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Synapse Snap

The connection between my brain and mouth…the one that lets you think a thought and not have it immediately come flying out of your mouth…does not always shoot on all cylinders.  I know…the f-bomb at the pulpit was a strong indicator of this problem.  There have been other incidents though…not all surrounding ceremonial events.  Yesterday there was a humdinger.  A gem that makes me think I should perhaps look for medication to strengthen the synapses.

So my job requires me to work closely with judges, and of course yesterday’s “situation” (shout out Jersey Shore!) was in front of three of them.  I comfort myself with the knowledge…the judges knew what they were getting when they hired me (twice).

When I was initially hired for the job, the final phase of the extensive interview process for this job (which also included an 8 hour writing exam) included an interview conducted by 5 of the judges.  I am generally pretty good in interviews…in fact there’s only one job that I’ve seriously interviewed for that I didn’t get either offered the job I was applying for a different job within the same organization.  It’s a situation that is very comfortable for me.  (I think my comfort levels are a big part of the problem).  Add to that the fact that I’m very comfortable with judges, having been around them most of my life as well as other high powered, influential sorts, and that I have a natural irreverent streak which comes out most strongly in the presence of those before whom others kowtow…and you can see we’re heading for trouble.

So, at my interview…things are going swimmingly until Stephens asks me something along the lines of what are my weaknesses and how have they affected me at work…or something like that.  So, I know the basic rule is you’re supposed to do something like “I work too hard.”  Or some crap like that.  But I don’t like those kinds of answers because I think they’re a copout.  So, I start my brilliant answer which is along the lines of “I’m not tolerant with or patient of a lot bullshit, and that intolerance sometimes made it difficult to be a litigator because there’s a lot of bullshit stuff in litigation.”  Literally, this is what starts to come out of my mouth.  In an interview.  With judges.  Bullshit.

I get to the “b” in bullshit, and realize what is about to come out of my mouth and through pure force of will manage to stop at the “b”.  And, now I’m stuck.  Seriously…my mouth is still forming the “b” (which if you check is not exactly a subtle position for your mouth)….and I can think of nothing except the word bullshit.  Fantastic.  I’m faced with the choice of either cussing in an interview or remaining silent the rest of the time.  As the clock ticks, Stephens and Smith start grinning because everyone in the room knows what I was going to say…and knows the conundrum I’m in and they’re just waiting to see what I do to get out of it.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to think of anything other than bullshit and I can’t.  I can’t think of “b.s.”, “bull”, “baloney”, “malarkey”, “hooey”, “nonsense”, “bunk”, “hogwash”…nothing, nada, zip, zilch.  After what seemed like about 20 minutes, I managed to spit out “bull” (not all that dignified in an interview, but better than a full on “bullshit” and I considered it a significant victory over my sailor mouth and defective synapses.)

Given that beginning (from which they hired me anyway), they really shouldn’t have been surprised by yesterday’s events.

Let me set the stage….Thursdays we present our cases to the judges.  We all get dressed in our professional clothes and prepare ourselves to be grilled about our cases.  It’s among the more formal aspects of the job…although still not really super formal.  We present the cases to a panel of 3 judges.

Yesterday’s panel was Smith (yes, from the interview), Sills (who shares my strong appreciation of a fine pair of shoes) and Stephens (also from the interview….seriously dignified and close friends with the Reverend whose ordination has been previously discussed…and no, Stephens was not involved in any inappropriate behavior at the ceremony.)

So, I was the last person of the day (because my cases were hard and I wanted extra time to work them up) I go in and Sills immediately comments on my shoes (which were these totally super cute black patent edgy Mary Jane types with a pointy toe)…which then leads into a general discussion of shoes.  Smith opines about women wearing shoes for other women because men never notice.  I support his point (even though I do not accept the premise entirely),  by mentioning that when I know that Sills will be on the panel I dress from the shoes up.  Sills notes that another male judge (not present at the time) always notices shoes.  Stephens pipes up and says he likes Sills’ shoes.  He noticed them before and thought they were very nice and elegant.  Then Smith compliments my sweater, says it’s a nice color.  Well now I’m embarrassed, so I try to move the conversation on…and for reasons entirely unclear to me, I start quoting Jane Austen.  People…I never said I was rational.  Then Smith asks me to tell him the truth, do they make pants for men in anything other than khaki…and I say that I’ve heard rumors on the street that say it is so….as I’m looking over at Stephens in his gray flannel slacks.  Yes, this is my life.

Eventually I get to present my cases.  Well into the process, Smith does 3 rapid sneezes…and says “Kelly, I think I’m allergic to your sweater.”  I say (without a moment’s hesitation….or frankly thought)…”Too bad.  I’m not taking it off.”  To a judge?  In front of other judges?  That’s nice Kelly.  Do you think I can claim Tourette’s?

Warning: The Hell Express

It’s no secret to those close to me that there is a good chance I’m on the hell express. Mostly I try to live a good life, be kind and generous of spirit and all that stuff…but every now and then, extreme moments of the inappropriate, snarky and irreverent sneak in (not to mention my unholy addiction to trashy reality tv) and I think…oh man, there’s more evidence I’m on the hell express. Generally, I take comfort in the fact that those same people who know I’m on the hell express are likely there with me….in fact, we exchange stories and calculate which car we’ll be riding in on the train. Good deeds move us towards the caboose….”bad” moments toward the conductor car.

My likely ride on the hell express probably began with my early religious “training”….or, in other words, with my grandmother. Although my parents expressly forbade it, she snuck and had me baptized in secret….because her granddaughter wasn’t going to be a pagan baby consigned to live eternity Limbo. Really? This can’t be a good way to start your relationship with God. There were also a number of times I was instructed to lie to my parents about having attended various church functions. Of course, this is the same grandmother who had previously told my father that he could eat bologna sandwiches for lunch on Friday (despite the Church’s edict about fish on Fridays) because the pope had granted a special dispensation to working class families. Not only was there no such dispensation, but my grandfather was a court reporter…not a longshoreman.

Also, despite her piety, I suspect she only knew one saint….because virtually anything elicited the response “I’ll light a candle to St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes.” or “I’ll say a prayer to St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes.” Yes, we got his full title each and every time. Also, sometimes the full title wasn’t all that helpful. It doesn’t really inspire self-confidence when you say, “Mimi, I have a math test tomorrow” and this elicits an announcement of prayer to St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes. Just saying. She would also smack us in the back of the head for taking the Lord’s name in vain, but would regularly say “Jesus H. Christ” or “Jesus, Mary & Joseph”. When challenged on this, without taking a pause and while maintaining a straight face, she informed me that if you add His middle initial or included the rest of His family it wasn’t taking His name in vain. When I asked how she knew his middle initial….smack in the head. Okay.

Adding to this beginning, I will admit…. there have been a few church related “incidents”….usually involving events like weddings…and now apparently also including ordinations. That’s right, actual priests becoming priests type events.

The first such incident was at my friends A-M & Pete’s wedding at St. Brendan’s in San Francisco.  A-M had asked me to do a reading (she chose the one about “obedient and silent wives” purposely because she didn’t think I would make it through…her dad didn’t think I’d make it through either and he threatened to make faces at me during the service trying to get me to crack…I told you my friends were going to be there with me on the hell express.)  So, we’re at the rehearsal and  the old (and I mean VERY old) priest tells me I’ll be doing the reading from the pulpit….which made me a little nervous seeing as I’m not really the best Catholic (shocking given my background, I know) So he tells me I’ll be reading the obedient and silent wife passage from the pulpit and as I step cautiously to the pulpit, I look heavenward and say “I hope lightening doesn’t strike”  Most everyone laughed….except the very old priest.  He was not amused.  So, I tamped down on the irreverent commentary and moved through the rest of the rehearsal in hopeful anonymity and obedient silence.  

Until the old priest asks the wedding party, “Now, who will be taking communion?”  Literally everyone raises their hands….except me.  The priest gives me that looking down on you through bushy old man eyebrows condemning, you shall burn in hell look…and I explain “I’m not in a state of grace.” He starts to speak, clearly about to offer to take my confession, and I interrupt “And we don’t have time to get me there.”  At which point A-M’s dad practically pees his pants and the old priest is about ready to banish and excommunicate me.   I managed to get through the wedding and the reading without either laughing at the silent/obedient wife (in spite of the fact that A-M’s dad did actually make faces at me during the reading) and without being stricken down by lightening, which I considered a significant sign of God’s good and forgiving nature…and clear evidence He likes a laugh…even in church.

