I think we can all agree that the GOP legislative staffer's comments on Malia and Sasha Obama's dress and behavior at the latest turkey pardoning ceremony were inappropriate and offensive. What I've found interesting, however, is how the remarks have not even been acknowledged by President and Mrs. Obama (and yes, she's not "Michelle," she's "Mrs. Obama." She will be the First Lady or a former First Lady for the rest of her life. If you didn't call Mrs. Reagan "Nancy" or Barbara Bush "Barbara," you don't call Mrs. Obama "Michelle.").
"Ah," I thought to myself. "Social vaporization."
What is "social vaporization," you ask?
It's the refusal to dignify the offensive actions of a person and, in many cases, the ignorant person who acted, by ignoring them and their act. Social vaporization to its fullest effect is treating the person who offended you like they don't exist.
There are some segments of our society that have made social vaporization a high art form. Too often, when someone does something that offends us, we engage in social jiu jitsu -- we attempt to use that person's offensive conduct to harm them. We deride the offender's conduct in their presence, try to correct the conduct, or inflict the same conduct upon the offender. We also give the offender what they want: Attention.
That's just way too much energy. Social vaporization is so much more efficient. To see social vaporization at its best, you need to be around old money Southerners. Of all races. They socially vaporize people by politely ignoring the conduct, removing themselves from the offender's presence with a polite excuse ("Could you excuse me for a moment? I need to say hello to a dear friend of mine across the room."), and, depending on the magnitude of the transgression, never making themselves available to be of help to, or in the presence of, the offender. They stop taking the offender's calls. They decline social invitations from the offender. And they do so without expending as much energy as it takes to wipe their behinds.
I've had to socially vaporize people. One was a house guest who made inappropriate comments about one of my family members shortly after I had experienced a death in my family. Said house guest has never stepped foot in my home since. Vaporized. I don't even expend energy thinking about relenting and having this person in my home. I made my Whitney Houston-inspired "Hell to the no" decision years ago. Poof. Vaporized.
I, too, have been socially vaporized. A lovely lady was trying to groom me for membership in The Links. I didn't realize it at the time, and with my sense of Delta superiority, I didn't think it mattered. I didn't respond appropriately to her overtures, didn't make it a priority to attend the right events. She socially vaporized me. I deserved it. I was not ready for what she was offering. And I learned to respect The Links.
But old money Southerners? Talk about social vaporization. They socially vaporize people so well that the people who are vaporized don't even know they've been vaporized. The vaporized simply think that the vaporizers are just busy, going through a difficult time, or overwhelmed with family obligations. In fact, vaporized folks often create excuses for those who vaporize them because they can't imagine that they have been socially vaporized. The vaporizers treat the vaporizees politely when encountered, but that's about it. Vaporizers don't explain. That would be an unmerited expenditure of energy for people who don't deserve it.
Why socially vaporize someone? Because they're probably not going to change, you can't raise them (because we all know you can't raise grown people), and it would raise your blood pressure to be continually assaulted by their inappropriate or insensitive behavior.
So how do you decide whether to socially vaporize someone? Ask yourself the following questions:
1) How offended was I by what the offender did? If the answer is "extremely," then ask yourself:
2) Do we even have a relationship? If the answer is "no," vaporize them. If the answer is "yes," ask yourself:
3) Is this a relationship worth saving? If not, vaporize them.
Vaporizing someone is like forgiving someone. Forgiving someone is giving up the hope that the past will ever be different. Socially vaporizing someone is giving up the hope that the offending person will ever cease to offend you.
May the force of social vaporization always be with you.
Another Generation of Second-Class Citizens (Ferguson and Lionel Ritchie on My Mind)
Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) and I are jaded. Or rather, numb. We were not surprised by the grand jury verdict in the Michael Brown killing.
We both agreed that it was senseless to loot and burn the businesses of innocent business owners in Ferguson, especially if those businesses employed those in the community and/or were black-owned.
We both agreed that if Michael Brown had reached for the officer's gun, his fate was sealed, not because he may not have been justified in reaching for it, but because, once you do, your killing by a police officer becomes justifiable.
We initially disagreed about the way forward. Kind of.
"We have to teach our young men to be smarter," he said.
"Smarter?", I asked.
"Yes, smarter." BMNB explained that police officers act out of fear, specifically their fear of black men. The answer, he said, was to teach all our sons that police officers' fears can cause them to be killed and that, no matter what, there are certain things you as a black man can't say or do to a police officer and expect to live to tell about it.
"Damn," I said. "Do we have to raise yet another generation of second-class citizens? My dad grew up seeing black men lynched because they didn't address a white man the right way or they looked at a white woman too long. Your generation was raised not to run at night or make any sudden moves when stopped by the police. Black people have always had to raise our sons to expect to be treated as second-class citizens. Do we as black people have to raise yet another generation of second-class citizens?"
I hung my head. Then I remembered a story Lionel Ritchie told in an episode of Oprah Winfrey's "Master Class." He talked about growing up on the Tuskegee University (then Tuskegee Institute) campus and living in a racism-free bubble during segregation until he ventured off campus. He spoke of how when he was a child he drank from a white water fountain in town, and white men then started to threaten his dad. He just knew his dad was going to kick their behinds. His dad only told him, "Get in the car." Years later, he asked his dad why he hadn't stood up to those white men. His dad replied:
"Son, I had two choices that day. I could choose to be a man or I could choose to be your father. That day, I chose to be your father."
It made me realize that it isn't about being a second-class citizen. It's about having our young black men survive the experience and live to tell about it. If they don't live, they can't tell the tale of what happened to them. Only forensics and police officers put on the stand during their own grand jury hearings (WTH?) will tell the tale. And if young black men don't live to tell what happened to them, it can't be changed for the next generation of young black man.
"We need a protocol for all our young men to follow when they encounter the police. A protocol that we can all agree on, that's nationally recognized. I don't know if it's 'Hands up, don't shoot' or what, but we need a protocol that we all train our young black men to follow when they encounter the police. We need to teach that protocol in the churches and the schools."
"Then we need to train the police on that protocol," said BMNB. And then he said something that made me even more jaded:
"You know that every day there are black men who do all the right things when they encounter the police and still get killed, right?"
"Yes, I know." But we have to start somewhere.
#FeelingPowerless
#BlackLivesMatter
We both agreed that it was senseless to loot and burn the businesses of innocent business owners in Ferguson, especially if those businesses employed those in the community and/or were black-owned.
We both agreed that if Michael Brown had reached for the officer's gun, his fate was sealed, not because he may not have been justified in reaching for it, but because, once you do, your killing by a police officer becomes justifiable.
We initially disagreed about the way forward. Kind of.
"We have to teach our young men to be smarter," he said.
"Smarter?", I asked.
"Yes, smarter." BMNB explained that police officers act out of fear, specifically their fear of black men. The answer, he said, was to teach all our sons that police officers' fears can cause them to be killed and that, no matter what, there are certain things you as a black man can't say or do to a police officer and expect to live to tell about it.
"Damn," I said. "Do we have to raise yet another generation of second-class citizens? My dad grew up seeing black men lynched because they didn't address a white man the right way or they looked at a white woman too long. Your generation was raised not to run at night or make any sudden moves when stopped by the police. Black people have always had to raise our sons to expect to be treated as second-class citizens. Do we as black people have to raise yet another generation of second-class citizens?"
I hung my head. Then I remembered a story Lionel Ritchie told in an episode of Oprah Winfrey's "Master Class." He talked about growing up on the Tuskegee University (then Tuskegee Institute) campus and living in a racism-free bubble during segregation until he ventured off campus. He spoke of how when he was a child he drank from a white water fountain in town, and white men then started to threaten his dad. He just knew his dad was going to kick their behinds. His dad only told him, "Get in the car." Years later, he asked his dad why he hadn't stood up to those white men. His dad replied:
"Son, I had two choices that day. I could choose to be a man or I could choose to be your father. That day, I chose to be your father."
It made me realize that it isn't about being a second-class citizen. It's about having our young black men survive the experience and live to tell about it. If they don't live, they can't tell the tale of what happened to them. Only forensics and police officers put on the stand during their own grand jury hearings (WTH?) will tell the tale. And if young black men don't live to tell what happened to them, it can't be changed for the next generation of young black man.
"We need a protocol for all our young men to follow when they encounter the police. A protocol that we can all agree on, that's nationally recognized. I don't know if it's 'Hands up, don't shoot' or what, but we need a protocol that we all train our young black men to follow when they encounter the police. We need to teach that protocol in the churches and the schools."
"Then we need to train the police on that protocol," said BMNB. And then he said something that made me even more jaded:
"You know that every day there are black men who do all the right things when they encounter the police and still get killed, right?"
"Yes, I know." But we have to start somewhere.
#FeelingPowerless
#BlackLivesMatter
Don't Be a Volunteer for The Dysfunction Games (May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favor)
Gentle Readers,
The holidays are upon us once again. Mockingjay, Part I will be opening on Thanksgiving. This gave me food for thought:
Don't be a volunteer for The Dysfunction Games this holiday season.
I read "The Hunger Games," the first of a trilogy by Suzanne Collins, but did not read the other two books. I read it for a neighborhood book club composed of mostly stay-at-home moms. We were planning to read both "The Hunger Games" and the second book, "Catching Fire." I couldn't get past "The Hunger Games." I was deeply disturbed by the idea of young people being chosen as "tributes" to kill other young people until only one was left standing. I was even more disturbed by the fact that this was considered a YA novel and was being assigned in our local schools.
The stay-at-home moms loved the books. I questioned their taste and never returned to the group.
If you've read "The Hunger Games" or saw the movie, you know the hunger games portrayed in the movie are rivaled in real life by what I would call The Dysfunction Games: The weird, awkward, and oftentimes offensive social interactions that occur during the holidays when families with dysfunctional behavior and unresolved issues try to socialize in spite of their behavior and issues.
Truth be told, many folks participating in The Dysfunction Games don't know they're dysfunctional. They have no filters, no sense of boundaries, and/or no manners. And they're totally unaware, bless their hearts. They're old enough to know better but too old to be raised better than they were. All you can do is pray for them. And avoid them.
Then there are the folks I would call "The Volunteers." Like the protagonist in "The Hunger Games," Katniss Everdeen, they volunteer to be all up in the game. Like Katniss, they know the game is wrong, evil, and offensive. Unlike Katniss, they go in thinking they can change the game, i.e., get dysfunctional people to behave like they're not dysfunctional or, even worse, to see the dysfunction of their ways.
Don't be a volunteer. You ain't Katniss Everdeen. Here's why.
Katniss volunteered for The Hunger Games for a higher purpose -- to keep her younger sister from being killed in the games -- and with an edge -- superior skills as an archer. Even if you have a higher purpose, i.e., to keep Aunt Mae-Mae from slapping the piss out of Cousin Mookie -- you probably don't have the superior skills necessary to make this work. Unless you're a psychiatrist, psychologist, licensed clinical social worker or counselor, you do not have the skills to succeed in The Dysfunction Games. You need to sit your behind on the bench and just watch.
However, the most important skill to have is to know when you're volunteering. Did someone actually ask you to intervene between Aunt Mae-Mae and Cousin Mookie? Even if you were asked, did you decline? If your answer to either of these questions is "no," you're a volunteer.
Don't be. It's only going to get worse. Inevitably, someone will get drunk and start telling all the family secrets about affairs and the questionable paternity of some of your relatives. Trust me, you ain't Katniss Everdeen. You do not have an edge in The Dysfunction Games.
Happy Holidays. May the odds be ever in your favor.
The holidays are upon us once again. Mockingjay, Part I will be opening on Thanksgiving. This gave me food for thought:
Don't be a volunteer for The Dysfunction Games this holiday season.
I read "The Hunger Games," the first of a trilogy by Suzanne Collins, but did not read the other two books. I read it for a neighborhood book club composed of mostly stay-at-home moms. We were planning to read both "The Hunger Games" and the second book, "Catching Fire." I couldn't get past "The Hunger Games." I was deeply disturbed by the idea of young people being chosen as "tributes" to kill other young people until only one was left standing. I was even more disturbed by the fact that this was considered a YA novel and was being assigned in our local schools.
