Thanksgiving so far

6 for Joy (Tag! You're It)

Myndi passed the baton to me, so I am running with it.

The assignment? To:• List six things that I do for joy• Pass the award on to 6 more creative bloggers• Link back to the person who gave you the award• Link to the people you are passing it on to and leave them a comment to let them know...

Here are 6 things I do for joy:

1. make iTunes playlists. i love making soundtracks for novels i read. i love making soundtracks for life.

2. drink wine. it's soothing and sensual. such a simple way to unwind.

3. kiss the dog. she's so unbridled in her affection that i come unhinged with delight.

4. listen to audiobooks/podcasts. being an auditory learner and having a need for relentless stimulation by way of new information/something to react to means i subscribe to a lot of talk shows and check out a lot of books on disc from the library. leaving Enoch Pratt with a stack is good for a week's worth of happiness.

5. make my sister fancy dinners. cooking is one way i express my creativity, and my sister is such a willing, grateful [guinea] pig. ha!

6. go road tripping with Sarah. The Sarah-one is the queen of the long drive. And she understands, better than anyone, how to make the perfect road-trip music experience.

I hereby pass the baton to

Sarah of Always Greener
Veronica of The Encyclopedia Veronica
Catchka of the Indomitable Optimist
Kim of Jackson's Mom
Joyella of Snippets
Barefoot Puzzle of Living Life Barefoot (no link to protect her desired anonymity)

On Dayquil & Theraflu Cocktails

So, i emerged from my slumber fog at about 16 minutes to 10 this morning--far beyond the parameters of "sleeping in." I had been, as the title suggests, taking regular doses of dayquil and theraflu all day yesterday, but took Nyquil before bed last night. I knew that would mean a definite case of medicine head today.

Because the Maryland Transit Administration has proven itself to be unreliable once again, I have been working from home more often than usual. This bug has not been so debilitating that I cannot work, but bad enough that I absolutely cannot go out. My appetite is fine, but I have no taste for coffee (which is always how I know when I've got something).

I'm trying to pull together some threads of thought to make a real, final essay. I stupidly chose to tackle the intersection of race and gender in my own life.

meanwhile, my sister is in a budding romance with a sweet guy. it brings a very nice energy to the apartment, but of course makes my coupleless situation stand out in sharper relief.

Silent Churn

I know I've been MIA since the day after the election, but that's not because of election withdrawal. It's just that the election result coincided with an increase in school work. Being more than half way done with my current semester means I already have my eye on the spring. I've registered for two classes: a memoir workshop and electronic publishing. I also took the step to set up an Indedpendent study for the summer (with my personal essay/memoir workshop instructor).

More exciting, perhaps, is the fact that I've already started to think about my final program project (2 1/2 years before it's due). I'll talk about it here as it starts to take more shape.

An integral part of this mfa is bookmaking--meaning physically making the shape/skeleton of the thing that will house the pages of one's writing. Dogged by a lack of manual precision for the whole of my life, my most recent project in the Creativity: Ways of Seeing class had tried my patience. The books I made (we had to do two) stretch the definition of "book" significantly.

I have already asked about pursuing a digital presentation for the final program project.

In an effort to take some pressure off myself, I ordered my Thanksgiving dinner from Wegman's grocery store. I haven't told my mom because if she thought I didn't have time to do it, she'd insist on doing it all herself, and I want her to take it easy.

Wrung Out

Monday night was like Christmas Eve. I dreamed of nothing but Electoral College maps and Internet Headlines...

I was useless at work all day Tuesday. Like couldn't eat, couldn't focus kind of useless. should have taken the day off after I voted kind of useless. by the time i left my hhg appointment (where we practiced unconditional love qigong, and then he gave me a massage), i was centered and calm, because it's damn hard not to relax after someone attentively rubs almond oil into your skin and tells you "there's nothing you have to do, nowhere you have to be..."