Fast forward a few years, to my friends Carin & Christopher’s wedding at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament in Sacramento (the BIG Catholic church in town).  Again, I’m asked to do a reading (and yes, I did warn her about the prior incident…but she chose to have me read Corinthians love is patient and kind bit, so I’m guessing she thought she was on safer hallowed ground).  So everything goes fine at the rehearsal…and the priest is a young laidback hip priest dude cracking jokes, etc….so I’m figuring I should be ok.  He even said I could take communion even though I wasn’t in a state of grace (which is totally not correct… like mortal sin version of not correct….so I’m not sure how good his priest credentials are…I’m assuming he was legal, but maybe I should tell them to check…but still he didn’t give me the immediately condemned to hell look, so I appreciated that)  So I’m thinking everything is golden.  

Now, by this time, my eyesight has deteriorated (pre Lasik)…which means I require glasses.  However, I suffer the sin of a certain amount of vanity and didn’t want to do the reading in my glasses…so I had printed up a special copy of my reading that was in extra huge print so I could read it without my glasses.  Carin had asked me to go to the church early to make sure everything was as it should be and to help get the grandmas situated (walkers, etc. you know).  The priest, being a nice helpful sort…had also printed out each person’s reading on a card and put them in order on the pulpit.  He’s showing us this and then he walks away from the pulpit.  Me and the other people are sort of coordinating ourselves, when I look down at the cards and say (under my breath) “I can’t fucking read that.”  I look up and see both grandmothers frozen in the aisle…and the priest comes forward and whispers to me “The mic is on.”  Holy Jesus, Mary & Joseph!!!!  Really, Kelly?…the F-bomb?… in church?…at the pulpit? So on the hell express. Again, though I made it through the reading without lightening or plague striking…another sure sign God is forgiving …and enjoys a laugh in church.

Things were uneventful until yesterday (ok, surprisingly I didn’t really get asked to do too many more readings…whatevs)….and then it wasn’t so much me (ok, I had some minor involvement)…mostly some of the people I was with….but there’s that whole birds of a feather business.

So I went, with a number of friends, to a mutual friend’s ordination as an Episcopal priest (this is the same man who was earlier ordained as a deacon when I thought the invitation said red shoes were required attire…I know, what could go wrong?). Obviously, this is a big deal…full church…although not a high mass like when he was ordained as a deacon (which I don’t entirely understand but there you go).  

Anyway… I will skip over the part where Paula and I got shushed (and scolded and given the major hairy eyeball) by the mean old church lady in front of us because we were laughing (not during the services mind you, but during the musical prelude when, by the way, everyone else was talking too…it was kind of like shushing someone during the dancing popcorn and soda before the movie).  She not only shushed us, she attempted to shame us…. concluding with, “we are in church after all” and then she kind of harrumphed us.  But I was totally the better person and all Christian about it and I forgave her…when we were doing the “lord be with yous”, I not only “lord be withed her”….I also apologized and told her I hadn’t intended any disrespect…this flummoxed her but good.  HA! I win!!! What? That was totally Christian of me.  I really wanted to tell her “Laughter is pleasing to God, and my continuing life is evidence of his grace and blessing”…but I didn’t want to give her a coronary…because I’m Christian like that.

I will also skip over the part where Paula, Frank and Jess totally cut in line to take communion and Paula kicked some lady on the way to get to communion (ok that was an accident and I totally would have laughed, except for I had been duly chastened by the mean old church lady…and frankly, they scare me).  I will, however, mention that I did save Frank’s wife from what is at least a venial sin and actually I think a mortal sin because she’s Catholic (and actually regularly goes to Catholic church and takes communion…so I’m guessing she is in a state of grace, which I’m still not in) and she was thinking of taking communion at the Episcopal church…and I told her that was a big fat hairy no-no.  (Ok I didn’t call it a hairy no-no…but I let her know she wasn’t supposed to do it…and it is a big bad).   I also wasn’t able to save Kathy from the communion sin, but she came up with a dispensation worthy of my grandmother, with some business about she wasn’t a “born” Catholic, because her father was Catholic, but not her mother…so I think she was beyond saving anyway. But no, that was not the worst behavior of any of our group at the church.  

The conductor of the hell express will be John. John actually left the service at the point when they were passing the offeratory plate!!!!!  Really???? I mean I get it if you don’t want to give money, that’s totally cool and doesn’t remotely qualify you for the hell express (and, not that I’m judging but mean old church lady totally didn’t give…just saying)…but to leave in the middle of the services where your friend is being ordained as a priest….that’s bad.  Even Paula said “He’s totally going to hell for that” Thank God, the mean old church lady didn’t see him…I’m pretty sure she would have started speaking in tongues.

Pretty much the only people in my party who acted with appropriate dignity and respect for the church and the service…thereby avoiding a ride on the hell express…was the lesbian couple. Go figure.

(Names have been changed to protect potential riders on the hell express from public censure)

Deflector Shields Up

There are times when I know I’m inappropriate….too many times really to spell them all out.  In particular, I know I have a largely inappropriate sense of humor…some would say warped.  While that’s always been the case, the situation has been exacerbated by my job, in which I have to read about some pretty horrible stuff on a daily basis.  The warped sense of humor acts as a sort of deflector shield like on Star Trek…so the bad stuff doesn’t weigh me down.   So, invariably, the humor deflector shields go up at largely inappropriate times….like funerals.

So, today I’m watching funeral of  Senator Edward Kennedy and Yo Yo Ma is playing a cello piece.  I love Yo Yo Ma…and I am always moved when he plays the cello.  So, I’m watching and being moved by the beautiful Bach piece…and all of a sudden it pops into my head….is Yo Yo Ma the ONLY cellist in the country.  I mean, he’s the guy at every event….the West Wing, Sesame Street, The Simpsons, the Colbert Report and Hyundai commercials, a duet with Condolezza Rice, the first performer at the 9/11 Memorial, Opening Ceremonies at the 2002 Olympics, the Obama Inauguration and now Edward Kennedy’s funeral.  Seriously…are there no other cellists?   There might not be…I certainly don’t know any.  Does anyone?

Do you think maybe there’s some ground swell movement of cellists coming?  Young musicians inspired by YoYo’s greatness.  Maybe some kid named Pogo Pa…or SlinkySis….all aspiring to be the next cello celebrity. 

Is there some fresh faced upstart just waiting for Ma to have one slip…maybe get a blister on a finger or a chin injury…and the upstart will have to fill in, thereby igniting his career and forever replacing Yo Yo as the go to cellist? 

Do young cellists have posters of Ma on their wall and fall asleep dreaming “One day I will be Like Yo Yo.”  Ok, that’s not as catchy as wanting to be like Mike..so maybe it’s not as aspirational as with Michael Jordan…maybe it’s more deadly competitive in the cellist universe, maybe they fall asleep chanting “No No to Yo Yo” or “Yo, No Mo’ Ma”

Is there some poor second fiddle cellist (bad pun I know…that was specially for Mark), who always almost gets the job…but at the last minute, it goes to cello’s golden child, YoYo?  Is the second fiddle bitter about that or does she simply sigh and shrug, resigned to her fate?

And, who is going to play at Yo Yo Ma’s funeral?

By Clio Ryan CleoMoo-7

 

Recently, mom was watching a rerun of “The Wizard of Oz” on TV.  She seemed to have the idea that it was some lovely fantasy tale, involving broader moral issues of good triumphing over evil and finding contentment where you are, and deep stuff like that.  She’s so wrong.  “The Wizard of Oz” is quite obviously the story of the great hero, Toto.  Let’s examine. 

 

The movie starts out with Dorothy and company on a farm in Kansas.  Something needs to get the story rolling and what is it: the eternal conflict between a dog and a nasty mean person.  This particular nasty old lady, whom Toto had understandably and rightfully bitten earlier, comes to the farm and viciously threatens Toto’s life.  In fact, she bundles Toto up in a basket and rides off with him on a bicycle.  Dorothy is wrenched by this turn of events, and cries to her family about their inability to protect Toto.  But, Toto being a typical hero doesn’t wait for their rescue.  Oh no, instead, he resourcefully escapes from the nasty old lady’s basket and in spite of the blustering winds, runs all the way back home.  (Also, proving that Toto is smarter than Dorothy, as he already knows there’s “No place like home,” which it takes her another two more hours to learn.)

