So if you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m the Passionate type.
The passion part carries equal weight with my being Emotionally Sensitive and Terrifically Intense. Ya. A Barrel of Laughs is what they call me. But, come on now, I can be fun, too. [Never said I was “cool.”] And I know how to have a good time. But I’m not for everyone—who is? Guess what peeps, when you get older, you also get to a place where you’re OK with this. [Well, some of us anyway].
I also endeavour to live the old-school vibe of “live & let live,”—a beautiful phrase I adopted from my Mother growing up. Another was: “Everybody has a right to earn a living,” but also, “No one owes you a living”. These little philosophical gems breathe their way back into my being when shit hits the fan, or in more delicate terms, when the time is now. Still, sometimes I get caught up. Because living in order to let other’s live, means that you sometimes have to tread the slippery slope of watching but not participating, listening but not commenting, allowing but distancing, accepting without judging, and so on. In other words, you gotto be a SAINT!
And yet, as much as I live in this world, I try not to be too judgmental, yet I reserve the right to express an opinion, popular or otherwise— about the things I feel strongly about, or the ideas and situations that offend my delicate southern sensibilities. Ok, that was a lie. I’m not from the antebellum south, but had I lived in the influentially racist Southern 1900s, rest assured I’d be swooning and fainting and blushing all over the place. Still, what I yam, is what I yam, and it simply boils down to how I’m hardwired. At the end of the day, my goal is not to hurt or harm anybody by my actions or words. That said, the pen is mighty. Mightier than the Sword? That’s debatable.
I had a friend who once told me that she liked talking to me because of my odd/different worldview. To me this was a great compliment because I have never deliberately tried to express an un/popular opinion, I just believe what I believe, and say what I am moved to say. Of course, I stand to be corrected, enlightened even, and I don’t for a minute believe that I have all the answers, or questions. I certainly do not. But I’m full-grown now. And I own my thoughts, and I own my beliefs. And these are the things that ultimately guide me.
Interestingly, for the longest time, when I was old enough to do so, I never *really* expressed my thoughts out loud because my opinions seem to slightly deviate from “the norm.” In other words, I did not much live according to pop-ideals, and I did not know how to “go along, to get along.”
For example, growing up I would get spankings, and my older sister, not so much. Being the eldest she was unaccustomed to misbehaving or acting the fool. It just wasn’t her bag. I, on the other hand, I was mischievous, and when I would mess around, I would be disciplined in the form of a spanking. And when I got disciplined, I would shout the house down, and of course, the spankings would continue. Until I stopped screaming, or simply acquiesced.
One time, my sister took me aside and said, “look, no need to prolong this charade, just clench your butt and try not to be so loud.” But I couldn’t. Perhaps I wouldn’t? The spanking hurt like hell, and my Mother was hurting my feelings by striking me, and I had to let everybody, including God and the neighbours know that I was being hurt. So naturally, these occurrences were a regular part of my growing up. Was I abused? Hell no. But I learned that I was a sensitive flower, and it wasn’t in my disposition to go against my feelings without somehow imploding. And thus a passion was born. And perhaps that’s where the seed of “live and let live was planted.”
Fast forward to many years later.
When your life is seemingly “ideal” and there is no known reason why you need to rage against the machine, because you are happy-pappy in your corner of the market, and what happens around you doesn’t “have” to affect you [unless you let it]. Any emotional bullshit that somebody may experience which is outside your realm of experience matters very little. And lucky for you, the bubble-dweller, well, you absolutely don’t have to engage, if it suits you.
For example, in the US there is this whole Race issue between The Black people and The White people. There always has been, because as some of you may know, and might acknowledge, if you’re feeling particularly generous, is that race is loaded. And there is no pleasant way to discuss race without somebody getting heated, or somebody getting offended, or somebody saying something insensitive, or somebody saying something offensive, and on it goes.
The point it, yes, “we” need to put all the stinking cards on the table, perhaps not all at once, to see what kind of hand each of us has been dealt. A the same time, we need to respect those cards because cards don’t lie, unless somebody has messed with the deck. You feel me? And that’s Race in a nutshell. Some days the cards seemed to be stacked up all wrong, and on other days, well the cards seem to go in favour of the individual who’s most confident with the cards he’s be dealt.
Which brings me to yesterday’s audio assault to the masses by way of Dr. Laura Schlessinger, she of the dime-store dispensing psycho-babble rhetoric, and quickie-fix remedies. Yesterday, “Dr. Laura,” as she likes to be called, was the bearer of the latest media trash to prick up my ears. Her verbal assault against “12% of the population” her definition of black folks, involved her use of the word, “Nigger.” Yup. She so went there.
When I listened to the live audio of the exchange, courtesy of Media Matters For America, between Dr. Laura and a caller, I was incredulous, not because she did not address the issue of the caller, a black woman married to a white man who expressed resentment at her husband’s unwillingness to refrain from using what she considered insulting language against black people in her presence and also his resistance to informing friends in their company not to use similar offensive racial language.
Dr. Laura, in her feeble attempt to get the caller’s side of the story, asked the woman to cite examples, inferring that the black caller may be “hypersensitive.”
Laura then lashed out, telling the caller that she “had a chip on her shoulder,” and then proceeded to state that she [as a white person] was confused because “when you turn on HBO, all one hears is Nigger, Nigger, Nigger.” Let me add that the woman never got around to citing her own examples of racial intolerance she bore witness to in her home, because Dr. Quack launched into her own racist tirade mostly defeating the purpose of the call in the first place. And what the listeners got instead was Dr. Laura’s personal point of view on the Race issue in America. It was shocking to say the least!
Dr. Laura then took a break and came back and asked the caller what she was thinking about during the break to which the caller responded that she was taken aback by Dr. Laura using the N word so liberally. And then it was on. Laura said she did not “say” it, she said that “when you turn on the TV you hear, Nigger, Nigger, Nigger, Nigger.” Dr. Laura then proceeded to talk about Obama, suggested that the woman shouldn’t “NAACP-her”—whatever that meant!? Unfortunately, the caller wasn’t able to get a word in edge wise. But the best of Dr. Laura’s comments reserved for last was this: “if you are so hypersensitive, you shouldn’t marry outside of your race!” And then she said that she didn’t want to talk further and that was the end of the segment.
KABOOM!
After I heard that I got on my Twitter account. And proceeded to “discuss.”
I then proceeded to go “off” on Fashion, because no matter what happens in the world, unless we are talking about issues of weight and/or eating dis/orders. Then fashion doesn’t care. At the time, I was receiving Twitter updates about the usual vacuous fashion concerns, and it irritated and annoyed the hello outta me. I Tweeted that it was seemingly very cool for the JetBlue guy to goes berserk and get called a “folk hero,” and his lame-ass story is picked up by the media in seconds, but the quacky bitch Dr. Laura says Nigger, and it’s barely mentioned. But apparently it was mentioned. Just not on my feed. And then it lead me to question who I followed.
Do I make people uncomfortable?Does race make people uncomfortable? If you are not affected by race because you happen to be part of a so-called dominant group, should you not at the very least, weigh in? What concerns you? What drives you?What do you care about other than what makes you look good? Is it the company you keep, the idiot box you idolize or who’s life you want because yours is not sexy or glamourous enough? Oh! The Vanity Insanity!
FASHION BLOG/GERS
A few days ago, I Tweeted that maybe I should start photograph/posting the shit out of myself in various places outdoors wearing little girl fashion clothing, with rilly high shoes, and a professional pout. I mean, this seems to be “the look” that fashion bloggers are going for these days. Has it always been so?
Fuck, it’s annoying as hell. The larger question is why are 20something and 30something women [& older?! probably not] posing and pouting like over/sexualized children? Is the goal here to attract, subvert, antagonize, seduce, and manipulate the male gaze? Or are you doing this creepy shit for women?
Or is there some “underground” stuff happening that I am blissfully unaware of? I’m confused. Are you showing me your anorexic/voluptuous naughty bits for self/discovery and “girlpowerment/empowerment,” or is fashion code word for under-age trysting. I’m not sure. But I rilly wish somebody would make it STOP. [One of these kooky "girls" who happens to be 30something is selling a kind of self-help girlpowerment kinda booky-book, replete with the "love yourself first" vibe, but when you go to her site she's wearing the aforementioned teenage clothing with requisite pout, and sports mouse-ears. I'm not lying.
ON A DIFFERENT NOTE
Here’s a video a friend sent me, and I love it to bits. It was her gentle way of getting me off my Eat Pray Love rant; that other horribly popular mind-suck that is eating up far too much marketing real estate and causing me to consume far too many bags of potato chips this week. When I sent the vid to my huzzband, he told me not to send him my “periodicals videos.” Of course, I know what he means, and you do too. He’s funny as hell and it made me laugh. Like out loud. At my computer. [I do that often].
Phew, looks like I got my sense of humour back, thanks Choo. Kissz.
It’s late. I don’t usually write posts this late because I’m usually surfing or checking Twitter updates, talking to my huzzband, watching him design something, or cleaning something in my house. Traditionally, at this hour, I might be checking in on our beautiful sleeping girls, or rummaging through the fridge or cupboards looking for something to eat. You know, something.