E and Catchka-bell joined C and me for dinner/dessert (election cupcakes) and election coverage. I flipped between stations, but preferred CNN (ABC was a close second). The broadcast was crisp and vibrant. NBC and CBS have this weird matte look that I always forget I hate...

All day, long before there was news, I was frantically dogging all the well-worn Internet paths. I tried to work, but I was seized with the incongruity of my own unstoppable hope and the paralyzing fear that I was going to have to philosophize about the symbolism of Obama's candidacy, and comfort myself that we "came so close..." on November 5th.

E had gone and the three of us continued to watch. None of the Western states (or Hawaii) had come in. Barack was significantly ahead, but McCain was performing, too, so I couldn't get unagitated (I was way worked up again and that blasted number wasn't climbing to my satisfaction). Then the polls closed on the left coast. Wolf Blitzer was all "Obama won Virginia," then he went right into "Barack Obama is the President Elect." Catchka, C, and I just looked at each other. I proceeded to stammer some crazy weird utterances. I think I called/texted some people that I thought would actually be happy...

we took pictures, kissed the dog, and I made cocktails.

McCain's speech was gracious, Obama's speech was just so Obama... Jesse Jackson, someone who's made me a little bothered by some of his comments lately, cried. Seeing Jesse cry, well... Even my annoyance with and at him for some of his more thoughtless remarks melted away.

Car horns blared and honked in celebration as they whizzed down St. Paul Street. I changed my facebook status to tell the world how happy I am.

This campaign took a cynic and made her hope for something different. So, today's challenge is going to be not being useless at work for a whole different reason. If I can't cope, I might just have to cut myself some historical slack and go home.

Victory!

Cast!

Yes. We. Can.

Companion piece to yesterday's post

Swagger!

Open Letter to Barack Obama

Whatever this nation’s reality on November 5th, you have changed something for me. It’s a symbolic change, a socio-psycho-political change that did not begin with your landmark bid for America’s highest office, but that has been better fulfilled by it.

I was put off by you at first—not by you, personally, but like so many, by your youth and your oft-cited lack of experience. That I have pulled the lever or tapped the screen for as many republicans as I have for democrats also meant that my support of your endeavor wasn’t a given.

I am a black woman who has survived, largely, in spite of black men. I have had to define myself outside of the societal parameters that have been imposed on them and that they have imposed on themselves. No one has ever had any real hope for them, it seems. Least of all, me. When I’ve sought validation of my personal worth, I sought in academia, in Faith, in a strong group of women friends, and in myself, but some obscured part of me wasn’t buying it—couldn’t be fully persuaded until I made peace with my loathed counterpart.

Maybe, like me, you have had to deal with people outside of your family who have been surprised or threatened by your intellect, and didn’t want to allow you to think your success was eminent. Or, maybe you weren’t aware of that at all, because it never occurred to you that there was anything about your or your life that was prohibitive. Maybe that is what made you audacious enough to hope.

You represent a real chance, not just for this country in its entirety, to embrace that wonderful, inspiring audacity, but for me, specifically, Mr. Obama, to have my political and personal paradigms shifted.

The way you love the women in your life simultaneously breaks my heart and emboldens my expectations for what I can have. That you were raised and nurtured by white women—that these were the first women you loved back, but that this did not preclude you from loving and choosing a woman who looked nothing like them has healed me. That you picked someone to stand beside you who looks like so many women I grew up knowing and loving has made me believe for the first time that anything has something to do with me.

I have tried and failed numerous times to explain with any modicum of incisive eloquence why I am voting for you without reducing myself to a statistic—just one of the millions of black Americans who are making the same choice (some would presumptuously and wrongly say “thoughtlessly" making the choice). Here is my attempt: You have engaged me in this country’s political dialogue—something I’ve never actually been. Your ideas have forced me to examine and reexamine my own. You have helped me to determine a truth I suspected all along—that I’m neither a conservative nor a liberal, but a moderate. Our views on all the issues are not simpatico, but I’m looking at the bigger picture of who you are. Our views on this much line up: I am concerned about our fatally flawed economy and I am troubled by this war. The cornerstones of your platform at this cross-roads of history and current events have intersected with my deepest worries. I think your policies deserve to be tried and to fail or succeed on their own strength, but they must be given due diligence as much as has been extended to any other presidential hopeful who made the transition to the Oval Office—as I hope you will.