 

Anyway, back to the story.  So now Dorothy decides that she and Toto must hit the road to keep him safe.  She runs away, talks to some old guy, runs back home, gets hit on the head and the tornado blows her into Oz. 

 

Now, the trials in Oz begin.  Who, in all her trials in Oz, who I ask you, is more courageous and steadfast than Toto?  Toto withstands introductions to a dancing and singing Scarecrow, TinMan and Cowardly Lion.  Not to mention the Wicked Witch of the West. 

 

A bunch of singing and dancing and stuff happens and then Dorothy and company are heading to the castle of the Wicked Witch of the West to get her broomstick.  Apparently, the Great and Powerful Oz wants the broomstick and then he will grant all of their wishes.  By the way, this is so obviously not the brightest move since the Wicked Witch has been trying to kill them the whole time, and looks remarkably like the nasty old lady from Kansas who we already know was vicious.  But, in my experience, people aren’t always the brightest things around.  Nonetheless, dogs with their infinite capacity for good-natured understanding and companionship disregard the peril to themselves and accompany their people… just to keep them safe.  It’s what we do.

 

Now, here’s where the story gets good.  At the castle, just like the nasty old lady in Kansas before her, the Wicked Witch threatens Toto’s life and shoves him in a basket.  Then she locks Dorothy in a castle and tells her to watch the hourglass, because that’s as long as she has to live.  Toto, not cowed by the stupid witch’s threats, again escapes the basket (when will these silly people learn!) and runs off to the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion who are stuck in the forest still trying to figure out how to save Dorothy.  Toto finds them, no small feat, and leads them back to the Wicked Witch’s castle, straight to Dorothy’s door, where they break it down and escape.  Just to be fair I should point out here that Toto probably would have had trouble with breaking down the door by himself.  TinMan definitely helped out there, what with his axe and all.  Not that Toto wouldn’t have found another way, but I thought I should mention the hero had some help.

 

Some other stuff happens and then Dorothy manages, by pure luck, to kill the witch.  But, who is the first one to check it out and make sure she is dead?  That’s right, Toto.  Why?  Because he’s the hero in this story and that’s the sort of thing heroes do.  Not only do heroes find and save the damsel in distress, they make certain the bad guy is dead.  But Toto’s heroics are not done.  Oh no, not by a long shot.

 

Dorothy and company return to Oz so the Wizard will grant them their wishes.  He’s doing a bunch of scary stuff and smoke is billowing and he’s talking really loud.  Dorothy and company are all literally shaking in their boots.  Everyone is totally freaking out….except Toto.  Being the only one left with any sense, Toto goes right over to the curtain and pulls it back, revealing that the Wizard of Oz is, in fact, nothing more than a man.  If you really are paying attention, you’ll see he pulls the curtain back not once, but twice.  Twice I tell you, now THAT’S heroism!

 

When the Wizard and Dorothy are getting ready to return to Kansas in the balloon Toto appears to falter in his heroism, as he jumps out of the balloon to, quite, rightly chase a cat.  Toto jumping out of the balloon causes Dorothy to jump out of the balloon.  Because the Wizard of Oz isn’t a Wizofull Wiz if ever a Wiz there was, he doesn’t know how to fly the balloon so he can’t return to get them.  But, as it turns out, if Toto had not acted so rightly in chasing the stupid cat,  Dorothy would have never learned the lesson of the ruby slippers.  That’s when Glinda the Good Witch comes back and lets Dorothy know that she always had the power to go home, she just had to learn it herself.  Dorothy thinks about it and realizes what Toto knew all along (see above), there’s no place like home.

 

It is so clear that without Toto’s contributions there would have been no story to tell here.  Without Toto, Dorothy would have never left Kansas.  If she had somehow managed to get to Oz, she would never have been rescued in the castle by the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion and would have died an assuredly gruesome death at the hands of the Wicked Witch.  She also would never have realized the Wizard of Oz was just a man behind a curtain.  And, most importantly, she never would have learned there was no place like home.  Clearly, the Wizard of Oz is a tale of one dog’s heroism.  Hollywood should make more movies like this.  And, that’s just this dog’s perspective.

 

(Author’s portrait provided by Mary Williams of The Canine Mafiosos.)

“Think for yourselves and let others enjoy the privilege to do so too.”  - Voltaire, Essay on Tolerance

I am not Joe the Plumber or Joe Six-Pack.  I am not a hockey mom or a Wal-Mart mom or any kind of mom.  I rarely even wear lipstick…as a pig or a pitbull.  I wasn’t raised in a small-town where they grow the good folks and I don’t live in a small town now.

But, I am a real American.  I love America and I am proud to be an American….sometimes in sappy overly emotional ways.  I’ve gotten teary hearing the national anthem or America the beautiful.  I’ve cried for our soldiers and prayed for their safe return.  I’ve taken enormous pride in our country when we step up and give in unprecedented and unequaled amounts to victims of tragedy, when we stand together in the face of adversity and reach out to help each other.  Rarely have I been more proud than when we have stood together against hateful politics and policies and tried to make the world a more decent place.  America has done all of that.

But, being a real American does not mean that I must blindly accept everything that America chooses to do as right.  It does not mean I cannot give voice to criticisms I may have of the country or the government.  Being proud of America does not mean I am proud of everything America has done.  That I am not blind to America’s flaws does not mean I am not a real American.  That I hope and strive for more and better from America does not mean I am not a proud American. 

I am not always proud of America.  I am not proud that we fractionalized blacks in our Constitution.  I am not proud that we enslaved people.  I am not proud that we interred anyone who was 1/16 Japanese in WW II.  I am not proud that women were chattel, with few if any rights.  I am not proud of Jim Crow laws and the KKK.  I am not proud that in the face of what the Nazis were doing in Europe, we imposed a refugee quota and in 1939 refused entry of 20,000 children under the age of 14.  I am not proud of the actions of the House Committee on UnAmerican Activities or McArthyism or blacklists.  I am not proud that our government, could or did not respond appropriately to give help to hurricane victims in desperate straits.  I am not proud that we still concern ourselves with whether a presidential candidate is Catholic, or Mormon or Muslim.  I am not proud that we started a war with a country with little or no justification.

But, I am enormously and overwhelmingly proud that we have changed and are capable of change.  That as individuals and as a nation, we have been willing and able to challenge perceived wrongs and seek to redress them.  Both the willingness and the ability to challenge America do not make me less American.  They make me more American….quintessentially American. 

The suggestion by some Republicans that my willingness to question America, to seek better from America, is somehow un-American is offensive.  As is the suggestion that as a liberal I hate America and that as a person born and raised in a city, rather than a small town, I am not a real American.

This weekend, Sarah Palin claimed,

If [the media] convince enough voters that that is negative campaigning, for me to call Barack Obama out on his associations, then I don’t know what the future of our country would be in terms of First Amendment rights and our ability to ask questions without fear of attacks by the mainstream media.”

The First Amendment is not designed to protect politicians or the government from attacks from the media.  Precisely the opposite in fact.  The First Amendment is designed to protect the media and citizens, to enable them to discuss and disagree with the government and politicians.  To challenge them both.  The First Amendment is an expression of our

profound national commitment to the principle that debate on public issues should be uninhibited, robust, and wide-open, and that it may well include vehement, caustic and sometimes unpleasantly sharp attacks on government and public officials.”  New York Times Co. v. Sullivan, 376 U.S. 254, 270 (1964). 

The future of the First Amendment is not weakened by those challenges to and criticisms of our politicians, it is strengthened.  The future strength of the First Amendment is challenged by politicians claiming citizens who speak out are in some way un-American.

It is quintessentially, proudly and really American for a citizen to speak against her government and politicians when she believes they are wrong.  As abolitionists did.  As suffragettes did.  As civil rights leaders and war demonstrators do.   As religious leaders do.  As Mavericks do.  As real and proud Americans do.

I wrote a couple of days ago about how proud I am of America and of being American.  I also wrote though that that pride does not blind me to America’s flaws and how that pride is, at times mixed with sadness and shame.  Election night represented another such conflicting moment for me.

45 years ago George Wallace proclaimed “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever.” Election night, Wallace’s daughter not only voted for Obama for President, but celebrated his victory. 

