's the only candidate talking about diverting youth from a life of crime BEFORE they get in the system.
Superintendent of Public Instruction: Larry Aceves. Why: I liked his campaign statement in the voter guide better.
Insurance Commissioner: Dave Jones. Why: Because he represented Sacramento well in the past (the city, not the people in the Capitol).
Board of Equalization District 1: Betty Yee. Why: Because she's committed to extending free taxpayer services and assistance to those who need it.
Judicial Retention: I voted out California Supreme Court Justices Moreno and Chin because they blew it on the furlough cases. Hey, if they wanna mess with my paycheck on unsupported legal grounds, I'm gonna mess with theirs at the ballot box. I voted for Cantil-Sakauye for the Supreme Court because I like her.
Proposition 19 (Legalization of Marijuana): Yes. Why: Because I don't see any difference between alcohol and weed, other than, as Chris Rock observed, weed is produced by brown people. Both are intoxicants and gateway drugs to addiction, yet one is legal and the other isn't. I never had a relative killed by a stoner, but I have had a relative killed by a drunk driver. Stoners have the good sense to stay home when they're high. Why? Because they're sleepy and they're going to be rip-roaring hungry in about two hours or less.
Proposition 20 (Redistricting Commission for California Congressional Districts): Yes. Why: Because I'm tired of politicians giving other politicians the political hook-up.
Proposition 21 ( $18 Vehicle License Surcharge to Fund State Parks): No. Why: The State Lotto. Let me explain. When California instituted the State Lottery, it was supposed to be the end-all and be-all for public education and insure a dedicated, steady stream of income for our k-12 schools. However, when you give any state agency a dedicated source of income that can't be used for other things, they act a fool. The State Lottery used their dedicated source of income for all kinds of things unrelated to public education -- trips, sports tickets, you name it -- and we're still being nickled and dimed for public education. I ain't gonna be the same fool twice. I love the state parks, so just charge me a higher fee when I use them. But I'm not willing to add an additional $18 on top of the $348 I spend annually to register my car. As my late mom would say, "They want too much sugar for a dime."
Proposition 22 (Prohibits the State from Borrowing of Taking Funds Used for Transportation, Redevelopment or Local Government Projects and Services): Yes. Why: Because the State of California has credit worse than your Cousin Ray-Ray the Crackhead. The state is always looking to borrow, but they don't pay back. At least with Cousin Ray-Ray, you might could steal his stash and resell it to recoup your losses; with the State of California, you have no recourse when they default. Ask the local school districts about loaning money to the State of California. You'd be better off lending to Cousin Ray-Ray.
Proposition 23 (Suspends Implementation of Air Pollution Control Law AB 32): No. Why: Because we've already fought this battle. It's settled. What's worse than implementing AB 32 is constantly changing the laws that affect business so they can't make long-term plans. AB 32 is the law. Move on.
Proposition 24 (Repeals Legislation Allowing Businesses To Lower Their Tax Liability): No. Why: If I'm getting bit in the ass by the Tax Man, everybody else needs to suck it up, too. If I don't get to carry forward losses for 10 years following the loss, nobody else does.
Proposition 25 (Changes Legislative Vote Requirement To Pass Budget To Simple Majority And Permanently Withholds Legislators' Pay and Expenses Until A Budget Is Enacted): Hell yes! Why: If I don't get paid when I don't do my job, neither should they. A budget that is one hundred days late is unacceptable. Our state legislators need a simple majority because they are, well, simple.
Proposition 26 (Requires Certain State and Local Fees Be Approved by 2/3 Vote): Yes. Why: Because the state and local governments pull the okey-doke on taxpayers by calling taxes "fees" and requiring the Howard Jarvis Taxpayers Association to litigate to prove otherwise. Enough already. Stay out of my purse.
Proposition 27 (Eliminates State Commission on Redistricting): No. Why: See Proposition 20.
Now that you know how I voted, get out there and vote your damn self! LOL!!!
P.S. How could I forget? U.S. Senate: Barbara Boxer. Why: Because it is either utter hubris or stupidity that would make someone who was fired from her last position think she's qualified for an even higher position. Besides, I like Barbara Boxer's hair better.
Governor: Jerry Brown. Why: Because this is no time for rookies or anyone else who hasn't figured out that we already have "policy groups" in the Legislature -- they're called "committees," Meg. Besides, you don't seem to know a voting ballot, so my voting ballot doesn't know you.
Lieutenant Governor: Abel Maldonado. Why: Even if Abel is in bed with Big Oil, he's not in bed with his best friend's wife. Yes, Gavin, character DOES count, and I'm not THAT much of a Democrat to vote for you.
Secretary of State: Debra Bowen. Why: For demanding integrity and accountability from the voting machine manufacturers. I'll forgive her putting up a logo from her alma mater, Michigan State, on the Secretary of State's website during the NCAA basketball tournament. Don't do it again though, Deb.
Controller: John Chiang. Why: I think he's done a good job, although his lawyer threw state employees under the bus during her oral argument on the furlough cases, arguing that awarding backpay would be a gift of public funds.
Treasurer: Bill Lockyer. Why: Because his office hired me as an intern when he was in the Assembly and I was a high school senior. I had been turned down by Speaker Willie Brown's office because I was "too political" in my belief that Proposition 13 would be the downfall of the state and public education as we then knew it. Turns out I was right, Willie Brown. Just because I was young didn't mean I was stupid.
Attorney General: Kamala Harris. Why: Because she's the only candidate talking about diverting youth from a life of crime BEFORE they get in the system.
Superintendent of Public Instruction: Larry Aceves. Why: I liked his campaign statement in the voter guide better.
Insurance Commissioner: Dave Jones. Why: Because he represented Sacramento well in the past (the city, not the people in the Capitol).
Board of Equalization District 1: Betty Yee. Why: Because she's committed to extending free taxpayer services and assistance to those who need it.
Judicial Retention: I voted out California Supreme Court Justices Moreno and Chin because they blew it on the furlough cases. Hey, if they wanna mess with my paycheck on unsupported legal grounds, I'm gonna mess with theirs at the ballot box. I voted for Cantil-Sakauye for the Supreme Court because I like her.
Proposition 19 (Legalization of Marijuana): Yes. Why: Because I don't see any difference between alcohol and weed, other than, as Chris Rock observed, weed is produced by brown people. Both are intoxicants and gateway drugs to addiction, yet one is legal and the other isn't. I never had a relative killed by a stoner, but I have had a relative killed by a drunk driver. Stoners have the good sense to stay home when they're high. Why? Because they're sleepy and they're going to be rip-roaring hungry in about two hours or less.
Proposition 20 (Redistricting Commission for California Congressional Districts): Yes. Why: Because I'm tired of politicians giving other politicians the political hook-up.
Proposition 21 ( $18 Vehicle License Surcharge to Fund State Parks): No. Why: The State Lotto. Let me explain. When California instituted the State Lottery, it was supposed to be the end-all and be-all for public education and insure a dedicated, steady stream of income for our k-12 schools. However, when you give any state agency a dedicated source of income that can't be used for other things, they act a fool. The State Lottery used their dedicated source of income for all kinds of things unrelated to public education -- trips, sports tickets, you name it -- and we're still being nickled and dimed for public education. I ain't gonna be the same fool twice. I love the state parks, so just charge me a higher fee when I use them. But I'm not willing to add an additional $18 on top of the $348 I spend annually to register my car. As my late mom would say, "They want too much sugar for a dime."
Proposition 22 (Prohibits the State from Borrowing of Taking Funds Used for Transportation, Redevelopment or Local Government Projects and Services): Yes. Why: Because the State of California has credit worse than your Cousin Ray-Ray the Crackhead. The state is always looking to borrow, but they don't pay back. At least with Cousin Ray-Ray, you might could steal his stash and resell it to recoup your losses; with the State of California, you have no recourse when they default. Ask the local school districts about loaning money to the State of California. You'd be better off lending to Cousin Ray-Ray.
Proposition 23 (Suspends Implementation of Air Pollution Control Law AB 32): No. Why: Because we've already fought this battle. It's settled. What's worse than implementing AB 32 is constantly changing the laws that affect business so they can't make long-term plans. AB 32 is the law. Move on.
Proposition 24 (Repeals Legislation Allowing Businesses To Lower Their Tax Liability): No. Why: If I'm getting bit in the ass by the Tax Man, everybody else needs to suck it up, too. If I don't get to carry forward losses for 10 years following the loss, nobody else does.
Proposition 25 (Changes Legislative Vote Requirement To Pass Budget To Simple Majority And Permanently Withholds Legislators' Pay and Expenses Until A Budget Is Enacted): Hell yes! Why: If I don't get paid when I don't do my job, neither should they. A budget that is one hundred days late is unacceptable. Our state legislators need a simple majority because they are, well, simple.
Proposition 26 (Requires Certain State and Local Fees Be Approved by 2/3 Vote): Yes. Why: Because the state and local governments pull the okey-doke on taxpayers by calling taxes "fees" and requiring the Howard Jarvis Taxpayers Association to litigate to prove otherwise. Enough already. Stay out of my purse.
Proposition 27 (Eliminates State Commission on Redistricting): No. Why: See Proposition 20.
Now that you know how I voted, get out there and vote your damn self! LOL!!!
P.S. How could I forget? U.S. Senate: Barbara Boxer. Why: Because it is either utter hubris or stupidity that would make someone who was fired from her last position think she's qualified for an even higher position. Besides, I like Barbara Boxer's hair better.
