As the world sleeps, I sit contemplating the sweet complicity of life. The subtle ironies that elude one in youth but put you in awe in later years. I think about:
How simple life was as a child, rise, dress, eat, play, learn, laugh, cry and sleep.
The power of a mother’s pain eradicating kiss, a father’s protective hug.
The fretting over beauty, form and those ephemeral qualities that in youth, weigh heavy, but in the end mean so very little.
Words, small utterances universally understood, often underrated, uncensored, and underestimated.
Space in it’s vastness, it’s beauty, it’s isolation, the craving for it, fear of it, and the peace and torment that it can yeild.
I think about people, loved, lost, and passed away their faces, the sound of their voices their touch, scent and laughter fade but the essence of their beings remain forever embossed on our souls.
I think about laughter and tears and marvel at how closely they reside, much like joy and sorrow, and fear and utter abandon.
I contemplate life, paths that cross, intertwine, run parallel never to touch but in some cosmic way work in tandem.
In the quiet stillness of the morning I wonder “WHY THE HELL I CAN’T GET TO SLEEP”
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Miss.California - I ain't mad at chew
I can’t stand it anymore, this whole Miss USA thing has really pissed me off, and the discourse surrounding it is just as disturbing. Now before I continue, (because I am sure to pissed others off in turn) let me make this clear:
Personally I support gay marriage, I think that if God has an issue about it, then those who have transgressed will certainly know it when they com face to face (or burning bush—not a lesbian pun) with her/him. I think there is enough shit for us to do on this planet, why don’t we let God take care of his/her own business. Further more I think the Heteros have done such an abysmal job at marriage that the privilege should be revoked. If you drive and fuck up enough times they pull you license, so… We like to talk about the sanctity of the institution yet we have reality show competitions that are races to the alter, what’s that about? Pamela Anderson and Jennifer Lopez have single handedly dropped our numbers, and they are following in the footsteps of serial matrimonialist Elizabeth Taylor. So ye without sin cast the first stone. I say let the Gays have at it, how much worse can they do?
More seriously, I can’t understand where it really affects any heterosexual anyway, it’s not like anyone would force you to marry someone of the same sex if you don’t want to. It’s a fear and control issue - like abortion. If we live in a country of freedoms especially of religion then I don’t think the laws should have the powers to legislate one’s personal choices, and what is more personal then who you chose to spend your life with, leave your belongings to when you pass, or if you chose not to become a parent. So having said that, back to the matter at hand.
What the hell! First let’s take the issue of Master Shit stirrer Perez Hilton. I read his website, I do - I hate to admit it but there it is. But the thing I find so interesting about him is his transformation. When he started the site he was an equal opportunity hater, he was fat, really unattractive, he was the kid who was bullied gets revenge. Big up to Tina Fey because I can coin a syndrome – Mean Girls Syndrome- and Perez has fallen victim, as soon as he got the same power and prestige as those people he had been dissing (and he lost the weight, stopped trying to camouflage his feeling unattractive with crazy hair colors and zany wardrobe choices) he became them- the very thing that he railed against- and worse. It’s like ex-smoker are more vigilant and annoying then the people who have never smoked… same principal. Since he created his persona around being mean and hateful, now anointed with power he has Carte blanche, and seems to view it as his “Job” to be offensive. At this point he deserves a bonus because unlike those bankers he has exceeded his quota of nastiness. I’m not prude, (well no so much) but there is something in the way he uses the term Bitch that grates on my nerves, I think it’s the bitter gay man, thing that I hear, it’s almost like you can hear his jealousy of that the object of his venom has a vagina. It must be hard to be nothing at all what you so much want to be.
Back to the issue:
I am not upset at his question, it was loaded, and salacious, okay, either way no matter who answered it and how it was going to get airplay weeks after. Then it happened, Miss. California actually replied with her true and unapologetic opinion- the same opinion I might add that is held by our current President. She believes that “Marriage’ is between a mad and a woman, a shocker? Um not so much. Why would it be when she represents a state that voted no on Prop 8, apparently she is aligned the people she was selected to represent for her state, country and potentially the Universe.
Being honest potentially cost her the crown and started a media storm on both sides of the issue. What bothers me most is the way some have chosen to speak out against her. Perez took to his blog and said that Miss California lost not because she of her opinion but because she was a stupid bitch. Really?! And she was stupid because…She thinks differently then you, and she has the courage to say is regardless of what millions might think? Funny a man named Mohammad Ali did the same thing when he refused to go to Vietnam, hummm...Was he a stupid bitch, I dare Perez to say that to his face.
Here’s the thing, don’t ask a question if you can’t handle the answer. And another thing, the beauty and the difficulty of this country is that not only do we have certain inalienable rights (that of which I think the right to marriage whomever you chose is one) we also have freedom of religion (which Miss California evoked in her reply) and freedom of speech. You get them all you can’t pick and choose, we have to suck it up it’s like Facts, of Life, “You take the good you take the bad…” Look as an African American woman I know that there are people out there who hate me just because, (I would prefer that they get to know me and I can give them far better reasons to hate me – a little melanin is the least of the issues) it kind of goes with the costume, if you are Black, Jewish, Gay or any other headliner for hate you kind of expect it, - well not expect it but you can hardly be surprised. It doesn’t make it right but come on we know the deal.