But tonight, we are in our office space working on finances, and I’m on Twitter. Something catches my eye. It’s about the Fantasia Barrino overdose/attempt. And this twitterer/blogger I catch is phenomenal in her assessment of what is happening on the Internet. She’s on point, brutal and eloquent, breaking it all down telling us why we shouldn’t cast stones or be smug, etc.
She tweets furiously—almost every ½ minute, if not less—and intelligently and constantly. It reads like Jazz. Hell, it is Jazz. You can read the rhythm in her words. I decide to follow her, and when I get to her page, I go back pages and pages reading her stuff. All of it good. Engaging. Entertaining. After a time, I head on over to her blog. It reads like stream of consciousness, she’s a poet for sure. She rambles, gets up, dips in and dips out, mostly she takes you on the journey of her mind which for the most part, is kinda fractured. Aren’t we all? Just a bit?
She talks about having Biopolar II Disorder, and depression and being hypomanic. [Lawd, but is she intense, ya’ll]. I read the post where she explains being hypomanic, and why she hasn’t ever found “love” due to her dis/ease. Yes, love, y’all. I scan a few more posts she’s written. Not very many paragraph breaks. No pictures, much less white space, just clumps of text upon text upon text. And lively words that are humerous, and bleak, and breathless.
She. Is. HILARIOUS. And slightly crazy. A tad off. [By whose standards, you ask?]. She talks about her meds, about her children, other people’s children, television–that great insidious crazy-maker, and planter of subliminal dysfunction [my words, and I'm sticking to 'em!], plus mountains of things that one might wonder if it’s healthy to share. But she’s a Writer. A Confessional Writer. And a little fractured. But a Writer.
Between reading some of her posts, I check in on Twitter. And similar to this dude I recently unfollowed, [like 10 minutes ago], she is updating her Twitter with comments about a fricken TV show she is watching. Oh crap. I dislike that with the utmost intensity. Really? You’re gonna waste my time by updating TV tweets? As if TV isn’t a mindsuck all its own. Now you gonna mess up my Twitter feed with that nonsense? So she tweets something “funny” and then seconds later she is cursing, and going OFF on the person who RT’d her tweet but changed it up slightly. [Caps and expletives and all...] So I thought: Oh snap, girl did warn us all that she was bipolar. [And brilliant]. But bipolar. And I thought, no. I do not want to follow you into the deep dark recesses of your happy-angry-sad-manic-fragile-beautiiful mind. Not at this late hour. Perhaps not ever. But thank you all the same for sharing. Good night.
Her blog entry reminded me of the New York Times writer, Daphne Merkin who recently wrote about being in therapy for a substantial part of her life. Except sister girl whom I unfollowed writes with what I consider to be a tortured beautiful soul, and Daphne, while brilliant, writes and whines in that New York-Woody Allen, look at me, but not too closely unless I invite you in kind of way of the privileged, to the point of [our collective] embarrassment. Still, how lucky for her [and us] that Ms. Merkin is well-educated and chronically, and pathologically self-referential.
This essay is not the first time Daphne has written about her illness. Mostly because she is her favourite subject. She is painfully self-aware, almost like she has split herself in two to talk about what it’s like to be her on pharmaceuticals, and what it’s like to be her in the therapist’s office, and what it is like to live your life wanting to die, and what it’s like to have a predilection for spanking. [I read this last item on Wikipedia. Overshare?] It’s terribly morose and melodramatic, and I say that with respect not having been through anything like that in my life. After the second of eight pages, I wanted to stop, but found myself wanting to keep going. And when it ended, I felt exhausted. And drained. So I read some comments. People were brutal, and slightly unforgiving. And honest. Most were sympathetic, but agreed that the woman needed to concentrate on something other than herself, if only for a moment or two. Ya. I kinda agree.
Having read that, and said all that, I now realize that I live close to someone with an undiagnosed mental illness. And just so you know, people who are mentally ill will make you, the person who is not mentally ill, crazy. Not by design, but because they cannot “help” themselves. So you, the [relatively] sane person, must guard yourself against the insanity. Not an easy feat. But if you believe that people are trying to make you crazy, then believe that they are. And the more time you spend with “crazy” the more the crazy seeps into your head. And you should not allow that. You are allowed to protect and distance yourself from crazy, so do it. Because someone else’s [definition of] crazy doesn’t have to be your [definition of] crazy. Feel me on that point, and take it to the bank!
As writers, we have been given the gift to express our minds, and we are “allowed” to say what is on our minds. We are allowed to express ourselves in the way that fashion people will demonstrate their flare with fabric; hair stylists will primp their hair or others; accountants and brokers will buy stocks and manage money; chefs will make a beautiful meal; gardeners will build a mosaic of flowers; musicians will string notes together to make music; politicians will make promises, and so on. The interesting “danger” with words is that when you know how to use them, they can reveal a certain “truth.” As well, they can be the poison pen that gets used against you [or somebody else].
Interestingly, people are all about censoring words [and any other creative craft which hits close to one's emotional core], particularly when we writers say something that may make you uncomfortable. For example, Christopher Hitchens, the scholar atheist of our times is dying, and everybody wants to know if he might now make his way to finding God & religion. Hitchens is adamant that he will not, and that if we hear of a conversion down the pike, it is a lie. To paraphrase his most revealing thought: he carefully implies that the cancer may infect his brain and cause him to do or say things later that he might not be aware of or endorse. But also that people are now currently praying for him, and he has not suggested that people stop this activity. Because it is after all, for their comfort, and not his.
Interestingly, what Mr. Hitchens “knows” as much as you or I, is that whatever one manifests in the mind can certainly take up residence in the body. So like most people in time of fear, and uncertainty, one must eventually find a place, or an entity, to placate the soul. Let’s just say that I, for one, will be none too surprised if Mr. Hitchens finds solace in some calming spirit other than the imaginary spirit of his cranky belief system.
Like you, sometimes I bite the hand that feeds me. It’s not something I do intentionally or wilfully, but I do live in this world, and it is a hard fact of life that one is not always righteous or good or above reproach. Being human dictates that we all at one time or another will mess up. And luckily for us, we’re all sinners and nobody loves a sinner more than Jesus.
What I mean is that if you “believe” then you know that “confessing” your sins—coming clean as it were—is a step in the righteous direction. Any addict can tell you that without having gone through the 12 steps. You fall off the wagon, you get back on the wagon, you fall off the wagon, you get back on the wagon, and on goes the cycle of our addicted lives. [Recognizing of course, that you will forever an always be a “recovering” so and so, and that the potential to “fail” is always there lurking in the deep recesses of your conscious-sub/unconscious].
Presently I am a ranting lunatic [and armchair critic] for anything that pops up on my Twitter feed. There are people out there who warn Tweeters about people like me. Here is a quick portrait: @MTVCANADA tweets about hiring interns. And I “hollah back” that they should stop exploiting youth. The Daily Beast by way of The New York Post tweets about the Jet Blue flight attendant dude [who was subsequently caught whilst having sex!] and how he is a “folk hero,” and I tweet back that my understanding of a “hero” does not involve some guy throwing a temper tantrum in public. And when Bill Maher, one of my favourite big-nosed white guys called someone, “an arrogant stupid bitch,” I tweeted back, “them’s FIGHTING words!” I then immediately looked up Wanda Sykes’ twitter account who happens to be a “friend” of Bill, to tweet that he was rude! and I didn’t hear anything from her either [as I expected]. Curiously, “no one” else considered the remark offensive. Um, Feminists, you all didn’t catch that did you?
And I also thought I was being “funny” and “on point” when I saw that over 100 people retweeted @KanyeWest’s tweet asking if it was Monday, when I countered with, “Wow, maybe I should just fart, and then press record.”
Crickets people. You could actually hear the crickets!
It was likely after that moment that I realized that I may have a slight problem. That I may in fact be a hypocrite—similar to the way in which Alanis Morrisette used the word, “ironic.” For starters I now realize that perhaps I need to re-acquaint myself with Diplomacy. For example, when a popular blogger called a girl who won a MTV contest a “icon,” I retorted that we use the term a bit too liberally. Not to her directly of course because people do not usually “attack” people on Twitter. It presume it is because it is considered bad etiquette or in poor taste to do so. Not sure. I’m a Twitter Virgin. With over 1400 tweets. Ya.
So when another popular fashion blogger wrote a post about hair and asked her readership who they follow because they have cool hair, I had to stop, breathe, and reread the post before I tweeted “dear fashion: somedays i think you must ask yourself if people really do give a shit and why.” There’s also this widely popular dude who just Tweets. Like today he tweeted every minute about freakin Entourage. I told him “for the love of God, pls put this shit down in a blog!” Strangely, he didn’t tweet back.
I also keep reading on the Black blogs how black people in America are constantly and overtly discriminated. How Oprah should return to her “roots,” how Fantasia will not get a “pass” like Angelina Jolie for her transgressions, and so on. Don’t get me wrong. Racialism is REAL, but it really is exhausting reading mediocre writing about Race and why everything is so exhaustingly racial. Last time, I read something about how this one contributor believed that A Different World deserved to be made into a movie because it was “time” people. There was even a petition you could sign. I think I tweeted back, “ya, cool, I’m down with that, except that Jada Pinkette-Smith annoys the hell outta me!”