No, She's Not Sorry -- Nor Should She Be
So Virginia Thomas, wife of U.S. Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, thinks Professor Anita Hill should consider offering an apology and an explanation for "what she did with" Mrs. Thomas' husband.
Indeed.
As cool and rational as she was in 1991, Professor Hill did the right thing: She declined the invitation to apologize, as an apology presumes some wrongdoing. She did nothing wrong.
Let that be a lesson to women everywhere: If you stand up and tell the truth, and you've done nothing wrong, don't apologize.
However, I think Justice Thomas owes black people an apology for invoking the racialized metaphor of a lynching to question the motivations of his accusers instead of dealing with the accusations head-on. It seems Justice Thomas wants a color-blind society only when it suits his purposes.
As for Mrs. Thomas, she's lucky she asked someone as poised and well-mannered as Professor Hill to consider an apology to her husband. Had she asked the same of me, I would have, in the tradition of my late mother, She Who Is Exalted (SWIE), invited Mrs. Thomas to, well, plant one on my pretty posterior, to put it nicely.
Indeed.
As cool and rational as she was in 1991, Professor Hill did the right thing: She declined the invitation to apologize, as an apology presumes some wrongdoing. She did nothing wrong.
Let that be a lesson to women everywhere: If you stand up and tell the truth, and you've done nothing wrong, don't apologize.
However, I think Justice Thomas owes black people an apology for invoking the racialized metaphor of a lynching to question the motivations of his accusers instead of dealing with the accusations head-on. It seems Justice Thomas wants a color-blind society only when it suits his purposes.
As for Mrs. Thomas, she's lucky she asked someone as poised and well-mannered as Professor Hill to consider an apology to her husband. Had she asked the same of me, I would have, in the tradition of my late mother, She Who Is Exalted (SWIE), invited Mrs. Thomas to, well, plant one on my pretty posterior, to put it nicely.
Won't Let Them Take Me . . . To Crazytown
"The best thing you can do for the poor is not be one of them."
- Rev. Ike
"The best thing you can do for the crazy is not be one of them."
- Black Woman Blogging
"When you see crazy coming, cross the street."
- Iyanla Vanzant
You know them when you see them. Or maybe you don't. They come in late to a meeting or event and make a commotion, as if that would distract you from the fact that they're late. Or you have to negotiate with them to get them to do their crucial part on a team project because now they want to question everything that was done before, all of which they had already agreed to. Or they lie. Alot. Or they borrow money from you and then pick a fight with you to have an excuse not to pay you back. Or they constantly eye you up and down and "suggest" how you could dress better, look better, whatever. Or they are the drama queens and kings -- veritable drama royalty -- at any family event. Or they blame everbody and everything for all that's wrong with their lives.
They are, in short, crazy -- whether they be narcissists, passive-aggressives, neurotics, pathological liars, obsessive-compulsives, whatever. And if you're not careful, they will attempt to take you to Crazytown with them.
Don't let it happen.
I've spent a while recently negotiating with a passive-aggressive on a team project. I routinely tell anyone -- I don't negotiate with terrorists or children. Add "passive-aggressives" to the list. I would have had more success negotiating with bin Laden. It took me a while to figure out that the goal of this passive-aggressive -- or any crazy -- is to take you to Crazytown, where they've happily taken up residence, a place where the drama never ends and chaos is not only normal, it's embraced.
I'm not going there willingly, and neither should you.
Since I'm related (either by blood or marriage), work with, or deal with crazies, let me share the benefit of some hard-earned wisdom with respect to crazies, some of which I would have learned a long time ago if I had listened to my older siblings:
1) Goal One: Not to be taken to Crazytown. Crazies want you down there in Crazytown with them because it affirms their reality, no matter how warped it may be. Don't go there. Don't become dramatic with the drama royalty, don't become passive-aggressive with the passive-aggressives. Whatever brand of craziness they have, just don't embrace it. At all costs, do NOT go to Crazytown with them.
2) Yes, they are crazy; yes, you should feel bad for them; but no, not bad enough to be victimized by them. You are not the Captain Save-A-Ho of Crazytown. Yes, it's sad that they're narcissistic (although I've yet to meet a narcissist unhappy with him or herself), passive-aggressive, or whatever, but your empathy should stop at the boundary of feeling bad for them and trying to save them. Why? First, because once you try to save them, you become their victim. Second, because you can't save them any more than you can perform open heart surgery and do sudoku at the same time. Only a professional can help a crazy. Don't try this at home, or anywhere else for that matter.
3) Do not put yourself in a position to either need or help a crazy, otherwise you will not achieve the goal of staying out of Crazytown. Trust me, if you are in a position of need with respect to a crazy, you'd be better off putting yourself out of your own misery than being slowly tortured by their craziness. Second, if you help a crazy, you become their victim, either by being caught up in their drama or being blamed for helping them in the first place. So, don't ever need a crazy to help you and don't ever help a crazy.
4) When it comes to crazies, avoidance is the best option. When Iyanla Vanzant said, "When you see crazy coming, cross the street," she summed up dealing with crazies at its best. Avoidance is the best option. Even engaging crazies in idle pleasantries like, well, "Hello," is, to them, an invitation for them to take you to Crazytown. Why? Because you showed an interest in them. Yes, that's all it takes. Might as well have hung a sign around your neck saying, "Hitchhiking to Crazytown."
Now, sing with me, to the chorus of Funkytown:
Won't let them take me . . . to Crazytown . . . won't let them take me . . . to Crazytown. . . .
- Rev. Ike
"The best thing you can do for the crazy is not be one of them."
- Black Woman Blogging
"When you see crazy coming, cross the street."
- Iyanla Vanzant
You know them when you see them. Or maybe you don't. They come in late to a meeting or event and make a commotion, as if that would distract you from the fact that they're late. Or you have to negotiate with them to get them to do their crucial part on a team project because now they want to question everything that was done before, all of which they had already agreed to. Or they lie. Alot. Or they borrow money from you and then pick a fight with you to have an excuse not to pay you back. Or they constantly eye you up and down and "suggest" how you could dress better, look better, whatever. Or they are the drama queens and kings -- veritable drama royalty -- at any family event. Or they blame everbody and everything for all that's wrong with their lives.
They are, in short, crazy -- whether they be narcissists, passive-aggressives, neurotics, pathological liars, obsessive-compulsives, whatever. And if you're not careful, they will attempt to take you to Crazytown with them.
Don't let it happen.
I've spent a while recently negotiating with a passive-aggressive on a team project. I routinely tell anyone -- I don't negotiate with terrorists or children. Add "passive-aggressives" to the list. I would have had more success negotiating with bin Laden. It took me a while to figure out that the goal of this passive-aggressive -- or any crazy -- is to take you to Crazytown, where they've happily taken up residence, a place where the drama never ends and chaos is not only normal, it's embraced.
I'm not going there willingly, and neither should you.
Since I'm related (either by blood or marriage), work with, or deal with crazies, let me share the benefit of some hard-earned wisdom with respect to crazies, some of which I would have learned a long time ago if I had listened to my older siblings:
1) Goal One: Not to be taken to Crazytown. Crazies want you down there in Crazytown with them because it affirms their reality, no matter how warped it may be. Don't go there. Don't become dramatic with the drama royalty, don't become passive-aggressive with the passive-aggressives. Whatever brand of craziness they have, just don't embrace it. At all costs, do NOT go to Crazytown with them.
2) Yes, they are crazy; yes, you should feel bad for them; but no, not bad enough to be victimized by them. You are not the Captain Save-A-Ho of Crazytown. Yes, it's sad that they're narcissistic (although I've yet to meet a narcissist unhappy with him or herself), passive-aggressive, or whatever, but your empathy should stop at the boundary of feeling bad for them and trying to save them. Why? First, because once you try to save them, you become their victim. Second, because you can't save them any more than you can perform open heart surgery and do sudoku at the same time. Only a professional can help a crazy. Don't try this at home, or anywhere else for that matter.
3) Do not put yourself in a position to either need or help a crazy, otherwise you will not achieve the goal of staying out of Crazytown. Trust me, if you are in a position of need with respect to a crazy, you'd be better off putting yourself out of your own misery than being slowly tortured by their craziness. Second, if you help a crazy, you become their victim, either by being caught up in their drama or being blamed for helping them in the first place. So, don't ever need a crazy to help you and don't ever help a crazy.
4) When it comes to crazies, avoidance is the best option. When Iyanla Vanzant said, "When you see crazy coming, cross the street," she summed up dealing with crazies at its best. Avoidance is the best option. Even engaging crazies in idle pleasantries like, well, "Hello," is, to them, an invitation for them to take you to Crazytown. Why? Because you showed an interest in them. Yes, that's all it takes. Might as well have hung a sign around your neck saying, "Hitchhiking to Crazytown."
Now, sing with me, to the chorus of Funkytown:
Won't let them take me . . . to Crazytown . . . won't let them take me . . . to Crazytown. . . .
Are We Done Persecuting Gays?
Gay teen suicides. The military opposing the repeal of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." And perverts thinking it's okay to set up secret webcams to record their gay roommate/classmate having sex and then stream it over the Internet, as if setting up a secret webcam to record anybody having sex is okay.
When did it become acceptable -- even cool -- to persecute gays?
I support gay marriage and oppose "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" on legal grounds -- equality. If the government's going to stay in the business of deciding whether people can marry, it has to treat people equally. Marriage stopped being solely a religious rite when the government got into the business of regulating it. Besides, if marriage were solely a religious rite, then atheists shouldn't be allowed to marry -- but the government allows them to.
