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Text and Subtext or I'm Too Touchy

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It is March 1, 2013.  I thought I'd be relieved that Black History Month was over because pound for pound it has been one of the most difficult BHM that I have experienced in a while.

It has been a month of people behaving badly. Grinding to the last nerve kinda bad. Not enough to wish for divine intervention. But close. And I have been hurt, angered, raged up and resigned to the stupid as normal. You can't hold on to each and every bit of idiocy roiling down the road.

There are time when you need to speak up and fight back. But when you do expect to hear something like "I am to blame for being too sensitive."

What ticked me off this week?

The Bloomberg BusinessWeek cover on a new wave of speculative housing boom. The cover seems to show that Latinos and African Americans are being excessively happy at the money grab regarding housing.

Bloomberg Businessweek Cover February 25 - March 3, 2013
 
There is that old (false) meme that it was the fault of the sub-prime buyers that caused the crash. Not the corporations that sold debt paper from firm to firm. Not the feeding frenzy that had radio and television commercials on every station begging people to buy a home, no money down. Not the Ponsi activities of Bernie Madoff and other corporate con artists.

Yes, I hear you #10,384 in the comments. "It was a Latino dude that drew the picture so how could it be racist?" 

Because the actual article has nothing to do with the cover. Because the images used are stereotypical exaggerations of people of color going ding dong crazy because they have cash. And you know how we get cash, right?

It is another reminder that neo-post racists society is alive, well and prospering. What was the brief that the artist got? What does he believe about the housing crisis or is this a bad attempt to tell up happy days are here again?

Or are we invoking Greed is Good for another run around the block?

Some days I can ignore the goofy.  Like when they painted that 16-year old white model in bronze make-up and called her an African Queen. That has happened before; the fashion would really has a hard time with people of color.

Read a bit of the Black Voices Huntington Post comments. The effort to devalue legitimate objections to the paint job could be heartbreaking if you let it. I wouldn't read more than 10 of them cuz it is crazy making stuff.

There are other days I have to think about how far we've come and how to be vigilant when a justice of the Supreme Court thinks that my right to vote is a racial entitlement. This is an excerpt from Justice Scalia:

The problem here, however, is suggested by the comment I made earlier, that the initial enactment of this legislation in a -- in a time when the need for it was so much more abundantly clear was -- in the Senate, there -- it was double-digits against it. And that was only a 5-year term.
Then, it is reenacted 5 years later, again for a 5-year term. Double-digits against it in the Senate. Then it was reenacted for 7 years. Single digits against it. Then enacted for 25 years, 8 Senate votes against it. And this last enactment, not a single vote in the Senate against it. And the House is pretty much the same.
Now, I don't think that's attributable to the fact that it is so much clearer now that we need this. I think it is attributable, very likely attributable, to a phenomenon that is called perpetuation of racial entitlement. It's been written about. Whenever a society adopts racial entitlements, it is very difficult to get out of them through the normal political processes.
I don't want to be accused of taking the quote out of content. There is an office SCOTUS Transcript of the Section 5 Pre-Clearance Obligation.

Sniff, as if voters suppression didn't happen in the last few elections.

You do have to have not only a thick skin but also a discerning eye for what is being presented. There is intent, there is malfeasance and there evil.

There are also people that make mistakes. Laps of judgement. Ignorance.

There are days when you can't tell the difference.

February 2013 was like that for me.

So yeah, I'm a bit prickly.





The Places and Spaces In My Photos

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I have been taking photos since I was thirteen. Sometimes it is a snap shot. I try to make quality prints. No, that isn't true. I try to be in the moment and take the photo. Very rarely is it print quality.

It tried to be great when I had my homemade darkroom.They still were snap shots but I gave it a go.

It was hard. The chemicals sometimes made it painful. That D-75 used to eat through my fingers something awful.

I didn't like tongs. 

After a few more prints I learned to use tongs.



There was a time when I gave up taking photos. Making prints. Taking snap shots. Looking at the world.

Part of it was the expense of it. It did cost money to do it on the cheap and that was the only way I could do it.

I was discouraged by a so-called teacher. Male. Worked very hard to get the undesirables out of his classroom. He was good at it.

Mostly it was the vision that I had didn't seem to mesh up with what the world was telling me was acceptable for women and black folk to do.

It beats you down after a while.

I wouldn't even pick up an Instamatic because I couldn't afford to have the film developed.  Yet I kept taking photos in my head.