The stay-at-home moms loved the books. I questioned their taste and never returned to the group.
If you've read "The Hunger Games" or saw the movie, you know the hunger games portrayed in the movie are rivaled in real life by what I would call The Dysfunction Games: The weird, awkward, and oftentimes offensive social interactions that occur during the holidays when families with dysfunctional behavior and unresolved issues try to socialize in spite of their behavior and issues.
Truth be told, many folks participating in The Dysfunction Games don't know they're dysfunctional. They have no filters, no sense of boundaries, and/or no manners. And they're totally unaware, bless their hearts. They're old enough to know better but too old to be raised better than they were. All you can do is pray for them. And avoid them.
Then there are the folks I would call "The Volunteers." Like the protagonist in "The Hunger Games," Katniss Everdeen, they volunteer to be all up in the game. Like Katniss, they know the game is wrong, evil, and offensive. Unlike Katniss, they go in thinking they can change the game, i.e., get dysfunctional people to behave like they're not dysfunctional or, even worse, to see the dysfunction of their ways.
Don't be a volunteer. You ain't Katniss Everdeen. Here's why.
Katniss volunteered for The Hunger Games for a higher purpose -- to keep her younger sister from being killed in the games -- and with an edge -- superior skills as an archer. Even if you have a higher purpose, i.e., to keep Aunt Mae-Mae from slapping the piss out of Cousin Mookie -- you probably don't have the superior skills necessary to make this work. Unless you're a psychiatrist, psychologist, licensed clinical social worker or counselor, you do not have the skills to succeed in The Dysfunction Games. You need to sit your behind on the bench and just watch.
However, the most important skill to have is to know when you're volunteering. Did someone actually ask you to intervene between Aunt Mae-Mae and Cousin Mookie? Even if you were asked, did you decline? If your answer to either of these questions is "no," you're a volunteer.
Don't be. It's only going to get worse. Inevitably, someone will get drunk and start telling all the family secrets about affairs and the questionable paternity of some of your relatives. Trust me, you ain't Katniss Everdeen. You do not have an edge in The Dysfunction Games.
Happy Holidays. May the odds be ever in your favor.
Black Woman Blogging Solves the Ebola Crisis (You're Welcome, Federal Government)
NOTE: This post includes language not suitable for viewing at work or by the easily offended.
Dear Federal Government,
Not to put too fine a point on it, but you fucked up. Big time. You allowed a disease for which there is no known cure, only treatment, to come to our country, a place where it is not indigenous.
What the fuck?
Since you can't even keep the President safe, I can't trust you to keep me safe, and I'm far less valuable than the President. That said, let me dust off my Master's in Public Affairs from the Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs, Princeton University, (AKA The Degree I Never Use), concentration in Domestic Policy, and help y'all pull your heads out of your collective asses. It doesn't take a Princeton degree to do this.
Step One: Admit That You Don't Know How Ebola is Spread
The explanations for how Ebola is spread are not explanations -- they're theories. Y'all really don't know how it's spread, and until you admit that, we can't take the steps we need to take. First, everyone was saying that it's spread by contact with bodily fluids and not by airborne transmission. Now you have folks saying that if you're within three to four feet of someone with Ebola who sneezes, and the effluent gets in one of your mucous membranes, you might get it. And there are cases in which you're not quite sure how fully protected health care workers got it.
And then you have Dr. Anthony Fauci pontificating about how it's spread. Really? Isn't he the doctor who was first out of the gate saying that HIV/AIDS is spread by normal household contact? Despite all the work he's done since in HIV/AIDS research, I'm not willing to treat him as a credible source on the transmission of Ebola. I'd rather wait a few years after he's had a chance to study it. But we don't have a few years. We have a few weeks.
So, step one is to admit that you don't know how Ebola is spread so we can move on to step two.
Step Two: Ban All Travel To And From The Affected Countries, Except for Aid Missions
Yep, I said it. Ban all travel to and from Liberia, Guinea and Sierra Leone until this is under control in their countries. Why? Because they haven't contained Ebola where it started, and our only line of defense here is accepting people's travel histories on faith and taking temperatures at five airports. Really, Federal Government, that's the best you can do? For a disease for which there is no known cure and little if any experimental drugs available?
I call bullshit. You can't control what you can't contain.
Ban all travel except for aid missions, which leads to step three:
Step Three: Treat Affected Health Care Workers Where They Contract The Disease
Sorry, but if you leave America and get Ebola in West Africa while serving as a health care worker, you get to stay in West Africa and be treated. If you decided to join this battle, God bless you, but you knew what you were signing up for. You don't get to bring risk of the disease to the rest of us who didn't sign up for that risk here in America. Sad to say, but if more health care workers from America had to be treated where they contracted the disease, it would make step four move faster.
Step Four: Use Old Military Ships As Mobile Hospitals to Treat Ebola Patients in West Africa
Instead of trying to build MASH hospitals in the West African heat and humidity, use old military ships -- from all of the G-7 countries, not just us -- as mobile hospitals to treat Ebola patients in West Africa. Transport them out by helicopter. While the ships serve as mobile hospitals, build the land-based ones quickly. The key is to isolate the sick as soon as they are diagnosed, and as far from the rest of the population as possible. Nobody leaves the ships alive unless they are well. When it's all over, burn the ships and sink them.
Step Five: Quarantine Everyone Who Came to America From West Africa During the Outbreak
Yep, I said it. Quarantine every last one of them. And their pets, too. Sorry. Actually, no, I'm not sorry.
Step Six: Raise Money. Fast
Every one of the industrialized nations needs to do an EFT (Electronic Funds Transfer) to Doctors Without Borders like yesterday. Trust me, if Wal-Mart can demand same day payment for my past due credit card bill (I paid on time, just not the right amount), surely we have the means to transfer funds to the NGOs on the ground within hours, not days, so they can get all the life saving equipment they need.
Along those lines, where's the Ebola Telethon like we had for the tsunami victims in Japan and Thailand? Where's the Ebola fund raising anthem like "We Are The World"? Lionel Ritchie, you need to write a song quick, fast and in a hurry. Bono and Elton John, gather your celebrity friends and play Wembley Stadium. George Clooney and Don Cheadle, y'all need to run this shit. Madonna, wear a t-shirt that says, "Fight Ebola now" and try not to look anorexic while you're wearing it.
These six steps are a good start. Better than what the Federal Government is doing or is proposing to do.
You're welcome, Federal Government. Now, pull your heads out of your asses.
Dear Federal Government,
Not to put too fine a point on it, but you fucked up. Big time. You allowed a disease for which there is no known cure, only treatment, to come to our country, a place where it is not indigenous.
What the fuck?
Since you can't even keep the President safe, I can't trust you to keep me safe, and I'm far less valuable than the President. That said, let me dust off my Master's in Public Affairs from the Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs, Princeton University, (AKA The Degree I Never Use), concentration in Domestic Policy, and help y'all pull your heads out of your collective asses. It doesn't take a Princeton degree to do this.
Step One: Admit That You Don't Know How Ebola is Spread
The explanations for how Ebola is spread are not explanations -- they're theories. Y'all really don't know how it's spread, and until you admit that, we can't take the steps we need to take. First, everyone was saying that it's spread by contact with bodily fluids and not by airborne transmission. Now you have folks saying that if you're within three to four feet of someone with Ebola who sneezes, and the effluent gets in one of your mucous membranes, you might get it. And there are cases in which you're not quite sure how fully protected health care workers got it.
And then you have Dr. Anthony Fauci pontificating about how it's spread. Really? Isn't he the doctor who was first out of the gate saying that HIV/AIDS is spread by normal household contact? Despite all the work he's done since in HIV/AIDS research, I'm not willing to treat him as a credible source on the transmission of Ebola. I'd rather wait a few years after he's had a chance to study it. But we don't have a few years. We have a few weeks.
So, step one is to admit that you don't know how Ebola is spread so we can move on to step two.
Step Two: Ban All Travel To And From The Affected Countries, Except for Aid Missions
Yep, I said it. Ban all travel to and from Liberia, Guinea and Sierra Leone until this is under control in their countries. Why? Because they haven't contained Ebola where it started, and our only line of defense here is accepting people's travel histories on faith and taking temperatures at five airports. Really, Federal Government, that's the best you can do? For a disease for which there is no known cure and little if any experimental drugs available?
I call bullshit. You can't control what you can't contain.
Ban all travel except for aid missions, which leads to step three:
Step Three: Treat Affected Health Care Workers Where They Contract The Disease
Sorry, but if you leave America and get Ebola in West Africa while serving as a health care worker, you get to stay in West Africa and be treated. If you decided to join this battle, God bless you, but you knew what you were signing up for. You don't get to bring risk of the disease to the rest of us who didn't sign up for that risk here in America. Sad to say, but if more health care workers from America had to be treated where they contracted the disease, it would make step four move faster.
Step Four: Use Old Military Ships As Mobile Hospitals to Treat Ebola Patients in West Africa
Instead of trying to build MASH hospitals in the West African heat and humidity, use old military ships -- from all of the G-7 countries, not just us -- as mobile hospitals to treat Ebola patients in West Africa. Transport them out by helicopter. While the ships serve as mobile hospitals, build the land-based ones quickly. The key is to isolate the sick as soon as they are diagnosed, and as far from the rest of the population as possible. Nobody leaves the ships alive unless they are well. When it's all over, burn the ships and sink them.
Step Five: Quarantine Everyone Who Came to America From West Africa During the Outbreak
Yep, I said it. Quarantine every last one of them. And their pets, too. Sorry. Actually, no, I'm not sorry.
Step Six: Raise Money. Fast
Every one of the industrialized nations needs to do an EFT (Electronic Funds Transfer) to Doctors Without Borders like yesterday. Trust me, if Wal-Mart can demand same day payment for my past due credit card bill (I paid on time, just not the right amount), surely we have the means to transfer funds to the NGOs on the ground within hours, not days, so they can get all the life saving equipment they need.
Along those lines, where's the Ebola Telethon like we had for the tsunami victims in Japan and Thailand? Where's the Ebola fund raising anthem like "We Are The World"? Lionel Ritchie, you need to write a song quick, fast and in a hurry. Bono and Elton John, gather your celebrity friends and play Wembley Stadium. George Clooney and Don Cheadle, y'all need to run this shit. Madonna, wear a t-shirt that says, "Fight Ebola now" and try not to look anorexic while you're wearing it.
These six steps are a good start. Better than what the Federal Government is doing or is proposing to do.
You're welcome, Federal Government. Now, pull your heads out of your asses.
Facebook Got Stonewalled (Learn Your LGBT History)
Facebook got Stonewalled, but not in the way the term is usually used. As they say, those who don't know their history are doomed to repeat it.
Anybody who knows me knows I adore drag queens because they can be better at being women than women and yet deploy their male physical strength when they choose to. Nobody but a drag queen can dress like Diana Ross, throw shade like Bette Davis, and beat you down like Mike Tyson. As Wesley Snipes said in drag in the movie, "To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything," a drag queen is what happens when you have too much style for either gender.
Clearly someone at Facebook pulled the idea out of their ass that they would enforce their heretofore unenforced "no fake names" policy, and they decided to start enforcing the policy against, of all people, drag queens.
What part of Stonewall did this idiot not know? Did this idiot not know that it was drag queens who set off the Stonewall Riots? Drag queens who beat down police officers? If a drag queen would beat down a police officer, imagine what she would do to Mark Zuckerberg's puny ass?
And not only did Facebook pick the most unlikely group of people with whom to pick a fight -- drag queens -- but they started with one of the most famous drag queens in the world, Sister Roma of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.
What was Facebook thinking? The Sisters are perpetual icons of Pride Parades. If you were going to pick on some drag queens, why oh why would you pick one of the Sisters?
Well, Sister Roma fought back and threw shade, noting that Facebook had picked out drag queens as the first group against which to enforce their policy. Now, I'm not Facebook's lawyer, but I would have imagined that, with Facebook having its corporate headquarters in California and selectively enforcing its policy against a well known San Francisco drag queen, they were ripe for an Unruh Civil Rights Act claim, but hey, I'm not Facebook's lawyer.
That aside, Sister Roma did her thing and Facebook had to back down and, as they say in politics, "walk back" their policy.