Similarly, if the government is going to decide who gets to defend our country (as if there's a rush to take up arms and get shipped to Iraq or Afghanistan), it needs to treat all these brave people equally. Last I checked, gay people are people. And brave, too.
And, quite frankly, I don't care about the sexual orientation of the men and women defending and dying for the freedoms I have. I do care that each and every one of them has the same freedoms at home as I do and that they are fighting abroad to defend. Need we look any further for examples of this type of hypocrisy and injustice than World War II, when we sent African American servicemen abroad to defend this nation only to have them be treated as second-class citizens upon their return? Besides, you don't have to be straight to shoot straight. I don't care if our servicemen and women are gay or straight; I just want them to be good at their jobs so they can protect our country and each other. Sexual orientation has nothing to do with the ability to shoot missiles, fly planes, or disarm an IED.
It saddens me to know that young people are taking their lives because they are being persecuted for being who they are. These young people don't have the benefit of the wisdom that comes with age and tells you, "It's going to be alright. Just wait and see."
Regardless of your religious beliefs, no matter what your faith is, this persecution of gay people has got to stop.
So, are we done persecuting gays?
When did it become acceptable -- even cool -- to persecute gays?
I support gay marriage and oppose "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" on legal grounds -- equality. If the government's going to stay in the business of deciding whether people can marry, it has to treat people equally. Marriage stopped being solely a religious rite when the government got into the business of regulating it. Besides, if marriage were solely a religious rite, then atheists shouldn't be allowed to marry -- but the government allows them to.
Similarly, if the government is going to decide who gets to defend our country (as if there's a rush to take up arms and get shipped to Iraq or Afghanistan), it needs to treat all these brave people equally. Last I checked, gay people are people. And brave, too.
And, quite frankly, I don't care about the sexual orientation of the men and women defending and dying for the freedoms I have. I do care that each and every one of them has the same freedoms at home as I do and that they are fighting abroad to defend. Need we look any further for examples of this type of hypocrisy and injustice than World War II, when we sent African American servicemen abroad to defend this nation only to have them be treated as second-class citizens upon their return? Besides, you don't have to be straight to shoot straight. I don't care if our servicemen and women are gay or straight; I just want them to be good at their jobs so they can protect our country and each other. Sexual orientation has nothing to do with the ability to shoot missiles, fly planes, or disarm an IED.
It saddens me to know that young people are taking their lives because they are being persecuted for being who they are. These young people don't have the benefit of the wisdom that comes with age and tells you, "It's going to be alright. Just wait and see."
Regardless of your religious beliefs, no matter what your faith is, this persecution of gay people has got to stop.
So, are we done persecuting gays?
Veteran Pol, Rookie Mistake, and the "W" Word
It's the new millennium. Why, oh why, do politicians still get caught saying embarrassing things or having their staff say embarrassing things into "hot" microphones or their functional equivalent -- phone calls on speaker that haven't been properly terminated?
Veteran politician Jerry Brown made the rookie mistake -- or his staff did -- of continuing an off-color conversation about Meg Whitman while inadvertently leaving a voicemail by not properly terminating a speakerphone call. We've seen this same "rookie" mistake with hot mics with Carly Fiorina and the Rev. Jesse Jackson.
But it's what's said in these unintentionally revealing moments that is, well, revealing.
In the new millennium, you don't get to call a woman politician, even Meg Whitman, a "whore." It's a term charged with sexist meaning, usually reserved only for women, often unfairly used. Sure, Meg may have been selling out to the police unions, agreeing to lay off pension changes for them in exchange for their support, but that doesn't make her a whore. It makes her a politician. Like the big boys and girls at the State Capitol, Meg has some constituency she's willing to throw a bone to in order to get their support. If Meg's a whore, well, then the State Capitol is one big ol' whorehouse.
And, to paraphrase a quote often attributed to Winston Churchill, "Now that we've established what Meg is, we're just haggling about the price . . . . "
Veteran politician Jerry Brown made the rookie mistake -- or his staff did -- of continuing an off-color conversation about Meg Whitman while inadvertently leaving a voicemail by not properly terminating a speakerphone call. We've seen this same "rookie" mistake with hot mics with Carly Fiorina and the Rev. Jesse Jackson.
But it's what's said in these unintentionally revealing moments that is, well, revealing.
In the new millennium, you don't get to call a woman politician, even Meg Whitman, a "whore." It's a term charged with sexist meaning, usually reserved only for women, often unfairly used. Sure, Meg may have been selling out to the police unions, agreeing to lay off pension changes for them in exchange for their support, but that doesn't make her a whore. It makes her a politician. Like the big boys and girls at the State Capitol, Meg has some constituency she's willing to throw a bone to in order to get their support. If Meg's a whore, well, then the State Capitol is one big ol' whorehouse.
And, to paraphrase a quote often attributed to Winston Churchill, "Now that we've established what Meg is, we're just haggling about the price . . . . "
The Benefits of Being Raised Black: Who Promised You "Fair"?
Who promised you "fair"? Well, they lied to you.
- My late mother's response whenever I said, "That's not fair."
When I read the California Supreme Court's decision upholding the state employee furloughs, of course I was mad because the legal reasoning was so twisted. The justices clearly reached high into the far recesses of their collective behinds to pull out that decision. Before I could complete my thought of, "That's not fair," the voice of my late mother, She Who Is Exalted (SWIE), came into my head:
"Who promised you 'fair'? Well, they lied to you."
At that point, I laughed, thankful for having been raised black.
Black parents don't sugarcoat anything. Life's not fair? Well, who promised you "fair"? Life knocks you down? I'll let you lie there for a little while, but then you have to get back up. Get cheated out of something you worked hard for? The world doesn't owe you a damn thing. Expecting someone to do something for you for free? Ain't nothin' free but Jesus. Do something stupid on the job that everyone else does and get singled out because you're black? Well, that's on you, according to black parents. See, you forgot you were black. Heck, I wasn't even allowed to believe in Santa Claus because my mom wasn't going to give some old guy the credit for putting Christmas presents under the tree that SHE paid for.
Growing up black means growing up expecting life to be unfair and learning to "build a bridge and get over it," as one of my nephews would say. Black parents teach you to expect unfairness because NOT to teach you this would be a disservice to you, leaving you unprepared for how the world REALLY works. Black children are taught to be resilient in the face of unfairness because life is unfair, and life for black people tends to be really unfair. You'd be crazy or depressed if you perpetually expected fairness as a black person.
So when arguably unfair things like the California Supreme Court's decision happen, you learn to shrug it off, laugh, and build a bridge and get over it.
Thanks, Mom and Dad.
- My late mother's response whenever I said, "That's not fair."
When I read the California Supreme Court's decision upholding the state employee furloughs, of course I was mad because the legal reasoning was so twisted. The justices clearly reached high into the far recesses of their collective behinds to pull out that decision. Before I could complete my thought of, "That's not fair," the voice of my late mother, She Who Is Exalted (SWIE), came into my head:
"Who promised you 'fair'? Well, they lied to you."
At that point, I laughed, thankful for having been raised black.
Black parents don't sugarcoat anything. Life's not fair? Well, who promised you "fair"? Life knocks you down? I'll let you lie there for a little while, but then you have to get back up. Get cheated out of something you worked hard for? The world doesn't owe you a damn thing. Expecting someone to do something for you for free? Ain't nothin' free but Jesus. Do something stupid on the job that everyone else does and get singled out because you're black? Well, that's on you, according to black parents. See, you forgot you were black. Heck, I wasn't even allowed to believe in Santa Claus because my mom wasn't going to give some old guy the credit for putting Christmas presents under the tree that SHE paid for.
Growing up black means growing up expecting life to be unfair and learning to "build a bridge and get over it," as one of my nephews would say. Black parents teach you to expect unfairness because NOT to teach you this would be a disservice to you, leaving you unprepared for how the world REALLY works. Black children are taught to be resilient in the face of unfairness because life is unfair, and life for black people tends to be really unfair. You'd be crazy or depressed if you perpetually expected fairness as a black person.
So when arguably unfair things like the California Supreme Court's decision happen, you learn to shrug it off, laugh, and build a bridge and get over it.
Thanks, Mom and Dad.
The Meg and Nicky Situation: Janky and Stanky
When the story broke about Meg Whitman's undocumented maid, I was a bit skeptical. The timing was a bit suspicious. Whether Meg and her husband were aware that there had been a Social Security no-match letter sent to them was not clearly proven at the time. But when Nicky Diaz Santillan said that, at the time of her dismissal, Meg told here, "From now on, you don't know me, and I don't know you," I thought: Sounds like Meg knew.
Those words sound like they came from an aspiring politician trying to hide something, just like the words, "Now, kiss it when you're done," sound like they came from an NBA player visiting Colorado for knee surgery who never thought he'd be caught forcing a woman into sex.
But I digress.
The issue isn't what Meg did but how she handled it. She blamed just about everyone under the sun for hatching a conspiracy against her and pleaded ignorance of Nicky's status until just before she fired her. She said Nicky handled the household mail, not her, not her husband -- until her husband's scrawl was shown written across the Social Security no-match letter.
You run a multi-billion dollar company, and you don't know the immigration status of your maid? I'd bet eBay had a cadre of immigration lawyers on tap to keep good IT hires on the payroll. I bet eBay knew the immigration status of its employees.
There's just something janky and stanky about the Meg and Nicky situation. Even if I were inclined to vote for yet another gubernatorial candidate with training wheels on, it wouldn't be this one. If Meg wants to "strengthen our borders" against illegal immigration, perhaps she should start with her own front door -- assuming Nicky was ever allowed to enter through the front door.