I have to say that when the first glimmers of digital photography started to appear the stone around my heart started to crack. I laid eyes on that Kodak DS240 or something like it I knew I needed to get in on the action.

It took a while. A long while.

Stocked up on many a photo magazine in the meantime, getting ready.



Reclamation takes a while to kick in. I had to find out what this digital photo business was, did it involve darkrooms or enlargers?

No? Count me in.

I do actually like the darkroom process but no, I'm not going back.

So I take photos of people I've seen on TV. Or buildings. Or the chunk of hunk that is walking down the street. 

They no longer have to be perfect. Unless I want them to be. They are my memories of what I just saw as I move though this place called Southern California.



Break the Freaking Mold - Colorlines Video

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As some of you know, I am an advocate for alternative and creative video content. I do not care if you want to monetize or not, show me something other than an insulting dumb azz scripted corporate reality shows.

Women need to be visible. Non-hostile white men need to be visible. Fat people that like to dance need to be visible.

Which is why I will not watch. mainstream TV. My television has been dark for five years and counting. Only in the case of a national calamity will I turn it on again.

I subscribe to educational channels, old people channels, teenagers, food shows, tech shows, and what ever I might be interested in that day. Don't box me in and don't try to peg me demographically.

I'm just as likely to was 60 Seconds Adventures in Astronomy as I am to relax watching the Galaxy Trio.

I'm not alone in this mind set. Okay, perhaps watching the Galaxy Trio is for a select population.




Jay Smooth point out on Twitter this Colorlines video from some of the top folks on YouTube.They just so happen to be people of color.

Should you happen to hear some chuckle-head cackle that we are in a post-racial society and that they are color blind please point their eyeball to this video. Because these folks will tell them that they get deeply offensive comments no matter what they are talking about.

That they don't get the new tech give-a-ways to share with their viewers and they have a lot of viewers. Probably don't get the invites to plain vanilla stuff either. 

It is a lament that I have heard from African American parenting bloggers who get totally ignored by  the marketing world. Followed by food bloggers of color, tech bloggers and probably there is a version for the audio podcasters as well.

Asian, Latino/Latina and African Americans creators do not fit the current mold of completion acceptance. I have a feeling ageism creeps into the mix as well; in both directions.

So let's break the freaking mold.

Walking Away From the Shadows

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This is about changing a portion of my life. I do not want to be one of those people that complains that their lives have no meaning or that the circumstances of my life cannot be changed. I do not want to be that person but at times I have been that dark cloud.

I'm trying new things and approaches. I'm scared. I haven't done some of this stuff before.



I shouldn't be so vague. 


I have a day job. It is okay for a day job.

But it isn't what I want to do for the next couple of years. Well,  I could but my spirit is calling me to pay attention to what it wants. I have ignored that spirit for too long.

I can't do that. Nothing wrong with it if that is your choice. I just can't.

With libraries closing my time spent learning to be a library technician/paraprofessional has not exactly borne employment fruit.

Now I do I feel I have gotten a great return on my investment, no complaints. I have foundation skills on how to find information and a whole bunch of information resources. I have connections with really cool people.

Everything that I learned in my classes has helped me be a better writer. Not a grammarian, just the writing part.

I just can't get a library job that will financially support me because we in this nation have hostility towards education and librarianship. No one wants to pay for it or anything else to support the benefit of their communities.

Dumb ass clucks.

Yet, if I tried to save enough for a librarian degree I would still in an employment quandary after graduation.

I was faced with looking for another career option. Again.

So, what am I gonna do? 


That is a good question.

For a while I just numbed out and focused on the day job; the day job that I had intended on leaving. I had to find a way to make peace with that and it took a lot of time. Making peace with my anger that the world did not turn the way that I expected.

It never does. Stupid world.

I needed to look at what I do naturally and what I like to do. I  see a rise in the entrepreneurial educators or resource bloggers/educators. I am noticing that there are huge chasms of information/education that are not being service, documented or even discussed outside of academia and I not sure even there because they don't seem to have focused on changes in their marketplace.

What I am seeing doesn't have a proper name yet. Or I don't know it. 

I see opportunities in the shadows. This is a very good thing. Being able to see opportunities instead of the shadows. The suckers co-exist with each other and it takes a shift in perspective to move from one to another.

So for this year or however long it takes I'm going to be taking real world and on-line classes exploring how to create instructional and educational media. I will be traveling to places I've never been. I'm laying cash money on the line as a down payment on my commitment to go foward.