It wasn’t so much what she said, the majority of the state said when they pulled those leavers, it was THAT she said it, she SAID it. That is quite different from closing a curtain and anonymously voting no. Personally I have to respect that, I don’t agree with it but I respect it, will she ever change her mind? perchance, hopefully but either way she is entitled to her opinion and she lives in country where she should not be persecuted for having and voicing it especially when asked. Now if she had run up through gay pride like, “Ya’ll shouldn’t be able to marry! Down with gay marriage” well then I wouldn’t be able to help a sister but, if you ask well…
On a final note, her statement went from her not supporting same sex marriages to her being a Gay hating homophobe- not fair. Geoff Kors, the executive director of EQCA was on Bill O’Reilly saying as much and heaven help me I ACTUALLY had to agree with O’Reilly for once when he (for his own reasons which may not be the same as mine) stopped him from taking it there.
What is a shame is that she never got the opportunity to have a conversation that might have revealed or clarified her stance on the issue, Obama did, he is for the idea of having civil unions carry the same legal weight as Marriage, which will allow couples to have the same legal rights a man and a woman in marriage, thereby separating semantics from legality- once you have the same rights you can fight about what you call it until the cows come home.
The reality is she’s a beauty contestant, not a politician, Perez, and any one else if you’re Pissed at this girl, then go toilet paper your neighbors house, after all that’s probably the person you really should be worried about, not a chick in a feather dress, eyelashes a spray tan and a tiara!
Don’t stress, we will get there! In time, all in due time.
Personally I support gay marriage, I think that if God has an issue about it, then those who have transgressed will certainly know it when they com face to face (or burning bush—not a lesbian pun) with her/him. I think there is enough shit for us to do on this planet, why don’t we let God take care of his/her own business. Further more I think the Heteros have done such an abysmal job at marriage that the privilege should be revoked. If you drive and fuck up enough times they pull you license, so… We like to talk about the sanctity of the institution yet we have reality show competitions that are races to the alter, what’s that about? Pamela Anderson and Jennifer Lopez have single handedly dropped our numbers, and they are following in the footsteps of serial matrimonialist Elizabeth Taylor. So ye without sin cast the first stone. I say let the Gays have at it, how much worse can they do?
More seriously, I can’t understand where it really affects any heterosexual anyway, it’s not like anyone would force you to marry someone of the same sex if you don’t want to. It’s a fear and control issue - like abortion. If we live in a country of freedoms especially of religion then I don’t think the laws should have the powers to legislate one’s personal choices, and what is more personal then who you chose to spend your life with, leave your belongings to when you pass, or if you chose not to become a parent. So having said that, back to the matter at hand.
What the hell! First let’s take the issue of Master Shit stirrer Perez Hilton. I read his website, I do - I hate to admit it but there it is. But the thing I find so interesting about him is his transformation. When he started the site he was an equal opportunity hater, he was fat, really unattractive, he was the kid who was bullied gets revenge. Big up to Tina Fey because I can coin a syndrome – Mean Girls Syndrome- and Perez has fallen victim, as soon as he got the same power and prestige as those people he had been dissing (and he lost the weight, stopped trying to camouflage his feeling unattractive with crazy hair colors and zany wardrobe choices) he became them- the very thing that he railed against- and worse. It’s like ex-smoker are more vigilant and annoying then the people who have never smoked… same principal. Since he created his persona around being mean and hateful, now anointed with power he has Carte blanche, and seems to view it as his “Job” to be offensive. At this point he deserves a bonus because unlike those bankers he has exceeded his quota of nastiness. I’m not prude, (well no so much) but there is something in the way he uses the term Bitch that grates on my nerves, I think it’s the bitter gay man, thing that I hear, it’s almost like you can hear his jealousy of that the object of his venom has a vagina. It must be hard to be nothing at all what you so much want to be.
Back to the issue:
I am not upset at his question, it was loaded, and salacious, okay, either way no matter who answered it and how it was going to get airplay weeks after. Then it happened, Miss. California actually replied with her true and unapologetic opinion- the same opinion I might add that is held by our current President. She believes that “Marriage’ is between a mad and a woman, a shocker? Um not so much. Why would it be when she represents a state that voted no on Prop 8, apparently she is aligned the people she was selected to represent for her state, country and potentially the Universe.
Being honest potentially cost her the crown and started a media storm on both sides of the issue. What bothers me most is the way some have chosen to speak out against her. Perez took to his blog and said that Miss California lost not because she of her opinion but because she was a stupid bitch. Really?! And she was stupid because…She thinks differently then you, and she has the courage to say is regardless of what millions might think? Funny a man named Mohammad Ali did the same thing when he refused to go to Vietnam, hummm...Was he a stupid bitch, I dare Perez to say that to his face.