Those words sound like they came from an aspiring politician trying to hide something, just like the words, "Now, kiss it when you're done," sound like they came from an NBA player visiting Colorado for knee surgery who never thought he'd be caught forcing a woman into sex.
But I digress.
The issue isn't what Meg did but how she handled it. She blamed just about everyone under the sun for hatching a conspiracy against her and pleaded ignorance of Nicky's status until just before she fired her. She said Nicky handled the household mail, not her, not her husband -- until her husband's scrawl was shown written across the Social Security no-match letter.
You run a multi-billion dollar company, and you don't know the immigration status of your maid? I'd bet eBay had a cadre of immigration lawyers on tap to keep good IT hires on the payroll. I bet eBay knew the immigration status of its employees.
There's just something janky and stanky about the Meg and Nicky situation. Even if I were inclined to vote for yet another gubernatorial candidate with training wheels on, it wouldn't be this one. If Meg wants to "strengthen our borders" against illegal immigration, perhaps she should start with her own front door -- assuming Nicky was ever allowed to enter through the front door.
Grace, Favor and Mammograms
I have BMNB's stomach to thank.
A few weeks ago, BMNB ate something that didn't sit well with him for a few days. Finally, I told him he needed to go to the doctor to make sure there wasn't something seriously wrong. I went with him because BMNB doesn't always remember to ask all the hard questions of our doctor. Like a dog at the vet, he just wants to get in and get out with as little pain as possible.
So since we were at Kaiser Hospital, I remembered that 1) I had not had my annual birthday mammograms; and 2) Kaiser does walk-in mammograms. Once our family doctor determined that BMNB probably had a stomach virus of some sort, I decided that since I was in the building, why not kill two birds with one stone and get my mammograms done?
A week later, I received the call that no woman wants to receive: "We need you to come in for a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound." I was told that since the mammograms I had were my first digital ones, the machine might be overly sensitive and may have picked up something that wasn't serious. But just in case, I needed to come in. They told me to clear my schedule for the entire morning of my appointment because the doctor was going to need time to examine all my tests and give me my results that same day.
My grandmother died of breast cancer before I was born. My aunt had breast cancer. My mother survived cervical cancer only to die from adrenal cancer that spread to her lungs. I have two uncles, one on each side of my family, who died of stomach cancer. Another died of lung cancer.
You can imagine how I felt when I got the call.
BMNB, ever the cool cucumber, was decidedly unalarmed. "That's not the vibe I get," he told me when I voiced concern that this might be serious. You see, BMNB and his family are psychic AND prayerful. He didn't see anything serious in my future, he went to church on Sunday and prayed on it, and, as far as he was concerned, there was nothing serious that would be discovered during my follow-up appointment.
I wasn't as certain.
After waiting a week after getting "the call," I went in today. I was hoping the diagnostic mammogram would clear things up. As I sat waiting for the x-ray tech to tell me there was nothing serious, all the while wearing the "special" three-armhole mammogram hospital gown, I quietly prayed:
"Lord, I need a little grace and favor today."
I hadn't slept well the night before, thinking of all the things I hadn't done. I hadn't had kids. I hadn't traveled as much with BMNB. I hadn't started that charter school my best friend and I had been talking about since the '80's.
The x-ray tech returned. "We need to do the ultrasound. Could you come this way?"
Not the result I'd hoped for.
The ultrasound tech explained that if the ultrasound came back negative, the doctor would let her tell me. If not, the doctor would come in to discuss my results.
"So, if you return, I'm good, but if the doctor comes in, I've got a problem."
She tried to soften the blow. "Well, sometimes the doctors come in to tell good results."
I didn't believe her.
After she finished the ultrasound, she told me I could wait on the diagnostic table. The ultrasound room was dimmed, almost dark. She must have read my mind. "Sometimes, people even take a short nap while they're waiting."
There was no way I was going to be able to sleep.
"Lord, I need a little grace and favor today."
Needless to say, I've never been so happy to see an ultrasound tech in all my life.
"It's a cyst. Cancers aren't as round as cysts . . . ." As she continued explaining the differences in appearances between a cancer and a cyst, all I could hear was, "It's a cyst."
The Lord granted me grace and favor, at least for today.
So I'm writing this to encourage all women over the age of 40 to get mammograms, especially if you're overdue. And get a DIGITAL mammogram, not one of the old kind. Travel if you need to, but get a digital mammogram. As for recent medical guidelines telling us that we don't need to get mammograms as frequently as we were told in the past, I say forget them. Everything is a statistic until YOU'RE the statistic. So don't become the statistic.
And, for God's sake, don't wait until your husband has a stomach virus to get a mammogram.
PS Thank you, BMNB, for being with me every step of the way.
A few weeks ago, BMNB ate something that didn't sit well with him for a few days. Finally, I told him he needed to go to the doctor to make sure there wasn't something seriously wrong. I went with him because BMNB doesn't always remember to ask all the hard questions of our doctor. Like a dog at the vet, he just wants to get in and get out with as little pain as possible.
So since we were at Kaiser Hospital, I remembered that 1) I had not had my annual birthday mammograms; and 2) Kaiser does walk-in mammograms. Once our family doctor determined that BMNB probably had a stomach virus of some sort, I decided that since I was in the building, why not kill two birds with one stone and get my mammograms done?
A week later, I received the call that no woman wants to receive: "We need you to come in for a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound." I was told that since the mammograms I had were my first digital ones, the machine might be overly sensitive and may have picked up something that wasn't serious. But just in case, I needed to come in. They told me to clear my schedule for the entire morning of my appointment because the doctor was going to need time to examine all my tests and give me my results that same day.
My grandmother died of breast cancer before I was born. My aunt had breast cancer. My mother survived cervical cancer only to die from adrenal cancer that spread to her lungs. I have two uncles, one on each side of my family, who died of stomach cancer. Another died of lung cancer.
You can imagine how I felt when I got the call.
BMNB, ever the cool cucumber, was decidedly unalarmed. "That's not the vibe I get," he told me when I voiced concern that this might be serious. You see, BMNB and his family are psychic AND prayerful. He didn't see anything serious in my future, he went to church on Sunday and prayed on it, and, as far as he was concerned, there was nothing serious that would be discovered during my follow-up appointment.
I wasn't as certain.
After waiting a week after getting "the call," I went in today. I was hoping the diagnostic mammogram would clear things up. As I sat waiting for the x-ray tech to tell me there was nothing serious, all the while wearing the "special" three-armhole mammogram hospital gown, I quietly prayed:
"Lord, I need a little grace and favor today."
I hadn't slept well the night before, thinking of all the things I hadn't done. I hadn't had kids. I hadn't traveled as much with BMNB. I hadn't started that charter school my best friend and I had been talking about since the '80's.
The x-ray tech returned. "We need to do the ultrasound. Could you come this way?"
Not the result I'd hoped for.
The ultrasound tech explained that if the ultrasound came back negative, the doctor would let her tell me. If not, the doctor would come in to discuss my results.
"So, if you return, I'm good, but if the doctor comes in, I've got a problem."
She tried to soften the blow. "Well, sometimes the doctors come in to tell good results."
I didn't believe her.
After she finished the ultrasound, she told me I could wait on the diagnostic table. The ultrasound room was dimmed, almost dark. She must have read my mind. "Sometimes, people even take a short nap while they're waiting."
There was no way I was going to be able to sleep.
"Lord, I need a little grace and favor today."
Needless to say, I've never been so happy to see an ultrasound tech in all my life.
"It's a cyst. Cancers aren't as round as cysts . . . ." As she continued explaining the differences in appearances between a cancer and a cyst, all I could hear was, "It's a cyst."
The Lord granted me grace and favor, at least for today.
So I'm writing this to encourage all women over the age of 40 to get mammograms, especially if you're overdue. And get a DIGITAL mammogram, not one of the old kind. Travel if you need to, but get a digital mammogram. As for recent medical guidelines telling us that we don't need to get mammograms as frequently as we were told in the past, I say forget them. Everything is a statistic until YOU'RE the statistic. So don't become the statistic.
And, for God's sake, don't wait until your husband has a stomach virus to get a mammogram.
PS Thank you, BMNB, for being with me every step of the way.
Just Because You Can, Doesn't Mean You Should
It was a petty thought.
I saw a lady crossing the street today wearing a beautiful flowery empire waist blouse. I thought, "How pretty" -- that is, until I looked down and saw that she was wearing black Lycra leggings. With thighs the size of tree trunks.
I thought, "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should." How many times had I and my college girlfriends said this among ourselves when we saw some poor fashion victim?
Then I had to laugh, because this applied to me, too. So, in the interest of personal honesty, I'm going to disclose things I don't wear under the rule of, "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should."
Skinny jeans. For one obvious reason -- I ain't skinny -- and one not-so-obvious reason: I'm knock-kneed. I'd look like a walking X chromosome if I wore skinny jeans.
Leggings. For reasons different than the flowery blouse lady. I have cellulite more powerful than Lycra and Spandex. My behind refuses to be contained by artificial constraints.
Bras without underwire. Because after forty, even the little ones begin to sag. Sorry to share that, my young, small-breasted sisters.
Military-inspired jackets. I had a guy friend once tell me I had the shoulders of a defensive lineman. Another told me I had swimmer's shoulders. East German swimmers, that is. Not something I'd like to highlight.
Gladiator-type shoes of any kind. Imagine the sexiest gladiator-style stiletto sandals. Now, imagine those same shoes on a cow. That cow's hooves? My ankles. Nothing sexy about that.
Tattoos. One, I'm middle-aged. Two, because I would have, say, five, maybe ten years tops before that tattoo starts to wrinkle. A wrinkled tattoo is not sexy.