43 years ago my parents were in Mississippi helping African-Americans exercise their right to vote and Lyndon Baines Johnson presented Congress with the Voting Rights Act of 1965.  Election night, an African American was elected president and African-Americans voted in record numbers

42 years ago Mildred Delores Jeter, an African-American, married Richard Perry Loving, a white man.  When they were caught sleeping together in their bed in Virginia, the state of lovers, they were arrested, charged with a felony, sentenced to a year in prison and effectively banished from Virginia for 25 years.  Election night, 52% of Virginia voters pulled the lever for Obama, the child of a marriage between a white woman and an African man. 

When he presented the Voting Rights Act of 1965, Johnson gave a moving speech, in which he said,

There is no cause for pride in what has happened in Selma. There is no cause for self-satisfaction in the long denial of equal rights of millions of Americans. But there is cause for hope and for faith in our Democracy in what is happening here tonight. For the cries of pain and the hymns and protests of oppressed people have summoned into convocation all the majesty of this great government–the government of the greatest nation on earth. Our mission is at once the oldest and the most basic of this country–to right wrong, to do justice, to serve man. In our time we have come to live with the moments of great crises. Our lives have been marked with debate about great issues, issues of war and peace, issues of prosperity and depression.

But rarely in any time does an issue lay bare the secret heart of America itself. Rarely are we met with a challenge, not to our growth or abundance, or our welfare or our security, but rather to the values and the purposes and the meaning of our beloved nation. The issue of equal rights for American Negroes is such an issue. And should we defeat every enemy, and should we double our wealth and conquer the stars, and still be unequal to this issue, then we will have failed as a people and as a nation. For, with a country as with a person, “what is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”

His words seemed especially poignant last night.  The moment of electing an African-American president is profound, symbolically, historically, and for America collectively, I think spiritually.  I rejoiced in this moment when it feels like America has reclaimed a part of its soul.  And, I am not ashamed to admit tears flowed, mine, my friends’, my parents’, and my brother’s. 

As Anna Quindlen wrote today:

But I suspect that, like many others, I wept for myself, too, because I felt I was part of a country that was living its principles. Despite all our prejudices, seen and hidden, millions of citizens managed, in the words of Dr. King, to judge Barack Obama by the content of his character and not the color of his skin. There were many reasons to elect him president, but this was one collateral gift: to be able to watch America look an old evil in the eye and to say, no more. We must be better than that. We can be better than that. We are better than that.

And, yet, against that malestrom of emotions, that feeling that America has reclaimed a portion of its soul, there was another call for us to be “better than that”, another challenge ”to right wrong, to do justice, to serve man” which was going unanswered. 

In Florida and Arizona voters approved constitutional amendments banning gay marriage.  In California, with 95% of the vote counted, 52% of voters have approved changing California law to eliminate the right of same-sex couples to marry. 

Although it saddens me, perhaps it should not surprise me. 

The U.S. Supreme Court decided Plessy v. Ferguson in 1896.   There it came up with the doctrine of “separate but equal”, whereby, the court held there was  equality of treatment when the races are provided substantially equal facilities, even though the facilities were separate.  Thus, the court held it did not violate the constitutional rights of blacks to be forced to have separate accommodations, as long as such accommodations were “equal.”  The court also said

Laws permitting, and even requiring, their separation, in places where they are liable to be brought into contact, do not necessarily imply the inferiority of either race to the other, and have been generally, if not universally, recognized as within the competency of the state legislatures in the exercise of their police power. The most common instance of this is connected with the establishment of separate schools for white and colored children, which have been held to be a valid exercise of the legislative power even by courts of states where the political rights of the colored race have been longest and most earnestly enforced.  [163 U.S. 537, 545]

It took the court another 58 years for the Court to abandon that thinking.  When in 1954 in Brown v. Board of Education the court found, at least in the field of public education the doctrine of separate but equal was a fallacy. 

But, there is another line in Plessy,

Laws forbidding the intermarriage of the two races may be said in a technical sense to interfere with the freedom of contract, and yet have been universally recognized as within the police power of the state. [163 U.S. 537, 546]

It took the court 71 years after Plessy to change its thinking on the issue of interracial marriage, 13 years after Brown. 

As recently as 1986, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld laws which criminalized sodomy.  It was another 17 years, in 2003, before the court revisited that decision in Lawrence v. Texas.  John Lawrence and Tyron Garner were engaging in consensual anal sex between adults when the sheriff’s deputy unlocked the door to their apartment with his weapon drawn and arrested them.  They were convicted of a misdemeanor.  

I suggest I should perhaps not be suprised, by the movement against gay marriage because this civil rights movement for homosexuals is in its relative infancy.  It’s only 5 years since consensual sexual acts between adults could be criminalized.  It was 100 years after the end of the Civil War before our country found it unconstitutional to criminalize consensual sexual acts between adults of different races. 

As I’ve said, I’m unbelievably proud of our country’s ability to seek to redress wrongs and injustices.  I just hope the redress of this wrong will not be as long in coming.

The gay marriage issue has been presented as a lot of things…but the reality is, simply, it’s a civil rights issue.  My cousin Lissa recently wrote me an email and said this

this is the thing that 50 years from now we as a society are going to look back on and disavow, much in the same way that we look back on segregation and slavery and say “that wasn’t us, that was deplorable, that was inhuman, that was some other time or some other society”.  we will be saying that, perhaps to our children (literal or figurative), disavowing our very own generation and our very own era, and we DON’T HAVE TO.  it breaks my heart for us as a national community, because i want us to be better than this.  i want us to arrive at the kind and evolved place that i do believe in is our near future, but i want us to get there without so many wounds, and without having to look back at YET ANOTHER time of “separate-but-equal” asshattery and shake our heads and ruminate on how that kind of hate was ever possible.  and yes, i said asshattery.  deal with it.”

She’s right.  Our actions on this issue now will be our future shame.  Like her, I want us to be better than this.  The better that we hinted at last night with the election of Obama in the face of our history of both shame and courage on the issues of race.  I recognize that there are differences between the issues of race and homosexuality.  But, at it’s core, the issue is simply that separate is not equal. 

I had many friends leading up to this election who urged me to get as involved in the Proposition 8 issue as I was in the Obama campaign.  I did not.  That is my shame.  It was foolish of me to not recognize and act.  The ban on gay marriage does not affect me personally in that my rights would not be infringed…I’m neither gay nor seeking to be married.  But, civil rights issues affect all of us.  When one person or group’s civil rights are infringed, it diminishes each and every one of us.  And, as Americans, when we let others civil rights be violated, we are losing a part of our soul, failing that oldest and most basic mission of our country “to right wrong, to do justice, to serve man.”.

In his speech presenting the Voting Rights Act, Lyndon Johnson also said

The great phrases of that purpose still sound in every American heart, North and South: “All men are created equal.” “Government by consent of the governed.” “Give me liberty or give me death.” And those are not just clever words, and those are not just empty theories. In their name Americans have fought and died for two centuries and tonight around the world they stand there as guardians of our liberty risking their lives. Those words are promised to every citizen that he shall share in the dignity of man. This dignity cannot be found in a man’s possessions. It cannot be found in his power or in his position. It really rests on his right to be treated as a man equal in opportunity to all others. It says that he shall share in freedom. He shall choose his leaders, educate his children, provide for his family according to his ability and his merits as a human being.

A person equal in opportunity to all others.  It does not get much simpler than that.  Last night America voted both for and against that equal opportunity.  We are closer to parts of our more perfect union, but the perfect union still eludes us and we must continue to seek it.

California dreaming

With all the publicity surrounding California’s messed up budget, etc, it’s no surprise I’ve been thinking about life in California.  Well specifically, I’ve been thinking about whether I want to keep living in California.  As bad as it is right now, I think it’s really only going to get worse. 

About 20,000 felons are going to be released early from prison…so they’ll be roaming the streets….and that’s not even including the 50,000+ that may be released because of the federal court order.

All the courts in California are currently closing one day a month.  This is going to put an enormous strain on already burdened trial courts to get the criminal cases through…savvy defense attorneys won’t waive time…which means a certain number of people won’t even get to trial, or will get plea deals of significantly less time (if any time) than they deserve….probably a lot more probationers.

The state is swiping money from the counties…which are already strapped for cash.  Which means it’s not only state services that are affected…but county services.

So, speaking of county services and probationers, probation departments have already been decimated…and continue to be… so there will be even fewer officers detaining, supervising, monitoring and procuring treatment for all those released inmates and probationers.