Still there is some very good stuff happening that doesn’t raise my blood pressure, and makes me feel happy, not terribly hypocritical and truly blessed to be a part of this interesting online community. There’s the writer/poet Honoree Jeffers who writes the ass off the page, and who you know is just as fire-y and passionate in person. And my new favourite, BangsandaBun, who just explodes with sassiness and sarcasm. I look forward to her tweet updates the same way I love the laughter of my girls and seeing my husband after a long day.
All of which leads me to consider how much of a hypocrite I am. I tweet fast and furious about how evil the media is, and yet I use it. I rage about fashion practice, but I love new anything that is stylish and impressive, and I follow a good many fashion blogs run by original and creative types. I also make snide remarks about Women’s Health magazine but I continue to receive their Ab updates in my in box and so on. The other day, I cracked on Eat Pray Love because they are selling the crap out of this “spiritual” odyssey, and then I catch feelings because only a few people get my point. Kinda reminds me of the time I went on my MTV rant, and a commenter told me to simply tune out. Would that it were that simple…
So you see my problem. It’s not that I dislike the world, I live in it for God’s Sake. When MTV tweeted about wanting interns, I almost signed up. Not because I want to be a part of the “problem,” because I fancy myself part of a new “solution!” I think they need an in-house critic so that they don’t take themselves too seriously. Oh, I should also mention the Christopher Hitchens thing. I used to read him at Vanity Fair back in the day. I “enjoyed” his contrarian point of view until I saw him on Strombo talking Atheism. I was bored. But now he has cancer. And he looks a fright. From wellness to sickness in as long as it took him to puff one too many ciggy butts and promote God is Not Great.
The Other Day on TwitterI was faced with my very first conundrum: To Tweet or Not To Tweet, and To Follow or Not To Follow. It hasn’t happened to me before, and well, like a lot of things, there’s a first time for everything.
Here’s the Tweet which I posted, and instantly deleted, but not before copying it into an email and saving it in the Drafts Folder of my Outlook:
dear @HollyOrd I am not an atheist, & nothing in this life will ever make me one. is it ok 4 me 2 follow U on Twitter. I am SO conflicted.
You see, Holly Ord is an Atheist. And I am not. Her belief system is part of her identity which she wears loudly and proclaims confidently on her website Menstrual Poetry. She’s 23 and she’s already had an interesting life. Among many things, she is a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. When I read that line, I cried. [Am feeling a little sniffly right now, if you must know]. Whenever I hear or read about crimes against children, I simply lose my shit. I am ANGRY, I am DISGUSTED, and I feel an instant need to gather my children in my arms and protect them from the sickness of the world. I know that I cannot do that—simply shield them from the “reality” of our world, but I can do my very best to protect them from the former children now adults who were not protected the way they should have been when they were young.
It occurs to me that much of Ms Ord’s belief systems such as Atheism, and her liberal sexual views [she likes pornography] originated from that place where she was not protected. This is my guess. I am no expert. I do not claim to *know* or even relate to her life, but my spidey senses tell me that if this great spiritual entity was “supposed” to “be there” for people like her then why and how did this sickness occur? And yes, I am not so naive as to claim that I am unaware that this concept is one of the fundamental issues of the great God debate, but I’m soooo not going there. Then again equating Atheism, sexual expression and pornography to abuse might be reductive reasoning. And some sex trade workers will make the claim that systemic child abuse has nothing to do with their addictions or *chosen* profession. Don’t get it twisted.
It seems all too simplistic for me to say that because there is a teeming pile of giant crap in the world that it is “God’s Fault.” [Does it then mean that people who do not “follow” God should be punished?] Something also tells me that Holly Ord wouldn’t want me to “feel sorry” for or to even debate her passion for Atheism. Or to sum up the complex being she is by relating everything to her childhood. Something tells me that she found the power within to overcome and to get in touch with herself outside the realm of the things that were done to her. To me this sounds a lot like Liberation and Emancipation—perhaps Feminism—and I can get down with that.
The Other Day on Twitter I “met” another 23 year old who too has lived an interesting life. Her name is Shelby Knox. A name which sounds rather 60s-inspired, writerly, memorable and oh so “brand”-like. Among other commitments to The Cause, Shelby writes a blog called The Ms. Education of Shelby Knox. She’s also famous for her high school activism in a film that addresses the profound issues of human rights for ALL. Of course with that kind of platform and exposure at such a young age, the world has come to expect great things. Or at the very least, messages of hope and enlightenment. No pressure darling. We’re all here to help you keep pace!
Holly and Shelby are well-known capital F Feminists. I was fortunate to find Holly through Shelby. And I was reminded & reacquainted with the brilliance of Shelby–I have been wanting to follow her for ages– through my new friend Lydia [@lydiafernandes] whom I met at a Women’s Wisdom Workshop hosted by Marla Goldstone & Rona Maynard [@RonaMaynard] . [Lydia tweeted a link for Shelby’s post, about her "Day as an Anti-Feminist (Role) Model," and I kinda freaked [comment # 109] cuz Shelby used the term a “real looking woman.”
The term “Real Woman” is my PENULTIMATE cringe-inducing term that I have had the supreme displeasure to debate. It’s so divisive. In my opinion we might as well replace the phrase “Real Women” with I Ain’t no Fake Ass Pretty Bitch or better yet, Why You All Should Hate Other Women Who Are Different Than You By Virtue of Genetic Make up or Media Manipulation.
Do you feel me on this point? It’s virtually the same. But please, please please don’t get me started, again. I crossed that bridge once before in a letter to Oprah, no less. So onwards!
So ya, Shelby and Holly are known for their political views and inspirational messages of hope for humankind. [Did you just hear the doves cry?]
The Other Day on Twitter I happened on an interesting discussion thread which was brought to my attention by the brilliant Leslie Kinzel aka, @52Stations. She writes a blog called Fatshionista. Leslie tweeted about the store Lane Bryant, @lanebryant who openly dissed Natalie Perkins, a woman in Kinzel’s Twitter Community who is an advocate for Fat Acceptance and who makes and sells a line of fashionable clothing for women. The T-shirt in question said, “Does my Fat Arse look Fat in this.” From Lane Bryant’s perspective they thought it was a bit gauche. But they didn’t know who they were messin’ with because some Fat Girls could give a rat’s ass what some over-priced corporation thinks about their philosophies concerning the language of the “Fat Positive.” And so it was on. I got all jazzed about the discussion, I posted the link about T-shirt. And then I remarked that I wanted one.
Gulp. This was the Tweet that also gave me pause. By some definition—Holly’weird exempted— I am not Fat. Per se. Ya sure, I have the everyday struggles that women with a mild case of BDD do. And I do not, in any shape or form, resemble my BFF with the rock hard abs—2 children and a MIL “did” that to me. [Ha. Ha.] Also the phrase “does this make me look fat is not only familiar to me, it’s a *normal* part of my daily routine. That said, I do not by any means have the political and social issues related to those of the amply-proportioned. And I have not ever been discriminated against because somebody did not wish to see me in a pair of “skinny jeans.”
So my wanting a T-shirt created by a woman who’s philosophy I respect and share, made me feel like a bit of an opportunist. A bit too “comfortable” and perhaps a bit too familiar with a struggle that I really know nothing about. I suppose it’s a similar thing to non-black folks using the word Nigger. You all just c’aint! Here’s Leslie’s post about Lane Bryant. Ooooh, they’re gonna be in trouble.
And now back to the Menstrual Poetry of Holly Ord. So not only did I hesitate to follow her because she’s an Atheist, but I acted all junior high when I tweeted that the word menstrual made me uncomfortable and did it mean that I hated myself. Elsewhere, I posted the link with this opening line: “The title gives me cramps. And makes me feel a bit queasy. Hopefully in 5 days I’ll feel better.” Ha. Ha.
But now, we cool, you know? Because Menstrual Poetry content is CRAZY. It’s the kind of emotional writing that makes you feel just about everything after you’ve read it. It’s definitely not “mainstream” and she certainly is *out there*. For this reason I worry about her psychological safety [and mine too]. I think all writers need to save some of the ideas they have for themselves [myself included]. I don’t mean self-censorship, because that IS unhealthy and unproductive. I mean that we might hold back on a part of our personality [or personalities] so that some of it is reserved solely for us, a kind of safe place where nobody can touch, engage with, consume or comment on. Because when you open yourself up that much, you lay yourself open to attack. Still, perhaps it’s good to keep the lines of communication flowing as it were. Menstrual, indeed.
So I’ve been thinking. A lot. About you, about me, and everyone else in the world as defined by North American pop-cultural-tics. Really about the American way of Life and how we fit in, or don’t fit in as the case may be. Yes, increasingly, I’m interesting in this particularly insular and narrow point of view because this world is [in] my immediate future. I am but a mere blip on the screen, but feeling like I “belong” while feeling like the ultimate insider/outsider allows me a bit of flexibility to consider my options.
It is likely that my questions are your questions, or that your answers are my answers because whatever ideas [& metaphors] that get “planted” and sustained through the various media formats are inescapable. So we become what we read, we ingest what we are spoon-fed, and we live what we learn insofar as we remain susceptible to the messages in the guise of teaching.