So Facebook got Stonewalled.
Learn your LGBT history, Facebook, so you won't be doomed to repeat it. Pick on drag queens at your peril.
Anybody who knows me knows I adore drag queens because they can be better at being women than women and yet deploy their male physical strength when they choose to. Nobody but a drag queen can dress like Diana Ross, throw shade like Bette Davis, and beat you down like Mike Tyson. As Wesley Snipes said in drag in the movie, "To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything," a drag queen is what happens when you have too much style for either gender.
Clearly someone at Facebook pulled the idea out of their ass that they would enforce their heretofore unenforced "no fake names" policy, and they decided to start enforcing the policy against, of all people, drag queens.
What part of Stonewall did this idiot not know? Did this idiot not know that it was drag queens who set off the Stonewall Riots? Drag queens who beat down police officers? If a drag queen would beat down a police officer, imagine what she would do to Mark Zuckerberg's puny ass?
And not only did Facebook pick the most unlikely group of people with whom to pick a fight -- drag queens -- but they started with one of the most famous drag queens in the world, Sister Roma of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.
What was Facebook thinking? The Sisters are perpetual icons of Pride Parades. If you were going to pick on some drag queens, why oh why would you pick one of the Sisters?
Well, Sister Roma fought back and threw shade, noting that Facebook had picked out drag queens as the first group against which to enforce their policy. Now, I'm not Facebook's lawyer, but I would have imagined that, with Facebook having its corporate headquarters in California and selectively enforcing its policy against a well known San Francisco drag queen, they were ripe for an Unruh Civil Rights Act claim, but hey, I'm not Facebook's lawyer.
That aside, Sister Roma did her thing and Facebook had to back down and, as they say in politics, "walk back" their policy.
So Facebook got Stonewalled.
Learn your LGBT history, Facebook, so you won't be doomed to repeat it. Pick on drag queens at your peril.
Blurred Lines, Clear Karma (You Know You Want It)
I believe in Karma. I believe that what you put out into the world, good or bad, comes back to you. That's why I'm not surprised at the recent turn of events in the lawsuit about Robin Thicke's 2013 summer anthem, "Blurred Lines."
"Blurred Lines" re-created the same dilemma that any free-thinking and music-loving feminist faces: Loving the beat and the melody, but hating the words and, in this case, the video. Sure, we've all seen videos where women were nothing but sexual foils to the male artists in the video, but there was something creepy about the video, especially the topless version. Sure, Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" video made the women in it look like vacuous dolls, but this video made the women in it look like vacuous inflatable sex dolls. I'm not a big Robin Thicke fan, but somehow I expected more from the "Lost Without You" crooner. Before, he sang songs about loving women, while "Blurred Lines" smacked of undertones of grooming a woman for sexual exploitation like a privileged college frat boy rapist would. The graffiti in the video that read, "Robin Thicke has a big d***" was juvenile and over the top. Clearly no one cared about the sexism in the song and the effect it might have on young people. Sexism sells.
In their depositions in the copyright infringement suit against the children of Marvin Gaye, both Robin Thicke and Pharrell Williams admitted that Thicke did not contribute to writing the song. Thicke admitted he lied about helping to write the song in order to sell more records. He also admitted he didn't do a single interview sober in the aftermath of "Blurred Lines" and the MTV Video Awards twerking incident with the tasteless and boundary-lacking Miley Cyrus.
Here's where Karma comes in.
"Blurred Lines" led to a media blitz, a twerking scandal, and a picture with Thicke's hand planted firmly in the crack of the ass of a woman not his wife. His wife, the stunningly beautiful Paula Patton (notice Thicke didn't have her running around topless in the video in front of Pharrell and T.I.), leaves him, and despite doing an album in her honor and naming it for her, the album fails and he fails to get her back. He disrespected women and lost the woman he respected. Karma.
Pharrell also got a bit of a Karma bite back. The song for which he was nominated for an Oscar, "Happy," loses to "Let It Go." It isn't often that a music artist gets nominated for an Oscar. Is it a coincidence that he lost in the wake of all the "Blurred Lines" fallout? I don't think so.
Sure, you can put your art out there and not take responsibility for it. You can pass it off as just expression and, well, art. Just because you don't take responsibility for your work doesn't mean that Karma won't hold you responsible in some form or another. And maybe, just maybe, Thicke's behavior was a cry for help for his drug and alcohol dependence issues. Maybe he really wanted what Karma was handing out.
Blurred lines, clear Karma.
You know you want it.
"Blurred Lines" re-created the same dilemma that any free-thinking and music-loving feminist faces: Loving the beat and the melody, but hating the words and, in this case, the video. Sure, we've all seen videos where women were nothing but sexual foils to the male artists in the video, but there was something creepy about the video, especially the topless version. Sure, Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" video made the women in it look like vacuous dolls, but this video made the women in it look like vacuous inflatable sex dolls. I'm not a big Robin Thicke fan, but somehow I expected more from the "Lost Without You" crooner. Before, he sang songs about loving women, while "Blurred Lines" smacked of undertones of grooming a woman for sexual exploitation like a privileged college frat boy rapist would. The graffiti in the video that read, "Robin Thicke has a big d***" was juvenile and over the top. Clearly no one cared about the sexism in the song and the effect it might have on young people. Sexism sells.
In their depositions in the copyright infringement suit against the children of Marvin Gaye, both Robin Thicke and Pharrell Williams admitted that Thicke did not contribute to writing the song. Thicke admitted he lied about helping to write the song in order to sell more records. He also admitted he didn't do a single interview sober in the aftermath of "Blurred Lines" and the MTV Video Awards twerking incident with the tasteless and boundary-lacking Miley Cyrus.
Here's where Karma comes in.
"Blurred Lines" led to a media blitz, a twerking scandal, and a picture with Thicke's hand planted firmly in the crack of the ass of a woman not his wife. His wife, the stunningly beautiful Paula Patton (notice Thicke didn't have her running around topless in the video in front of Pharrell and T.I.), leaves him, and despite doing an album in her honor and naming it for her, the album fails and he fails to get her back. He disrespected women and lost the woman he respected. Karma.
Pharrell also got a bit of a Karma bite back. The song for which he was nominated for an Oscar, "Happy," loses to "Let It Go." It isn't often that a music artist gets nominated for an Oscar. Is it a coincidence that he lost in the wake of all the "Blurred Lines" fallout? I don't think so.
Sure, you can put your art out there and not take responsibility for it. You can pass it off as just expression and, well, art. Just because you don't take responsibility for your work doesn't mean that Karma won't hold you responsible in some form or another. And maybe, just maybe, Thicke's behavior was a cry for help for his drug and alcohol dependence issues. Maybe he really wanted what Karma was handing out.
Blurred lines, clear Karma.
You know you want it.
A High Hustle Quotient (What Tina Turner and The Tamale Lady Have in Common)
Whenever I hear people who are struggling financially or in their careers tell me what they’re not going to do to get out of their situations, e.g., “I’m not going to take work outside of my field,” “I’m not going to take the bus to get to work,” or “I’m not working at Starbucks,” I smile and think to myself:
Tina Turner cleaned houses.
After Tina Turner divorced Ike Turner, she was broke. If you saw the movie, “What’s Love Got to Do With It,” or read the book, you know Tina Turner came through her divorce without much other than her name. To get out of the financial situation she was in, she cleaned houses. Mind you, she cleaned houses not while she was unknown and still Anna Mae Bullock. She cleaned houses as Tina Turner, formerly of the Ike and Tina Turner Revue. Imagine the humility it took to go from singing and dancing on stage for thousands to cleaning houses for some of her rich friends. Imagine what it felt like to go from having a cleaning lady to becoming one.
Then there’s the Tamale Lady. A while back in the Sacramento area, there was this Latina who sold tamales in front of a local Wal-Mart. Someone dropped a dime on her (probably one of her competitors), and she was cited for trespassing, arrested, and ended up in immigration proceedings for not being here legally. There was a huge hue and cry in the community that the Tamale Lady got picked up for doing what she did best – make and sell tamales. It rankled even the free enterprise “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” conservative folks because the Tamale Lady was doing exactly what we’re told we’re supposed to do in America to succeed – work hard, do well, and don’t expect help from the government or anyone else. I believe she was eventually released from custody.
What Tina Turner and the Tamale Lady have in common is what I would call a high hustle quotient (HQ). What is a hustle quotient, you ask? To me, it is a combination of factors that predict how likely it is you will get out of the struggle you’re in and not end up in the same position again. These factors include:
1. Willingness to take any kind of work when you don’t have any, and to work multiple jobs
2. Effort and initiative in finding work
3. Willingness to work under difficult circumstances and do whatever it takes to get to work (e.g., take the bus at night, walk to work)
4. Willingness to learn from those you’re seeking help from
5. Willingness to do something different when what you’re doing isn’t working
6. An understanding of how you ended up in the circumstances you’re in and a plan not to end up in them again
7. Willingness to make hard sacrifices to get out of your situation, e.g., sell some of your shit
Why does a high HQ matter? It matters because it’s a predictor of how likely it is someone will have to help you again and, as a result, whether it’s worth it to help you now. No one wants to put their hard earned money down the rat hole of someone else’s unwillingness or inability to learn from their situation and make adjustments. Let’s explore these factors, shall we?
1. Willingness to take any kind of work when you don’t have any, and to work multiple jobs
It’s usually this first factor that is a sticking point for struggling people, usually young ones or those with newly minted bachelor’s degrees. I laugh inwardly when unemployed people with bachelor’s degrees tell me, “I don’t want to take a job that’s outside of my field.” Let’s be clear: Unless your bachelor’s degree is in engineering or computer science, you don’t really have a field. The only things your non-engineering or non-computer science bachelor’s degree qualify you for are to a) Get a teaching credential; b) go to graduate or professional school; or c) get an entry-level government job. A bachelor’s degree is the new high school diploma. My bachelor’s degree is in political science, which qualified me for exactly what I did directly after college – a minimum wage internship with a government agency and graduate school. The irony is that the internship I had at the California State Capitol as a high school senior had more prestige than the internship I had after graduating Stanford with a bachelor’s in political science. Go figure.
When you don’t have a job AND you’re asking other people to help you, you can’t be too picky about what work you’ll take AND expect people to help you, especially if they work shitty jobs or hate their jobs. No one is willing to subsidize your potential happiness and career satisfaction with their current unhappiness and career dissatisfaction. Why should you be happier than they are on THEIR dime?
2. Effort and initiative in finding work
However, it is usually the second factor – effort and initiative in finding work – that brings strugglers and helpers to blows, especially if the struggler is living under the helper’s roof. No grown person wants to feed and house another healthy adult person who isn’t working hard at finding a job or is picky about what they’ll do (see factor number 1). My father’s rule was that if you were an adult and living in his house, you needed to be going to school, working, or looking for work. He also believed and made clear that there were no other men in his house but him because, if you were a man, you’d be in your own house taking care of your own self. If he even remotely sensed that one of my brothers wasn’t going to school, working, or looking for work, he’d growl, “This ain’t no flop house. Get up, n*****!”
The point that my father was trying to make, albeit inartfully, is that there is a difference between being an adult and being grown. Adulthood is a matter of reaching a certain age; being grown is a matter of reaching and maintaining a level of responsibility for yourself and sometimes others. Not all adults are grown. Conversely, not all grown people are adults. My father was the second oldest of eight, grew up without a father, and worked to support my grandmother and his siblings, all before the age of eighteen. For the most part, my father has always been grown, even before he was an adult. When you have the responsibilities of a grown person without the income, you better make some effort and show some initiative in finding a job if you expect other grown people to help you.
It’s typically the second half of the second factor that gets under my skin – lack of initiative. I’ve had a struggler tell me, “I can’t apply for jobs online because I don’t have a computer,” to which I’ve replied, “Go to the library. They have computers.” The response: “But the library is far away. I’d have to walk or take the bus.” Precisely. That’s called initiative. And when you’re broke or don’t have a job, all you have is your initiative, which is your determination to overcome obstacles with little or no assistance from others. I have evolved to the point where your initiative only matters to me if you’re asking for my help. If you lack initiative AND are asking for my help, don’t bother. If you have little or no initiative AND you’re not asking for my help, party on, because I’m not affected by your lack of initiative. Mind you, when it comes to my relatives, it’s taken me a long time to get to this point of view on initiative when they aren’t asking for my help (because I despise laziness in all forms), but I’m there.