Here’s the thing, don’t ask a question if you can’t handle the answer. And another thing, the beauty and the difficulty of this country is that not only do we have certain inalienable rights (that of which I think the right to marriage whomever you chose is one) we also have freedom of religion (which Miss California evoked in her reply) and freedom of speech. You get them all you can’t pick and choose, we have to suck it up it’s like Facts, of Life, “You take the good you take the bad…” Look as an African American woman I know that there are people out there who hate me just because, (I would prefer that they get to know me and I can give them far better reasons to hate me – a little melanin is the least of the issues) it kind of goes with the costume, if you are Black, Jewish, Gay or any other headliner for hate you kind of expect it, - well not expect it but you can hardly be surprised. It doesn’t make it right but come on we know the deal.
It wasn’t so much what she said, the majority of the state said when they pulled those leavers, it was THAT she said it, she SAID it. That is quite different from closing a curtain and anonymously voting no. Personally I have to respect that, I don’t agree with it but I respect it, will she ever change her mind? perchance, hopefully but either way she is entitled to her opinion and she lives in country where she should not be persecuted for having and voicing it especially when asked. Now if she had run up through gay pride like, “Ya’ll shouldn’t be able to marry! Down with gay marriage” well then I wouldn’t be able to help a sister but, if you ask well…
On a final note, her statement went from her not supporting same sex marriages to her being a Gay hating homophobe- not fair. Geoff Kors, the executive director of EQCA was on Bill O’Reilly saying as much and heaven help me I ACTUALLY had to agree with O’Reilly for once when he (for his own reasons which may not be the same as mine) stopped him from taking it there.
What is a shame is that she never got the opportunity to have a conversation that might have revealed or clarified her stance on the issue, Obama did, he is for the idea of having civil unions carry the same legal weight as Marriage, which will allow couples to have the same legal rights a man and a woman in marriage, thereby separating semantics from legality- once you have the same rights you can fight about what you call it until the cows come home.
The reality is she’s a beauty contestant, not a politician, Perez, and any one else if you’re Pissed at this girl, then go toilet paper your neighbors house, after all that’s probably the person you really should be worried about, not a chick in a feather dress, eyelashes a spray tan and a tiara!
Don’t stress, we will get there! In time, all in due time.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
I'm Nobody Who Are You?
I fought the good fight for a long while but alas I am not altogether impervious to the ubiquitous multi-media gossip mill and reality competition shows. There is something about the pervasiveness of gossip (particularly on the Internet) that insists that you acknowledge and participate in(no matter how peripherally). Come on every Internet provider’s home page has a little corner for it. True it is your choice to click but I dare you to tell me that you don’t read the blurbs…
Honestly I felt like a failure when I succumbed to it, I was certain that I was too levelheaded and stanch in my beliefs, unbending in my convictions to be had. Hell I was down right Republican on the issue (surreptitiously engaged in the deviant behavior I publicly maligned others who took part). Later I found solace and support in the fact that it could – and has happened to the best of us. I mean if someone as smart and sensible as our beloved Anderson Cooper can be ensnared by it’s allure, (as he has admitted to watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta) no one is safe, and I mean no one.
I find it perversely spectacular that a whole new enterprise has been created surrounding the posting of banal pictures of people (famous people) doing everyday tasks (Getting coffee, shopping at Costco’s picking up dry cleaning etc.) They cal it “Sighting” as if Big Foot came out of the woods and went to Pinkberry or the Lochness Monster stopped for gas.
Our voyeuristic fascination has sunken to such a low that we will follow the lives of almost anyone with a pulse and some sunglasses: the offspring of accomplished people, Hollywood royalty, or wealthy families. We’ll even watch people who have slept with one of the afore mentioned. We’ll watch people whose only talent for showing up at parties, getting pissy, stumbling drunk, misplacing a sex tape, and being a grammatically impaired, socially retarded, or even worse people who do …nothing…wait that’s not wholly true, they act out desperate for attention, are stupid, disrespectful and debasing. Over night an absolute nobody can become a somebody by drinking too much, bitch slapping someone then vomiting into her purse, hell with those antics they could have their own TV show and book deal on manners. As asinine as it might be, it is lucrative, for rampant indiscretion, and lack of compunction whore-mongers are often rewarded with golden tickets to fame, fortune and free swag! I have to admit it can make for some good television if only for affirming that you yourself is are not so screwed up.
On one particular day my personal fascination with these non-entities sparked a series of revelatory events that sparked another series of pondering I would like to share now. It started rather innocently:
I was sitting at my desk at home scrolling down a gossip site that for privacy sake we shall call, insignificantpeoplewecareaboutforsomeoddreason.com, Bravo was on the flat screen behind me begging me to “Watch what happens!” only at that particular moment I could only listen to Real New York Housewife Bethany rip Countess Luann a new one with the pristine etiquette only a Countess from Connecticut could appreciate.
Suddenly I asked, myself “Why do I care, why do we care?” About these not so “real” housewives or these post- tweeners who have stretched Worhal’s (or should we call him Whore-hal) adage of 15 minutes of fame like a Madoff investment return.