Beyond that, here’s the thing:
Let’s just say for argument’s sake, that I’ve been lazy. Lazy as defined by a busy mom of 2 young girls who blossom daily, busy as a wife making white rice for my Chinese husband, busy as a homemaker cooking clean etc., and busy as a woman who at times likes to classify herself as a sensitive person and a writer. The sensitive writer in me has taken a break since our 5 year old left school on June 18. No, this wasn’t a strategic break by any means, in fact almost daily from that day I’ve thought about, and been pained by my desire to write. And I’ve written many posts in my head. In fact, the other day I told my husband that I believe that I was so *exhausted* by all the emotional energy I spent on MTV that I had nothing left. Or what I had left, I felt like I needed to channel into something more immediate and tangible, like my own life. I’ve no use for unproductive ranting, it serves nothing and no one.
And yet as I continued to think about writing, I read a bit of everything. Not books, sigh, for an opportunity to read an actual book! But I took to the Twitterverse, and I Facebooked, and I just got up to surfing the net like old times.
I made some new acquaintances on Twitter like this dude, ToureX who tweets a veritable feast of opinion-information you might not necessarily get from the mainstream, and found new sources of enlightenment, new opinions different and somewhat similar to my own, and I embraced what was out there. And as time wore on, I started to feel that I really needed to put my thoughts down on paper once again. That Twitter only allowed me to express 140 characters of my snarky side and nothing too deep. Twitter actually made me think about how *important* it was to my creative expression in that it allowed me offload some of the nonsense that occupies my thoughts when I have a moment to myself.
At the same time, I think the respite was good. That perhaps the break might indicate a shift in how I approach various topics. Interestingly, media never stops, the virus keeps on multiplying and mutating, so for the sake of my own sanity, and perhaps yours, I’m back.
Recently I came across a blog, by way of Roger Ebert [@ebertchicago] who tweets like a freak [frequently, feverishly, fervently] and whom I follow on Twitter. The blog is called Fatshionista. It is primarily written by a woman called Leslie Kinzel [@52stations] who is a “Fat Advocate.” Not that it’s particularly germane to my telling of her story, nor is it any of your business, but Ms. Kinzel weighs 300 lbs and she is married. You can find this information along with other “Fat Facts” in her profile, and as you read through entry after marvellous entry you get a clearer picture as to why these sorts of extraneous details become “important”—or not important depending on your POV—to her public persona and to the cause itself.
Kinzel is also one HELLUVA gifted writer [the goose-pimply-inducing sort] and for all intents and purposes she is quite literally speaking much more than the sum total of her parts.
In a review of Queen Latifah’s Just Wright movie, Mr Ebert referred to Queen as “plus size,” and Ms Kinzel took issue with it. Here it is in all its terrifically-worded glory. Since I started this post a few days ago—ugh, it’s wicked hard posting about a Fab Subject when the subject herself can run skirts around what you perceive to be “good writing”—Kinzel has taken to the blogosphere to “write a response to the mystifying misreadings of my Ebert-linked post.” Interestingly, Ebert who assumed he was being complimentary by using the term “plus size” in reference to Latifah, was not. At least according to Ms Kinzel who in her “PHd” of an argument exposes the heady significance of his choice of the words, “fat” and “plus size,” and the implications therein. She in turn breaks down the culture significance of our word choices, what she calls, “unpacking language,” and ya, talk about being schooled, yo.
[In reference to the same article, I also took issue with Ebert’s use of the term “Real Woman” [I have “issues” with the word, “Real,” oh ya. BigTime issues], and I wish I had me some of Kinzel’s excellent linguistic skills to articulate my thoughts in a similar thought-provoking manner. My personal sense of urgency does not allow me sufficient time to draw all the historical references I might require to illustrate a point, indeed, in my last post I thought of incorporating a bibliography, but that felt like too much “work.” Yes, I can be a lazy-ass at times. Alas, my battle continues].
But the “real” issue here is that by virtue of one single entry, I became a fan. It was that simple. After quickly reading through the Ebert-inspired post, I went on Twitter and said, @52Stationscongrats 4 “sayin’ it loud!” i applaud/appreciate ppl who stand by their convictions. the world needs more of this. I confess that it took me some time to compose something “meaningful” given the constraints of Twitter. I also wondered if it was important for me to tell her that I was not Fat. This sort of deliberation on the whys and wherefores of “full disclosure” brought me back to my university days when everyone, women in particular, had to “represent” and therefore associate themselves politically via a particular group in the culture. Once you proclaimed that designation, you were called upon to “speak for” that particular class/culture. No, the professors did not ‘insist’ that we undertake this approach, it was more the students who in learning about others, and The Other, felt more comfortable if they could put faces to causes in order to humanize/personalize complicated ideas. And so it went. If you must know, I actually resisted being a representative. Not because I was “different” but because I knew that we were all different because we are all individually hard-wired to be different, which doesn’t make it “personal.” Indeed, this is my “2nd wave–encroaching on 3rd wave– Feminist[?]” mind rationalizing a sometimes complicated idea. Oh, and incidentally, since when did the word “Feminist” become such an F Bomb?!
But the thing about Ms Kinzel is that she is who she is and she just happens to be Fat. I mean, how does one get to be, and/or become someone? She doesn’t “hide” behind her issues whatever they may be, she seems to stand loud and proud and confident enough to embrace who she is and who she wants to be. Of course, “people” are annoyed and outraged by her being so public and vocal about acceptance, and one only has to read her hilarious post of the types of comments she receives to get a cursory glimpse into her everyday Life. It can’t be easy. But fighting a cause never is. One has to be strong in their personal convictions to not become defeated by what the masses find un/acceptable. [Me, I just wanna scream “Fuck the Masses!” Ayn Rand anyone? Anyone?]
Yes, there are “worse” things in life than being chubby, aren’t there? Oh shit, can I say that? Are euphemisms, like OK? I dunno. More interestingly Ms Kinzel uses the word “Fat” in order to take-back the negativisms associated with the word. Much in the same way I assume certain Black folks use the term “niggah/niggaz,” and in my university days how some women embraced the C-word. [I still can’t even say it, much less write it]. Again, it’s not for everyone, and my favourite line of hers is that people incorrectly suppose/assume that so-called Fat People are one monolith. No, I don’t think she wants to “represent” Fat People en masse, rather I believe she is advocating for sensitivity and inclusion. Sounds reasonable enough to me! Check out her post [that eventually found it's way to Newsweek.com] on Childhood Obesity for a heart-wrenching example of just that. I mean, who knew?!
Anyway, the point was not to “overstand” the issues related to Fat Acceptance and Fat Advocacy but rather to highlight the gift of a talented and passionate wordsmith and writer. And to demonstrate that a sampling of ALL voices from many different vantage points make the world go ‘round. Y’heard?
Which leads me to another great “discovery” in my search for good stories and good writing. Rona Maynard is the doyenne of Canadian Publishing. The grand dame chronicler and editor extraordinaire of Everyday Life/Women’s Stories. Remember Chatelaine with Rona? Remember Chatelaine without Rona? Well, like any good writer one’s story does not begin and end with one defining moment, alas, the more we live our lives, the more stories we have to tell. And such it is with Ms Maynard. A few years ago I was treated to an excerpt of her book about growing up and the sibling rivalry she had experienced with her sister, Joyce Maynard, also a writer, who dated none other than JD Salinger. It resonated with me in particular, because I am no stranger to the nonsense that girls get up to whether related or not. I also remember the way Ms Maynard “spoke” through the pages of her book, and how her writing “spoke” to me.
These days I follow her on Twitter [@ronamaynard], and her blog is superb. She recently wrote this story about being 60, and you just can’t believe how ridiculously FAB she is. Hers is a fresh and meaningful outlook, and when I grow up I want to be Rona [and my Mother cuz she’s Fab too]. Rona’s a woman who is smarter than most people you know, and she isn’t inclined to beat you over the head with the number of books she’s read [sound familiar?]. One only has to read one of her mood-enhancing blog entries to know that hers is a life well-lived and recorded. And um just so you know, before there was O by Oprah, there was Chatelaine helmed by Rona Maynard, and don’t you forget it.
This morning, my 5 year old daughter, who has been reading since she was 3 ½ was teaching her sister, age 2, how to match and identify the words to the animals on her puzzle. It was indeed a “moment.” Prior to that they were screaming at one another, grabbing for the same item, and competing for my attention. My husband is still sleeping. Don’t! get me started. But when my 5 year old decided that she wanted to share her knowledge with her sister, most importantly, without being asked to do so, she simply took the initiative. Hers.
Children are funny like that. On a daily basis, the girls “go at it,” screaming for something the other one has, until there is complete and utter chaos in the atmosphere. It’s crazy-making for sure, and an adult has to immediately summon the parenting Gods lest there be some out of body experiences of the negative-kind being invoked.
When these moments of infantile “unreasonability” occur, we the adults are called upon to referee, and words like “share” get thrown around quite liberally. If I was them, I would be sick of hearing it. There’s nothing more unfair, than giving somebody something that you had first, that you chose first, and for reasons illogical to you at that moment in time, you are now being forced to give up because somebody bigger and louder than you says so. “It’s MINE,” they shout. “I had it FIRST,” they holler. “Get your OWN, they scream.” And then the “rational” adult steps in and admonishes the children for being children and not sharing. It follows that they would be visibly perplexed at this curious turn of events. “Is she on glue?” I imagine them asking themselves. “Why should I give her the thing that I have?” Instead, their little thoughts are broken with: “I’ll take it away,” and “Unless you share.” And so it goes. But what a crock!