3. Willingness to work under difficult circumstances and do whatever it takes to get to work (e.g., take the bus at night, walk to work)
Willingness to work under difficult circumstances and do whatever it takes to get to work is a factor that rankles most helpers who are Depression and World War II-era folks, pre-civil rights blacks and people of color, or people who came up out of abject poverty. When a struggler tells a helper who grew up in the Depression, served in or survived World War II, lived as a black person or person of color in the pre-civil rights era of limited opportunity, or who came up out of abject poverty what they’re not willing to do or that they’re not willing to take a bus or walk to work, these helpers literally lose their shit because they HAD to do what the struggler is not willing to do to get out of his or her struggle. They had to walk to work or take buses. They had to work overtime – hell, my father thought that overtime was the equivalent of Christmas in July, and he took it whenever it was offered. These kinds of helpers had to take jobs that were hard, dirty or beneath them to take care of themselves or others or to get to the next level. They even left behind family and friends to find work in places where they knew no one. They came through hard times not of their making. When a struggler is not willing to do what a helper has had to do to survive, the conversation about help is pretty much over. Stick a fork in it; it’s done.
4. Willingness to learn from those you’re seeking help from
The strugglers who aren’t willing to learn from those they’re seeking help from just leave me shaking my head, especially the young strugglers. What they don’t get is that the people who are helping them are in the position to help them because they know some things that perhaps the struggler doesn’t, like how to get and/or keep a job, because those things never change. When a struggler, especially a young one, tells me that I don’t know about their profession or what they’re going through because the job market has changed since I was their age or that I haven’t had to find a job in a while, I just laugh inwardly. True, the job market has changed in terms of the number and kinds of jobs available. The qualities it takes to get and keep a job have not. I may not be successful at a lot of things, but I know how to get and keep a job. If someone who is struggling isn’t willing to learn that from someone who is helping them or in a position to help them, they lose major points on the HQ scale in my book. As Marianne Williamson says, the youth teach us about the things that change. Elders teach us about the things that never change. Word.
5. Willingness to do something different when what you’re doing isn’t working
The strugglers who aren’t willing to do something different when what they’re doing isn’t working amuse me. It’s funny to me when they insist on continuing on a path to nowhere and want you to finance the journey, then get mad when you suggest that they try something different. They want you to have patience with them continuing on a failed path. What they fail to realize is that it’s okay for them to continue on a failed path, but it’s not okay for them to ask people to subsidize their journey. If you’re not willing to try something different when you’re struggling, I have neither the time nor the inclination to subsidize you because your actions tell me you’re either not going to get out of your struggle or, if you do, you’ll be back in it again.
6. An understanding of how you ended up in the circumstances you’re in and a plan not to end up in them again
When strugglers don’t understand or don’t want to understand how they ended up in their struggle, it’s almost useless to help them financially. They think their struggle is purely happenstance and they didn’t do anything wrong, and that with time and money (yours), they’ll be back in the game without having to change what they did before. This may be true in the event of a catastrophe such as a death, debilitating illness, or an economic downturn (to a certain extent). It is not true, however, if the struggler keeps getting fired for the same reason, e.g., won’t go to work or keeps cussing out the boss, or if the struggler keeps insisting on finding work in a field where the jobs are disappearing, such as factory work. A struggler who does not see the role he or she has played in creating his or her struggle is doomed to continue struggling. At that point, giving them money is the worse thing you can do because they’ll go back to doing what they did before, thinking their timing or circumstances was off when if fact they were off. All you would be doing is subsidizing future struggle. I’m all for giving strugglers a financial time out to figure out how they ended up in their struggle and to plan not to end up in their struggle again; what I’m not for is giving a struggler money to go back and do the same stupid shit that got them in their struggle in the first place.
7. Willingness to make sacrifices to get out of your situation, e.g., sell some of your shit
Finally, if you’re struggling and asking someone for help, be mindful of this last factor. If you have more assets than the person you’re seeking help from, they’re not likely to want to help you until you get rid of your assets that they don’t have or can’t afford. Why? Because they’re not willing to subsidize for you a lifestyle that they can’t afford or have not afforded themselves because of the sacrifices they’re making to get to the next level or achieve a goal. Don’t ask someone for financial help when you’re rocking a Coach bag, rolling in a Benz, owning the latest smartphone, watching a 52 inch LED flat screen, or own two or more houses or vehicles when the person you’re asking for money or help doesn’t. I can tell you what that person is thinking: “You’re not willing to make sacrifices to get out of the situation you’re in, so why should I make any sacrifices to help you keep shit I can’t afford or don’t have?” An acquaintance of mine told me of how she was routinely hit up for rent money by a family member who rocked designer purses and got her hair and nails done regularly when the acquaintance was doing neither. Needless to say, the acquaintance stopped giving the rent money.
If you’re struggling and have assets that the person you’re seeking help from doesn’t have, you need to make friends with eBay or Craigslist or start your own Etsy store before you ask that person or anyone else for help.
So, if you’re struggling financially or in your career, start with an assessment of your own HQ before asking for help. What strugglers don’t understand is that a high HQ is almost like a high credit score – people are more willing to help someone with a high HQ because they believe in that person and that person’s ability to get out of their struggle, just as lenders are more willing to lend to someone with a high credit score because it is a predictor of whether they’ll get their money back. Conversely, a low HQ is like a low credit score when asking for help. If you need to build your HQ, you might want to start by cleaning houses like Tina Turner or selling some tamales like the Tamale Lady.
Can We Declare a Genocide of Young Black Men in America?
I have one question for President Obama and Attorney General Eric Holder: Can we declare a genocide of young black men in America?
I don't mean to be melodramatic, and I'm not naive enough to believe that there isn't enough already in America's mean streets and hard 'hoods responsible for the deaths of young black men.
But somehow, I never hear of unarmed young white men being accidentally shot by police officers or intentionally shot by wannabe vigilantes or old people with an aversion to loud hip-hop blasting from an SUV. I don't hear of any other race of young men in America being gunned down like dogs as often as young black men.
How many more have to die before we realize we have a problem?
Do I have to go before the U.N. to have a genocide declared? President Obama just authorized air strikes to avert a genocide in Iraq. Can we get an air strike or two up in the 'hood to avert the genocide of young black men in America?
I have yet to take down my "Justice for Trayvon" photo for this blog because, as soon as I think about taking it down, another young black unarmed man is shot down.
If indeed Michael Brown was shot while he had his hands in the air, that's murder. Added to all the other murders of unarmed black men (Trayvon, Oscar Grant, too many to name), this, to me, is looking like a genocide.
As someone who hopes to be the mother of at least one son, I'm at a loss of what to tell this son-to-be that he can do in the presence of police or other maniacs to make sure he doesn't get shot. Clearly, putting your hands in the air doesn't work (Michael Brown). Walking away doesn't work (Trayvon Martin). Lying face down with your hands behind your back doesn't work (Oscar Grant).
How many more have to die before we declare a genocide?
I call B.S., America. This IS a genocide.
I don't mean to be melodramatic, and I'm not naive enough to believe that there isn't enough already in America's mean streets and hard 'hoods responsible for the deaths of young black men.
But somehow, I never hear of unarmed young white men being accidentally shot by police officers or intentionally shot by wannabe vigilantes or old people with an aversion to loud hip-hop blasting from an SUV. I don't hear of any other race of young men in America being gunned down like dogs as often as young black men.
How many more have to die before we realize we have a problem?
Do I have to go before the U.N. to have a genocide declared? President Obama just authorized air strikes to avert a genocide in Iraq. Can we get an air strike or two up in the 'hood to avert the genocide of young black men in America?
I have yet to take down my "Justice for Trayvon" photo for this blog because, as soon as I think about taking it down, another young black unarmed man is shot down.
If indeed Michael Brown was shot while he had his hands in the air, that's murder. Added to all the other murders of unarmed black men (Trayvon, Oscar Grant, too many to name), this, to me, is looking like a genocide.
As someone who hopes to be the mother of at least one son, I'm at a loss of what to tell this son-to-be that he can do in the presence of police or other maniacs to make sure he doesn't get shot. Clearly, putting your hands in the air doesn't work (Michael Brown). Walking away doesn't work (Trayvon Martin). Lying face down with your hands behind your back doesn't work (Oscar Grant).
How many more have to die before we declare a genocide?
I call B.S., America. This IS a genocide.
Suicide, Depression, Forgiveness, and Robin Williams
Robin Williams starred in one of my sister's favorite films, "What Dreams May Come." In it, he portrays a physician who marries an artist (played by Annabella Sciorra). They later have two children, a boy and a girl, who are killed in a car accident. Although the deaths of their children bring them to the brink of divorce, they decide to stay together. Then the husband dies in a car accident and ascends to Heaven. Grief-stricken and unable to continue on, the wife kills herself and ends up in Hell, not as punishment, but because the pain that brought on the suicide creates Hell for her in the afterlife. The husband attempts what had never been achieved: Leaving Heaven to rescue a soul from Hell to bring to Heaven. He succeeds.
This movie resonates with the African-American Protestant upbringing of my youth to a certain extent: The idea that suicide on earth equals Hell in the afterlife. Like many other African-American Protestants, I was taught that suicide was the one unforgivable sin for which you most certainly would be sent to Hell. "Self-murder," my Baptist mother-in-law called it. My husband, Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), tells me he learned in his new membership class at his church that suicide is indeed forgivable. How can it not be when someone suffering from mental illness commits the act?
Whenever I hear of someone having taken their own life, I wince with the residue of the beliefs of my upbringing. Now, I question those beliefs. I can't believe a merciful God is incapable of forgiving someone who is so mentally wounded that he can't bear the pain of another day on this planet.
If suicide is indeed a sin and a forgivable one, I pray that God would forgive Robin Williams. If suicide is a sin and isn't forgivable, I hope God makes an exception for Robin Williams.
Growing up, I would have put Richard Pryor at the pinnacle of comic genius. But when you look at the versatility of Robin Williams, tie goes to Robin Williams. He wasn't like some comedians who were only capable of comedy that appealed to those who shared their race, gender, or class; he made comedy that was funny to everyone. His mind was so quick, so sharp, so able to bend into different characters, voices, you name it. And then he could play a dramatic role so moving, such as his roles in "Good Will Hunting" and "The Dead Poets Society," that he reminded you that, yes, he was a top-notch acting student from Julliard. He gave so much joy to the world and did such good works while he was here. He deserves divine forgiveness, assuming he needs it.
What should we take away from this tragic loss? Many things. You never really know what a person is going through, even if you think you do. People who are depressed don't always admit it because of shame and stigma. What looks like addiction to drugs or alcohol may often be self-medication of depression. Depression knows no boundaries -- it strikes the rich and the poor, men and women, and people of all social classes. Just because someone has all of the makings of success -- wealth, fame, etc. -- doesn't mean they are immune from depression or any other mental illness.
If Robin Williams' soul is in the Hell of my upbringing and of the movie "What Dreams May Come," he's worth some soul in Heaven taking a risk to save him.
Robin Williams, may your soul know the peace that eluded it on earth.
This movie resonates with the African-American Protestant upbringing of my youth to a certain extent: The idea that suicide on earth equals Hell in the afterlife. Like many other African-American Protestants, I was taught that suicide was the one unforgivable sin for which you most certainly would be sent to Hell. "Self-murder," my Baptist mother-in-law called it. My husband, Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), tells me he learned in his new membership class at his church that suicide is indeed forgivable. How can it not be when someone suffering from mental illness commits the act?
Whenever I hear of someone having taken their own life, I wince with the residue of the beliefs of my upbringing. Now, I question those beliefs. I can't believe a merciful God is incapable of forgiving someone who is so mentally wounded that he can't bear the pain of another day on this planet.
If suicide is indeed a sin and a forgivable one, I pray that God would forgive Robin Williams. If suicide is a sin and isn't forgivable, I hope God makes an exception for Robin Williams.