Flash-forward:
I’m teaching class and struggling to get my students to connect with the information. In desperate frustration I resort to drawing an analogy I cull from my gossip site that illustrates my point in a manner they can relate to. Miraculously the room instantly is brighter for all the light bulbs that go on, they are in a united Oprah “Ah-ha” moment. I’m now in their network, “Can you hear me know?” Prior to my reference the lights where off and everyone was pretending not to be home, when I gave the information straight with no chaser they couldn’t connect, add some empty calories and they were all over it.
I spiral and realize that at some point to stay relevant to my students, and perchance the world I might be obligated to know who these nugatory folks are and what they do/don’t do.
Flash-forward:
I am on the train on my why home and have the “pleasure” of being in a car with some teens who happen to be discussing things that in the past might have been considered or “Private” even “Personal” and discussed in hushed tones. Because of the nature of the dialogue I feel as thought I am eavesdropping however neither I nor anyone else on the car has to strain to hear what is being said, in fact I think all of us are struggling to block it out (there are just things you just don’t want to know that teens are doing, thinking, or experiencing). The youths are speaking in a tone and manner that can best be described as presentational. They are purposefully engaged in creating a spectacle. It is a full on show, a play. We learn who slept with whom, got what from whom, and how so-and-so found out, all peppered with “fucking, bitches and mother-fuckers” They are performing for their unsuspecting, (unwilling) audience who had no idea that their subway ride came with a floorshow.
* As a side bar, you know we New Yorkers complain about the price of the subway however if you take into consideration that for a mere $2.00 you can get from Queens to Brooklyn and hear musical concerts and see plays, all with the gritty reality that makes New York, New York you ungrateful straphangers would think again before bellyaching!
It seems as though they imagine themselves to be as interesting as those vapid, barely able to put a sentence together bobbleheads on The Hills. They for the short stint between 34th street and west 4th on the D train have a captive audience, and in those moments they are famous. That’s when it hit me; rich is passé, it’s no longer good enough – all the money in the is worthless if nobody knows who you are.
Which leads me to the final part of my spiral.
As I traverse this world and am hit with the barrage of marketing ploys that have insidiously (albeit effectively) become our way of life, the quest for beauty, youth, fortune and most recently fame, the hermit crab in me rises and my mind goes to little Emily Dickenson who asked:
I’m nobody who are you?
Such a simple question, but so apropos, and she looks so fine in her crisp white dress completely unfazed like Real Housewife Bethany when she was confronted by Kelly, where when asked you freely admitted that she was in fact – nobody. Dickenson goes on?
Are you nobody too?
Well that’s a pair of us don’t tell,
They’d banish us you know
I realized that the rush, and clamor to be “somebody” to be recognized creates in me an adverse reaction causing me to want to disappear. I figure it’s the by-product of my innate inner rebel; the only way to stand out these days is to withdraw, but who would notice, it’s like that damned tree in the forest! If you make a statement by not bein gthere does anybody get it? Dickenson continues:
Well that’s a pair f us,
Don’t tell, they’d banish us you know.
Though she wrote in the 1800’s somehow her words seem even more poignant today. Because everyone is trying to be known, the idea of someone desirous of being anonymous is unfathomable, so far fetched so fresh- untapped that no one in their right mind would be able to sleep until it was exploited! Eureka! The next reality series would be born. Dickenson ends:
How silly to be somebody
How public like a frog
To tell your name the live long day
To an admiring bog!
And is that just what we have become, a bog with hundreds of narcissistic terribilis croaking out their names, their bad albums, their fashion and handbag lines, their publicity stunt relationships, and breakups, weddings, and even their deaths. There is never any silence or peace in a bog not with all the incessant croaking, and chirping and such. I’m sure there is one pissed off toad that is hunkered down thinking “I wish you all would shut the fuck up!” and asking what did he do to deserve living in this good forsaken place. Not quite unlike how I feel every third day of the week!
Honestly I felt like a failure when I succumbed to it, I was certain that I was too levelheaded and stanch in my beliefs, unbending in my convictions to be had. Hell I was down right Republican on the issue (surreptitiously engaged in the deviant behavior I publicly maligned others who took part). Later I found solace and support in the fact that it could – and has happened to the best of us. I mean if someone as smart and sensible as our beloved Anderson Cooper can be ensnared by it’s allure, (as he has admitted to watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta) no one is safe, and I mean no one.
I find it perversely spectacular that a whole new enterprise has been created surrounding the posting of banal pictures of people (famous people) doing everyday tasks (Getting coffee, shopping at Costco’s picking up dry cleaning etc.) They cal it “Sighting” as if Big Foot came out of the woods and went to Pinkberry or the Lochness Monster stopped for gas.
Our voyeuristic fascination has sunken to such a low that we will follow the lives of almost anyone with a pulse and some sunglasses: the offspring of accomplished people, Hollywood royalty, or wealthy families. We’ll even watch people who have slept with one of the afore mentioned. We’ll watch people whose only talent for showing up at parties, getting pissy, stumbling drunk, misplacing a sex tape, and being a grammatically impaired, socially retarded, or even worse people who do …nothing…wait that’s not wholly true, they act out desperate for attention, are stupid, disrespectful and debasing. Over night an absolute nobody can become a somebody by drinking too much, bitch slapping someone then vomiting into her purse, hell with those antics they could have their own TV show and book deal on manners. As asinine as it might be, it is lucrative, for rampant indiscretion, and lack of compunction whore-mongers are often rewarded with golden tickets to fame, fortune and free swag! I have to admit it can make for some good television if only for affirming that you yourself is are not so screwed up.