Police and sheriff’s departments are being cut.  At one point, the Sacramento County sheriff indicated at any given time, there were 36 patrol cars on the streets of Sac County…the proposed budget cuts at that point would have reduced the number to 10.  (Those numbers were anticipating layoffs of 200 employees.  The actual number ended up being about 130…so there’s still a pretty significant reduction, I just don’t know exactly what it is)  So there will be fewer officers on the streets to catch the criminals.  Criminals that we can’t put in jail or keep in jail or supervise after they’re released from jail anyway…so maybe that’s not quite as much of a problem as it initially seemed like it was.

Mental health services are also taking big budget hits.  There will be less resources available to help treat those with mental illnesses…or house them. So there’s going to be more criminals on the streets and more crazy people.  (And, yes I know that’s not the politically correct term…screw it…political correctness is probably what caused this damn budget crisis in the first place)

California’s budget crisis hasn’t been fixed…not even close.  The problems are indemic and require much more than the bandaids being put on them right now…those fixes probably include some taxes (seriously…we can’t even tax smokes and booze people?) and certainly include changing some of the mandated spending…like the 40% of the general fund that is required to go to education spending….and the massive amounts of government waste…but all that is a post for another day.  That is not today’s soapbox.  The point of this soapbox is that with the budget not being fixed, we’re looking at more cuts…likely to all the same services listed above…and some I probably haven’t even thought of. 

In addition, the fact that the situation isn’t fixed is likely going to mean more paycuts and layoffs…which in turn is likely to mean more home foreclosures….so that’s more people on the street.  And, because the cities and state have no money to maintain the parks all the homeless people can’t even go to the parks. 

So all of this has got me thinking that California may not be the most pleasant place to live in the coming years.  I started thinking about alternate states…I’m kind of restricted, because if I want to keep being a lawyer, I have to go to a state that won’t require me to take another bar exam…because I’m seriously not going through that crap again.  And, I have significant weather limitations….accordingly, Austin Texas is currently in the lead…Minneapolis, Minnesota would be a strong contender if it weren’t for the too damn cold weather situation there.

Then it hit me….wait a minute, I don’t have to leave the state.  There’s a place here for me.  Prison.  Most of the inmates will be out on the street, so they won’t bother me.  Three squares a day.  Nice workout facilities.  Good health care.  Plenty of security around.  A little solitary confinement for when I need some alone time.  And, courtesy of one of the cases I worked on a few years ago, I even have a recipe for what sounds like a lovely prison wine…pruno.

Now, the only question is what crime I want to commit.

I’m a lucky person.  That streak of good luck started when I was born on a Friday the 13th, combined with the overall luck of the Irish, has resulted in some powerful good luck over the last (too many to mention) years. 

On occassion, I have “shared” my good fortune with friends….just by sending them a little bit of good “juju”.  The “juju” is pretty cool…it’s kind of a reflection of my version of good luck actually.  It doesn’t always seem exactly like it’s working, maybe I don’t get that job I thought I really wanted or that guy I thought I really liked doesn’t think I’m quite so great …but eventually and inevitably it works out right.  That is, what is supposed to happen does happen…I get an even better job which I wouldn’t have even sought if I’d gotten the one I thought I wanted, etc.    It’s been that way for so long now that I just have complete faith that that is what will happen….whatever it is that is supposed to happen.  And so it has been for my friends who have asked for me to send them the juju.

Recently…a friend of mine needed some particularly powerful good juju…and I had a thought…  What if I ramp up the good luck and instead of just sending good juju, I send good shoeju?  I liked it!  It has recently come to my attention that this may be a more powerful force than I even realized…I may have tripped into the source of the chi…the “force”… the karmic motherlode…

I can guess you’re probably snickering or smirking…but stick with me…

Alright, first off, as discussed previously…there is the whole pope and shoes history.  Not only is there a papal red shoe thing…those are just his “outside” shoes.  There are also papal slippers for indoor events, and for the “not pope” clerics, there are episcopal sandals…which apparently come in a variety of colors, depending on the occassion.  Why this obssession with clerical footwear if not for shoeju?  I know…pretty compelling evidence…but wait there’s more (Billy Mays RIP)

In their recent meeting…the world was agog that Michelle Obama embraced Queen Elizabeth II…and the Queen embraced her back.  What was this magic that allowed Michelle to break protocol without being sent to the Tower?  Shoes….or perhaps shoeju.  Michelle Obama and Queen Elizabeth II totally bonded over …that’s right…shoes.  Coincidence?  I think not.  I think we understand now how Obama won the election…clearly, Michelle was sending him super big time shoeju. 

Finally,…there was the recent shoe miracle.  What?  Like you’ve never had a shoe miracle?  I’m sure you have, you just may not have recognized it as a shoe miracle…kind of like how some people can see Mother Mary in the toast and others can’t…it takes vision and faith, but if you’ve got that…all sorts of magic can appear. 

So, back to the shoe miracle…because of my shoe “thing”…I make fairly regular trips to the shoe store.  I don’t always buy shoes…sometimes I just look and enjoy.  So a couple of months ago, I go in and there are these fabulous bright yellow patent leather strappy sandals, with a slight platform toe base and about a 4-1/2 inch stiletto cork heel.  OMG…so totally cute and obnoxious and impractical.  I love them!  I try them on and they don’t have my size (tragic)…I try a half size up…but they’re just too big and believe you me, I learned that lesson the hard way with the cute patent leather multi-colored peep toe strappy sandals from the Red Shoes & Clergy post.  Specifically, if I try to make it work, bad blisters will ensue…I mean really bad….I mean bad enough to make me doubt the power of the shoeju…kind of like a test from the devil….you know like with Job  (but don’t worry those cute shoes are not going to waste…they’ve been sent to a wonderful home with my friend in LA…thereby spreading the joy of fabulous red shoes…hey…that might become my mission…I bet the pope would totally sponsor it). 

Oh, anyway…so over the course of the next couple of months, every time I go to the store I see these shoes…and every time I love them….and every time I try the too big ones on (like seriously…do I think my feet will have gone up a half size in a week when my shoe size hasn’t changed in like the last 30 years?)  And, not surprisingly…the too big fabulous yellow shoes never fit.  So sad.

Well, yesterday I had a shoe date with my friend Kathi.  The yellow shoes are not in their normal place.  I think to myself, this is probably best…I mean I don’t know how much heartbreak I can withstand and still maintain my faith…I’m not actually Job afterall.  We’re going through the store having fun trying things on, etc.  We get to the back room which is the clearance section.  I’m trying on some crazy like 6 inch platform shoes (no I didn’t get them…they were funny though)…and she’s standing looking at more practical shoes, and by that I only mean shoes someone might actually wear.  I go to the aisle she’s in and out of the corner of my eye…I see the yellow shoes!!  OMG  Even though I know they won’t be my size, I grab them to try them on for the bazillionth time because I love them, even though I know disappointment is lurking.  I look more closely…holy cow! they’re in my size….AND…they’re 50% off!!! Seriously…it’s like a gift from the shoe gods…a total sign that the chi always balances and my faith in shoeju has again been rewarded….totally just like Job.

So there you have it…the pope (and other clerical types), the Queen, the First Lady and a shoe miracle.  I rest my case as to the power of shoeju…

Here are the miracle yellow shoes.

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Oh…and I made sure Kathi got a super cute pair of red patent leather sandals that she totally wanted but was being practical and thought she shouldn’t get…thereby continuing my good works on sharing the joy of a fabulous red shoe…here are hers

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Clergy & Red Shoes

You may or may not be aware of my shoe “thing.” I love shoes…and I have indulged my shoe “thing” far too often. I especially enjoy the more “adventurous” shoes…like my purple snakeskin sling back pointy toed pumps. (What? Don’t act like you don’t know what that is)

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….or my strappy t-strap jeweled sandals with 3 1/2 inch heels (yes, I know that makes me 6′ 1 1/2″…I don’t care. )  Love them.

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Anyway…so a man I deeply admire and respect was recently ordained as an Episcopalian deacon.  He sent me an invitation to the ordination…and at the bottom it said

“Clergy: Red Stoles”

But, every time I saw it, I read

“Clergy: Red Shoes”

Literally, every single time. 

Reading “Clergy: Red Shoes” conjured up fabulous images of all the clergy walking down the aisle in their vestments…with fabulous red shoes on underneath. 