Growing up, I would have put Richard Pryor at the pinnacle of comic genius. But when you look at the versatility of Robin Williams, tie goes to Robin Williams. He wasn't like some comedians who were only capable of comedy that appealed to those who shared their race, gender, or class; he made comedy that was funny to everyone. His mind was so quick, so sharp, so able to bend into different characters, voices, you name it. And then he could play a dramatic role so moving, such as his roles in "Good Will Hunting" and "The Dead Poets Society," that he reminded you that, yes, he was a top-notch acting student from Julliard. He gave so much joy to the world and did such good works while he was here. He deserves divine forgiveness, assuming he needs it.
What should we take away from this tragic loss? Many things. You never really know what a person is going through, even if you think you do. People who are depressed don't always admit it because of shame and stigma. What looks like addiction to drugs or alcohol may often be self-medication of depression. Depression knows no boundaries -- it strikes the rich and the poor, men and women, and people of all social classes. Just because someone has all of the makings of success -- wealth, fame, etc. -- doesn't mean they are immune from depression or any other mental illness.
If Robin Williams' soul is in the Hell of my upbringing and of the movie "What Dreams May Come," he's worth some soul in Heaven taking a risk to save him.
Robin Williams, may your soul know the peace that eluded it on earth.
Summoning The Courage To Write About Dr. Maya Angelou (The Greatesst Lesson I Learned From Her)
A friend of one of my Facebook friends posted that he saw no sizable difference in the number of comments from African-Americans and whites about the passing of Dr. Maya Angelou and concluded that, based on the number of comments, she meant no more to African-Americans than she did to whites.
What the person failed to take into account was that maybe we African-Americans were just stunned into silence. Perhaps we could not find the words to express how we felt.
I know I couldn't.
What can any writer write about one of the most gifted writers of our generation? What could any one writer say that hasn't already been said by the obituary writers, friends, family, and luminaries?
With that in mind, I wrote nothing. That is, until I summoned the courage to write this entry and share the greatest lesson Dr. Maya Angelou taught me and perhaps others.
Dr. Angelou's quote about courage being the most important virtue because, without it, you cannot practice the other virtues consistently, has been repeated a lot lately, as well as some of her other memorable lessons: "When people show you who they are, believe them the first time," and "People may forget what you said or what you did, but they will never forget how you made them feel."
However, the most important lesson I think Dr. Angelou imparted upon all of us is one that she didn't speak, but instead lived: You don't have to be just one thing in this life. You can be many things.
How often do we limit ourselves, or allow ourselves to be limited, thinking trite aphorisms like, "Jack of all trades, master of none," or walking away from something we love because we don't have the requisite 10,000 hours supposedly needed to master it?
What if Dr. Angelou had settled on being only a cable car conductor? Think of all the other gifts she possessed and bestowed upon the world -- writing, dancing, singing, acting, directing, writing music, teaching, and being a civil rights activist and friend to the likes of Malcolm X, Dr. Martin Luther King, James Baldwin AND Oprah Winfrey! And she could cook, too! Oh my, what a life! She lived many lifetimes within one lifetime. Why? Because she didn't limit herself to being just one thing.
I've always had a penchant for doing many things and, combined with being a Gemini, that has caused me to be branded as uncommitted, flighty, indecisive, and a "master of none." But Dr. Angelou was writing music and working very late in her life. She did not let her age limit her creativity and curiosity. Even at an age when, statistically speaking, she probably didn't have 10,000 hours to master one more thing, she never stopped doing the many things about which she was passionate. Her refusal to recognize limits on what she could be is the greatest lesson to me and, in my view, to the world.
So summon up the courage to do all the things that interest you, that fuel passion within you. Don't care what people think. So what if you don't master any -- you're not being graded! Dr. Angelou believed that courage is the greatest virtue because you could not practice the other virtues consistently without it. I believe that courage is the greatest virtue because you cannot be your most complete and realized self without it.
Thank you and Godspeed, Dr. Angelou. And thank you, Stanford University, my alma mater, for providing me the opportunity to meet Dr. Angelou.
What the person failed to take into account was that maybe we African-Americans were just stunned into silence. Perhaps we could not find the words to express how we felt.
I know I couldn't.
What can any writer write about one of the most gifted writers of our generation? What could any one writer say that hasn't already been said by the obituary writers, friends, family, and luminaries?
With that in mind, I wrote nothing. That is, until I summoned the courage to write this entry and share the greatest lesson Dr. Maya Angelou taught me and perhaps others.
Dr. Angelou's quote about courage being the most important virtue because, without it, you cannot practice the other virtues consistently, has been repeated a lot lately, as well as some of her other memorable lessons: "When people show you who they are, believe them the first time," and "People may forget what you said or what you did, but they will never forget how you made them feel."
However, the most important lesson I think Dr. Angelou imparted upon all of us is one that she didn't speak, but instead lived: You don't have to be just one thing in this life. You can be many things.
How often do we limit ourselves, or allow ourselves to be limited, thinking trite aphorisms like, "Jack of all trades, master of none," or walking away from something we love because we don't have the requisite 10,000 hours supposedly needed to master it?
What if Dr. Angelou had settled on being only a cable car conductor? Think of all the other gifts she possessed and bestowed upon the world -- writing, dancing, singing, acting, directing, writing music, teaching, and being a civil rights activist and friend to the likes of Malcolm X, Dr. Martin Luther King, James Baldwin AND Oprah Winfrey! And she could cook, too! Oh my, what a life! She lived many lifetimes within one lifetime. Why? Because she didn't limit herself to being just one thing.
I've always had a penchant for doing many things and, combined with being a Gemini, that has caused me to be branded as uncommitted, flighty, indecisive, and a "master of none." But Dr. Angelou was writing music and working very late in her life. She did not let her age limit her creativity and curiosity. Even at an age when, statistically speaking, she probably didn't have 10,000 hours to master one more thing, she never stopped doing the many things about which she was passionate. Her refusal to recognize limits on what she could be is the greatest lesson to me and, in my view, to the world.
So summon up the courage to do all the things that interest you, that fuel passion within you. Don't care what people think. So what if you don't master any -- you're not being graded! Dr. Angelou believed that courage is the greatest virtue because you could not practice the other virtues consistently without it. I believe that courage is the greatest virtue because you cannot be your most complete and realized self without it.
Thank you and Godspeed, Dr. Angelou. And thank you, Stanford University, my alma mater, for providing me the opportunity to meet Dr. Angelou.
A Different Kind of College Commencement Address (People Don't Get What They Deserve)
Here's one of many reasons I will never be invited to give a college commencement address of any kind.
If I were going to give a college commencement address, it would simply be this: The lyrics to Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings' "People Don't Get What They Deserve, " especially the chorus:
Money don't follow sweat
Money don't follow brains
Money don't follow deeds of peace
People don't get what they deserve
Cruel, eh? Not really.
The lyrics to the beginning of the song sum up nicely the beliefs that many middle class, working class, and poor parents send their children off to college with -- work hard, do well, and you will succeed and prosper.
Not so fast, says Ms. Jones and the Dap Kings. That equation doesn't necessarily add up in today's world.
With the wealth gap widening, the student loan debt burden breaking the backs of our young college graduates before they even drive off campus for the last time, we do a disservice to them to allow them to think that things will work out just as we were taught. That was then, this is now. The ratio of what they owe to what they will earn is vastly different from when we Baby Boomers graduated from college. Mind you, I'm not trying to create an existential crisis for the Class of 2014 -- indeed, without a college degree, they'd be more screwed -- but I'm honest enough to say that their newly minted degrees may not take them as far as mine did in 1986. If, by chance, their degrees do take them far, there are equal parts achievement and grace fueling their success.
So, in the spirit of honesty, and bearing in mind that I will never be asked to give a college commencement address, not even at a diploma mill college, here are the lyrics to Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings' "People Don't Get What They Deserve":
When I was a child, I believed what they told me (every word)
To each one shall come what each one shall earn
And if I worked hard, nobody could hold me (hold me)
And cheaters will fail, that's what they all learned (cheaters never prosper)
There is a man who is born with a fortune
A hard days' work he's never done (livin' on easy street)
He lives from the sweat of other men's labor
And he sips his champagne and lays in the sun
Money don't follow sweat
Money don't follow brains
Money don't follow deeds of peace
People don't get what they deserve
People don't get what they deserve
There is a man who lives like a saint
He works from daybreak to late in the night
He's never stolen, he's never been lazy (not a day in his life)
To feed his children is always a fight (work work work)
I try to do right by all of God's children
I work very hard for all I could afford
But I don't pretend for one single moment
That what I get is my just reward
Money don't follow sweat
Money don't follow brains
Money don't follow deeds of peace
People don't get what they deserve
People don't get what they deserve
Congratulations, Class of 2014! No, I really mean it. You can listen to the song above. At least it has a good beat.
When I was a child I believed what they told me (every word)
To each one shall come what each one shall earn
And if I worked hard nobody could hold me (hold me)
And cheaters will fail, that's what they all learned (cheaters never prosper)
There is a man who is born with a fortune
A hard days work he's never done (livin' on easy street)
He lives from the sweat of other men's labor
As he sips his champagne and lays in the sun
Money don't follow sweat
Money don't follow brains
Money don't follow deeds of peace
(People don't get what they deserve) x2
There is a man who lives like a saint
He works from daybreak to late in the night
He's never stolen, he's never been lazy (not a day in his life)
To feed his children is always a fight (work work work)
I try to do right by all of god's children
I work very hard for all I could afford
But I don't pretend for one single moment
That what I get is my just reward
Money don't follow sweat
Money don't follow brains
Money don't follow deeds of peace
(People don't get what they deserve)
Read more at http://www.songlyrics.com/sharon-jones-the-dap-kings/people-don-t-get-what-they-deserve-lyrics/#CFPIEG5ieZercQRM.99
To each one shall come what each one shall earn
And if I worked hard nobody could hold me (hold me)
And cheaters will fail, that's what they all learned (cheaters never prosper)
There is a man who is born with a fortune
A hard days work he's never done (livin' on easy street)
He lives from the sweat of other men's labor
As he sips his champagne and lays in the sun
Money don't follow sweat
Money don't follow brains
Money don't follow deeds of peace
(People don't get what they deserve) x2
There is a man who lives like a saint
He works from daybreak to late in the night
He's never stolen, he's never been lazy (not a day in his life)
To feed his children is always a fight (work work work)
I try to do right by all of god's children
I work very hard for all I could afford
But I don't pretend for one single moment
That what I get is my just reward
Money don't follow sweat
Money don't follow brains
Money don't follow deeds of peace
(People don't get what they deserve)
Read more at http://www.songlyrics.com/sharon-jones-the-dap-kings/people-don-t-get-what-they-deserve-lyrics/#CFPIEG5ieZercQRM.99
When I was a child I believed what they told me (every word)
To each one shall come what each one shall earn
And if I worked hard nobody could hold me (hold me)
And cheaters will fail, that's what they all learned (cheaters never prosper)
There is a man who is born with a fortune
A hard days work he's never done (livin' on easy street)
He lives from the sweat of other men's labor
As he sips his champagne and lays in the sun
Money don't follow sweat
Money don't follow brains
Money don't follow deeds of peace
(People don't get what they deserve) x2
There is a man who lives like a saint
He works from daybreak to late in the night
He's never stolen, he's never been lazy (not a day in his life)
To feed his children is always a fight (work work work)
I try to do right by all of god's children
I work very hard for all I could afford
But I don't pretend for one single moment
That what I get is my just reward
Money don't follow sweat
Money don't follow brains
Money don't follow deeds of peace
(People don't get what they deserve)
Read more at http://www.songlyrics.com/sharon-jones-the-dap-kings/people-don-t-get-what-they-deserve-lyrics/#CFPIEG5ieZercQRM.99
To each one shall come what each one shall earn
And if I worked hard nobody could hold me (hold me)
And cheaters will fail, that's what they all learned (cheaters never prosper)
There is a man who is born with a fortune
A hard days work he's never done (livin' on easy street)
He lives from the sweat of other men's labor
As he sips his champagne and lays in the sun
Money don't follow sweat
Money don't follow brains
Money don't follow deeds of peace
(People don't get what they deserve) x2
There is a man who lives like a saint
He works from daybreak to late in the night
He's never stolen, he's never been lazy (not a day in his life)
To feed his children is always a fight (work work work)
I try to do right by all of god's children
I work very hard for all I could afford
But I don't pretend for one single moment
That what I get is my just reward
Money don't follow sweat
Money don't follow brains
Money don't follow deeds of peace
(People don't get what they deserve)
Read more at http://www.songlyrics.com/sharon-jones-the-dap-kings/people-don-t-get-what-they-deserve-lyrics/#CFPIEG5ieZercQRM.99
Feeling LIke a Stranger to My Happiness (Happy Anniversary, BMNB, and I Want to Be a Dapette)
I'm a huge fan of Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. On this day, my eleventh wedding anniversary, their song "Stranger to My Happiness" sums up how I feel. Not Pharrell Williams' "Happy," but "Stranger to My Happiness." Here's why.