On one particular day my personal fascination with these non-entities sparked a series of revelatory events that sparked another series of pondering I would like to share now. It started rather innocently:
I was sitting at my desk at home scrolling down a gossip site that for privacy sake we shall call, insignificantpeoplewecareaboutforsomeoddreason.com, Bravo was on the flat screen behind me begging me to “Watch what happens!” only at that particular moment I could only listen to Real New York Housewife Bethany rip Countess Luann a new one with the pristine etiquette only a Countess from Connecticut could appreciate.
Suddenly I asked, myself “Why do I care, why do we care?” About these not so “real” housewives or these post- tweeners who have stretched Worhal’s (or should we call him Whore-hal) adage of 15 minutes of fame like a Madoff investment return.
Flash-forward:
I’m teaching class and struggling to get my students to connect with the information. In desperate frustration I resort to drawing an analogy I cull from my gossip site that illustrates my point in a manner they can relate to. Miraculously the room instantly is brighter for all the light bulbs that go on, they are in a united Oprah “Ah-ha” moment. I’m now in their network, “Can you hear me know?” Prior to my reference the lights where off and everyone was pretending not to be home, when I gave the information straight with no chaser they couldn’t connect, add some empty calories and they were all over it.
I spiral and realize that at some point to stay relevant to my students, and perchance the world I might be obligated to know who these nugatory folks are and what they do/don’t do.
Flash-forward:
I am on the train on my why home and have the “pleasure” of being in a car with some teens who happen to be discussing things that in the past might have been considered or “Private” even “Personal” and discussed in hushed tones. Because of the nature of the dialogue I feel as thought I am eavesdropping however neither I nor anyone else on the car has to strain to hear what is being said, in fact I think all of us are struggling to block it out (there are just things you just don’t want to know that teens are doing, thinking, or experiencing). The youths are speaking in a tone and manner that can best be described as presentational. They are purposefully engaged in creating a spectacle. It is a full on show, a play. We learn who slept with whom, got what from whom, and how so-and-so found out, all peppered with “fucking, bitches and mother-fuckers” They are performing for their unsuspecting, (unwilling) audience who had no idea that their subway ride came with a floorshow.
* As a side bar, you know we New Yorkers complain about the price of the subway however if you take into consideration that for a mere $2.00 you can get from Queens to Brooklyn and hear musical concerts and see plays, all with the gritty reality that makes New York, New York you ungrateful straphangers would think again before bellyaching!
It seems as though they imagine themselves to be as interesting as those vapid, barely able to put a sentence together bobbleheads on The Hills. They for the short stint between 34th street and west 4th on the D train have a captive audience, and in those moments they are famous. That’s when it hit me; rich is passé, it’s no longer good enough – all the money in the is worthless if nobody knows who you are.
Which leads me to the final part of my spiral.
As I traverse this world and am hit with the barrage of marketing ploys that have insidiously (albeit effectively) become our way of life, the quest for beauty, youth, fortune and most recently fame, the hermit crab in me rises and my mind goes to little Emily Dickenson who asked:
I’m nobody who are you?
Such a simple question, but so apropos, and she looks so fine in her crisp white dress completely unfazed like Real Housewife Bethany when she was confronted by Kelly, where when asked you freely admitted that she was in fact – nobody. Dickenson goes on?
Are you nobody too?
Well that’s a pair of us don’t tell,
They’d banish us you know
I realized that the rush, and clamor to be “somebody” to be recognized creates in me an adverse reaction causing me to want to disappear. I figure it’s the by-product of my innate inner rebel; the only way to stand out these days is to withdraw, but who would notice, it’s like that damned tree in the forest! If you make a statement by not bein gthere does anybody get it? Dickenson continues:
Well that’s a pair f us,
Don’t tell, they’d banish us you know.
Though she wrote in the 1800’s somehow her words seem even more poignant today. Because everyone is trying to be known, the idea of someone desirous of being anonymous is unfathomable, so far fetched so fresh- untapped that no one in their right mind would be able to sleep until it was exploited! Eureka! The next reality series would be born. Dickenson ends:
How silly to be somebody
How public like a frog
To tell your name the live long day
To an admiring bog!
And is that just what we have become, a bog with hundreds of narcissistic terribilis croaking out their names, their bad albums, their fashion and handbag lines, their publicity stunt relationships, and breakups, weddings, and even their deaths. There is never any silence or peace in a bog not with all the incessant croaking, and chirping and such. I’m sure there is one pissed off toad that is hunkered down thinking “I wish you all would shut the fuck up!” and asking what did he do to deserve living in this good forsaken place. Not quite unlike how I feel every third day of the week!