I am told that children do not learn or fully grasp the concept of sharing until they reach 6. And even then and beyond, it’s a crap shoot. Thing is, up until that time children will have heard the word “share” 6 million, 9 hundred thousand, and forty times. But so what? Every day of those 6 million days of an opportunity to share mean nothing until they are fully ready and primed to do so. And then what?
I often marvel at our expectations of young children. Particularly when I hear people say things like, “Oh, don’t pick up that crying baby/kid, that’s what he wants.” “You have to “discipline” him because he is always crying, and he’ll never stop if you start picking him up for every little thing.” Wow, I say to myself, biting my Angelina Jolie lips [snark!] trying not to come off as “Mother Superior” or “Judgmental,” but EFFTHAT!
At the volunteer-run daycare of the gym where I attend and sometimes leave my 2 year old, I had the opportunity to witness a discussion on child-rearing between two women. One of whom didn’t have a child, and the other who was a grandmother, and a rather unhappy looking pinched sort at that. I said to the air [because I wasn’t about to have a BattleRoyale with women I did not know well, or with whom I had never really engaged in any meaningful conversation], “Really? Imagine that. A “high-need” child crying because he wants to be picked up, and you the grown-ass, grown-up telling that baby who has the emotionally stability of well, a baby, that he will not be picked up because that’s what he wants, and you being the adult who holds all of the cards at the moment, plus the ability to take away that baby’s emotional insecurity as soon as you pick him up, decides that it’s more important to dominate the relationship and “win” at training this baby to only want to be held when you are damn ready to make space in your heart and your hands for that child in need.
I often wonder and ask aloud that if the roles were reversed, what would the adult in that situation do, and what they would expect of their caregiver given a similar set of circumstances. Just imagine, I say, that you didn’t have language, and you couldn’t walk and you couldn’t demonstrate to anybody that you needed something as important as something to eat, or drink, or you simply wanted to be held, and the person “in charge” of your development decided that what you thought you needed didn’t qualify as “important.” Imagine that every time you demonstrated your need for something, through let’s say, something as annoying and irritating as crying, and that same person who was visibly bored and irritated that you chose the most inopportune time to test your vocal skills, looked at you with distaste or disgust, or simply pretended that you didn’t exist. What then?
Yes, I have indeed asked people these “hypothetical” questions, and I’m happy to report that of those people I have asked, many have put hand to forehead and admitted, “Wow, I’ve never considered that.” Precisely, is my response. Because usually our expectations of our children, and not just those children with whom we have the great fortune to be around, but all God’s children who live on this planet, and who will inevitably shape our future, is grosely out of touch and/or beyond our so-called adult capacity to understand and reason what the view looks like from a child’s perspective. Trust. If you have any doubt in your mind about what children see, or feel or think, try putting your child’s mind on, and surveying the landscape from their vantage point and see just how “tripped-out” and almost psychedelic that experience might be. Do you feel me?
Being a novice at parenting, but still feeling like I might know a thing or two about the 5 year old set and under, I used to be the woman who pooh-poohed the child development psychologists who would tell parents that one of the best ways to relate to your children is to step into their shoes. In theory, I pontificated, this is excellent advice but who has the ability, much less the stamina in the throes of a test-of-wills argument, to see if from the child’s perspective? If anything, I am the adult, I stammer, and it’s gonna be MY way, or the highway. And so it goes. Thing is, after many a trial and tribulation, when you really step into those child’s shoes you really get a sense of what’s going on.
I used to say to a Mom friend of mine when we were comparing notes about our preschoolers’ behaviour and how we, the adults couldn’t grasp why we needed to repeat ourselves sometimes 5-10 times in order for our children to re/act. And then I came up with the reason that, ya, aren’t we setting the bar high. Imagine that these little 3 year olds have been on the planet for the length of a good burp, and here we are 10 times plus their age, and we’re still grasping the concept of patience, and understanding and compassion and good social skills. Who do we think we are, I asked rhetorically.
But that’s just it. For every SuperMom, or SuperWoman, who’s looking to control the game, I’ll show you a Woman who wants to circumvent losing for winning—or is it the other way around? “We”—those of us in the “super” category— want to head off at the pass, any moment that doesn’t necessarily fit with our schedule or impression of what children “should” do, and how children “should” act. To be honest, when I let go of those expectations, I think I became a happier Mom. Don’t get me wrong. I still get mad-dog frustrated, but then I stop, breathe, whine about my Mother in Law, curse MTV and the ship they rode in on, do some yoga, punish myself at the gym for 5 days straight, eat potato chips after 10pm, rue the day I decided to make rules about cleaning & organizing, and phew, I’m good to go!
I think that what I have come to realize is that it’s OK. That everything will.be.OK. Parenting has taught me that the world is a lot more messed up than I previously imagined; that people do things not to spite you, cause really, you ain’t all that, and it’s not about you; but more importantly, that just maybe, picking up and holding, and giving a good stable hug to that baby inside and beside you when you/they need it the most, not when it’s convenient for anybody else but you—the baby, keep up!— is both the answer and cue to a more compassionate society. Amen?
Here’s a link to the principles of Attachment Parenting by Dr. Sears et al, “America’s Family of Pediatricians.” It’s not for everyone, but nothing ever is. Take what you can use. And discard the rest.
I LOVE reading a good read. For me it goes without saying, except that I’m gonna say it. What constitues a good read for me is something that is well-written, engaging, informative and beautifully executed in a way that speaks to my sensibilities and inclinations. Since joining the Blogosphere, albeit somewhat “late” in the game, I’ve had the great fortune to find a few gems that have captured and retained my interest in ways that I had not previously imagined.
I think that when you are busy in your own world trying to make relevance of your own life, you can indeed find things that both positively and negatively impact you. Particularly if you are susceptible to the subtle and not so subtle messages around. To some of you, who may or may not peruse my Blog on the regular, it would seem that I am “all over the place.” In many cases this is “true,” in others it’s not so true. I am “all over the place” in terms of the things that pique my interest, which are at times vast and varied, and I am “all over the place” with respect to the things that I feel a sense of urgency about. I am also still trying to hone my voice. But I think that that will come.
I really do see my Blog as a work in progress, and as I evolve and age with the many things that capture my heart and my soul, so too will my blog—and hopefully I will acquire some experience and wisdom along the way. I feel that every day or every moment that I have the opportunity to write, I am able to explore a part of me that makes me feel more confident and secure in Me. Which in many ways enables me to make sense of the world around me. I also believe that this is what good writers do best. They help ‘every day’ people break down the world around us providing us with meaning while giving sense to the things and situations that seem out of [our] grasp or imagination. Or they provide context and relevance to the things that happen in the pop/culture which we are invariably forced to go along with even though we may be silently raging against them on the inside.
That said, many ideas have been going through my bald head recently. And I think it all started with my post regarding the Hills premier on MTV, followed by my post about Daryn Jones and his MTV Live Show where I kind of “lost it. After those two posts, I got back into my gym-swing and decided to plug-out of television pop-culture for a bit. And as fate would have it, I have again found “solace” in my favourite go-to place of things balanced and newsworthy, The New York Times.
I have also found great comfort and insight in the following Blogs, and once I find space in my schedule I will include a Blog Roll on my Blog.
Here’s a sampling replete with “critique:”
Housewife Bliss. This one is literally a “breath of fresh air,” because among other things she tells you how to scent your home naturally! But most importantly, she writes a guide to help you to balance the insane moments of your married/house life and she lays out a set of systems that will help you achieve daily sanity. It reads quite beautifully and logically and it is imaginatively-configured if you are fortunate enough to have that kind of lifestyle. If you, don’t then it’s pure escapism. The site is airy and it breathes. The posts are organized into ideas and suggestions that create a Blissful House/wife. The graphics are organized for ease of reading, and you can find a sense of calm in the layout since it is not overly busy with advertising or what I would consider “kooky” graphics. The posts are short and sweet with a beginning, a middle, and an end, and at the end of each the author asks you what you would do. Best of all, you really do feel like an integral part of her community, and her approachability jumps off the page such that you would hope to meet her in real life.
Brasandranties. This is a gem of a blog if I’ve ever read one. The author is indeed a poet. Her sentences are long and beautifully scripted, each turn of phrase a delightful set of words that dance off the page and transport you into that meta-life of all things creative and surreal. She writes in third person narrative, which makes each post seem more like a philosophical consideration rather than a hard-core first-person rant. I’ve only recently started to visit her, and I have left a few comments on her post as I was inspired by the way she breaks down her thoughts on a particular subject.
A few posts ago, Brasandranties wrote about blogging. I confess that while I took her recommendations under “advisement”—after all she is experienced, and “old hat” when it comes to “branding” on the internet, I really do have a hard time taking “expert” advice from people telling me how I should approach something, particularly a creative endeavour. I’m from the “Bruce Mau” school of creativity in that I believe that sometimes it is best to approach and/or solve a problem when you know nothing about it. That way, you don’t have a preconceived set of ideas/notions about a preconceived outcome. And you end up with something beyond your wildest dreams, and the dreams of the audience or end-user you’ve been retained to create that thing for. Now, if that creation is for you, and you alone, imagine the personal reward and sense of satisfaction when it turns into something that you didn’t have to sacrifice your integrity for.