I've finally gotten to the point in my life where all the pieces seem to fit together pretty well, and what doesn't fit, I've discarded. Changing jobs was a huge part of this happiness that I haven't felt in a long, long time. I don't wake up dreading going to work, I don't hold my breath until the weekend comes, and I'm not sour and cross with my long-suffering husband, Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB). My stress level is much lower, I sleep better, I feel better. I haven't felt this happy in a long time. I have, in fact, been a stranger to my happiness.
We don't realize that when we're stressed out, we stress out the folks around us. We take them through the same changes we're going through, and they didn't sign up for that. I just assumed that my more-centered, Teflon-spirited better half was immune to what I was feeling. He wasn't. Needless to say, he's happier, too, because I am. If you're stressed out, take a moment to consider how you're affecting the people around you, and take another moment to figure out how you're going to change the situation.
I've also given achievement a hiatus, if not a permanent injunction. After a lot of reflection, I realized I've felt like I'm an underachiever, having not lived up to the expectations I placed on myself and allowed others to place on me because of the opportunities I've had. My dad, in his twilight years, still longs for me to be the trial lawyer he thought he was raising and paying for college and law school for. Friends often say, "I thought you'd be on the bench by now." Old friends are surprised that with my credentials I'm working for the State of California, not even the federal government.
There's more to life than the law brass ring. It took time, reflection, and my career coach, Jennifer Alvey, to help me figure that out. Now, I'm tailoring my career to the life I envision for myself at this stage of my life. I don't want to keep achieving or attempting to achieve career success at the expense of time with my husband, connection with family and friends who have patiently waited for me to mend my neurotic ways, and fun. The things I really enjoy? Gardening, low-cost home redesign (I'm a Home Depot and thrift store junkie!) reading, hanging out with family and friends, listening to music, and writing. Instead of trying to shoehorn those vital, spirit-building activities around my work, I'm doing it the other way around.
So, on this, my eleventh anniversary, I thank BMNB for hanging in with me and sticking it out through the hard times. We've struggled with money, family members' health, clients we wanted to throttle, pets dying, and our own aging. I know there are many struggles ahead, but for right now, I'm just enjoying this state of happiness with him that I've been a stranger to, of my own making, no less.
That said, I want to be a Dapette. Not because I'm trying to add another achievement, but because, as you will tell from the video posted above, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings know how to have a good time. Ms. Jones has survived cancer (hence her bald head), and with an undefeated spirit and a voice that would make James Brown shout from the grave, she rocks her bald head AND their song, "Stranger to My Happiness." I'd love to be one of the Dapettes, the background singers who make the song rise even higher. I'd be happy just to lip-synch with them and dance to the music. More than anything, I want whatever it is that has made Ms. Jones not only a survivor, but a happy fighter. Her music and her spirit remind me so much of my mother.
So, if you're reading, Ms. Jones, Dap Kings and Dapettes, I'm ready to go on the road . . . .
Happy Anniversary, Black Man Not Blogging.
Non-Black Biological Mothers of Biracial Black Daughters: How to Build Your Daughters' Hair Esteem
It has happened twice in my life, once when I was in my early twenties, the other last week. The first time, I was so taken aback that I didn't respond. Last week, I did.
What is it, you ask? It was the following: Having a non-black woman who was dating a black man say to my face, "I hope our kids have MY hair." In both cases, the women were Latina.
The first time it happened, I was an exchange student in Spain speaking to one of my fellow Stanford exchange students. She was dating an African-American Stanford student who was on the football team. While discussing her boyfriend, and while wearing a sweater I had loaned her, she made her remark.
I was stunned. So stunned, I didn't respond. If she didn't want her children to have her boyfriend's hair, what did that say about what she thought of her boyfriend and his hair? Better yet, what was she thinking saying that to my face and my very visible African hair while wearing my sweater, twirling the ends of her long, straight brown locks while saying it, no less?
The second time was last week. Yet again, another Latina dating another black man said the exact same words: "I hope our kids have MY hair."
This time, I sprang into action, thirty years wiser.
"Oh, no you don't. You don't get to say that, and you don't get to think it. You don't get to make your daughter feel bad about her hair just because it isn't like yours. You're going to be her mother and you don't get to do that."
What I was too polite to say was this:
If you're thinking you can sleep with a black man and have kids with straight hair, you're fooling yourself. You need to prepare yourself to send that daughter out into the world with some hair esteem, no matter the texture of her hair.
And so begins this blog entry to non-black biological mothers of biracial black daughters: You decided to marry or sleep with a black man; you don't get to make your black daughter feel bad about her hair because it isn't like yours, precisely because you are her mother. Her feelings of self esteem and hair esteem will depend on the words that come from you, especially since she carries your DNA and probably looks like you.
I began a frank discussion with the offending woman and another woman who is a non-black mother of a biracial black child. Here's the jist of what I had to say:
1. Your frustration with styling her hair is not her problem; it's yours. You don't get to degrade her or the texture of her hair because it is harder for you to manage than your own. Your job is to make her feel good about her hair, no matter its texture, because the world is gonna do a number on her and she's going to need all the hair esteem she can get. Even if you don't feel that way, fake it until you make it.
2. You don't get to call her hair "bad hair" or "good hair," even if black folks do. Especially if black folks do. I don't allow the use of the terms "good hair" or "bad hair" in my home. We can discuss texture differences, but I don't allow anyone to put value judgments on texture in my home. I refuse to perpetuate that.
That isn't to say that black folks don't do this still. It's abhorrent. That said, you, as a non-black mother of a black biracial daughter, don't get to do that, and you need to stop anyone from doing that in her presence.
3. Get help. If you don't know how to style black hair, get help. If you see a black woman whose hair you like, ask where she gets it styled. Ask the women in your boyfriend's/husband/'s/babydaddy's family to educate you. And ask with humility and without disdain for your child's hair. You come to this in a position of weakness -- you need to learn how to do your child's hair, and you're probably going to have to ask black women who may or may not be too keen on the fact that you took a black man away from black women (even if he didn't even like black women) AND can't do the hair of the daughter who resulted from your theft. That said, a gift of flowers or some wine might not be a bad idea.
4. You can't straighten your daughter's hair by pulling it back tight; you'll only end up pulling it out. I've seen this time and again -- non-black mothers of black biracial daughters trying to fake the appearance of straight hair by putting tons of hair products and water in the kid's hair and pulling it back tight in rubber bands, barrettes, you name it. Ever heard of traction alopecia? That's when you lose your hair around the sides of your head from pulling it back too tight. Don't do that to your daughter's hair. Work with the texture she has, not the texture you wish she had, which leads to my next point:
5. If you don't know what you're doing, don't put any chemicals on your daughter's hair. I'm talking kiddie perms, Brazilian blowouts, you name it. These chemicals are usually some variation on sodium hydroxide (lye) or calcium hydroxide and can burn the child's scalp if left on too long. I wasn't allowed to get a relaxer until shortly before I left for college; my mother didn't believe in putting chemicals on her daughters' hair when we were young. She pressed a lot of hair for a long time, but to this day my sisters and I have full heads of hair and not a weave between us. Thanks, Mom.
6. Instead of emphasizing what she can't do with her hair, emphasize what she can do with her hair. There are a multitude of styles black women and girls can rock that people with straight hair can't -- braids, cornrows, twists, locks, pressed hair, relaxed hair, afros. Make it fun for your daughter and change it up so she can take pride in her hair's versatility. If you make getting her hair done a beauty ritual and add to it other beauty rituals like a mani-pedi, she'll feel beautiful all around.
7. Use hair care products that are good for black hair and wash black hair less frequently than white hair. I, for one, don't use Pantene -- it strips the crap out of my hair and leaves it feeling dry. I've switched to Wen, which doesn't strip my hair's oils. I've also heard good things about the Carol's Daughter line of hair care products. I also don't wash my hair daily and neither do most of the black women I know because of the drying effect that most shampoos have on our hair. Get advice on hair care products from your daughter's relatives on her dad's side of the family or from a stylist who specializes in black hair. If you're in the Sacramento area, I highly recommend Miasha Helton of It's My Hair -- she has done segments on "Good Day Sacramento" on styling biracial children's hair. And finally:
8. Give your daughter permission to tell people not to touch her hair. If she's outnumbered at school by kids with straight hair, her hair is going to be a curiosity to them. That doesn't mean that she should be some de facto museum exhibit that they can touch and feel. You need to empower her to tell people not to touch her hair just because it's different from theirs. She doesn't have to be mean about it, but she shouldn't be subjected to unwanted touching because she's different and in the minority. The analogy I make is that if you wouldn't touch Queen Elizabeth's crown, you shouldn't touch mine, and my hair is my crown.
With this, I hope I have empowered you to love your biracial black daughter and her hair, no matter it's texture.
What is it, you ask? It was the following: Having a non-black woman who was dating a black man say to my face, "I hope our kids have MY hair." In both cases, the women were Latina.
The first time it happened, I was an exchange student in Spain speaking to one of my fellow Stanford exchange students. She was dating an African-American Stanford student who was on the football team. While discussing her boyfriend, and while wearing a sweater I had loaned her, she made her remark.
I was stunned. So stunned, I didn't respond. If she didn't want her children to have her boyfriend's hair, what did that say about what she thought of her boyfriend and his hair? Better yet, what was she thinking saying that to my face and my very visible African hair while wearing my sweater, twirling the ends of her long, straight brown locks while saying it, no less?
The second time was last week. Yet again, another Latina dating another black man said the exact same words: "I hope our kids have MY hair."
This time, I sprang into action, thirty years wiser.
"Oh, no you don't. You don't get to say that, and you don't get to think it. You don't get to make your daughter feel bad about her hair just because it isn't like yours. You're going to be her mother and you don't get to do that."
What I was too polite to say was this:
If you're thinking you can sleep with a black man and have kids with straight hair, you're fooling yourself. You need to prepare yourself to send that daughter out into the world with some hair esteem, no matter the texture of her hair.
And so begins this blog entry to non-black biological mothers of biracial black daughters: You decided to marry or sleep with a black man; you don't get to make your black daughter feel bad about her hair because it isn't like yours, precisely because you are her mother. Her feelings of self esteem and hair esteem will depend on the words that come from you, especially since she carries your DNA and probably looks like you.
I began a frank discussion with the offending woman and another woman who is a non-black mother of a biracial black child. Here's the jist of what I had to say:
1. Your frustration with styling her hair is not her problem; it's yours. You don't get to degrade her or the texture of her hair because it is harder for you to manage than your own. Your job is to make her feel good about her hair, no matter its texture, because the world is gonna do a number on her and she's going to need all the hair esteem she can get. Even if you don't feel that way, fake it until you make it.
2. You don't get to call her hair "bad hair" or "good hair," even if black folks do. Especially if black folks do. I don't allow the use of the terms "good hair" or "bad hair" in my home. We can discuss texture differences, but I don't allow anyone to put value judgments on texture in my home. I refuse to perpetuate that.
That isn't to say that black folks don't do this still. It's abhorrent. That said, you, as a non-black mother of a black biracial daughter, don't get to do that, and you need to stop anyone from doing that in her presence.
3. Get help. If you don't know how to style black hair, get help. If you see a black woman whose hair you like, ask where she gets it styled. Ask the women in your boyfriend's/husband/'s/babydaddy's family to educate you. And ask with humility and without disdain for your child's hair. You come to this in a position of weakness -- you need to learn how to do your child's hair, and you're probably going to have to ask black women who may or may not be too keen on the fact that you took a black man away from black women (even if he didn't even like black women) AND can't do the hair of the daughter who resulted from your theft. That said, a gift of flowers or some wine might not be a bad idea.