Friday, March 27, 2009
Word of the Day- and the answer to an age old question
Gound- n. The crusty yellow substance that collects in the corner of one's eye while one sleeps.
so we can get rid on eye- boogers and sleep snot, with it's proper term, you can talk about gound at the dinner table! (no don't thank me, just glad to help)
so we can get rid on eye- boogers and sleep snot, with it's proper term, you can talk about gound at the dinner table! (no don't thank me, just glad to help)
Sunday, March 22, 2009
All I wanted was some help...Damn!
Recently I was in need of a curl defining leave-in conditioner so I decided to seek help from my friendly neighborhood product specialist at Ricky’s Beauty Supply store. I have to preface this tale be saying that in the past I have found the sales people at Ricky’s (various locations) enthusiastically helpful and full of information about the products they carry. Now I don’t know if Mars was in retrograde, the moon was full, or the two female clerks had been working with each other long enough to sync their PMS cycles, but on this day I was highly disappointed.
So I enter the store, it was completely empty. I went to the hair care section and began to scan my choices. Lost in the labels I sought help, I spied a clerk re-stocking a shelf about ten feet away,
“Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me?”
She looked over at me, without moving a muscle and I suppose that since she was looked at me, I was to infer that she was listening.
I waited a beat just to see if she would make a move to get up and actually engage me but…no.
“Could you come over here?” I asked- yes I had a tone in my voice; you know that I did because you could almost hear it in this written word. She rose with a slight huff that implied a slight annoyance at having to …I don’t know…do something…
When she finally reached me I presented my query. “I am looking for a leave-in curl definer, which could you recommend?”
She sighed, and thought,
“Well” she said sounding as if she was in desperate need of a B-12 shot “I use this.” She picked up a bottle. I waited for more information, like perhaps a why, or a what made it different, better…nothing. Finally I asked her about another product I had heard about,
“Yeah, that’s good too.”
“Because…I mean what is the difference between them….”
She looked at me with a vacancy sign flashing in her eyes, oh yeah there were many rooms available in that hotel. I searched her face for signs of life- screw intelligence.
“It can leave a film” she said like some of my student when their answer is more of question in hopes of…
Okay so after I pulled the front two molars, I was pretty sure that there were no wisdom teeth to extract in her case. I was frustrated, and started to break.
“There is a shelf full of product here that say they do want I want, there has to be some difference between them, can’t you tell me anything?”
It was like ringing the bell on the concierge’s desk when the “Gone Fishing” sign is out.
I was through with her, useless.
“You know what? You’re a bit passive about helping me, is there anyone else who might know?” she pointed to the women behind the counter, counting bottles. Again there is no one in the store, we are in the middle of a Re-Depression and I am trying to purchase something you would think that in the interest of job security there might be more urgency. Ummm…no.
“Excuse me.” I begin to young woman’s narrow back, she turned around and immediately I see that the neon light in her eyes is doing that flickering dance they do right before dying out, you know that intermittent flashing that can give an epileptic a seizure?
I reiterate my desire to her. Nothing. I ask her if she had a sample of the product Zombie #1 suggested. She routs through a drawer and has none. She looks at me as if to say “What! What else do you want?”
“Can you make any suggestions?”
“You can look back there on the shelf, all of the conditioners are back there”
I had had it.
“I was just back there, can you come out from there and help me?”
She huffs, and begins to come from behind the counter when she bumps into a guy whom she quickly passed off the pesky task of WORK to. Now you have to understand that this gentleman was standing not a foot from her when I told her what I needed, so you might be able to understand my irascibility when he ask what I needed!
I was done, done with these passive, lazy ass people who were supposed to be at work, who were supposed to be their to provide information, and sell things – but who were acting as though they couldn’t be bothered, and can’t seem to understand why the hell you are interrupting them from whatever they are NOT doing.
I abhor bad service, and I abhor people who make it your problem that they hate their jobs! I what to slap the audacity off of the faces of cashiers who hold conversations with one another as they check you out slower than Canadian Molasses moves in the dead of Winter, and then drop your change for not watching what they are doing. I am sick of bad service, no I am sick at people not taking pride in their work, no matter how “menial” it might seem it’s necessary, it needs to be done which makes it important. With the economic condition we’re in everybody who has a job to go to better be damned grateful. Everybody should be tap dancing during rush hour because they have a place to rush to!
Sorry but I had to get it out. Look all I’m saying is:
If you’re at work- be at work, do your job! If you’re in the service industry, SERVE! You can’t work at the information desk and get pissed when someone asks you a question. If you don’t like your job, find another (and- good luck with that these days LMAO), otherwise, suck it up like everyone else and then after your shift go get a cocktail like everyone else, and just hope that you bartender doesn’t have a shitty attitude!
So I enter the store, it was completely empty. I went to the hair care section and began to scan my choices. Lost in the labels I sought help, I spied a clerk re-stocking a shelf about ten feet away,
“Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me?”
She looked over at me, without moving a muscle and I suppose that since she was looked at me, I was to infer that she was listening.
I waited a beat just to see if she would make a move to get up and actually engage me but…no.