It has everything to do with the fact that you are black. How could it not? Of course this campaign is about race. How could it not be? It cannot only be about this, but the context of our country’s history is inextricably linked to all of the seemingly race-neutral topical points. Why wouldn’t we want to acknowledge that? If your counterpart, Hillary Clinton, had won the democratic nomination, the race would have to be, in part, about her being a woman. And women everywhere would have the inalienable right to count her victory as theirs to share. It is obvious that our nation was finally ready to consider one of these possibilities, or neither of you would have had a real chance. It’s dishonouring to everyone when pundits are either surprised that race is an issue or when they assert that it shouldn’t be. Why shouldn’t it be given a place of honour in our dialogue?

You would not have my vote if I didn’t think you could do it; however much your being a contender might mean to me, personally, I would not be reckless. But I’ve factored everything in, and I actually believe in your candidacy. That makes this election emotional for me.

It’s been hard for me when I’ve encountered those who have indicated that they are voting for you, but who imply that they are doing so grudgingly. I have had to make myself remember that your candidacy doesn’t have to mean to them what it means to me. They don’t have my experiences, haven’t inherited the same broken concepts I have; they don’t have my particular wounds, and you haven’t inspired them as you have me and so many others. For some people, it’s just politics. Had you not won the nomination, I’d be feeling pretty lukewarm about our prospects for governance, so I understand their position, intellectually, though it is counter-intuitive for me.

Whether you win or not, Mr. Obama, you have done more for black women who feel emotionally disenfranchised—for me—than perhaps you intended or will ever fully comprehend. It is not an articulated errand of your campaign to give us as a group a sense of worth, but that is what has happened. You’ve done this on the strength and authenticity of your emblematic life. You have brought dignity and presidential bearing to America’s image of black masculinity and have given me a reason to know that I’m not invisible—that someone like me can be adored from a pure place—that I am not dispensable—that my vote can mean something for the first time in my adult life.

You have not pushed yourself forward as a president only for Black America, only for the disenfranchised minority groups, or for the liberal contingent alone—but as The Person for the Job—who is the metaphorical trope for marrying seemingly opposing factions and producing one whole, integrated, cohesive sense of integrity.

Thank you for believing you had every right to put yourself forward as a worthy statesman—even when I doubted that you were.

close encounters in my pajamas

Crystal and i hosted a game night at our place this evening. about half of our invitees ended up canceling, but our small group still deserved the best hostessing we could provide, so we planned to go to the store for some last minute stuff...

we decided to take babygirl with us. there was no specific plan. after a morning of tidying up, puttering about, and watching Gilmore Girls, I decided it was time to head out. Once outside, we decided to walk up St. Paul and not cross immediately over to Charles. We took some time to discuss it before Settling on our route.

Before leaving, Crystal asked "aren't you going to change your pants?"

I was wearing hot pink, flannel pj bottoms with coffee cups and saucers all over them. On top, I had on a jersey grey long johns top and a bright red t-shirt over it. My jacket? tan corduroy. On my head? a slate grey bandana. In other words, I was not of a mind to put my best foot forward. Obviously, I didn't expect to need to care about my appearance.

There he was. On the corner of St. Paul and Read. I saw him a full block ahead and waved. It took him a second, but he saw me and waved back. He headed over to us.

Yesterday, we made plans via e-mail to get together on Wednesday. He couldn't make game night because of work...

When he got to where we were standing, I looked down at my pants and up at him and shrugged. I didn't look great but I didn't care.

Earlier this week, my hhg told me to invite him into what I want from him. I know that running into him today could be chalked up to probability. we live in the same neighborhood. though i've gone entire years never runnng into him, eventually, because of the few blocks that separate us, I did. I know that.