Not these papal red shoes mind you…

Papal_Shoes

or even these papal red shoes (which are apparently Prada btw…Pope Benedict’s shoe cred might get me to return to the Catholic Church, because seriously it’s been years since I felt so connected to my Catholic roots…and I’ve never felt such a close personal bond with a pope)

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No, rather than the papal red shoes, I was thinking maybe a fabulous red pump…n1013626620_30365162_6682316

 

or a cute little patent peep toe wedge

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or a faboo two-toned suede and patent ankle strap pointy toed pump

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or maybe even a patent leather, multi-colored, peep toe, strappy sandal.  SSPX0217

 (What?  I told you I had an overindulged shoe thing…but I’m sure the Pope understands…and if the Pope understands, then so does God…so I’m good.)

Anyway, the image of the clergy entering in shoes akin to my faboo red shoes made me giggle.

I will admit I checked all the clergy out as they walked in and sadly saw not a single red shoe in the bunch.  In spite of that failing…the service was lovely.  However, I think I’ll recommend the red shoe accessories for their next high mass.

A Post-Post America

During the election cycle, in my seemingly never-ending quest to gather information, I heard ad naseum about Obama being post-racial.   “Post” became the prefix du jour.  Post-racial, post-partisan (seriously…google post-partisan and you’ll be amazed at how many post-partisan hits you get), post-feminist, post-political, post-American (thanks Fareed Zakaria), post-election, post-mortem, post-Bush, post-9/11, post-rational (thank you Rachel Maddow) post-this and post-that.  Frankly, I got sick of it.  (apparently, I’m not the only one…fun blog on the post issue here) Interestingly, for all the talk about Hilary Clinton and Sarah Palin…I never did hear anyone suggest that we are now post-gender….but that’s a blog for a different day. 

I know that “post” as a prefix means after…so some of those “posts”, like “post-9/11″ and “post-election” make sense to me.   I understand what is being communicated.  But, post-racial?  I’m not really even sure what that is supposed to mean, let alone what it actually means.   It certainly cannot mean that racism or consciousness of  race has some how ceased to exist with Obama’s election.  If it meant that, Obama’s election and inauguration would not be touted as the hisotircal events they are.  Nor would Obama be identified as the first African-American president, particularly not when he’s bi-racial,…he would just be the 44th American president.  If it meant that, there wouldn’t have been “cross burnings, schoolchildren chanting “Assassinate Obama,” black figures hung from nooses, racial epithets scrawled on homes and cars” after Obama’s election

So, what does post-racial mean…what should it mean?

The Washington Post recently published an article by Kay Hymowitz, called An Enduring Crisis for the Black Family, in which she talks about some of the challenges facing black families…the statistics she quotes are troubling:

Since 1965, through economic recessions and booms, the black family has unraveled in ways that have little parallel in human cultures. By 1980, black fatherlessness had doubled; 56 percent of black births were to single mothers. In inner-city neighborhoods, the number was closer to 66 percent. By the 1990s, even as the overall fertility of American women, including African Americans, was falling, the majority of black women who did bear children were unmarried. Today, 70 percent of black children are born to single mothers. In some neighborhoods, two-parent families have vanished. In parts of Newark and Philadelphia, for example, it is common to find children who are not only growing up without their fathers but don’t know anyone who is living with his or her biological father.

But, Hymowitz also talks about The Negro Family: The Case for National Action , a report written in 1965 by Daniel Patrick Moynihan, then an assistant secretary of labor, for the Johnson administration (later to become the Senator from New York).  In his report, Moynihan identified “the deterioration of the Negro family” (attributed largely to the heritage of slavery) as “the fundamental source of the weakness of the Negro community at the present time,” the report blamed the growing economic, educational, and social problems evident among blacks on a “family structure [that had become] highly unstable, and in many urban centers [was] approaching complete breakdown.”  Moynihan warned of “clear indications that the situation may indeed have begun to feed on itself,” Moynihan declared that “the tangle of pathology is tightening.”  The time had come, Moynihan asserted, for “a national effort towards the problems of Negro Americans … directed towards the question of family structure.”

Hymotiz summarizes the report:

In 1950, at the height of the Jim Crow era and despite the shattering legacy of slavery, the great majority of black children — an estimated 85 percent — were born to their two married parents. Just 15 years later, there seemed to be no obvious reason that that would change. With the passage of the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act, legal barriers to equality were falling. The black middle class had grown substantially, and the first five years of the 1960s had produced 7 million new jobs. Yet 24 percent of black mothers were then bypassing marriage. Moynihan wrote later that he, like everyone else in the policy business, had assumed that “economic conditions determine social conditions.” Now it seemed, “what everyone knew was evidently not so.”

After Moynihan’s report, President Johnson spoke at a a commencement address at Howard University and discussed this breakdown of family.

Perhaps most important–its influence radiating to every part of life–is the breakdown of the Negro family structure. For this, most of all, white America must accept responsibility. It flows from centuries of oppression and persecution of the Negro man. It flows from the long years of degradation and discrimination, which have attacked his dignity and assaulted his ability to produce for his family.

This, too, is not pleasant to look upon. But it must be faced by those whose serious intent is to improve the life of all Americans.

Only a minority–less than half–of all Negro children reach the age of 18 having lived all their lives with both of their parents. At this moment, tonight, little less than two-thirds are at home with both of their parents. Probably a majority of all Negro children receive federally-aided public assistance sometime during their childhood.

The family is the cornerstone of our society. More than any other force it shapes the attitude, the hopes, the ambitions, and the values of the child. And when the family collapses it is the children that are usually damaged. When it happens on a massive scale the community itself is crippled.

So, unless we work to strengthen the family, to create conditions under which most parents will stay together–all the rest: schools, and playgrounds, and public assistance, and private concern, will never be enough to cut completely the circle of despair and deprivation.

Moynihan’s report was, not suprisingly, controversial.  It concluded that the instability of the black family and the absence of fathers in many families was a major cause of poverty, illiteracy, and hopelessness in black urban families.  Liberals and African-American leaders protested and felt that Moynihan was ascribing the difficulties to an inherent defect in black people.  The report was dismissed as racist propoganda.  As Hymowitz describes:

Unfortunately, those warnings were as prescient as they were reviled. Civil rights leaders, worried about reviving racist myths about black promiscuity, objected to what they viewed as blaming the victim. Feminists were inclined to look on the “strong black women” raising their children without men as a symbol of female autonomy. By the fall of 1965, when a White House conference on the black family was scheduled, the Moynihan report and the subject had disappeared.

Interestingly, as Eric Dyson reported for Newsweek, Dr. King did not condemn the report, instead he said,

The shattering blows on the Negro family have made it fragile, deprived and often psychopathic.  Nothing is so much needed as a secure family life for a people to pull themselves out of poverty and backwardness.” But King also insisted that Moynihan’s report offered both “dangers and opportunities.” The danger was that “problems will be attributed to innate Negro weaknesses and used to justify neglect and rationalize oppression.” The opportunity was the chance that the report would galvanize support and resources for the black family.

Under the heat of the criticism and claims of racism, the opportunity was missed.

In 2004, Bill Cosby spoke out on the same subject at a dinner commemorating Brown v. Bd. of Education. 

In the neighborhood that most of us grew up in, parenting is not going on.  In the old days, you couldn’t hooky school because every drawn shade was an eye. And before your mother got off the bus and to the house, she knew exactly where you had gone, who had gone into the house, and where you got on whatever you had one and where you got it from. Parents don’t know that today.

I’m talking about these people who cry when their son is standing there in an orange suit. Where were you when he was two? Where were you when he was twelve? Where were you when he was eighteen, and how come you don’t know he had a pistol? And where is his father, and why don’t you know where he is? And why doesn’t the father show up to talk to this boy?

. . .

You got to tell me that if there was parenting, help me, if there was parenting, he wouldn’t have picked up the Coca Cola bottle and walked out with it to get shot in the back of the head. He wouldn’t have. Not if he loved his parents. And not if they were parenting! Not if the father would come home. Not if the boy hadn’t dropped the sperm cell inside of the girl and the girl had said, “No, you have to come back here and be the father of this child.” Not ..“I don’t have to.”