“Could you come over here?” I asked- yes I had a tone in my voice; you know that I did because you could almost hear it in this written word. She rose with a slight huff that implied a slight annoyance at having to …I don’t know…do something…
When she finally reached me I presented my query. “I am looking for a leave-in curl definer, which could you recommend?”
She sighed, and thought,
“Well” she said sounding as if she was in desperate need of a B-12 shot “I use this.” She picked up a bottle. I waited for more information, like perhaps a why, or a what made it different, better…nothing. Finally I asked her about another product I had heard about,
“Yeah, that’s good too.”
“Because…I mean what is the difference between them….”
She looked at me with a vacancy sign flashing in her eyes, oh yeah there were many rooms available in that hotel. I searched her face for signs of life- screw intelligence.
“It can leave a film” she said like some of my student when their answer is more of question in hopes of…
Okay so after I pulled the front two molars, I was pretty sure that there were no wisdom teeth to extract in her case. I was frustrated, and started to break.
“There is a shelf full of product here that say they do want I want, there has to be some difference between them, can’t you tell me anything?”
It was like ringing the bell on the concierge’s desk when the “Gone Fishing” sign is out.
I was through with her, useless.
“You know what? You’re a bit passive about helping me, is there anyone else who might know?” she pointed to the women behind the counter, counting bottles. Again there is no one in the store, we are in the middle of a Re-Depression and I am trying to purchase something you would think that in the interest of job security there might be more urgency. Ummm…no.
“Excuse me.” I begin to young woman’s narrow back, she turned around and immediately I see that the neon light in her eyes is doing that flickering dance they do right before dying out, you know that intermittent flashing that can give an epileptic a seizure?
I reiterate my desire to her. Nothing. I ask her if she had a sample of the product Zombie #1 suggested. She routs through a drawer and has none. She looks at me as if to say “What! What else do you want?”
“Can you make any suggestions?”
“You can look back there on the shelf, all of the conditioners are back there”
I had had it.
“I was just back there, can you come out from there and help me?”
She huffs, and begins to come from behind the counter when she bumps into a guy whom she quickly passed off the pesky task of WORK to. Now you have to understand that this gentleman was standing not a foot from her when I told her what I needed, so you might be able to understand my irascibility when he ask what I needed!
I was done, done with these passive, lazy ass people who were supposed to be at work, who were supposed to be their to provide information, and sell things – but who were acting as though they couldn’t be bothered, and can’t seem to understand why the hell you are interrupting them from whatever they are NOT doing.
I abhor bad service, and I abhor people who make it your problem that they hate their jobs! I what to slap the audacity off of the faces of cashiers who hold conversations with one another as they check you out slower than Canadian Molasses moves in the dead of Winter, and then drop your change for not watching what they are doing. I am sick of bad service, no I am sick at people not taking pride in their work, no matter how “menial” it might seem it’s necessary, it needs to be done which makes it important. With the economic condition we’re in everybody who has a job to go to better be damned grateful. Everybody should be tap dancing during rush hour because they have a place to rush to!
Sorry but I had to get it out. Look all I’m saying is:
If you’re at work- be at work, do your job! If you’re in the service industry, SERVE! You can’t work at the information desk and get pissed when someone asks you a question. If you don’t like your job, find another (and- good luck with that these days LMAO), otherwise, suck it up like everyone else and then after your shift go get a cocktail like everyone else, and just hope that you bartender doesn’t have a shitty attitude!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
A Dose of Prose
There were moments when she could feel the spaces within her that were incomplete. Places where miss matched edges touched like the soft spot on an infant’s head, tender, and unable to withstand pressure. In her unfinished places she was jagged and crude, and insecurity grew under wet mossy rocks, thriving in the tight dark spaces. While treading on the flatlands of herself, unexpectedly she would stumble upon these gaps, slipping on one of these unformed areas could send her tumbling into a ravine of uncertainty and indecision. Collapsing into the vortex of organized chaos that was her mind, her head would turn inside a spectacle of color, where her reality twisted within this kaleidoscope of fear …
Unfinished …
At days end in and artist’s studio when all is still, as the paint dries does the work know that is in progress? Can it feel its becoming? Does it rest easily in the knowledge that tomorrow its creator will return and complete its mouth, form fingers? Does the symphony hear the ending of its phrase? Is it restless contemplating its future, does it have thoughts of what it should be? Does it have dreams of a direction of its own? Does it ponder, “How will I turn out?” “ Am I to be a masterpiece?” Does a melody already know its harmony? Does a sketch feel as complete as the final painting, or does it long to be completed? Does it feel…unfinished?
Like a Mona Lisa painted by Picasso, she was fractured and haphazardly reconstructed. There were no neat seams in her structure. She was abstract and indefinable in style and technique. The colors of her were clear, vivid and muddy all at once. Like a Bearden that only knew of itself as a whole, having no recollection that it had been pasted and glued into being from scraps and fragments of once larger, complete objects.
In her unfinished places tiny fissures marred her constitution. There were gaping holes, and fine pinpricks where liquid bits of herself seeped through. Places where she was split open like a tree struck by lightening leaving her insides exposed to the elements. Assured by the firmness of what she knew beneath her feet, she feared the depth of what was yet to be discovered within. She hopped stone by stone from one formed place in herself to another, crossing a creek in the woods of her Self. She tread slowly making her way through life, trying not to get her feet wet in her unfinished places, carefully, toes gripping to what she knew for certain, fearing a loss of footing that could send her plummeting into her void.