Low v-neck shirts. Alaska has its "Bridge to Nowhere." Me in a low v-neck shirt is the "V-neck to nowhere."
So the next time I have the audacity to judge some woman's poor fashion choice, I will remind myself that, "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should" applies to me, too. And I have no excuse because I know better.
I saw a lady crossing the street today wearing a beautiful flowery empire waist blouse. I thought, "How pretty" -- that is, until I looked down and saw that she was wearing black Lycra leggings. With thighs the size of tree trunks.
I thought, "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should." How many times had I and my college girlfriends said this among ourselves when we saw some poor fashion victim?
Then I had to laugh, because this applied to me, too. So, in the interest of personal honesty, I'm going to disclose things I don't wear under the rule of, "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should."
Skinny jeans. For one obvious reason -- I ain't skinny -- and one not-so-obvious reason: I'm knock-kneed. I'd look like a walking X chromosome if I wore skinny jeans.
Leggings. For reasons different than the flowery blouse lady. I have cellulite more powerful than Lycra and Spandex. My behind refuses to be contained by artificial constraints.
Bras without underwire. Because after forty, even the little ones begin to sag. Sorry to share that, my young, small-breasted sisters.
Military-inspired jackets. I had a guy friend once tell me I had the shoulders of a defensive lineman. Another told me I had swimmer's shoulders. East German swimmers, that is. Not something I'd like to highlight.
Gladiator-type shoes of any kind. Imagine the sexiest gladiator-style stiletto sandals. Now, imagine those same shoes on a cow. That cow's hooves? My ankles. Nothing sexy about that.
Tattoos. One, I'm middle-aged. Two, because I would have, say, five, maybe ten years tops before that tattoo starts to wrinkle. A wrinkled tattoo is not sexy.
Low v-neck shirts. Alaska has its "Bridge to Nowhere." Me in a low v-neck shirt is the "V-neck to nowhere."
So the next time I have the audacity to judge some woman's poor fashion choice, I will remind myself that, "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should" applies to me, too. And I have no excuse because I know better.
Because I AM Shallow and Insecure
Let's start by saying I'm glad no Qu'rans were burned last week and I'm sad that people were. I hope that my former employer, Pacific Gas and Electric Company (which, in my father's view, was the best employer I ever had because both my boss and my secretary were black) makes it as right as it can for all those families affected.
That said, allow me a moment of shallowness. Okay, perhaps a day.
I don't normally check out my husband's Facebook page. Why? Because he normally doesn't. It's the Facebook equivalent of a vast wasteland. He doesn't check it very often, never posts, doesn't check messages. BMNB is not a social media kind of guy.
Well, at least I thought he wasn't. Come to find out, there are a couple of women he's "friended" on his FB page whom I don't know, one of whom is single and clearly lists one of her interests as "men."
Mind you, I try to be open-minded about a lot of things and more evolved than the men in my family. My father and brothers are of what I would call the "old-school" school of thought: Married women don't have single male friends. Single male friends are what you give up when you put on that ring, in their opinion. Growing up, I don't recall my mom ever having any male friends, single, married, gay or straight. None. My dad didn't believe in it.
Mind you, I do have single male friends, but the only ones my husband doesn't know are professional colleagues I've met along the way. Other than professional colleagues, he knows every man on my Facebook page.
Mind you, what torqued me more was that my husband does not have his relationship status listed as "married" on his Facebook page. You can see where he went to college, where he works, but his relationship status, no. This from a man who will not allow any man I've ever been intimate with to enter our home because, as he puts it, if they say something inappropriate about "the past," well, in his words, it's on and crackin'.
So, because I AM shallow and insecure, I Googled and Spokeo'd this woman who is my husband's Facebook friend whom I don't know, whose interests include men. I stopped short of ordering a full report on her from Spokeo. I wonder whether she knows my husband is married. She wouldn't know it from his Facebook page.
And I asked my husband to change his FB relationship status to "married." Fair is fair.
Because I AM shallow and insecure.
That said, allow me a moment of shallowness. Okay, perhaps a day.
I don't normally check out my husband's Facebook page. Why? Because he normally doesn't. It's the Facebook equivalent of a vast wasteland. He doesn't check it very often, never posts, doesn't check messages. BMNB is not a social media kind of guy.
Well, at least I thought he wasn't. Come to find out, there are a couple of women he's "friended" on his FB page whom I don't know, one of whom is single and clearly lists one of her interests as "men."
Mind you, I try to be open-minded about a lot of things and more evolved than the men in my family. My father and brothers are of what I would call the "old-school" school of thought: Married women don't have single male friends. Single male friends are what you give up when you put on that ring, in their opinion. Growing up, I don't recall my mom ever having any male friends, single, married, gay or straight. None. My dad didn't believe in it.
Mind you, I do have single male friends, but the only ones my husband doesn't know are professional colleagues I've met along the way. Other than professional colleagues, he knows every man on my Facebook page.
Mind you, what torqued me more was that my husband does not have his relationship status listed as "married" on his Facebook page. You can see where he went to college, where he works, but his relationship status, no. This from a man who will not allow any man I've ever been intimate with to enter our home because, as he puts it, if they say something inappropriate about "the past," well, in his words, it's on and crackin'.
So, because I AM shallow and insecure, I Googled and Spokeo'd this woman who is my husband's Facebook friend whom I don't know, whose interests include men. I stopped short of ordering a full report on her from Spokeo. I wonder whether she knows my husband is married. She wouldn't know it from his Facebook page.
And I asked my husband to change his FB relationship status to "married." Fair is fair.
Because I AM shallow and insecure.
If You Fail To Plan . . .
My best friend always says, "If you fail to plan, you plan to fail." She follows that one up with, "Plan your work and work your plan." She's right.
I'm abysmal at following through on my plans. I think the problem is that I don't have kids. Bear with me.
When you have children around you, you have a visual prompt as to the passage of time. You see them grow and gain skills over time, and it's a reminder of time passing and how much time you don't have with them.
Without kids, the only prompts you have as to the passage of time are gray hair, wrinkles and infirmity. Well, I'm genetically blessed in that department. I don't have a lot of a gray hair, the only wrinkles I have are laugh lines, and despite high cholesterol, my biggest infirmity is self-imposed -- obesity. Long story short, I don't feel as old as I am. I don't realize how much time has passed until I find myself in the presence of children.
I had the pleasure of attending a family barbecue yesterday, and I held my 7 month-old great nephew, my late mother's great-grandchild. He looks just like one of my late uncles, and he's already trying to crawl. He eats nonstop and eats just about everything in sight! (He comes by that one honestly -- my late mother referred to my dad as a "gut bucket" because of his voracious appetite.)
It was then that it really hit me -- time is flying by. And I want more for myself and my family.
I've made the huge mistake of chasing fulfillment most of my adult life from my employment when I should have been seeking it in relationships -- marriage, kids, family. I look at my nephew and his desire to get his family settled in a home of their own and I realize that my focus needs to change. Now that I have more years behind me than in front of me, I need to really start thinking about leaving the next generation of my family better off than my generation. The financial goals that seem to have come more easily for my parents' generation, such as buying a house, seem almost out of reach for the generation behind me. And we all know that a house is the bedrock of wealth for most middle class families. I want to leave this earth knowing that the generation behind me is at least solidly middle class, not teetering on the edge.
But more than that, I need to lay a foundation for them to dream. I achieved my dream of being a lawyer. For the generation behind me, having a dream seems almost like a wasteful indulgence. It's almost as if they're afraid to dream, much less reveal any such dream to anyone.
I learned that my nephew dreams of becoming a writer. I had no idea. To say the least, I'm over the moon with the possibility of seeing his work shared with the world. He's afraid that he doesn't write well enough, and I've encouraged him to start blogging and, when in doubt, send his drafts to his auntie, The Writing Diva, and she'll edit them for him like she edits my work on occasion. More than anything, I hope he comes up with a plan for achieving this dream and his dream of home ownership.
In the meantime, I need to really sit my butt in a chair and plan for the future -- not just my future, but my family's. Most of us work for the state of California and have weathered furloughs and, for one of us, layoffs. We've been rocked hard, like most families, during this "Great Recession" even though we didn't engage in the financial foolishness that brought our economy to its knees. We all agree that our family needs a business, another stream of income, so that we will never be subject to the financial wrath of another stupid and despotic governor as we have with Arnold Schwarzenegger. I just need to figure out what that business will be. My hope is that this will be what we leave to the next generation so they will indeed be better off and, above all, able to dream.
And it all begins with a plan. Like my best friend says, "If you fail to plan . . . . "
I'm abysmal at following through on my plans. I think the problem is that I don't have kids. Bear with me.
When you have children around you, you have a visual prompt as to the passage of time. You see them grow and gain skills over time, and it's a reminder of time passing and how much time you don't have with them.
Without kids, the only prompts you have as to the passage of time are gray hair, wrinkles and infirmity. Well, I'm genetically blessed in that department. I don't have a lot of a gray hair, the only wrinkles I have are laugh lines, and despite high cholesterol, my biggest infirmity is self-imposed -- obesity. Long story short, I don't feel as old as I am. I don't realize how much time has passed until I find myself in the presence of children.
I had the pleasure of attending a family barbecue yesterday, and I held my 7 month-old great nephew, my late mother's great-grandchild. He looks just like one of my late uncles, and he's already trying to crawl. He eats nonstop and eats just about everything in sight! (He comes by that one honestly -- my late mother referred to my dad as a "gut bucket" because of his voracious appetite.)