4. You can't straighten your daughter's hair by pulling it back tight; you'll only end up pulling it out. I've seen this time and again -- non-black mothers of black biracial daughters trying to fake the appearance of straight hair by putting tons of hair products and water in the kid's hair and pulling it back tight in rubber bands, barrettes, you name it. Ever heard of traction alopecia? That's when you lose your hair around the sides of your head from pulling it back too tight. Don't do that to your daughter's hair. Work with the texture she has, not the texture you wish she had, which leads to my next point:
5. If you don't know what you're doing, don't put any chemicals on your daughter's hair. I'm talking kiddie perms, Brazilian blowouts, you name it. These chemicals are usually some variation on sodium hydroxide (lye) or calcium hydroxide and can burn the child's scalp if left on too long. I wasn't allowed to get a relaxer until shortly before I left for college; my mother didn't believe in putting chemicals on her daughters' hair when we were young. She pressed a lot of hair for a long time, but to this day my sisters and I have full heads of hair and not a weave between us. Thanks, Mom.
6. Instead of emphasizing what she can't do with her hair, emphasize what she can do with her hair. There are a multitude of styles black women and girls can rock that people with straight hair can't -- braids, cornrows, twists, locks, pressed hair, relaxed hair, afros. Make it fun for your daughter and change it up so she can take pride in her hair's versatility. If you make getting her hair done a beauty ritual and add to it other beauty rituals like a mani-pedi, she'll feel beautiful all around.
7. Use hair care products that are good for black hair and wash black hair less frequently than white hair. I, for one, don't use Pantene -- it strips the crap out of my hair and leaves it feeling dry. I've switched to Wen, which doesn't strip my hair's oils. I've also heard good things about the Carol's Daughter line of hair care products. I also don't wash my hair daily and neither do most of the black women I know because of the drying effect that most shampoos have on our hair. Get advice on hair care products from your daughter's relatives on her dad's side of the family or from a stylist who specializes in black hair. If you're in the Sacramento area, I highly recommend Miasha Helton of It's My Hair -- she has done segments on "Good Day Sacramento" on styling biracial children's hair. And finally:
8. Give your daughter permission to tell people not to touch her hair. If she's outnumbered at school by kids with straight hair, her hair is going to be a curiosity to them. That doesn't mean that she should be some de facto museum exhibit that they can touch and feel. You need to empower her to tell people not to touch her hair just because it's different from theirs. She doesn't have to be mean about it, but she shouldn't be subjected to unwanted touching because she's different and in the minority. The analogy I make is that if you wouldn't touch Queen Elizabeth's crown, you shouldn't touch mine, and my hair is my crown.
With this, I hope I have empowered you to love your biracial black daughter and her hair, no matter it's texture.
No, Sir Charles, It Isn't a Black League; It's a Black Players' Association
In all the comments on sports shows about the alleged racist comments of Los Angeles Clippers owner Donald Sterling (and yes, even old racists are entitled to due process, so until they're authenticated, they are "alleged" comments), the one that caught my attention the most was from Charles Barkley, AKA Sir Charles. In making the argument that, if the remarks were indeed Sterling's then he shouldn't be allowed to keep his franchise, Sir Charles argued, "It's a black league."
Well, actually, Sir Charles, it isn't. The players' association may be black, but the NBA is not a black league. It is a majority white-owned league with a majority of black players.
A couple of things also stood out to me. I don't think that Sterling just woke up the other day in bed with his partially black girlfriend and became a racist. If indeed he was sued twice for housing racial discrimination while he was the owner of the Clippers, why didn't the league question his ethics and morals then? Even better -- doesn't anyone find it the least bit troubling that he's still married and has a girlfriend? Last I checked, married is married -- until you're divorced, you're not single. If Sterling is doing the humpty dance with his partially black girlfriend, isn't that adultery? Oh, but no, that's just a man thing, easily overlooked by a male-dominated sport.
Anyhoo, back to my point. The NBA is not a black league. If it were, the majority of the owners would be black. Instead, it is a white league with a majority of black employees, er, players. This raises the question: If, as Sir Charles asserts, over 70 percent of the league's players are black, why haven't they all gotten together and pooled their money to actually own more teams? Why haven't they played for equity stakes in their teams? I would think that if that 70 percent got together and decided that 70 percent of the owners were going to be black or there would be no NBA, there'd be a sea change. Hell, what would happen if that 70 percent played to the end of their contracts, all walked away at once, and started their own damn league?
But no, instead, black players have not kicked down the door to majority black ownership using their own resources and market power. And guess what? When you don't own shit, you can't control shit. Sterling might be fined or suspended, but I doubt that he'll lose his franchise. Why?
Because there are probably more than a few NBA franchise owners who have said comments they'd just as soon the public not hear and are thinking, "There but for the grace of God . . . ."
Well, actually, Sir Charles, it isn't. The players' association may be black, but the NBA is not a black league. It is a majority white-owned league with a majority of black players.
A couple of things also stood out to me. I don't think that Sterling just woke up the other day in bed with his partially black girlfriend and became a racist. If indeed he was sued twice for housing racial discrimination while he was the owner of the Clippers, why didn't the league question his ethics and morals then? Even better -- doesn't anyone find it the least bit troubling that he's still married and has a girlfriend? Last I checked, married is married -- until you're divorced, you're not single. If Sterling is doing the humpty dance with his partially black girlfriend, isn't that adultery? Oh, but no, that's just a man thing, easily overlooked by a male-dominated sport.
Anyhoo, back to my point. The NBA is not a black league. If it were, the majority of the owners would be black. Instead, it is a white league with a majority of black employees, er, players. This raises the question: If, as Sir Charles asserts, over 70 percent of the league's players are black, why haven't they all gotten together and pooled their money to actually own more teams? Why haven't they played for equity stakes in their teams? I would think that if that 70 percent got together and decided that 70 percent of the owners were going to be black or there would be no NBA, there'd be a sea change. Hell, what would happen if that 70 percent played to the end of their contracts, all walked away at once, and started their own damn league?
But no, instead, black players have not kicked down the door to majority black ownership using their own resources and market power. And guess what? When you don't own shit, you can't control shit. Sterling might be fined or suspended, but I doubt that he'll lose his franchise. Why?
Because there are probably more than a few NBA franchise owners who have said comments they'd just as soon the public not hear and are thinking, "There but for the grace of God . . . ."
Pimpin' My Water
I live in California, and we're in the midst of one of the worst droughts ever. I'm old enough to remember the most recent worst drought during the '70's,when my dad did his part for water conservation by putting a brick in the toilet tank. Our governor has declared a drought emergency, halted deliveries of water to central valley farms, and asked consumers to reduce their water usage by 20%. It goes without saying that when the governor is willing to suspend water supplies to the state's largest industry (and no, it's not film making; it's agriculture), we're in dire straits, indeed.
The price of fruits and vegetables is going to go up. And Yours Truly likes homegrown tomatoes in the summer. How can I have my summer veggie garden AND reduce my water usage by 20%?
By pimpin' my water.
Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) and I are pretty water conservative. We don't run the washer or the dishwasher without a full load. We rarely wash our cars at home. Our lawn is watered by sprinklers on a timer, and most, but not all, of our shrubs are on drip irrigation. We have low flow toilets and low flow shower heads. Although our HOA told us we could let our lawn go fallow, BMNB isn't falling for it. "They'll be the first ones to turn around and tell you that you better get your lawn green after you've let it die." He'd rather take the hit and water the lawn instead of replacing it later on.
What's a homegrown tomato lover to do?
First, you start conserving. I've put a 5 gallon bucket (You can get them cheaply at Home Depot) in my shower, and when I run the shower to warm up the shower water, the cold water goes right into the bucket. I keep the bucket in the shower for any bodily runoff. Between me and BMNB, we're averaging about 5 to 7 gallons or more a day of reclaimed water from the shower. I take it an additional step by taking "sailor showers," which I learned from my dad, who served in the Navy. As one of six kids, shower time was at a premium when I was small. My dad taught us to wet yourself up, soap yourself down, rinse yourself off, and get out, all without leaving the shower running completely during the process. As much as I love long showers with continuously running hot water, a homegrown tomato lover's gotta do what she's gotta do.
After conserving water, you start pimpin' the water you have. That reclaimed shower water? I'm using that to water the shrubs that are on drip irrigation as well as the ones that are not, like my Heirloom and Fiesta roses and my Freecycle irises (I got them off of Freecycle). So far, they're looking good. I've told BMNB to turn off the drip irrigation. Most of our shrubs are drought resistant -- sage, lavender, Nile lily, rock roses, jasmine, Shasta daisies -- and can take reduced watering. The magnolias on our lawn are a bit more temperamental, but they get watered with the lawn. We're cutting back on watering the lawn, too, but not so much that it will die.
I also reclaim any water I use to wash any laundry or CPAP equipment I wash by hand -- panty hose, delicate blouses, breathing hoses, you name it. Not only do I reclaim the water they soaked in, I rinse each item over a bucket and reclaim that water, too. I even reclaimed a tub of bath water and watered my front lawn with it.
The water that would have gone to the drip irrigated shrubs? That's the water I'm using for my veggie garden. I don't know if it's a one-for-one match, but I'm betting that it is. I've always watered my summer veggie garden by hand, using watering cans. It's easier for me to keep track of how much water I'm giving each row or type of plant.. BMNB could not get comfortable with the idea of using reclaimed water to grow the vegetables he would eat (I'm sure he thought of it as "booty water," since some of it rolled off our bodies in the shower), so I had to be creative -- pimpin' reclaimed water for use on my drip-irrigated shrubs, using the water I would have used on my shrubs to water the veggies, and cutting back my total water consumption as much as possible.
I'm sure you're asking yourself, "Does she love homegrown tomatoes that much?"
Yes, I do. I really do. Besides, if I don't grow my own vegetables this summer, who will?
The price of fruits and vegetables is going to go up. And Yours Truly likes homegrown tomatoes in the summer. How can I have my summer veggie garden AND reduce my water usage by 20%?
By pimpin' my water.
Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) and I are pretty water conservative. We don't run the washer or the dishwasher without a full load. We rarely wash our cars at home. Our lawn is watered by sprinklers on a timer, and most, but not all, of our shrubs are on drip irrigation. We have low flow toilets and low flow shower heads. Although our HOA told us we could let our lawn go fallow, BMNB isn't falling for it. "They'll be the first ones to turn around and tell you that you better get your lawn green after you've let it die." He'd rather take the hit and water the lawn instead of replacing it later on.
What's a homegrown tomato lover to do?
First, you start conserving. I've put a 5 gallon bucket (You can get them cheaply at Home Depot) in my shower, and when I run the shower to warm up the shower water, the cold water goes right into the bucket. I keep the bucket in the shower for any bodily runoff. Between me and BMNB, we're averaging about 5 to 7 gallons or more a day of reclaimed water from the shower. I take it an additional step by taking "sailor showers," which I learned from my dad, who served in the Navy. As one of six kids, shower time was at a premium when I was small. My dad taught us to wet yourself up, soap yourself down, rinse yourself off, and get out, all without leaving the shower running completely during the process. As much as I love long showers with continuously running hot water, a homegrown tomato lover's gotta do what she's gotta do.
After conserving water, you start pimpin' the water you have. That reclaimed shower water? I'm using that to water the shrubs that are on drip irrigation as well as the ones that are not, like my Heirloom and Fiesta roses and my Freecycle irises (I got them off of Freecycle). So far, they're looking good. I've told BMNB to turn off the drip irrigation. Most of our shrubs are drought resistant -- sage, lavender, Nile lily, rock roses, jasmine, Shasta daisies -- and can take reduced watering. The magnolias on our lawn are a bit more temperamental, but they get watered with the lawn. We're cutting back on watering the lawn, too, but not so much that it will die.
I also reclaim any water I use to wash any laundry or CPAP equipment I wash by hand -- panty hose, delicate blouses, breathing hoses, you name it. Not only do I reclaim the water they soaked in, I rinse each item over a bucket and reclaim that water, too. I even reclaimed a tub of bath water and watered my front lawn with it.