The response in the African-American community to Cosby’s speech was mixed.  “Some criticized Cosby for fueling negative racial stereotypes and giving credence to conservative beliefs that the problems facing African Americans are self-imposed. But others applauded him for talking about the importance of personal responsibility, and still others found themselves split on how they viewed his message.”

Ta-Nehisi Coates reported, on those some of those criticisms.

The playwright August Wilson commented, “A billionaire attacking poor people for being poor. Bill Cosby is a clown. What do you expect?” One of the gala’s hosts, Ted Shaw, the director-counsel of the NAACP Legal Defense and Education Fund, called his comments “a harsh attack on poor black people in particular.” Dubbing Cosby an “Afristocrat in Winter,” the Georgetown University professor Michael Eric Dyson came out with a book, Is Bill Cosby Right? Or Has the Black Middle Class Lost Its Mind?, that took issue with Cosby’s bleak assessment of black progress and belittled his transformation from vanilla humorist to social critic and moral arbiter. “While Cosby took full advantage of the civil rights struggle,” argued Dyson, “he resolutely denied it a seat at his artistic table.”

Then, on Father’s Day, 2008, Obama spoke on the issue of absent fathers….particularly in the African-American community.

Of all the rocks upon which we build our lives, we are reminded today that family is the most important. And we are called to recognize and honor how critical every father is to that foundation. They are teachers and coaches. They are mentors and role models. They are examples of success and the men who constantly push us toward it.

But if we are honest with ourselves, we’ll admit that what too many fathers also are is missing – missing from too many lives and too many homes. They have abandoned their responsibilities, acting like boys instead of men. And the foundations of our families are weaker because of it.

You and I know how true this is in the African-American community. We know that more than half of all black children live in single-parent households, a number that has doubled – doubled – since we were children. We know the statistics – that children who grow up without a father are five times more likely to live in poverty and commit crime; nine times more likely to drop out of schools and twenty times more likely to end up in prison. They are more likely to have behavioral problems, or run away from home, or become teenage parents themselves. And the foundations of our community are weaker because of it.

. . .

How many times have our hearts stopped in the middle of the night with the sound of a gunshot or a siren? How many teenagers have we seen hanging around on street corners when they should be sitting in a classroom? How many are sitting in prison when they should be working, or at least looking for a job? How many in this generation are we willing to lose to poverty or violence or addiction? How many?

Yes, we need more cops on the street. Yes, we need fewer guns in the hands of people who shouldn’t have them. Yes, we need more money for our schools, and more outstanding teachers in the classroom, and more afterschool programs for our children. Yes, we need more jobs and more job training and more opportunity in our communities.

But we also need families to raise our children. We need fathers to realize that responsibility does not end at conception. We need them to realize that what makes you a man is not the ability to have a child – it’s the courage to raise one.

We need to help all the mothers out there who are raising these kids by themselves; the mothers who drop them off at school, go to work, pick up them up in the afternoon, work another shift, get dinner, make lunches, pay the bills, fix the house, and all the other things it takes both parents to do. So many of these women are doing a heroic job, but they need support. They need another parent. Their children need another parent. That’s what keeps their foundation strong. It’s what keeps the foundation of our country strong.

Of course, speeches like these made Jesse Jackson want to cut Obama’s nuts off, despite the fact that almost 30 years ago, Jackson himself voiced similar concerns, saying “You are not a man because you can make a baby. You’re only a man if you can raise a baby, protect a baby and provide for a baby.”  In general, though, the criticisms of Obama’s speech were not directed at the message itself, nor did they castigate him for daring to discuss the issue.  Rather, the criticisms were directed at points like Obama’s a lack of record on the issue, his painting all black fathers and families with the same too broad brush, or his failure to address and explicate the additional ills also contributing to the problem.  But, the underlying message itself was not condemned and Obama was not condemned for delivering it….even by some of those who had previously excoriated Cosby for that same message.

Shortly after Obama’s election, Maryann Reid wrote in Newsweek about the changing expectations of black families upon Obama’s election,

“I have no more excuses” is what I’ve been hearing at holiday parties from people who believed the system was designed to prevent black progress. The discussion has gone from talk of race to talk about ourselves and our families. When the president is black, it means so much more than a color; it means a new national consciousness.

So, maybe that’s a piece of what post-racial can and should mean.  Maybe it means we can start thinking about, talking about, and acting on, some of these racially charged messages…without also shooting the messenger in the process.  We’ve been shooting the messenger on this subject for 40 years, both literally and figuratively.  Or, maybe post-racial means we don’t think about these problems as “black” problems…maybe they’re just problems.  Problems that effect all of us, and for which all of us need to be engaged in the solutions.

These kinds of subjects are not easy or comfortable.  If they were, we would have done something about them already.  We’re pretty good at the easy.  But the hard…not always, at least not lately, anyway.  Subjects like how to address broken family structures require us to get past our knee jerk reactions, our platitudes and prejudices and instead to sit, and listen and think and act.  They require us to own our responsibilities… for ourselves, our neighbors and our communities.  Maybe post-racial means we can finally do that. …40 years later, it’s long past time that we started.

Battle scars

I’ve been thinking a lot about Hillary Clinton.  Well, that’s not really right.  I’ve been thinking about gender and race in politics.  Given the past election, that’s neither surprising or unique.

I’m happy Barack Obama won the election (ok, beyond happy really but that’s not the point here).  In fact, I had picked him and supported him long before he even officially announced his candidacy.  And, I’m currently still aglow from the inauguration.

But, there is still a part of me that wonders what it will take for a woman to get there and is saddened that we haven’t managed it, yet. 

Before the campaign season even started…almost three years ago now, my brother and I were talking about potential Democratic candidates…not suprisingly the discussion turned to Clinton and Obama.  My brother said “I think America is more ready for a woman as president than a black man.”  Why was he wrong?  Was it just the candidates, their individual strengths and weaknesses, or something more?

Following an early primary debate, Geraldine Ferraro said, “ It’s O.K. in this country to be sexist.  It’s certainly not O.K. to be racist.”

In January, 2008, Gloria Steinem wrote: 

So why is the sex barrier not taken as seriously as the racial one? The reasons are as pervasive as the air we breathe: because sexism is still confused with nature as racism once was; because anything that affects males is seen as more serious than anything that affects “only” the female half of the human race; because children are still raised mostly by women (to put it mildly) so men especially tend to feel they are regressing to childhood when dealing with a powerful woman; because racism stereotyped black men as more “masculine” for so long that some white men find their presence to be masculinity-affirming (as long as there aren’t too many of them); and because there is still no “right” way to be a woman in public power without being considered a you-know-what.

Two months later, Geraldine Ferraro said:

If Obama was a white man, he would not be in this position. And if he was a woman of any color, he would not be in this position. He happens to be very lucky to be who he is. And the country is caught up in the concept.

When Gloria Steinem and Geraldine Ferraro raised the cry of sexism on Clinton’s behalf, and when they suggested a woman with a resume as thin as Obama’s would never be considered a serious candidate for President (little did they know Palin was coming), you could feel their anger.  It’s a righteous anger.  One which they have earned.  It’s similar to, although not quite the same as, the anger that emanates when Jesse Jackson speaks (whether he’s threatening Obama’s balls or not).  But is that anger, those scars of the battle waged and not yet won, the last piece holding that glass ceiling in place?  Will it take for women, as it did for African-Americans, a leader who has not been burned by the fire of the battle? 

As I think about Clinton’s campaign, one piece which strikes me is how difficult it was for her to find the right tone.  Was tough bitchy?  Was resolve strident and shrill?  Were tears weak?  This is a woman who has been in public life for nearly 35 years.  She’s been a successful senator and during the campaign no one questioned her readiness to be the commander-in-chief on day one, in fact that was one of her strongest selling points.  While some of her success was derivative of her husband’s successes (and failures and failings), much of it was not derivative, she earned it.  Yet, despite all her years in public service, she struggled with how to project herself.  She didn’t find a compelling balance until late in the primaries….too late. 

Then there is Sarah Palin.  Palin was able to aggressively attack.  She was never once called shrill or a ballbuster or any other efeminatingly derisive terms (yes, I made up efeminating to be the opposite of emasculating because I don’t know an equivalent word on the “other side”).  Palin’s “pitbull” status was a meant as a compliment, not a pejorative.  Now certainly some of that was related to her overall attractiveness and her wink and  smile as she inserted the dagger.  But I think some of it may also be connected to the fact that while she has reaped the benefits of the struggle of women before her, she does not wear their scars.  