It was then that it really hit me -- time is flying by. And I want more for myself and my family.
I've made the huge mistake of chasing fulfillment most of my adult life from my employment when I should have been seeking it in relationships -- marriage, kids, family. I look at my nephew and his desire to get his family settled in a home of their own and I realize that my focus needs to change. Now that I have more years behind me than in front of me, I need to really start thinking about leaving the next generation of my family better off than my generation. The financial goals that seem to have come more easily for my parents' generation, such as buying a house, seem almost out of reach for the generation behind me. And we all know that a house is the bedrock of wealth for most middle class families. I want to leave this earth knowing that the generation behind me is at least solidly middle class, not teetering on the edge.
But more than that, I need to lay a foundation for them to dream. I achieved my dream of being a lawyer. For the generation behind me, having a dream seems almost like a wasteful indulgence. It's almost as if they're afraid to dream, much less reveal any such dream to anyone.
I learned that my nephew dreams of becoming a writer. I had no idea. To say the least, I'm over the moon with the possibility of seeing his work shared with the world. He's afraid that he doesn't write well enough, and I've encouraged him to start blogging and, when in doubt, send his drafts to his auntie, The Writing Diva, and she'll edit them for him like she edits my work on occasion. More than anything, I hope he comes up with a plan for achieving this dream and his dream of home ownership.
In the meantime, I need to really sit my butt in a chair and plan for the future -- not just my future, but my family's. Most of us work for the state of California and have weathered furloughs and, for one of us, layoffs. We've been rocked hard, like most families, during this "Great Recession" even though we didn't engage in the financial foolishness that brought our economy to its knees. We all agree that our family needs a business, another stream of income, so that we will never be subject to the financial wrath of another stupid and despotic governor as we have with Arnold Schwarzenegger. I just need to figure out what that business will be. My hope is that this will be what we leave to the next generation so they will indeed be better off and, above all, able to dream.
And it all begins with a plan. Like my best friend says, "If you fail to plan . . . . "
The One Blog Entry I Never Wanted To Write
It's not the natural order of things for a parent to bury a child.
-- My dad.
Everybody is somebody's child.
-- My mom.
While other kids were learning their colors and numbers, as a four-year old, my mother made me memorize my home address, phone number, and my parents' names just in case something happened to me and some adult wanted to help me. Like most parents, she hoped that if something happened to me, somebody would realize that I "belonged" to somebody and would help me. That somebody would show some compassion and not take advantage of a child, her child. She wanted me to be able to help whoever was going to help me get home. Naively, she believed that were I to be lost, somebody would help me just because I was somebody's child.
Perhaps that's too much to hope for in the new millennium.
I'll admit -- I've been avoiding writing this blog entry.
I took time off to prepare for a barbecue Black Man Not Blogging and I were giving for some dear, close friends on Saturday. I immersed myself in yard work, house work, and rib rub (prepping the ribs, that is). All plausibly good excuses to avoid writing this blog entry, to write words I never wanted to accept.
On Friday, the family of 24 year-old Mitrice Richardson held a memorial service for her. After months of searching for her after her release from police custody in Malibu, Mitrice's remains were found near a marijuana grove in Malibu Canyon.
I had hoped she would return home. I had been incensed by the fact that, but for her mother and stepfather, the initial press coverage of her disappearance would have been faint, if at all. Incensed that when brown-eyed, brown skinned women go missing, no one seems to notice as much. Incensed when Matt Lauer called her parents by their first names and asked whether Mitrice was "street smart." I had hoped, perhaps unrealistically, for a Jaycee Dugard-like homecoming for Mitrice, without all the weirdness of the Garridos.
I had hoped for too much.
And I am still incensed that a young woman could be released from police custody into the night alone when she had shown signs of mental distress. Her mother, Latice Sutton, had been assured she would remain safe in custody until the morning. I am incensed that sheriff's deputies didn't call her mother when she was released into the night, like she was nobody.
It is not the natural order of things for a parent to bury a child. I never met Mitrice, never met her family, but I didn't have to to know that she was somebody's daughter, somebody's loved one. Someone who was loved by someone, missed by someone, belonged to someone. Someone who deserved more than being released in the dead of night by herself with no way home. Someone who deserved to have some person with an iota of compassion take time and intervene, not because Mitrice was special, but simply because she was somebody's child who was not in a position to help herself. I wonder if the deputies on duty that night would have sent the daughter of someone they knew into the night without a way home or someone to get them. Somehow I doubt it.
Please keep Mitrice's family in your prayers.
NB: Thanks to the Malibu Surfside News for keeping the search for Mitrice in the news.
-- My dad.
Everybody is somebody's child.
-- My mom.
While other kids were learning their colors and numbers, as a four-year old, my mother made me memorize my home address, phone number, and my parents' names just in case something happened to me and some adult wanted to help me. Like most parents, she hoped that if something happened to me, somebody would realize that I "belonged" to somebody and would help me. That somebody would show some compassion and not take advantage of a child, her child. She wanted me to be able to help whoever was going to help me get home. Naively, she believed that were I to be lost, somebody would help me just because I was somebody's child.
Perhaps that's too much to hope for in the new millennium.
I'll admit -- I've been avoiding writing this blog entry.
I took time off to prepare for a barbecue Black Man Not Blogging and I were giving for some dear, close friends on Saturday. I immersed myself in yard work, house work, and rib rub (prepping the ribs, that is). All plausibly good excuses to avoid writing this blog entry, to write words I never wanted to accept.
On Friday, the family of 24 year-old Mitrice Richardson held a memorial service for her. After months of searching for her after her release from police custody in Malibu, Mitrice's remains were found near a marijuana grove in Malibu Canyon.
I had hoped she would return home. I had been incensed by the fact that, but for her mother and stepfather, the initial press coverage of her disappearance would have been faint, if at all. Incensed that when brown-eyed, brown skinned women go missing, no one seems to notice as much. Incensed when Matt Lauer called her parents by their first names and asked whether Mitrice was "street smart." I had hoped, perhaps unrealistically, for a Jaycee Dugard-like homecoming for Mitrice, without all the weirdness of the Garridos.
I had hoped for too much.
And I am still incensed that a young woman could be released from police custody into the night alone when she had shown signs of mental distress. Her mother, Latice Sutton, had been assured she would remain safe in custody until the morning. I am incensed that sheriff's deputies didn't call her mother when she was released into the night, like she was nobody.
It is not the natural order of things for a parent to bury a child. I never met Mitrice, never met her family, but I didn't have to to know that she was somebody's daughter, somebody's loved one. Someone who was loved by someone, missed by someone, belonged to someone. Someone who deserved more than being released in the dead of night by herself with no way home. Someone who deserved to have some person with an iota of compassion take time and intervene, not because Mitrice was special, but simply because she was somebody's child who was not in a position to help herself. I wonder if the deputies on duty that night would have sent the daughter of someone they knew into the night without a way home or someone to get them. Somehow I doubt it.
Please keep Mitrice's family in your prayers.
NB: Thanks to the Malibu Surfside News for keeping the search for Mitrice in the news.
A Cookie and a Nap
If anyone asks me what my happiest time was during my educational years, I would respond, "kindergarten."
Why? Because Mrs. Anderson, my kindergarten teacher, knew exactly what each of us 6 year-olds needed. And sometimes, yours truly needed a cookie and a nap. Quite frankly, I think JetBlue flight attendant Steven Slater needed a cookie and nap the other day when he let fly an expletive-laden invective and jetted out the back with two beers. He needed Mrs. Anderson.
Mrs. Anderson was an angel of mercy for a little girl like me who didn't want to be in kindergarten. She wore her raven-black hair elegantly swept back in a French twist and wore dresses much like those worn by the characters in "Mad Men" -- cinched at the waist, full skirt, form-fitting above the waist (This was 1969, after all.). She was expert at dealing with little kids like me who didn't want to be around a bunch of snot-nosed crybabies who didn't know how to count or read or know their colors. Occasionally, I would just have a full-on meltdown, at which point Mrs. Anderson would kindly offer me (or any similarly situated child) a cookie, tell me to go take a nap, and would point me in the direction of the stack of carpet remnants she kept just for that purpose.
And she was right. I'd eat my cookie, lay out on the carpet remnant, and if I slept just long enough, the entire kindergarten day would be over and I could go home and leave the other kids behind.
To this day, when I'm on the verge of having a full-on meltdown at work, I stop and tell myself, "I need a cookie and a nap."
So when I heard about Mr. Slater's antics, first I had to laugh. Then I sympathized because, I, too have had that fantasy of saying exactly what I thought in my work environment, giving the finger, and walking away. In fact, I kinda did the same thing three years ago. I totally understood how he felt. And I would imagine that airline passengers are not unlike a bunch of snot-nosed crybabies from the perspective of a flight attendant.
I just wished someone would have pulled Mr. Slater aside and told him, "You need a cookie and a nap."
Mrs. Anderson would have.
Why? Because Mrs. Anderson, my kindergarten teacher, knew exactly what each of us 6 year-olds needed. And sometimes, yours truly needed a cookie and a nap. Quite frankly, I think JetBlue flight attendant Steven Slater needed a cookie and nap the other day when he let fly an expletive-laden invective and jetted out the back with two beers. He needed Mrs. Anderson.