I am being open to the possibility that once I try this path I might find that is not what I though it to be. It might not be a good fit. That is okay. So long as I am in motion. So long as I am willing to try.

Once more into the breach.

We Can't Be Invisibile Because We Are Here

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They say that older women are ignored in America.That the societies focus is on the new and the long legged ample person who might be eighteen years old dripping wet. I still get that look from younger people in fear of I might talk to them.

At length.

Please. If I decided to talk to you it is either because I want to or have no choice in the matter. I was in the store the other day. I wanted to buy a microphone. The young person took me to the computer microphone section.

This is valid. I understand. This is a generation of Skype and social gaming.

I had to explain I needed the non-computer stand alone 3.5 mm or USB microphone.

In the explanation process I could see behind her eyeballs telling me to go away, I was messing with her flow. Then it clicked for her, "Oh, wait, yes we do have the other microphones."

The store was sold out.

It wasn't always this way. There wasn't necessarily this hostility in cross generational exchanges. If we are serious about telling our stories then we need to know the other.




This is Jude Narita. Long time theater actress and passionate about her craft. This is a moment from the Screen Adjustments panel at the Beyond The Bad and the Ugly summit that in March 2013.

Not every is new and there are people that know the path.

There are new ways of doing thing and not every old person is wise. This is why we have to share what we know so that we are clear on who we are and what we believe.

That cannot happen in isolation.

When A Song Reminds of Of A Ruckus Memory

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Accidents happen because of circumstance or carelessness. And then there is that dang song. Awesomely Luvie and company put a hurting of truth and humor on what should have been left the song writing notebook. Scribbles, yes. Song, no.

I didn't want to pay attention to the verbiage about the Accidental Racist song. The resurrection of the symbols of genocide as badges of honor do not interest me. I'm getting worn out about stepping up to the soap box to once again remind people that slavery was not a life style choice or a hangover of regret for a bad weekend.

You can't put it behind you if you can't recognise some of y'all are doing the same shit that your ancestors use to do. Like voter suppression. Like controlling women fertility and what she wants or needs to do with her choices and options in life.



There is blood on that Rebel flag. Which isn't even the correct version of the Confederate flag. If you are going to bring up history get it straight.


I know people do not want to talk about slavery in terms of genocide but if you take people involuntarily from their home country, pack them into ships and then force them into labor, sexual abuse and cultural indoctrination then you got to figure on some people being killed because they did not want to go or they did not want to be in bondage.

Most people don't. 


Anyway, I didn't want to talk about the song as much as bring up fragments of an Uncle Ruckus memory.

Uncle Ruckus does not like black folks. Even though he is one himself.  I have met a Ruckus or two and it rings true to my experience.

The speech is wiped clean of any inflection or intonation that could remotely be associated with the African American experience. This does NOT make a person an Uncle Ruckus. No, no and no!

(I'm a little sensitive on this point for reasons I choose not to go into at this time.) But it could be a teeny-tiny clue if other elements are in place.

We are talking about a person who makes such an effort to speak in an un-accented neutral English that he make Tom Brokaw sound like he's dropping slang.

Uncle Ruckus can be immaculate in his attire. No hair on his head that would be allowed to be in any form of a curl or a kink. Whoops, forgot about those that are aiming to emulate Dean Martin's hair from the 70s.

It can go either way.


Uncle Ruckus finds safety in dressing as someone from 1965 and it isn't because he is a hipster. Dude lives in culturally neutral clothing.

Uncle Ruckus does not associate or allows himself to be seen with other black folks. Socially, he can be forced into it but he don't like it and will bolt on over to the other side of the room if white folks are present.

He will tell you he is not African American. He is American. Not of African decent.

Seriously, I've had this conversation with the Ruckuses. My understanding is that they feel it is a self imposed limitation they do not want to be associated with; an association that can cause them to be distant from their families of origin even if they are living in the same house.

Politically, Ruckuses can be Republican. However, not all black Republicans are Ruckuses. And  Uncle Ruckus wouldn't associate with black Republicans anyway. Even hanging with Black Tea Party folks would make him uncomfortable.

It is just that extreme.


He is not a white man trapped in a black body. He is a black man who is doing all he can to be white and racist against African Americans.

