Sunday, June 23, 2013

Miss Paula and Master George . . .

 
Hello you!

Oh, that's the wrong Paula.  But I'd ask the same (sort of) question featured in that image to the other, not-so-cute Paula.  The one all over today's news-buzz.  Seriously, Ms. Deen, are you high?

What is up with this "I grew up in another time and place" crap?  I was born in segregated Birmingham and that messed up situation is something I never "absorbed".  In fact, it was like living in a Twilight Zone episode. If there is a generation who should totally shun racism and any of its weapons or words, it should be us -- those raised in the Southern sinkhole of Jim Crow, Paula D. and me.


But what do I know.  I'm an ex-dancer and an adjunct English instructor without the proper apologetic credentials or modest underwear. 

Today, CNN is featuring the Paula Deen drama in tandem with the latest on Mr. Snowden, Mandela's precarious health and the George Zimmerman trial.  But it is the "little" stories of Paula and George that are fusing in my head.  And I don't mean the stories of Paula Abdul and Boy George (I wish).  Fat Paula and fearful George represent the new reactive mentality, prompted by the election of a brilliant, dark President (who is someone I support even as I throw dishes across the room when I consider Gitmo, First Amendment violations and considerable support given to the horrible oil companies).

Chauncey De Vega's blog says it just right.  This is what I am thinking, and Chauncey says it better than I can:

"Food celebrity Paula Deen’s admission in a recent anti-discrimination lawsuit that she routinely uses racial slurs such as “nigger”, and how she yearns for a return to Jim and Jane Crow America, is an almost perfect moment where she broke the metaphorical fourth wall of racism in the Age of Obama. 

In her deposition she explained how:
[W]hen asked if she wanted black men to play the role of slaves at a wedding she explained she got the idea from a restaurant her husband and her had dined at saying, “The whole entire waiter staff was middle-aged black men, and they had on beautiful white jackets with a black bow tie.
“I mean, it was really impressive. That restaurant represented a certain era in America…after the Civil War, during the Civil War, before the Civil War…It was not only black men, it was black women…I would say they were slaves.” 
Such images remain potent in American popular culture. And for some white folks of a certain age, as well as those possessed of a conservative, Right-wing political orientation, such images embody “real America”, and a "simpler" time before black and brown folks "forgot their place", the gays and lesbians came out of the closet, and women embraced feminism." 
Hooyah, Mr. De Vega.  There it is.
Now, imagine my joy (read this as sarcasm please) when I drive up to Alabama this week to visit Mom and get to hear the bigots spew "reverse racism" nonsense in defense of that Crisco-dripping-kitchen-hag, Paula.  And, similarly, their defense of George, the man who uses his Second Amendment rights because he can't handle a verbal battle or (if this is what happened) a manly little fist-fight.  
So.  What I know is this:  their time is up.  With or without them, we are moving on.
Depending on what state you live in.
Signing off with kisses and so many cheers for the Miami Heat's NBA victory.  Gotta love that.
Your Joyce

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Absolutely fabulous!



Dear you:

There she is . . . Miss Utah . . . speechifying.  Something like "create better education" was her response to a question about income inequality.  Your major bloggers are way ahead of me here, posting comparisons to Miss South Carolina's response about why Americans didn't know basic geography (map shortage -- like in "the Iraq").  Seriously, Miss Utah sounds positively Mensa material compared to her southern belle comrade in pageants.

But look at the picture!  Why are we obsessed with botched answers when the microphone holders reveal a truly shocking truth about America:  pink net dresses and Jersey Shore menswear are coming back.  If we keep this up, we won't need to worry about national security "issues" (I feel restrained and won't even mention the darling boy's name or the current "problem") because we will crumble from within.  Our enemies see it coming:  death by bad fashion.

But who am I to criticize.  I wear Walmart hooker heels (gold tone) and still refuse to dye my ever greying hair.  As for that:  my 58th birthday is/was this fine June.  Where do I go from here? I shall continue to chase academic gigs  here in la Panhandle because, really, we do need to "create better education."

Send me maps for my birthday gifts.

Kisses,
Joyce

Sunday, June 2, 2013

The world is more than tornado stats . . .



Hello you!

Life in the new zone continues busily fabulous.  What else would I say?

The literature course I am teaching in a 6 week time frame is and has been rewarding in so many ways.  But my eyes twitch when I get the "I didn't read the material" thing.

I wonder, as I evaluate my preconceived notions and certainly certainties, if we are as free as we think we are?  Clearly, this is the best game going.  I am in no hurry to pack a bag and click my heels towards Canada, Norway or even Australia.  Here I am and  here I love.  Yet . . . there is the nagging discomfort:  Bradley Manning as symbol.   What am I to do with that?

And here in the Panhandle of my darling Florida, I see a vast destruction of space and a lack of "growth planning".  Why is the "no 3 story buildings on beachfront" zoning being ignored or bought out by certain developers?  Why is the population expanding but the resources (like libraries or basic public transportation) not?  Why are there so many Baptist churches and fewer and fewer . . . birds and trees?

Call me crazy.

Everything is possible.  Why are we reacting rather than acting?

And why do my thighs not look like they did when I was 30?

I think the last question answers the one that came before it.

Bring the love!  I am happy and swimming in the Gulf's warm bathtub gorgeousness after prepping for a lecture on Emily Dickinson for class tomorrow.  What more could a middle class princess want?

Kisses and thoughtful provocation -
Joyce - Your Joyce to those who are in the tribe :)