Mrs. Anderson was an angel of mercy for a little girl like me who didn't want to be in kindergarten. She wore her raven-black hair elegantly swept back in a French twist and wore dresses much like those worn by the characters in "Mad Men" -- cinched at the waist, full skirt, form-fitting above the waist (This was 1969, after all.). She was expert at dealing with little kids like me who didn't want to be around a bunch of snot-nosed crybabies who didn't know how to count or read or know their colors. Occasionally, I would just have a full-on meltdown, at which point Mrs. Anderson would kindly offer me (or any similarly situated child) a cookie, tell me to go take a nap, and would point me in the direction of the stack of carpet remnants she kept just for that purpose.
And she was right. I'd eat my cookie, lay out on the carpet remnant, and if I slept just long enough, the entire kindergarten day would be over and I could go home and leave the other kids behind.
To this day, when I'm on the verge of having a full-on meltdown at work, I stop and tell myself, "I need a cookie and a nap."
So when I heard about Mr. Slater's antics, first I had to laugh. Then I sympathized because, I, too have had that fantasy of saying exactly what I thought in my work environment, giving the finger, and walking away. In fact, I kinda did the same thing three years ago. I totally understood how he felt. And I would imagine that airline passengers are not unlike a bunch of snot-nosed crybabies from the perspective of a flight attendant.
I just wished someone would have pulled Mr. Slater aside and told him, "You need a cookie and a nap."
Mrs. Anderson would have.
I Hope Elena Kagan Is Gay
It’s really none of my business. Really. But I hope Elena Kagan is gay.
The U.S. District Court in San Francisco struck down California’s Proposition 8 on the grounds that, among other arguments, it violated the Equal Protection Clause because there was no rational basis for discriminating against gays and lesbians. For those of you non-lawyers out there, rational basis analysis is the weakest test applied to discriminatory laws. If you were comparing rational basis analysis to limbo, let’s just say it would be ankle-high: not a hard hurdle to overcome. And yet the proponents of Proposition 8 failed to overcome it.
So imagine how lame Judge Vaughn Walker thought the justifications for Proposition 8 were that he ruled that they didn’t pass rational basis analysis, to wit:
1) Preserving the institution of marriage as between a man and a woman;
2) Proceeding with caution when implementing social changes;
3) Promoting opposite-sex parenting over same-sex parenting;
4) Protecting the freedom of those who oppose same-sex marriage;
5) Treating same-sex couples differently from opposite-sex couples; and
6) Any other conceivable interest.
Perry v. Schwarzenegger, (2010) No, C-09-0299 VRW (N.D. Cal.) at p. 123. So let me get this straight – you’re going up against Ted Olsen and David Boies, two veritable legal giants who have appeared numerous times before the U.S. Supreme Court, most notably against each other in Bush v. Gore, and this is the best you can come up with? I hope those Prop. 8 supporters didn’t spend a lot of money on their legal talent.
Depending on the patchwork of state and federal court decisions determining whether prohibiting gay marriage violates equal protection and due process under our federal Constitution, the U.S. Supreme Court might be enticed to take this case to settle the law once and for all. Maybe.
And if it does, I hope Elena Kagan is gay. I wonder how many gay people the Justices know. I wonder if they know that gay people aren’t trying lessen the meaning of marriage for others; they’re just seeking equal rights under the laws. If states hadn’t gotten into the business of regulating marriage in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this position. Everyone would just go to their church, synagogue, supreme leader, open pasture or whatever, declare themselves married, and prepare to get screwed by the IRS. But nooooooo . . . . the states had to get all up in our business and license and regulate marriage. Well, guess what? The state doesn’t get to play favorites, even if a majority of people want it to. That’s what the Constitution is for – to protect the rights of people who happen to be in them minority, no matter what you think of them. Once the government got involved in marriage, it ceased to be just a religious rite. Now it’s an individual right. And that, in a nutshell, is why you shouldn’t be able to discriminate as to who gets to enjoy that right.
If Elena Kagan is gay, I want those Justices who think it’s okay to discriminate based on sexual orientation to look her in the eye and make that argument.
And then prepare for the legal smackdown of a lifetime.
We’ve heard similar arguments before, folks, and so has the U.S. Supreme Court -- in Loving v. Virginia, 388 U.S. 1 (1967), where the State of Virginia had the audacity to argue the constitutionality of its anti-miscegenation laws. In holding Virginia’s anti-miscegenation law up the Court had this to say:
Marriage is one of the "basic civil rights of man," fundamental to our very existence and survival. Skinner v. Oklahoma, 316 U.S. 535, 541 (1942). See also Maynard v. Hill, 125 U.S. 190 (1888). To deny this fundamental freedom on so unsupportable a basis as the racial classifications embodied in these statutes, classifications so directly subversive of the principle of equality at the heart of the Fourteenth Amendment, is surely to deprive all the State's citizens of liberty without due process of law. The Fourteenth Amendment requires that the freedom of choice to marry not be restricted by invidious racial discriminations. Under our Constitution, the freedom to marry, or not marry, a person of another race resides with the individual and cannot be infringed by the State.
These statutes also deprive the Lovings of liberty without due process of law in violation of the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. The freedom to marry has long been recognized as one of the vital personal rights essential to the orderly pursuit of happiness by free men.
Marriage is one of the "basic civil rights of man," fundamental to our very existence and survival.
Loving v. Virginia, 388 U.S. 1 at 12. If gay and lesbian people love their mates half as much as I love Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), well, then, their right to marry is worth fighting for. I wish them well.
And I’m hoping against all hope that Elena Kagan is gay.
The U.S. District Court in San Francisco struck down California’s Proposition 8 on the grounds that, among other arguments, it violated the Equal Protection Clause because there was no rational basis for discriminating against gays and lesbians. For those of you non-lawyers out there, rational basis analysis is the weakest test applied to discriminatory laws. If you were comparing rational basis analysis to limbo, let’s just say it would be ankle-high: not a hard hurdle to overcome. And yet the proponents of Proposition 8 failed to overcome it.
So imagine how lame Judge Vaughn Walker thought the justifications for Proposition 8 were that he ruled that they didn’t pass rational basis analysis, to wit:
1) Preserving the institution of marriage as between a man and a woman;
2) Proceeding with caution when implementing social changes;
3) Promoting opposite-sex parenting over same-sex parenting;
4) Protecting the freedom of those who oppose same-sex marriage;
5) Treating same-sex couples differently from opposite-sex couples; and
6) Any other conceivable interest.
Perry v. Schwarzenegger, (2010) No, C-09-0299 VRW (N.D. Cal.) at p. 123. So let me get this straight – you’re going up against Ted Olsen and David Boies, two veritable legal giants who have appeared numerous times before the U.S. Supreme Court, most notably against each other in Bush v. Gore, and this is the best you can come up with? I hope those Prop. 8 supporters didn’t spend a lot of money on their legal talent.
Depending on the patchwork of state and federal court decisions determining whether prohibiting gay marriage violates equal protection and due process under our federal Constitution, the U.S. Supreme Court might be enticed to take this case to settle the law once and for all. Maybe.
And if it does, I hope Elena Kagan is gay. I wonder how many gay people the Justices know. I wonder if they know that gay people aren’t trying lessen the meaning of marriage for others; they’re just seeking equal rights under the laws. If states hadn’t gotten into the business of regulating marriage in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this position. Everyone would just go to their church, synagogue, supreme leader, open pasture or whatever, declare themselves married, and prepare to get screwed by the IRS. But nooooooo . . . . the states had to get all up in our business and license and regulate marriage. Well, guess what? The state doesn’t get to play favorites, even if a majority of people want it to. That’s what the Constitution is for – to protect the rights of people who happen to be in them minority, no matter what you think of them. Once the government got involved in marriage, it ceased to be just a religious rite. Now it’s an individual right. And that, in a nutshell, is why you shouldn’t be able to discriminate as to who gets to enjoy that right.
If Elena Kagan is gay, I want those Justices who think it’s okay to discriminate based on sexual orientation to look her in the eye and make that argument.
And then prepare for the legal smackdown of a lifetime.
We’ve heard similar arguments before, folks, and so has the U.S. Supreme Court -- in Loving v. Virginia, 388 U.S. 1 (1967), where the State of Virginia had the audacity to argue the constitutionality of its anti-miscegenation laws. In holding Virginia’s anti-miscegenation law up the Court had this to say:
Marriage is one of the "basic civil rights of man," fundamental to our very existence and survival. Skinner v. Oklahoma, 316 U.S. 535, 541 (1942). See also Maynard v. Hill, 125 U.S. 190 (1888). To deny this fundamental freedom on so unsupportable a basis as the racial classifications embodied in these statutes, classifications so directly subversive of the principle of equality at the heart of the Fourteenth Amendment, is surely to deprive all the State's citizens of liberty without due process of law. The Fourteenth Amendment requires that the freedom of choice to marry not be restricted by invidious racial discriminations. Under our Constitution, the freedom to marry, or not marry, a person of another race resides with the individual and cannot be infringed by the State.
These statutes also deprive the Lovings of liberty without due process of law in violation of the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. The freedom to marry has long been recognized as one of the vital personal rights essential to the orderly pursuit of happiness by free men.
Marriage is one of the "basic civil rights of man," fundamental to our very existence and survival.
Loving v. Virginia, 388 U.S. 1 at 12. If gay and lesbian people love their mates half as much as I love Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), well, then, their right to marry is worth fighting for. I wish them well.
And I’m hoping against all hope that Elena Kagan is gay.
My Own Personal Hater (Work That)
I guess I must be doing something right. I have my owner personal hater. Again.
My personal hater, or PH, takes delight in what PH perceives to be my downfall or struggle and, in the guise of offering assistance, seeks to get deeper into my personal business so PH can feel better about PH. Don't know why, but PH can't seem to stand it when I stand out. PH consistently tries to "improve" on my ideas and my work but usually doesn't. Once in a while, yes, but not consistently enough to claim victory or superiority.