For me what I find most fascinating in this world of the blog is that there are as many diversely organized voices as there are approaches, and of the more memorable ones, almost no two are alike. I almost never think: Oh I must read this one because this one is ‘trying’ to be controversial, or this one is ‘trying’ to be multi-purpose, or this one is ‘trying’ to be funny, etc. And I think that the ones that take a more “marketing” approach to what they think will garner the most hits, will in my estimation end up being the ones who will inevitably want to be considered big-ticket advertising worthy. And to that, I say SNOOZE! I actually prefer the ‘below-the radar,’ underground blogs that are consistent with their own personal ideologies rather than the ones who get into the game to become, gulp, “famous,” or infamous as they case may be. [The exception to the rule is Kelly Oxford. She was/is “popular,” but she is also hardcore entertaining, and I’m pretty certain that she didn’t enrol in Blog 101 courses to become that way].
The ones that stand out for me are the ones that engage my creative sensibilities rather than the ones who want me to follow a set of instructions about what invariably and inevitably is a ‘tried and true’ format which one imagines might be a ‘recipe for success.’ Snore. How about, “I don’t want what you got, and that’s why I appreciate what you got?” Still, on some “corporate” level, those of us in the business must “give the people what they want.” In order for us to get what we want.
The Feminista Files. This is my new favourite blog based on one entry. Oh my Lord. First of all the writer is a published author. And I absolutely love her sassy ways mostly because she seems to be trying to unite the Sisterhood— that fickle, wiggly, prickly idea of girls getting along. Here’s her entry about JLo, called How JLo’s Ass Changed The World. [Oh, yes she did]. It’s all kinds of brilliant. And as the comments stack up, it’s interesting to me how people respond to the subject of JLo. I found The Feminista Files by way of FinalFashion [excellent, approachable and knowledgeable writing, down to earth and realistic portrayal of all things fashion-related, gifted fashion illustrator] which lead me to I want-I got [well-connected and intelligent fashion author/insider with yikes[!], a really confusing website, albeit with killer content] which lead me The Feminista Files. Feminista makes a beautiful creative space for ALL women. And she doesn’t “diss,” she uplifts! She’s also an incredible font of pop/cultural knowledge and she blogs regularly and tweets furiously!
Lily Lemontree. This is the quintessential good manners blog. And it is delightful! The writer hails from Toronto and she actually owns an etiquette business so she comes by her blog honestly and professionally. It’s refreshing to say the least!
Kelly Oxford. Hilarious. Out there. She comes by her acerbic tongue honestly and intuitively. I ‘discovered’ her via The Daily Beast under the title Twitter Creates a Star. I was curious. She doesn’t disappoint.
Food Blogs. I love them all. One favourite is MadebyMariko. She’s young, and cute and funny. And her food is inspired. I often tell her that she should be on the FoodNetwork. It will come. Chow.com and SeriousEats. These folks are James Beard award winners. ‘Nuff Said.
Sanity Fair. This is a gorgeous home and style blog replete with great tips and suggestions regarding all things design-related. She really has an ‘insiders’ eye /editor’s eye in terms of collating beautiful things. And the matching photography that accompanies each entry is fabulous. Lot of meticulous care, research and insight are taken to give the reader the best of her discoveries. She is generous to a fault! I especially love the Bar Cart entry. Imagine this!
So that’s if for now. I really do have to make a mental note to save all of my fabulous new finds because each of these blogs completes my world in such different ways. I’m grateful, and I feel indebted to each of them for really putting something useful and meaningful out there for me and others to see and live, and ‘experience’ in that awesome virtual way. I’ve used the word “honestly” in this entry enough times for you to get a sense of what I’m driving at here. Enjoy!
We’re just finishing up. Earlier I made some brown rice and I baked a few organic sweet potatoes. Was going to do a summer caesar salad, sans the milky/cheesy dressing, but the girls opted for sliced cucumbers instead. Me? Well, I flash fried some beautiful organic smoked atlantic salmon–I know, BLASPHEMY!– and served it with the above-mentioned brown rice and sweet potato. WOW! Talk about some incredible flavours. The smoked salmon is already so salty [23% per a 2-3 sliced serving, I checked!] but in the grand scheme of things it’s Ok.
Hubby just went out for a quick meeting with his business partner, which means they will be drinking Soju in short order, but only if red meat is involved. And I think I would have liked to have a nice glass of Pinot Grigio to go with, but, perhaps another day.
After dreaming about that short nap, which never did materialize, I instead did a quick rinse of the downstairs, popped in a load of kid’s laundry and vaccummed for the 2nd time this week! Ugh, I guess I got my second wind, and wouldn’t you know it, I “chose ” to clean with my “free-time.” Who said I can’t find my bliss!
I am thankful because I got some really good advice recently about my blog. [Please hit me back and let me know, dear reader, if you catch the difference].
I’m all about giving props for well-considered advice. Yes, for the most part advice can be self-serving, but if you simply take what you can use and discard the rest, you will benefit in ways that you can’t ever imagine. For me, it’s not so much about having someone tell me what to do, as it is in asking someone to help me consider my options. And even if it’s the “wrong” advice, or a “bad” choice, you are always the wiser because you know for next time how most big tasks or the simplest problem usually requires more than one ear to bend. This, and that you eventually need to trust in your own decision-making abilities, even if it’s the little voice that says, “don’t go there,” or “go for it!” The adage, “nothing ventured, nothing gained” springs to mind.
That said, Choice can be a pretty daunting exercise, particularly when you are overwhelmed. This is why creative types need producers; why writers and filmmakers need editors and continuity staff; why politicians need speech-writers; why brand corporations need PR strategists; and to completely go off tangent: why sex-addicts need both public and private rehab. At some point, something must stop, or be re-directed, or better orchestrated, etc.
Personally-speaking, I continue to be in awe of people in the graphic design business because I always wonder how they know when they are finished. What I understand now, as in any creative endeavour, [or a public blood-letting for that matter], is that understanding when something is “fully-cooked,” is mostly intuitive [unless you belong to the arrogant prick variety like Tiger Woods]. The “good” ones know when to stop and value the process of going as far and as long or as short as necessary to arrive at something that they are satisfied with. I learned this from “the thinking man’s designer,” Bruce Mau.
And yes, the so-called sex-addict script follows the same, if not more “creative” process, um except that the word “addict” implies that one doesn’t know how or when or why to stop, but in my version, tabloidTV-reported addicts do, so keep up!:
PROLOGUE | INTRO: Overhead announcement, “Celebrity/Douchebag/Dude has been caught with his pants down!!!!!” Cue Music: “Dum dum dum dummmmmmmb!”
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE: Cut to white light shots of the wide-eyed, “who me?!” addict in a series of guilty-as-charged photographs, until the public is saturated,
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO: Cut to shots of strategic “breathing space moments” between said addict’s photographs and the photographs of the women they got addicted to, until the public is saturated,
ACT THREE, SCENE THREE: Show in either press conference format, or viral internet clips the Other Womans [sic] giving juicy details of douchebag’s prowess or lack thereof, until the public is saturated,
ACT FOUR, SCENE FOUR: Actor A, Actor B, Actor C, and Actor D tell their version of the events with school-boy embellishment to induce shock, disgust, and perhaps, envy, until the public is saturated
ACT FIVE, SCENE FIVE: All the parties give and take their 15 minutes, until the public is saturated
ACT SIX, SCENE SIX: Shots of all parties moving peacefully onto the next.
EPILOGUE | OUTRO: Shot of addict arriving at rehab. Clip of general public no longer giving a fuck. [Except those of us who continue to feel compelled to write about it. Sorry.]
The only difference in script however, is not necessarily in the gory details, but in your creative product and perhaps what you leave out of the brief. Depending on where you position yourself, the details may be slightly different, but the process is the same. For example: John Edwards cheated with at least one known woman, Eliot Spitzer cheated with at least one known woman, Bill Clinton cheated with several women, but most notably with a puffy, yet striking young intern, aka “that woman,” and a cigar and we still find him sexy.
The above-mentioned dudes are politicians and suits, and their women belong to the so-called executive class. So we get an executive-type script. And even though the tabloids will take it to the underbelly and back, the mainstream press will give it the sophistication level it needs to assuage and bring our dirty minds peace. [Monica Lewinsky, her Club Monaco lipgloss and Barbara Walters; Jennifer Anniston and Vanity Fair, andVogue, andElle, andGQandThe New York Times and anybody who will listen; Elizabeth Edwards and Vogue; what’s her face and GQ].
Tiger Woods, Kobe Bryant, and Magic Johnson are Black, multi-millionaire super athletes who became associated with the groupie class. Magic got AIDS, wrote a book, but wasn’t an “addict” or a “cheater.” Kobe who has won back the favour of his fans, was tabloid fodder for about 5 minutes, paid his wife off with a million dollar rock, and wasn’t an addict either.
Tiger was an anti-social ass, is an anti-social ass, was an anti-social sex-addict, is an anti-social sex-addict, and continues to thumb his wanker at the fans, the public, and anybody who chooses to give him airtime. His PR strategy is incongruous with the sex addict script, but for some reason we are supposed to believe that this mofo is above it all. His stance is even more politically manipulative than the strategies of the politicians themselves because well, he comes with a billion dollar price tag attached.