It is a puzzlement but there you go. So when you co-sign to sing lyrics on a song like:

I’m just a white man
(If you don’t judge my do-rag)
Comin’ to you from the southland
(I won’t judge your red flag)
Tryin’ to understand what it’s like not to be
I’m proud of where I’m from
(If you don’t judge my gold chains)
But not everything we’ve done
(I’ll forget the iron chains)
It ain’t like you and me can re-write history
(Can’t re-write history baby)

You gotta take a pause. You have to ask yourself why would somebody sing those lyrics? Why would you put your gold chains higher than the suffering of the ancestors?

I'm just remembering people from long ago and yet not so far away.

Accidents can happen. By circumstance or they are caused by carelessness.


The Answers to Unasked Questions

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The Want + Example + Reason = Imperative.

The Question + Example + Reason = Understanding.

Do Not Yell If You Are Loosing Your Voice

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I going on a four day head cold that has resulted in a strong desire for sleep and a very raspy voice. I am now talking in a whisper. During the day as long as I kept it in a whisper my lack of voice was just an annoyance.

Talking on the phone was a challenge but I pushed out enough air to be heard. Then I did something stupid.

I was trying to talk loudly into the phone so that the other person could here my incredulity of the situation. In my defense, I was responding to a stupid situation.

I can't tell you what it was though. But I can make up an example.

Customer: I want to buy a Porterhouse steak.
Service Person: We just sell meat.

Customer: I know, I've been here before. I want to get a well marbled Porterhouse steak.
Service Person: We just sell meat. If you want some one to help you with your purchase you can make an appointment between 11:59 and 12:00 noon and someone might be able to help you.

Customer: You mean to tell me that you cannot open the case pull out the slab of meat that I want, weight it, wrap it and give it to me?
Service Person: I shouldn't even be wasting my time talking to you. I'm just the greeter.

I blew a vocal gasket. It hurts. After the call, what was an annoyance became a throbbing pain in the neck.

I got two glands expanding in size like golf balls inside of my neck.

I got a sore though that has yet to forgive me even though I have treated it to hot tea, Tam Yam soup, cold Ginger Ale and quite possibly a road trip for some un-authorized consumption of ice cream.

I feel like a failure.

I make time to listen to podcasts like Buddhist Geeks. I have meditation music. Breathing music. Other podcasts that tell me to take the heat out of the situation and be a living light of dispassion for good.

Dag Gummed It. I'm in Spiritual Special Ed once again. 


Spiritual Special Ed can be faith based. Or not. It is more of a pang of recognition that you have been in this place before and you promised that from this point forward you would conduct yourself in a life positive affirming manner.

You make it out of SSE. You seem to be on the path. And then, when it is important, you forget what you know and go on anger and instinct before you can get near a reflective mode.

Naw, I'm not getting any ice cream. I don't deserve it and besides I don't think dairy is good for a  combo cold/throat situation.

So that is my lesson for today. And from the feel of it tomorrow too.

Memories Eating Below the Line

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This past week there has been various folks participating in a campaign called Live Below the Line to bring awareness to living on $1.50 a day.

The goal is to experience what it is like to ration your money to buy food. Not good food, not healthy food.

Just food. 

I feel somewhat detached. Now anything that will help a child get near nutrition needs is okay with me. It is just that...well, I remember being a kid in that situation.

And because I remember I don't think the people trying to live on $1.50 a day for five days really get what is going on. What a life can be like and what decisions go into your head when you don't have enough to make it from one meal to the next.

Yes, it is one thing to say you are spending $1.50 a day when you have shelves full of spices, seasonings and pantry food.

If folks really took it seriously then when they went to the store they would find out about limited choices. Nutrition is not one of them. You can't do $1.50 at Whole Foods; well maybe if you are feeding yourself and you buy an eight of an ounce of beans and a quarter-pound of rice.

Nope, you need to go to the broke folks food store and work the numbers. They are not in your favor.

Childhood Eating Memories


As a kid I've eaten dinner when there was nothing in the house to but a half box of oatmeal and hot water going on day three of it.

Or rushing to nab the hot dog and a portion of a can of beans before one of your brothers snatches an extra one for himself. No time for slackers at a limited food table.

How about when you are handed a $5 bill and you are a told to go to the supermarket to get something for dinner for six people and you are expected to bring change back home. I had a lot of experience with that scenario. 

For the record, I usually stuck with the cheapest pasta and imitation Ragu type tomato sauce I could buy.

Or it could have been a loaf of bread and ground beef. With some of the butchers in the old neighborhood there wasn't that much beef in it. Plenty of gizzards though.