But I've also noticed that I run into him when something in me summons him up. When I pray to be open to whatever wants to happen...

Helvetica

There was a free showing of Helvetica at the Charles last night. This typeface is so much more fascinating that I ever knew...

Sometimes I don't know which is worse...

I know I told you "regular blogging" would return shortly. This is not it. If like many, you're sick of the election/debate stuff, be forewarned: this is about that.

But, I urge all of you to read and respond to this post. I am pasting two comments (one long one that was continued in a second) from NPR's Web site in response to its "Bradley Effect" item. It is a comment from a supposed Obama supporter, but that is not why I'm posting it. There's so much wrong with it, I'm not even sure where to begin. I'm not posting it because it's an example of ignorance (though in many ways it is). I'm posting it because it gets at the crux of the subversive text of our national conversation on race.

Actually, I don't care if you are sick of the election. You need to read this and get back to me. This is the very thing we should be talking about. You do not need to be an Obama supporter to care about this issue. And if you don't find anything amiss with the sentiments the comments contain, you, especially, should write to me.

Jeff Murphy's NPR comment (Part 1):

This is going to sound mean. For all you black folks out their giddy with the prospect of an Obama presidency, please remember a few things: One, Obama is whiter than most white people. He grew up in freakin’ Kansas with his white grandparents and white mother. Culturally speaking he is white. Two, he was educated in elite, predomninately white schools. Three, Obama’s quest to get in touch with his black side was a calculated step to the presidency, he moved to Chicago to legitimize his blackness, evident in the choice of his black wife, because he knew full well America would not elect a mixed race couple to the presidency. In college, Obama preferred white women but suppressed it. Four, Obama doesn’t give a crap about blacks as a group that need the protection of society. Deep down, Obama has contempt for many blacks who profit from a protest culture manifested in white guilt. He will govern by filtering out all the petty bickering between blacks and white, he will actually be less tolerant of ‘needy’ minority groups seeking special consideration, and only he can tell this groups to take a hike. Fifth, whites can vote for him and feel safe that they are, in fact, voting identity politics. Obama’s midwestern, white family, is the connection that makes whites feel safe in voting for him. And many whites believes Obama’s midwestern rearing has had more of an influence on him than his basic training in Chicago politics and his absentee father. Sixth, everything Obama has done to this point has been calculated and programmed to win the presidency, and he has avoided the Al Sharptons and Jesse Jacksons because he doesn’t like them, not because he’s scared of being labelled too black. Obama has racial bias against post reconstruction blacks they way many immigrant blacks do. Immigrant blacks have nothing but contempt for post reconstruction blacks and hold the view that homegrown blacks choose the excuse of racism to negate responsibility to their families and themselves. Obama’s symbolic carpet bagger status steals the thunder from race baitors who hoped the first black president would be a son of post reconstruction. Obama’s mother took the blue-light special to get Barack birthed on American soil. Obama is a son of the western united state, not the post reconstruction south. Seventh, Obama’s black identity left of a plane to Jakarta when he was a little boy, so his biggest connection to being black is manifested in abandonment. (Con't) [sic]

Jeff Murphy comment part 2:

Don’t be fooled by Obama’s black preacher and his brown skin, these were mere props in his journey that have brought him this far. He will most likely draw on his midwestern roots and identity when he becomes the 44th President of the United States. I, for one white person, am voting for Obama because he appears tired and drained from racial politics, I’m sure he hates it. This is what resonates with white people the most about Obama’s candidacy, we see his apathy about race and it is quite refreshing. He doesn’t give a crap, and this is what endears him to whites. Black pundits fail to understand this because they remain lost in the wilderness of the victim culture. Too many of us are sick and tired of the victim culture, white guilt, and endless racial politics, and this is what will piut Obama over the top to win the presidency. Vote Obama [sic]

Open Salon Article

I appreciated the observations in this piece.

(Regular blogging to return sometime in the near future.)