You probably have your own PH, too -- at work, in your family, in an organization you work with. If not, it's because your PH hasn't shown him or herself yet. BMNB (my husband, Black Man Not Blogging) has his own PH, too. He doesn't let it bother him.
It wouldn't bother me if I could jettison this PH like I've done others in my life -- even those I'm related to -- but, for the moment, I'm stuck with this PH.
When I was young, I was pretty good at avoiding or appeasing PH's, either getting around them or turning them into friends. I'm done with that crap. I don't have the problem --- I just do what I do and try to do it to the best of my ability. If someone else can't handle it because of how they feel about themselves, that's not my problem. They need to, in the words of my nephew, "build a bridge and get over it."
I was dreading dealing with my PH today, but then Mary J. Blige, the patron saint of black women's self-esteem, came to the rescue. I rarely take out old CD's from my car's CD player, and today was no exception. I just happened to troll around my CD selections, and Mary J.'s "Work That" started to play. It was as if God knew what I was dealing with and wanted to send me a message:
Let em get mad,
They gonna hate anyway, don't you get that?
Doesn't matter if you go along with their plan
They'll never be happy 'cause they're not happy with themselves. . .
I started to bob my head, smile, and sing along. Mary J. knows a little something about haters, too. She's probably got a lot of them.
If you have your own PH and you can't shake him or her for the moment, just crank up Mary J.'s "Work That." It will make you feel better. I promise.
And whatever you do, "don't hold back, you just be yourself," just to piss off your PH.
My personal hater, or PH, takes delight in what PH perceives to be my downfall or struggle and, in the guise of offering assistance, seeks to get deeper into my personal business so PH can feel better about PH. Don't know why, but PH can't seem to stand it when I stand out. PH consistently tries to "improve" on my ideas and my work but usually doesn't. Once in a while, yes, but not consistently enough to claim victory or superiority.
You probably have your own PH, too -- at work, in your family, in an organization you work with. If not, it's because your PH hasn't shown him or herself yet. BMNB (my husband, Black Man Not Blogging) has his own PH, too. He doesn't let it bother him.
It wouldn't bother me if I could jettison this PH like I've done others in my life -- even those I'm related to -- but, for the moment, I'm stuck with this PH.
When I was young, I was pretty good at avoiding or appeasing PH's, either getting around them or turning them into friends. I'm done with that crap. I don't have the problem --- I just do what I do and try to do it to the best of my ability. If someone else can't handle it because of how they feel about themselves, that's not my problem. They need to, in the words of my nephew, "build a bridge and get over it."
I was dreading dealing with my PH today, but then Mary J. Blige, the patron saint of black women's self-esteem, came to the rescue. I rarely take out old CD's from my car's CD player, and today was no exception. I just happened to troll around my CD selections, and Mary J.'s "Work That" started to play. It was as if God knew what I was dealing with and wanted to send me a message:
Let em get mad,
They gonna hate anyway, don't you get that?
Doesn't matter if you go along with their plan
They'll never be happy 'cause they're not happy with themselves. . .
I started to bob my head, smile, and sing along. Mary J. knows a little something about haters, too. She's probably got a lot of them.
If you have your own PH and you can't shake him or her for the moment, just crank up Mary J.'s "Work That." It will make you feel better. I promise.
And whatever you do, "don't hold back, you just be yourself," just to piss off your PH.
Race in America: A Hot Mess
NAACP President Benjamin Jealous calls on the Tea Party to disavow itself of the racist elements within its ranks. Sarah Palin fires back, calling the NAACP a "racist organization." She also creates a new word, "refudiate," which, up until then, had probably never been used in the New York Times. Then someone fires back with video of U.S. Department of Agriculture employee Shirley Sherrod's speech from an NAACP fundraiser taken out of context. The Secretary of Agriculture overreacts, fires Sherrod, only to find out later that the video had been edited and that Ms. Sherrod's message was not racist, but reconciling. And throughout, Ms. Sherrod maintains her cool, is later offered a better job at the Department of Agriculture, and receives a well-deserved apology from President Obama himself.
Then this morning I listen to Dean Christopher Edley of the Boalt Hall School of Law and John McWhorter of the Manhattan Institute on CNN state that these shenanigans did not involve racism. Race, but not racism.
Indeed.
When it comes to dealing with issues of race, America is, in the oft-used words of Niecy Nash, "a hot mess." We can't seem to have an open and honest dialogue about racism and race without resorting to name-calling and sound bites. I don't think it would even be safe to have a Clinton-esque "Town Hall Meeting on Race" because, give the hodge-podge of concealed weapons laws around the country, you don't know who could be packing heat at one of the meetings. It's that much of a hot-button issue.
As to the Tea Party members, I actually know and like a lot of Tea Partyers. I admire that, unlike most Americans, they feel so strongly about what they believe in that they're willing to coalesce and become a vehicle for political action. That said, I believe Congressman John Lewis when he said he was called the "N-word" by people protesting with the Tea Party against health care reform. I saw the video of Congressman Lewis being spat on as he crossed the street to vote. I also remember watching Congressman Eric Cantor of Virginia on "This Week with George Stephanopoulos" dismiss those who spewed racial epithets and spit on black members of Congress as being on the fringe without going so far as to condem what they said or were purported to have said.
How hard is it for any organization to condemn racism and the racists hiding behind the umbrella of that organization? Why is that so hard to agree on?
That said, I doubt Shirley Sherrod would have been shown the door so quickly if she had been white and her words had been similarly misconstrued to have been anti-black. I doubt the Japanese American Citizens League would have been called "a racist organization" had it called the Tea Party on racist elements within the Tea Party.
Whenever black people, or black organizations, raise their voices to call out racism, there seems to be this furious backlash as if to say we have no standing to speak of the racism we've heard and seen with our own eyes, as if we are inherently unreliable witnesses when it comes to calling out racism simply because we are black and, in the minds of many, inherently racists ourselves.
For Dean Edley and John McWhorter's edification, the racism in all this was that a conservative edited Ms. Sherrod's speech to make the NAACP look like racial hypocrites and show the NAACP as an inherently unreliable witness when it comes to calling out racism. That's not political; it's racist.
If Ms. Palin is as certain of her accusation as she appears to be, I would hope she'd have the courage to attend an NAACP convention and make that same accusation and back it up with facts.
As for African Americans, my hope is that, as a people, we redouble our efforts to not only stand up and call out racism when we see it, but that we also do what we can to insulate ourselves and our children from it. We need to strengthen our institutions -- organizations, colleges, you name it -- as well as ourselves -- with greater educational achievement, entrepreneurial growth, and economic independence -- so that we're relatively unaffected by the slings and arrows of racists, and racist elements, in positions of power.
A good start might be actually joining the NAACP, and putting Shirley Sherrod in charge of it.
Then this morning I listen to Dean Christopher Edley of the Boalt Hall School of Law and John McWhorter of the Manhattan Institute on CNN state that these shenanigans did not involve racism. Race, but not racism.
Indeed.
When it comes to dealing with issues of race, America is, in the oft-used words of Niecy Nash, "a hot mess." We can't seem to have an open and honest dialogue about racism and race without resorting to name-calling and sound bites. I don't think it would even be safe to have a Clinton-esque "Town Hall Meeting on Race" because, give the hodge-podge of concealed weapons laws around the country, you don't know who could be packing heat at one of the meetings. It's that much of a hot-button issue.
As to the Tea Party members, I actually know and like a lot of Tea Partyers. I admire that, unlike most Americans, they feel so strongly about what they believe in that they're willing to coalesce and become a vehicle for political action. That said, I believe Congressman John Lewis when he said he was called the "N-word" by people protesting with the Tea Party against health care reform. I saw the video of Congressman Lewis being spat on as he crossed the street to vote. I also remember watching Congressman Eric Cantor of Virginia on "This Week with George Stephanopoulos" dismiss those who spewed racial epithets and spit on black members of Congress as being on the fringe without going so far as to condem what they said or were purported to have said.
How hard is it for any organization to condemn racism and the racists hiding behind the umbrella of that organization? Why is that so hard to agree on?
That said, I doubt Shirley Sherrod would have been shown the door so quickly if she had been white and her words had been similarly misconstrued to have been anti-black. I doubt the Japanese American Citizens League would have been called "a racist organization" had it called the Tea Party on racist elements within the Tea Party.
Whenever black people, or black organizations, raise their voices to call out racism, there seems to be this furious backlash as if to say we have no standing to speak of the racism we've heard and seen with our own eyes, as if we are inherently unreliable witnesses when it comes to calling out racism simply because we are black and, in the minds of many, inherently racists ourselves.
For Dean Edley and John McWhorter's edification, the racism in all this was that a conservative edited Ms. Sherrod's speech to make the NAACP look like racial hypocrites and show the NAACP as an inherently unreliable witness when it comes to calling out racism. That's not political; it's racist.
If Ms. Palin is as certain of her accusation as she appears to be, I would hope she'd have the courage to attend an NAACP convention and make that same accusation and back it up with facts.
As for African Americans, my hope is that, as a people, we redouble our efforts to not only stand up and call out racism when we see it, but that we also do what we can to insulate ourselves and our children from it. We need to strengthen our institutions -- organizations, colleges, you name it -- as well as ourselves -- with greater educational achievement, entrepreneurial growth, and economic independence -- so that we're relatively unaffected by the slings and arrows of racists, and racist elements, in positions of power.
A good start might be actually joining the NAACP, and putting Shirley Sherrod in charge of it.
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