If she fell in she would have to struggle against that current like a salmon fighting its way upstream to its death, thrashing about in the turbulent surf of her own becoming. Within the formless void lay the whispers of expectation and the desires people held for her life. The murmurings echoed through the cavern of her head creating a powerful undertow in the murky waters of her unknown. In her uncertainty, the desires she held for herself pulled against the expectations of others. It would be a while before she realized that it was her own voice resonating within her head. In an effort to find the shore of herself, the voices of others had been sublimated into those of her own whispers of fear, of failure, and disappointment. Her sea of Self was wide, deep and upsetting. She was immense, vast and ever changing, full of everything that is or ever was…
Her incompletion threatened to envelop her, thick and heavy it wanted to pull her into the depth of it. The current was strong but she could see the shore. She was so tired she did not think she would make it. She did not know if she wanted to. When the surface is troubled, the depth is at rest; there is silence at the bottom of the sea. It would be so easy to surrender, be drawn down by the current. There was stillness, an ease, a weightlessness down deep. Enervated with life, its struggle and herself, she relented. She would lie on her back, feel the sun on her face; let life happen to her sink or float. No fear, no fight, just float…
Unfinished …
At days end in and artist’s studio when all is still, as the paint dries does the work know that is in progress? Can it feel its becoming? Does it rest easily in the knowledge that tomorrow its creator will return and complete its mouth, form fingers? Does the symphony hear the ending of its phrase? Is it restless contemplating its future, does it have thoughts of what it should be? Does it have dreams of a direction of its own? Does it ponder, “How will I turn out?” “ Am I to be a masterpiece?” Does a melody already know its harmony? Does a sketch feel as complete as the final painting, or does it long to be completed? Does it feel…unfinished?
Like a Mona Lisa painted by Picasso, she was fractured and haphazardly reconstructed. There were no neat seams in her structure. She was abstract and indefinable in style and technique. The colors of her were clear, vivid and muddy all at once. Like a Bearden that only knew of itself as a whole, having no recollection that it had been pasted and glued into being from scraps and fragments of once larger, complete objects.
In her unfinished places tiny fissures marred her constitution. There were gaping holes, and fine pinpricks where liquid bits of herself seeped through. Places where she was split open like a tree struck by lightening leaving her insides exposed to the elements. Assured by the firmness of what she knew beneath her feet, she feared the depth of what was yet to be discovered within. She hopped stone by stone from one formed place in herself to another, crossing a creek in the woods of her Self. She tread slowly making her way through life, trying not to get her feet wet in her unfinished places, carefully, toes gripping to what she knew for certain, fearing a loss of footing that could send her plummeting into her void.
If she fell in she would have to struggle against that current like a salmon fighting its way upstream to its death, thrashing about in the turbulent surf of her own becoming. Within the formless void lay the whispers of expectation and the desires people held for her life. The murmurings echoed through the cavern of her head creating a powerful undertow in the murky waters of her unknown. In her uncertainty, the desires she held for herself pulled against the expectations of others. It would be a while before she realized that it was her own voice resonating within her head. In an effort to find the shore of herself, the voices of others had been sublimated into those of her own whispers of fear, of failure, and disappointment. Her sea of Self was wide, deep and upsetting. She was immense, vast and ever changing, full of everything that is or ever was…
Her incompletion threatened to envelop her, thick and heavy it wanted to pull her into the depth of it. The current was strong but she could see the shore. She was so tired she did not think she would make it. She did not know if she wanted to. When the surface is troubled, the depth is at rest; there is silence at the bottom of the sea. It would be so easy to surrender, be drawn down by the current. There was stillness, an ease, a weightlessness down deep. Enervated with life, its struggle and herself, she relented. She would lie on her back, feel the sun on her face; let life happen to her sink or float. No fear, no fight, just float…
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Word of the Day
Cacocallia-n. The state of being ugly but sexy
Would it be a like that attraction people have to Ellen Barkin? But she's not really ugly per se, just crooked faced so that's not it...
Or it's like how Seal has the scared up face, we don't really know why, but the soft spoken English accent and the raspy voice could make it happen, you just have to avert the gaze...
I know I know, I think I've experienced this. You know those days when the face is beat down but the body is still banging like that little drummer boy?
That's Cacocallia!!
Have you have those days, or is it just me? rummpphummpummm rummpphummpummm rummpphummpummm
Would it be a like that attraction people have to Ellen Barkin? But she's not really ugly per se, just crooked faced so that's not it...
Or it's like how Seal has the scared up face, we don't really know why, but the soft spoken English accent and the raspy voice could make it happen, you just have to avert the gaze...
I know I know, I think I've experienced this. You know those days when the face is beat down but the body is still banging like that little drummer boy?
That's Cacocallia!!
Have you have those days, or is it just me? rummpphummpummm rummpphummpummm rummpphummpummm
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