And Jesse James? Well, Jesse James is po’white trash from the wrong yet, somehow marketable and increasingly exploitable—Jersey Shore anyone? Anyone?— side of the tracks. Except that he has a million dollar bike shop. He married Sandra Bullock. Ya. Her choice. Don’t get it twisted. The girl next door/America’s Sweetheart is KINKY. The End. And the script doesn’t get any richer than this. Jesse never made any particular claim to fame. He went on Celebrity Apprentice with Donald Trump, and to me it was one of the most bizarre Reality TV segments ever. The whole premise of the show is to get money for charity, but Jesse refused to use his “celebrity.” To the point that you kind of thought that he might have killed a man somewhere in his past and if you insisted that he do something against his will, he might do the same to you. So you just “knew” that there was something under that quiet, steely, shifty, man-of-few-words, brawn-over-brains exterior. The something is that Jesse Don’t Play. [Oh, but did you see the episode where he outted Dennis-The-Freak-Rodman about his alcoholism? I thought for sure there was gonna be blows, yo!].
At the end of the day, it comes as no surprise to know that Jesse is a dude with a predilection for big boobs and big porn and big tats. What is surprising is that as bored as we may be with all of this professionally delivered and executed Bullshit, we are happy to be spoon-fed the details of his so-called addiction as if it really matters. What’s great about Jesse, if infidelity can be called “great,” is that he is willing to follow the script and play the game so that we can forgive Sandra for making a poor choice. Jesse doesn’t have an addiction, anymore than I have a size zero bum, but he needs one—an addiction, not anymore bums, ahem—so that Sandra Bullock can now show her face and the world can breathe a little mo’ easier. By the same token, Sandra doesn’t need to be responsible for Jesse’s actions anymore than you do, but she does need to be responsible for her choices. And well, we’ll all hear about that soon enough. That’s all folks! Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I would absolutely forgive you for caving to cultural peer pressure if you watched the “Something about Nothing” TW press conference the other night. I would also forgive you if you were unable to restrain yourself from committing an act of violence against your flatscreen TV in the process.
This is how I felt.
A few mornings prior to the conference, I listened to the CBC Morning 2 Drive as was my usual habit. When they broke for the news, the Tiger Woods conference was reported as headline news amidst other top news issues of the day. We were subsequently told that the conference was going to be contained to only family and friends, a few select press of Tiger’s choosing and no questions. We were told that he was going to say sorry about his getting busy with hos while looking like he was happily married. Time permitting, he might also shed some light as to how he was able to rake in billions of dollars as a reputable role model, sports icon, etc. And most importantly, he would tell us that he was in Sex Rehab. It was reality TV in the making, a must-see event because after 3 months we was gonna learn something new, y’all!
So I watched. No I hadn’t planned to. I’m not a golf person. I never felt that there was anything to “like” about Tiger, and I didn’t find him cute or funny. Which is important if you’re a girl who has to watch sports. Really, I could have cared less about this poor excuse of a Man and his infidelities. I was watching something else, and the conference broke in the middle of the program, as if this was something important and could change my life in some significant way. Ya. First Mistake.
So I watched and squirmed and suppressed my laughter and um, outrage. It was anti-climactic at best, self-indulgent at its worst.
I thought to myself. Wow. Dude just doesn’t “get it.” Not once did he seem sincere. His face was open, and wide and blank, the back was arched and straight, the voice, flat and unemotional [a strategic golf approach?!] He said he was sorry, but he didn’t sound or look sorry. He said it was his fault, but he didn’t look or sound like somebody who was at fault. He didn’t look guilty of anything, rather he looked defiant and arrogant, like “back off bitches, I’m doing this because somebody told me to do it, and ya, as painful as it is for you, it’s even more painful for me, ‘cause, Tiger don’t play.”
And then he proceeded to blame the media. Indirectly of course. He told us to back off and leave him alone, to leave his family alone, and that his business was none of our business. He told us that no, he hadn’t found God, but that he would return to his Buddhist religion for redemption. And it struck me as un-American. Right down to the core. Because he’s not doing it right. He’s not following the Redemption Script. He’s rewriting the script, perhaps trying to rewrite history. I say his behaviour is conveniently “un-American” because Americans like their [public] sex with religion and politics, thank you.
In America, when a Media Icon falls from grace, there are a series of things they must do to both save their career and save their reputation. The first is to immediately admit your guilt, the second is to immediately say you’re sorry and accept responsibility, and the third step is to immediately get help and find God, and 4th if you are married, your wife is supposed to stand corporate-styles, stiffly and stoically by your side, in sensible shoes, with a tight grin splayed across her face dying on the inside as she suppresses her real thoughts and emotions. Immediately.
According to the accepted script, we don’t really want any more from you at that moment, because we can’t really process any more than that. What’s done is done, and we need you to move on, and move along, so we can move on and move along. And we need simple details, please. And no we don’t want to hear you justify your ass, because no, you can’t make it better, but when and if you keep talking smack, you will absolutely make it worse. Like Tiger. Because the Fool, doesn’t get It.
How many more people will he alienate by “calling attention to” his Buddhist roots? Perhaps as many people he alienated when he first claimed to be neither Black nor White nor Asian. [Only MJ could make us "believe" that]. That should have been our “first clue” that he was different. And then there was his conduct on the course. People generally found him a bit prickly, but his game was untouchable, and sometimes social awkwardness can be forgiven if the genius is outstanding.
Still, in America, sports guys are like real life action heroes. They are likeable and inimitable because we let them be that way. When the sports hero Michael Vick was caught dealing dogs, he immediately fessed-up, faced his demons and is now doing everything in his power to right his wrong. And wow, if there was ever a soul in pain, Vick’s is it. The remorse on his face is palpable.
Tiger’s actions literally pale in comparison. TW lived out his fantasy as if he was a porno stud and not a reputable family man. And he got caught. And he is still caught. But he can’t release his ego enough to let it be. But maybe that’s what addiction is. Addiction to yourself, the need to stuff yourself with goodies for yourself to the exclusion and concern of everything else.
So what does his Momma think? What would his Poppa say? Well, if you watched Mrs. Woods you would have seen a woman in pain, a Mother disgusted with her son. She sat in the front row dressed in solemn black as if in mourning. Her face was unemotional, but the body language said it all. Her arms were folded tightly across her body and she did not look at Tiger, nor did she look at any cameras. Her eyes were averted the entire time. This must be a family-thing.
The Woods’ aren’t interested in making good television. It’s about them. Tiger’s transgressions were an insult to his family, and Mrs. Woods will let you know that. She doesn’t care about what you or I think, but she will tell you how disappointed she is in her son. This is her pain, not yours. Tiger doesn’t care about you either, and he will go through the motions of telling you he is sorry on his terms. This is not your pain or your life, it’s his. Except that they have been all too willing to let you put your life on hold while you watch him chase a ball and enjoy the creature comforts of the Simple Life. Oh ya, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.
Nocka, please.
[Oh, and the Vanity Fair cover? My daughter makes that face when she doesn't get what she wants. And my husband and I tell her that if she wants certain things then she's going to have to put on a pleasant face because people who pout and make "cross-faces" don't invite good things to come their way. She laughs after a few moments, and then a beautiful smile erupts on her beautiful face. When she is in a more positive and receptive state, we tell her that it is absolutely OK to be mad, sad, angry and upset, but it's not productive to be that way for too long. She gets it. She is almost 5 afterall.]
ithinkyoushould.Have a Marketing Plan that includes a Public Relations/Media Plan.
In business life, you are nothing without a marketing plan AND a public relations/media plan. Business & Marketing/PR go hand in hand like milk and cookies, pasta and sauce, wine and cheese, fries and salt. You get the picture. Unfortunately, so many small businesses fail because while you may have a great idea and a great product, few invest the necessary thought, time, energy and dollars on the smart tools that will help to bring your product to market.
In our over-media saturated world, the companies that gain the most air-time, are more often than not the companies who invest big dollars to ensure that their products are placed front and centre on the media landscape. If we are bombarded and pressured to buy “Concept A” over “Concept B,” or “Product A” over “Product B” it is because some clever body out there is making damn sure that we keep our eyes on their prize. Quite instantly the [subliminal] buzz words and phrases that they use to market their great ideas instantly become part of the culture and we incorporate them into our lingo without missing a beat:
Dr. Oz wants you to focus on You, Oprah wants you to Live your Best Life, Nike wants you to Just Do It, Adidas tells us that Impossible is Nothing, Coca-Cola wants you to Smile, and the list goes on. If we are not called to swift and immediate action by these slogans, then we are gently persuaded that we are Lovin’ It by McDonald’s, that I’m a PC and Windows 7 was my idea by Microsoft, that Banking can be This Comfortable by TD Canada Trust, that Ziploc was designed with you in mind [thanks for the refresher NYTimes], and so on.
It is these smart marketing strategies coupled with smart design and smart public relations/media initiatives that keep these brands in the forefront of our minds, at the forefront of the media cycle, all with a strategic hand in our pocketbooks. It doesn’t hurt that TD has been voted Best Customer Service, that Nike endorses [and drops as necessary—boohoo Tiger!] multi-million dollar gifted athletes or that Microsoft’s Bill Gates is a great philanthropist in addition to being a likeable and business-savvy geek.
Smart marketing, and clever planning make all the difference and the difference lays in not only what you market, but how and why and when you market your product. So here’s the thing: in addition to setting goals and benchmarks, one must aim high, and if you can’t aim high, then aim mid-market. That’s right people. I said, “MID-MARKET!”