Notice I didn't mention veggies or organic choices or unprocessed meats. They were not affordable options. Potatoes if they were on sale; maybe.

It Isn't Just About The Food. 


It is also watching television and seeing all this food you do not have access to. It is being reminded that you don't have the right to a whole range of foods, taste and experiences. 

It is watching Julia Child on television and watching her make a wonderful meal and not connecting to the reality that some people really do eat that well.

I'm glad I watched her show because it inspired me to want to taste new things. Yet there was a disconnect. I remember being that kid biting into a chicken bone to get at the marrow (chicken use to have marrow in their bones back then) while she was making Coq au Vin.

I and many other kids had no breakfast.  Or it might be that lunch was the meal of the day. Depended on how the day went for the parents; if there was day work, temp work or any kind of work. 

It isn't about the food as much as it is about infrastructure and what do we expect grown people to do when they can't be crowbared into programing, technology or service jobs?

How do you make a living?

How do you take care of the family if you have no money?

How do we keep pretending that we can turn a whole society back to pre-industrial wages and have no clue that we are hip deep into the future?

I don't know.

I do know I was doing a bit of disassociation when I saw tweets about the campaign. It is the kind of hunger you just don't forget. Or want to remember.

Not The Buddha or Be Careful of What You Quote

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I'm puttering along half doing the dishes, quarter cleaning the bedroom and totally not writing as I should when I find this quote on a web page that I printed out on September 1, 2001:

“Your work is to discover your work and then with all your heart give yourself to it.”  Attributed to Buddha.

I like it. Sounds about right.  But then I say it again and it doesn't feel right. I run it though the Googlenator. On the surface all kinds of sites are linking and promoting this quote.

Except one. I am led to this web site called Fake Budha Quotes.com and I start reading.

Oh dear.

Bodhipaksa did the research to make the case that this is a possible misinterpretation of a bad translation.

If it sound good we as humans want to share it. I almost posted this quote to Twitter. I would have been in a long line of people to have done so. It wasn't with malice or evil intent. Still in all the Buddha didn't say it.

Yet this is how lies become truths or at least accepted paths of thought.

Early this morning I got yanked back into a post about the high number of single African American women who have children outside of marriage. I read the original post 10 months ago.

To me this was just one person expressing an opinion based on limited to no facts. I suspect that the author has other agendas besides equating a racial lack of moral compass with her perceived alternative options.

Yet folks read that posts and started to co-sign with what was written. 





If folks went to the New York Times article written in 2012 and looked at one of the sources cited,  Nonmarital Childbearing in the United States, 1940–99 by the National Center for Health Statistics, that report was an attempt to look at this issue spanning decades.

It is 40 pages of information, statistics and history that (in my opinion) due to society pressures may be a bit distorted or skewed. 

If you look at the data every group of women from every racial and ethnic backgrounds have had children outside of marriage. There are times when the numbers jump. There are periods when certain groups are not reported.

The report is not a quick read. If anything, you could use it as a question springboard to what was going on in the 1940 (War comes to mind. Soldiers on leave. Fear and the need to affirm life?)

Like in the above video from 1947 when the fellas want to shun the "bad girl" that comes to the table. She wasn't in the back seat of the car by herself. They can't even articulate the double standard so hey, let's blame the girl.

Compare that time to the 1960s.  Culturally, what was going on then?

See where I going with this? You have to understand the context and the people of the time.

What are the real facts, not the ones that make you feel good or sounds like it is plausible.

It is tricky. It is sticky. The only confirmed fact is that when most men stick their dicky into a fertile vagina without birth control there is a good chance of conception.

I so long for the day when information literacy become a fad that people won't let go of.

Maybe there needs to be a song about critical thinking got them crazy and they won't let go, naw they can't let go.


The Dreamsicle Ruminations

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I loved Creamsicles, not to be confused with Dreamsicles. Personally, I can swing either way. One has ice creme and the other has ice milk over a orange sherbert shell. I was reading a health magazine and pointing out to a friend that "You know, no matter what you do you are gonna die."

His response was" You have the power to determine if you die sooner or later." And barring mad men and accidents that is true.

For the record, I am not advocating eating crap foods all day and all night. Veggies are essential. Water. Cut back on the sugar in all form. Be thoughtful in meat consumption.

You can plan for tasty and health. You can have Creamsicles without the yutz. This is Erika from a Little Insanity.