Neither Clinton and Palin started out their campaigns talking about gender or gender issues, but they both ended talking about sexism.  They’re not wrong, there was absolutely sexism directed at both of them in the campaigns.  Much of it extremely vile.   Just as there was racism directed at Obama in the campaign.  Equally vile. 

Obama himself was largely able to avoid talking about racism.  It never felt like Obama was blaming racism for failing…it didn’t feel like he blamed it his losses in the primaries in the Appalachians, although arguably he could have.  Instead, Obama was able to hint at racism, without overtly accusing anyone of it.  His most overt discussion of race came in response to the Reverend Wright controversy and wasn’t an effort to wield race as a weapon, but rather to blunt its force and resheath it.  To the extent he sought to use race as a sword, he let his minions raise the specter, rather than getting mired in that bog himself.  And, even when race and racism was the topic, the discussion was with an observational coolness…not heated rage or outrage. 

While Clinton and Palin both faced that sexism throughout their campaigns, and frankly their careers, it was not until they were losing that they sought to wield it as a weapon, attempting to incite that anger that many women feel to become a force behind them and uplifting them.   Yet, it was only with Clinton that you could feel the simmer in the cauldron.  The sense that this had been her struggle throughout her life.   She wears those scars.  Palin doesn’t.

Some of the distinction in handling their respective identity “isms” was just politics.  Smarter politics by Obama than Clinton or Palin played…one of so many examples of him being an extremely adept politician.  But, I think some of that is because he also does not wear the scars of the civil rights battles.  Just as Palin was free to attack without worrying about being cast as a castrating bitch because she does not wear those scars.   There’s freedom in not earning battle scars and wearing them for public consumption.  Part of that freedom is in the ability to move beyond stultifying stereotypes and the objections of conventional wisdoms.

In December, 2007 George Will wrote about Shelby Steele’s analysis of Barack Obama 

Since the 1960s, to “be black” has, Steele says, required blacks to embrace “a deterministic explanation of black difficulty,” a determinism that “automatically blames and obligates white power for black problems.”

. . .

Steele has brilliantly dissected the intellectual perversities that present blacks as dependent victims, reduced to trading on their moral blackmail of whites who are eager to be blackmailed in exchange for absolution. But Steele radically misreads Obama, missing his emancipation from those perversities. Obama seems to understand America’s race fatigue, the unbearable boredom occasioned by today’s stale politics generally, and especially by the perfunctory theatrics of race.

. . .

Steele notes that Obama “seems to have little talent for anger.” But that is because Obama has opted out of the transaction Steele vigorously deplores. The political implications of this transcendence of confining categories are many, profound and encouraging.

I think there are important political implications here for women, as well.  Lessons to be learned by those of us who bask in the ease earned by the struggles of our mothers and grandmothers.   Women who very much want, and deserve, to serve in those highest bastions of power.  Until we observe and think about those implications, learn their lessons and make them work for us, then, even with all those cracks in the ceiling, it will not fall. 

Apropos of nothing

So a few weeks ago, I was on the phone with my friend Kirsten and the tv was on but muted.  So, I see this crazy advertisement playing it’s for a “Snuggie“…they call it a blanket with sleeves….I call it a backwards robe.  I’m telling her about it and laughing because the ad is a riot…the struggles with blankets being so intense afterall.   And, this is not an ad like you would see in the Superbowl…no this “ad” makes Ron “Ronco” Popeil  look like a master filmmaker.   (You gotta watch it if you haven’t seen it already, because seriously…the family wearing the snuggies out in public is comedy gold.)

So then I’m reading an article in Timemagazine this morning about the “Snuggie”.  Since when does Time magazine report on terrible ads?  Thanks Sam…looks like your wish is coming true.

Then comes this line in the article…”the blogosphere is buzzing with accusations that the Snuggie ripped off a similar product dubbed the “Slanket.”"  (Insert collective horrified gasp!)  Do you think there’s Snuggie/Slanket beatdown coming?  Oh this could get good.  (and, yes, this is why I love the blogosphere…who knows these things?)

Then it hits me….the Slanket?  (Sure enough…there still is a Slanket…and they have a section of their wesbite called Slanketeering…omg.)

I think Slanket might be the worst product name ever.  It’s sounds like some combination of slut and skank….seriously I would not buy something called the Slanket even if I thought I needed it.  And, I certainly would not wear it around…ew, cooties.

If the Snuggie/Slanket smackdown comes, I’m pretty sure the Snuggie will win.  The Slanket is not nearly as versatile as the Snuggie…according to the advertising the Snuggie can be worn outside and allows you to keep your pets close.  The Slanket, by contrast, apparently only allows you to lay on your couch.  (Perhaps because it’s inventor invented itspecifically for the sole purpose of being able to channel surf more effectively…you gotta love that this guys laziness is probably going to earn him millions, that’s good old American ingenuity at work.)  Although, the Slanket comes in more colors than the Snuggie….so that might give the Slanket a fighting chance in the face-off.

Please, oh please, God, if you’re listening it’s me Kelly….let me see some one wearing a Snuggie out in public.

Punk’d by the Plumber

Seriously?  Are we being Punk’d?  Where’s Ashton Kutcher?  Where’s Allen Funt?  (Throwin’ in the candid camera reference for the crowd that thinks a punk is a hoodlum or a musical genre.)  ‘Cause I really don’t think this could be real.

For those of you that don’t know, pjtv.com (which yes, is run by Pajamas Media…you gotta know how serious that is) sent Sam Wurzelbacher (I refuse to call him Joe the Plumber because he’s neither and I have a cousin I adore named Joe…and that’s just wrong) to Israel to report on the conflict in Gaza.  I don’t make this stuff up people, CNN does, see here

So Sam is there talking to perhaps actual journalists….and out he pops with this gem…“I think media should be abolished from, you know, reporting,”

To really do this justice (and of course, to be a fair and balanced), I have to source  the whole thing from CNN…here’s the good parts

“I think media should be abolished from, you know, reporting,” Wurzelbacher said. “You know, war is hell. And if you’re gonna sit there and say, ‘well, look at this atrocity,’ well you don’t know the whole story behind it half the time, so I think the media should have no business in it.” .  .  .

In his first day as a reporter, Wurzelbacher described the hardships of daily life in the southern Israeli town of Sderot.

“I’m sure they’re taking quick showers, I know I would,” Wurzelbacher said. “So you can’t plan your day, you can’t take a picnic.“

Wurzelbacher said he thought Israel should have attacked Gaza sooner. He told a group of reporters that he was a “peace-loving man,” but that “when someone hits me, I’m going to unload on the boy.”

He got a first-hand taste of reality in Sderot, when his group heard sirens warning of a rocket attack. With cameras rolling, Wurzelbacher and his group ran into a shelter.

“I’m in the bunker, I’m sitting there angry, outright furious, that I’m letting this terrorist dictate what I’m going to do because they’re firing missiles,” Wurzelbacher said. “It was fear at first, then outright anger, and then me wanting some kind of retribution. I’m not a person that runs from things, but when it’s a missile, you run.”

Who was the genius at Pajama Media who thought it was a good idea to send this guy abroad?  Well, ok,…the notion of him in a war zone isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever heard…but why are people talking to him?  Does anyone actually care what he says?  “I’m sure they’re taking quick showers”????!!! Well there’s some profound, eye-opening commentary…I’m sure Christianne Amampour is sending out her resumes out as I type. 

Sam doesn’t think the media should be well, reporting.  Well Sam, how exactly do you think you became a “celebrity” if not for the media, um reporting. 

Based on his description of the “hardships of daily life” in Sderot, where they take quick showers and can’t picnic…it doesn’t appear Sam has to worry that he’s contributing to the problem of umm journalists reporting.  What’s more, based on the fact that the journalists are reporting on Sam rather than Gaza…Sam may actually be creating a self-fulfilling prophecy….stopping the media from reporting.

But the coup de graces (can you even have a plural coup de grace?) coups de grace (thanks Diane) are his astute foreign policy observations…both that if someone is going to hit him, he’s going to unload on the boy, despite his peace-loving nature, and although he’s apparently a peace-loving fighter, not a runner…when it’s a missle, you run.   Good to know.

Damn…if I had only voted for McCain/Palin.  Sam the Plumber could have then been Sam the Secretary of State. 

Seriously, we must be being Punk’d!

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