The mid-market landscape is populated by wanna-be brands who might never reach the top tier level of products similar to theirs, but they don’t care. They are content to be B-Status players and as a result they are able to milk that status for all it’s worth. What’s clever about the B-Status players is that knowing that they will “never” become top level players, they are free to market the hell out of their B Status as a viable option to the A Level Brands . The bells and whistles aren’t as loud and/or shiny, and it may not cost as much, but no matter, the B Status/Listers have a calling and a following and they know what their demographic wants. The point is, they too have a marketable strategy—a failsafe Gameplan that keeps them on “back-up” status should the A-Lister lose public favour or fall from grace. Yes, the market is that fickle, because we the people are that fickle.
A good example of smart marketing is the comic/brand Kathy Griffin. Many years ago she made a name for herself by promoting her “D-List” status. Her program, My Life on the D-List skewers the Hollywooderati while making good fun of her life as what she terms a “D-List Celebrity.” What’s smart about Ms Griffin is that in promoting her “D-List” status she has made herself an “A-Lister” by default. She is also clever enough to know how not to alienate her fans or to isolate herself from the very category that she established to win a unique demographic all her own. She’s been smart enough to keep her brand loyal to what she set out to do, and she’s been strategic enough to leverage her “D-List” status to insinuate herself into the A-List category/environments where she would have been previously unwelcomed.
Griffin’s [media]strategy involved her creating a Reality Show long before Reality Shows were the norm, and she brought us into her “private” world of entertainment where few celebrities would “allow” such access. In fact, the sole reason the Tabloids exist is to deconstruct and annihilate the untouchable personas “A-Listers” create—by way of their own marketing strategies— to distance themselves from the grubby masses. So for example, Brad Pitt will do a Edwin 503’s jean commercial in Japan, but we won’t ever have a hope in hell of seeing him hawk jeans here much less smile for a celebrity Gap ad. And thus an industry was born.
So from this we can glean that strategy is everything, and that a good strategy underscores any marketing/public relations/media campaign that you will ever embark upon. You need insight, and foresight and forbearance. You need to invest and be confidant that what you have is indeed worth fighting for and you will stop at nothing to achieve your market share be it A Status or D Status. There is room at the top for everyone and no one. How badly you want it depends on your Value Add and the strategies you employ to get you there. I think you should get going. There is plenty of room at the bottom.
ithinkyoushould.Reassess your Understanding of Respect.
My husband’s father does not like me. And, guess what, it’s OK. I should say, I’m OK with it now. But I wasn’t before. I wasn’t OK with it before because I’ve never really had the experience of somebody not liking me for what I perceived to be “no reason.” And from what others, including complete strangers tell me, I’m a sufficiently likeable person. At the same time, I can totally get behind the idea of the “real” reasons why or why not people find a mutual like, since likeability is as random as the idea itself. Also, common psychology dictates that whatever you may or may not dislike about a person is a projection of the things or an idea or concept that you innately dis/like about yourself.
My husband’s father has never “voiced” his dislike of me. We’ve never gotten into any arguments or disagreements, but that’s because we don’t talk. Although in this case, general actions speak way louder than words; his Dislike Energy Field is palpable. I used to say “Good Morning” to him, and through vacant eyes, he would just look past me. We later determined that he may not have heard me due to an alleged hearing problem, but that was proven to not be the case, the evidence being that it was only my “good mornings” that weren’t reciprocated. And let’s be frank, it’s not like I was mumbling the greeting from a great distance, I happened to be standing in his personal space at the time.
At our wedding, he didn’t smile at me, or welcome me, or congratulate me, or hug me, or even look at me. [He might have done this to his son, I don’t know]. Still, I was OK with this because I was busy basking in the warmth and love of other family and friends not to mention our then 2 year old, and our second child who was growing beautifully [at 5 months] inside my tummy. [Yes! The Bride Wore Black and 5” Stilettos!] Did he disapprove? Was he embarrassed? Nobody else was, in fact our growing brood was instantly embraced and welcomed in a reception that I can only describe as magnificently surreal.
Some have suggested that it might be cultural. He’s Asian. I’m not. Age? He’s a disenfranchised Boomer. I’m not. Sexism? He’s traditional insofar as he “thinks” women should have a particular rank and order. Racism? Most if not all fathers of a distinct cultural background might prefer their sons to keep the blood lines “pure.” Beliefs? He’s an atheist, I’m not. And the list goes on.
The point is Today I’ve decided to live my life as if he doesn’t matter. And guess what? He doesn’t. It doesn’t matter what he thinks, or what he cares about, because it’s not up to him to pass judgment on me. It’s not up to him to decide whether I’m worthy of a hello, or a good morning because what somebody thinks or does not think about you should not be given the power to make or break you. Some have asked if I’ve “tried,” and to that question I’ve often retorted with a cynical “try what?” At the same time, I have made an “effort” if that’s what you want to know. And like an ass I’ve even ingratiated myself knowing deep-down that nope, this just doesn’t feel right.
We Women often plunder our brains in desperation trying to link somebody else’s emotional dysfunction to our own, rationalizing that if “I only” do this or that, he will change. But guess what? He never does. And it is unlikely that he ever will [though one can cling to that false hope cuz it makes us feel so good]. And so you continue the cycle of frittering your own self-worth away desperately trying to appease the disagreeable. It’s a losing battle. But if you really wanna win something, if you really want to gain the edge that is necessary for control of your own life, and earn your right to emotional freedom, then I think you should Reassess your Understanding of Respect. What you are and who you are is up to you. Be proud. Nobody can take that away from you.
ithinkyoushould. Wake-up Refreshed, Because Today is a New Day. Today is the first moment of a new day. It’s not yesterday, and it’s not tomorrow, it’s Today. Yesterday’s troubles, fiascoes, and hurdles belong to yesterday, so no need to bring them into Today. Today will have its own set of unique challenges, problems, blessings and positive outcomes, so let Today be Today.
If Today is not going as well as you thought it would, shut your eyes, shut your ears and take 10 deep breaths. Wake-up all over again, and be refreshed because Today is a new Today.
ithinkyoushould. Give Some People A Piece of Your Mind. If you’re like me, you are prone to swallowing your words. Whole. You weigh each thought, each word, and each utterance carefully, and deliberately before you speak; before you run the risk of telling people about themselves. You are often conscious of both sides, almost pathologically so, and you debate the critical arguments inside your head first before you consider the fallout of what might ensue should you discuss Item A, or Problem B. You ruminate and let percolate every last seeming negativism, or explosive generalization, and you may even practice the delivery and potential acceptance of your carefully thought out analysis should you be given the opportunity to express your mind. Most importantly, you couch all phrasing in words that cannot be misconstrued as Insensitive, Offensive, or Politically Incorrect.
Yep. That used to be me. A enviable quality in many ways, one that I appreciated about my character because while I had my judgment lapses like everyone else, I knew that at the very least my pitfalls into the annals of argumentation could being considered “constructive.”
For 2010, I am working on not being that careful, or diplomatic or conscientious, and/or sensitive to what other people think, or how other people might react to what I express as MY opinion about what I SEE because I’m DONE putting Other People who don’t care about me, before me. Oh it’s happened, and it’s happening, and guess what? I’m tired of it. I’m tired. And I’m over it. Like, really finished.
I come from that generation of women whose Mothers were the model of Mothers. You didn’t say much about yourself, and you didn’t put yourself before anyone else. At the same time, as you minded your “Ps and Qs”, you still managed to express what you needed to express and you could still continue to feel good about yourself. I grew up coming to my Mother with a problem about what so and so did, or didn’t do, and she would immediately ask, “What about you?” As in, “What did you do? How did you contribute to this situation, what is/was your role, etc.” It was FRUSTRATING to say the least. I often thought, ‘Wow, what a croc, how did I get to be so unlucky as to have a Mother who would insist that I take RESPONSIBILITY for my actions and my part in the relationships of Life?’ ‘ How did I get to be so unlucky as to have to own my own problems and issues without blaming A. Society, B. My Parents, C. My Siblings, and D. Anyone who I felt Infringed on my Right to Be?’ Ya. Life was tough growing up.
Somehow however, that Hard Knock Life Lesson translated into my being overly-sensitive to other people’s issues, and/or lack of emotional stability, and if I was somewhat smarter or more emotionally mature than the person with whom I was discussing Heated Topic One, I’d swallow it. ‘No, don’t say anything B, they might collapse from the constructive vitriol of your words.’ And so I didn’t, and they continued to be indignant, self-righteous, unaware, and completely self-absorbed.
For 2010, I’m saying HELLS NO! These folks who take the “goodness” of your heart and stomp all over it, need to be served. Yes. They. Do. Constructive Bitching Can be Cathartic. I think you should give some people a piece of your mind.
Give us Your Best Line, and then Give Us a Break.
In America, when a Media Icon falls from grace, there are a series of things they must do to both save their career and save their reputation. The first is to immediately admit your guilt, the second is to immediately say you’re sorry and accept responsibility, and the third step is to immediately get help and find God, and 4th if you are married, your wife is supposed to stand corporate-styles, stiffly and stoically by your side, in sensible shoes, with a tight grin splayed across her face dying on the inside as she suppresses her real thoughts and emotions. Immediately.