The water that would have gone to the drip irrigated shrubs? That's the water I'm using for my veggie garden. I don't know if it's a one-for-one match, but I'm betting that it is. I've always watered my summer veggie garden by hand, using watering cans. It's easier for me to keep track of how much water I'm giving each row or type of plant.. BMNB could not get comfortable with the idea of using reclaimed water to grow the vegetables he would eat (I'm sure he thought of it as "booty water," since some of it rolled off our bodies in the shower), so I had to be creative -- pimpin' reclaimed water for use on my drip-irrigated shrubs, using the water I would have used on my shrubs to water the veggies, and cutting back my total water consumption as much as possible.
I'm sure you're asking yourself, "Does she love homegrown tomatoes that much?"
Yes, I do. I really do. Besides, if I don't grow my own vegetables this summer, who will?
No Experience Is Ever Wasted (Speed Dating for Book Lovers and My "Beloved" Moment)
No experienced is ever wasted.
~ Oprah Winfrey
Well, despite lots of preparation, attention to detail, and lots of publicity, no single men attended the Speed Dating for Book Lovers event I wrote about. Not. One. Available. Man.
To be honest, I was mortified. The worst had happened. Well, not the worst -- I had been having nightmares about potential damage to the African-American history quilts on display at our lovely venue, The Brickhouse Art Gallery, and that didn't happen. So the second worst thing happened. Epic. Fail.
I felt like I let the women who attended down. They were vivacious, beautiful, well put together, confident. Many of them were understanding and lauded my efforts and encouraged me to try again, maybe on a day not so loaded with expectation and meaning as Valentine's Day, maybe with more outreach to guys.
My team, which included Black Man Not Blogging, The Outraged Citizen and his lady, The Lovely SJ, as well as The Writing Diva, the Single Parent Goddess, and Brickhouse Art Gallery owner Barbara Range, immediately got to work at 5:00 pm and set up the tables and the food with oh so much care and attention to detail. The venue looked good and smelled good, too. I carefully selected the songs on four separate playlists of old school R&B ballads and jazz, which I'll include below. Black Man Not Blogging and The Outraged Citizen even dragged my dusty stereo system from the car, and Single Parent Goddess got both speakers working (she's a tech goddess, too.)
Yet. Not. One. Single. Man. Came.
After I had a little time to catch up on my sleep and put things in perspective, I asked myself, "If Oprah is right and no experience is ever wasted, what can I learn from this?" It was then when I had my aha! moment -- that this was my "Beloved" moment.
Remember the film "Beloved"? Remember how Oprah poured her heart and soul into the making of that movie, following on the heels of her success with "The Color Purple"? Remember how it didn't do well at the box office? I remember going to see it in a theater in Memphis, thinking that I wouldn't be able to get a ticket because surely in Memphis, a largely African-American city that was not too far from Oprah's birthplace (Kosciusko) and where she grew up (Nashville), this movie would be packed.
I was the only one in the theater. Even the projectionist had stepped away from the movie projector.
I remember how Oprah took that disappointment deeply and personally and how it shook her confidence in herself. It shook what she thought was her understanding of what people wanted. And it definitely made her not as eager to work in film.
Similarly, I had put my heart and soul into this event, thinking, like Oprah must have thought about "Beloved," in relation to "The Color Purple," that this speed dating event would be as successful as the last. Not so.
This was my "Beloved" moment.
Where Oprah and I part company on this same journey, however, is that I'm not going to allow this experience to shake me. I'm really sorry for the women who attended, because I hate to waste anyone's time. That said, I'm determined to learn from this and move on.
So, what did I learn from my "Beloved" moment? Here goes:
1. It's Never as Good as the First Time. Sade never lied. Just like "Beloved" was not as good as "The Color Purple," the second speed dating event was not as good as the first. And it was unrealistic to expect that it would be because, like "The Color Purple" and "Beloved," these two events were two different animals, purple tulips notwithstanding. Holding it on Valentine's Day put a lot of men off -- that day is just too laden with meaning and expectation. The first event was held on a random date that had no meaning and, therefore, no expectations.
2. I Don't Understand Men and I'm Not Willing to Learn. Although I reached out to a lot of men, especially black men, for this event, I did not know how to market to them. And, quite frankly, I don't know if I care to learn at this stage in the game. No, I'm not bitter. Here's the thing: Had I charged for this event, and even if I had sold every ticket, the profit margin would have been pretty small. I tried this event as a test to see if there was a market for it. I believe there is, but it is a market that will have to be cultivated and created, especially in Sacramento, where a lot of folks are unfamiliar with speed dating. Given the small profit margin, it's not worth it to me to learn how to market to men, especially black men, to make the event a success. What I do know how to do is to market to women and to create environments that women like, which leads to my next point:
3. The Part I Enjoyed Working on the Most Was Creating the Environment, Not Marketing the Event. When many of the women thanked me for my hard work, my response was, "I really enjoyed putting this event together." I did. I enjoyed putting together the look of the event -- the tablecloths, tulips, candles, books, even picking the songs for the playlists and putting them in just the right order. The women seemed to really like they way the event looked. That's when it hit me:
4. The Better Business Opportunity for Me Is Creating Environments That Women Like, Not Creating Events. Why? Because there's minimal business risk and a greater potential for larger profit margin for being paid for the service of making an environment look a certain way, whether its for an event or for staging a house to be sold. When you're paid for a service, as opposed to being paid when people buy tickets, you make money whether the event goes well or, in the case of houses, whether the house gets sold. It's like the difference between being Levi Strauss or a gold miner -- Levi Strauss made money on selling jeans and supplies to gold miners, whether the miners made money or not. The miners only made money when they struck gold. I'd rather be Levi Strauss.
5. Play to Your Strengths, Decide Whether to Work On Your Weaknesses. I have been told time and again that I have an eye for interior design or, as I would call it, redesign -- taking what people already have and adding to it at a low cost to create a space they like. At my old job, I "redesigned" a break room, my office, my co-worker's office, and two alcoves. It's an expensive hobby if you decide to do it as a labor of love. But one former co-worker told me she would hire me to stage her house when she decides to sell it. When people admire what you do and talk about paying you to do it, that's God's way of telling you your gift is also a business opportunity. That is my strength. My weakness is marketing to men. I've decided not to work on that weakness. My intention is to go into real estate and staging because, at the end of the day, the decision to buy a house is usually determined by a woman, not a man, even if she's not the one buying it. And I know how to market to women and create environments they like.
6. Instead of Hanging on to Your Idea of the Way Things Should Be, Make the Best of and Enjoy What Is. My second biggest regret, after wasting all those ladies' time, was not spending time talking to all of them. I was literally hanging out by the door watching and hoping for some men to come in, not unlike a child of divorce waiting impatiently to be picked up for visitation. And, like that same child, I was crushed when it didn't happen, so much so that I missed out on the opportunity to talk to and get to know all of these fabulous book-loving ladies. Luckily, some of them stayed, and they and the team -- Barbara Range, The Outraged Citizen, Single Parent Goddess, The Lovely SJ, Black Man Not Blogging, and myself, had a good ol' time discussing things we had in common -- ties to the South, growing up in LA (for at least two of them), and a whole range of topics. Quite frankly, I had a better time talking to these folks then I would have had shepherding people from one table to the other during speed dating. If I had let go earlier of my idea of what the event was supposed to be and had embraced what it could have been, I would have had a lot more fun, and so would have the ladies.
7. Tear Off The Band-Aid. The event started at 6:00, and many of the ladies were on time. I waited until 7:30 to call it off. I should have called it off sooner, but I was just unwilling to accept that it was going to fail. Black Man Not Blogging and The Outraged Citizen literally went trolling barber shops and coffee shops in search of men to bring to this event, to no avail. Finally, The Lovely SJ gently said to me, "Just tear off the Band-Aid. The faster you do it, the faster you'll get it over with." Mind you, I'm old enough to be her mother, but she was just as calm and wise as my own mother would have been. I called it off. Which leads me to my final lesson:
8. You Can Tell Who Your Real Friends Are By How They Treat You When You Fail. Barbara, Black Man Not Blogging, The Outraged Citizen, Single Parent Goddess, The Writing Diva, and The Lovely SJ -- not a one of them said anything negative about this event as it was going down in flames. Instead, they got to work behind the scenes, blowing up social media, trolling for men in barber shops and coffee shops, circulating and talking to the ladies I was too embarrassed to face, all to keep the event on life support for as long as they could. No shade was thrown, no sand pitched in my face. They knew that, with my obsessiveness and anxiety, I was at my most vulnerable, and they cocooned me in good deeds and kindness. They are my friends and family and I love them deeply for treating me as they did.
9. Heed the Need to Create. I have a creative side that I have let languish, giving it life on and off over the years. Working on this event made me realize that I NEED to create stuff, whether it's redesigning an office, putting together the look and feel of an event, or writing this blog. It's something I just need to do, whether it makes money or not. I need to create.
No experience is ever wasted. I thank the ladies who came out and I'm grateful to my team of friends and family for their support. BTW, the picture above is of the event, and that's me in the middle. And below are the playlists I promised. If you choose to download the songs from iTunes, I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed putting them together.
Happy Belated Valentine's Day,
BWB
Speed Dating Playlist # 1
"Blessed," The Emotions
"Portuguese Love," Teena Marie
"Wild Child," Tony!Toni!Tone!
"Holy Smokes and Gee Whiz," Tony!Toni!Tone!
"My Love Is Your Love," Whitney Houston
"You and I," George Michael
"I Apologize," Anita Baker
"Angel," Anita Baker
"Fire and Desire," Teena Marie and Rick James
"Deja Vu (I've Been Here Before)," Teena Marie
"Hollywood," Rufus feat. Chaka Khan
"Everlasting Love," Rufus feat. Chaka Khan
"For All We Know," Donny Hathaway
"A Song for You," Donny Hathaway
Speed Dating Playlist # 2 -- Double Takes
"Anyone Who Had A Heart," Dionne Warwick
"Anyone Who Had A Heart," Luther Vandross
"Stairway to Heaven," The O'Jays
"Stairway to Heaven," Pure Soul
"The Makings of You," Gladys Knight and The Pips
"The Makings of You," Aretha Franklin
"Look Into Your Heart," Aretha Franklin
"Look Into Your Heart," Whitney Houston
"Cherish The Day," Sade
"Cherish The Day," J. Spencer
"A House Is Not A Home," Dionne Warwick
"A House Is Not A Home," Luther Vandross
Speed Dating Playlist # 3
"Valentine Love," Michael Henderson
"Here We Go," Minnie Riperton
"Hope That We Can Be Together Soon," Harold Melvin & The Bluenotes
"Feels Good," Rahsaan Patterson
"Half Crazy" Musiq
"I've Got So Much To Give," Barry White
"How Do I Know I Love You," Howard Hewitt
"A Love of Your Own," Howard Hewitt
"Wildflower," Skylark
"My First Love," Avant feat. Keke Wyatt
"Natural High," Bloodstone
"Don't Let Me Be Lonely Tonight," Boney James
"A Sunday Kind of Love," Etta James
"Didn't I Blow Your Mind This Time," The Delfonics
"Maybe Tomorrow," The Jackson 5
"I"ll Be There," The Jackson 5
"You and I," Stephanie Mills
"Feel the Fire," Stephanie Mills
Speed Dating Playlist # 4
"Just To Keep You Satisfied," Howard Hewitt
"A Different Kind of Love Song," Pharez Whitted
"A Long Walk, " Jill Scott
"Inside My Love," Minnie Riperton
"This Woman's Work," Maxwell
"Mello Sumthin (The Hush)," Maxwell
"Never Keeping Secrets," Babyface
"Let's Wait A While," Janet Jackson
"Taking A Chance On Love," Gabrielle Goodman
"For The First Time In My Life," Gabrielle Goodman
"Heaven Sent," Keyshia Cole
"How Can You Mend A Broken Heart," Al Green
"Charlene," Anthony Hamilton
"Forever, For Always, For Love," Lalah Hathaway
"The Point of It All," Anthony Hamilton
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