But really, we are gonna die. Before I go I will have another Creamsicle or a slice of Cherry pie.

I'm not proud but I'm ain't stupid either. The point of life is to live it.

How did I come to such a decision?

I met a woman who knew she was going to die. I spent some time with her teaching her to use the Internet. Often when I visited she would have a container of Ambrosia near her bed.

One day I read the ingredients, it was filled with sugar, artificial sweeteners, gunk and imitation marshmallows.

In my head I'm thinking "This mess will kill her."

In actuality, it was one of the few foods that she could eat without bring it back up. The woman did die but not from the pseudo Ambrosia.

Still, I'd be willing to list it as a minor contributing factor.

On a hot day with the sun beating down and life if good I see nothing wrong with my tongue and lips wrapped around the popsicle of my choice. Now some days that will be a 100% fruit ice bar. Or it could be shaved ice with some flavor on it.

One day I hope I could be that person that can take eat an olive and be completely satisfied. Behold, it would be enough and I would be in a state of grace.

Except that I am not that person and will never be that person. Ice on the tongue. The smile of lemon blossoms in the air. The patterns of clouds in the sky. Sucking on some sherbert.

Maybe it is how and what we decide to consume. I will give it more thought.

Not Very Good At Letting Go of CDs

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I've got software. Maybe too much. I'm looking for the burning software that I know I have so that I can burn an .iso file. I need to burn the .iso file to make a bootable CD to get into my prior computer because I have forgotten the password.

I need to get into that box to get the registration number for the prior version of the burning software so that I don't have to pay full price for the new version if I can't find the prior version software.

Which may or may not work on a 64-bit system.


www.aldaily.com


I just found a CD with bookmarks from 2002 with hundreds of links to long gone websites. Or sites that I should visit more often but I forgot that they existed like Arts & Letters Daily.

This is why people need an RSS Reader. So that people like me can have breadcrumbs back to the sites that mattered.

In 2002 everybody was still rattled by the economy. I seems to have spent a lot of time on job sites and Craigslist. It was also the start of the freelancer sites where you could compete for a job through a web interface. That changed when people from other countries came in and under-bid the Americans off the site.

That hurt.

I was hanging out at survival and self-sufficiently links. Not what you think, these folks provided information on how to stretch a dollar or urban food gathering aka supermarket dumpster diving. No weapons were involved.

There were links to a long gone free magazine called ComputerUser. A lot of links to digital photo sites from GeoCities; heck a lot of GeoCities links period. It was the place to go for fan pages and info on obscure topics.

A lot of the early digital video sites that I visited but couldn't do anything with because the technology wasn't consumer friendly. But I kept an eye on it just the same. I was into radio drama from the looks of it; still am only now I go to drama podcasts sites.

So much has changed.

But not my need to quit procrastinating on household chores and finding that software.

And yet, I wonder if I can find that link to the site that had people being intimate with the trees for charity? Yes, that one is exactly what you think it is but I seem to remember the lush greenery more than anything else.


More Lessons About Being Attunded to Your Body

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On this day I have an wowser of an ow.  I was pushing my hand cart. There was a slight incline out of the store. All of the sudden my back let's out a scream. Never happened before. Never want pull a muscle again. 

I was suspended between a sharp pain and the need to get home. I'm doing the body inventory as cars whip past me. Decisions have to be made quickly.

I can stand? Yes.
I can walk? Yes.
Does it hurt? Oh yes.

There is a meditation technique where you acknowledge the pain but you don't feed into it. Slow deliberate steps. Gentle breathing out. Outlining where the pain is and isn't. Sending loving kindness to the areas that hurt and not cussing myself out that I tried to push too much stuff.

Walking actually helps reduce the pain but I'm not a big fan of pain in the first place.

So here I am. Home. In a chair trying to figure out my next move.

Last night I had old food in the fridge which is more like a chiller but not really. I had leftovers that should have been tossed.


No, it looks nothing like this. I'd love it if it did.


I ate them.

From midnight to 4:33 a.m. I regretted it deeply.

Only I made fast deliberate steps to the bathroom. Letting go at both ends. Trying to figure out what I did to get into this space. I got my answer around 2:30ish when I remembered that I need to pay more attention to my doubts.

Acceptance.

Not good at that either but getting better. I don't ask Spirit to take it away from me any longer. I just want to survive it so I don't do it again.

Trash bags are standing by.

Yes, We Should UFTW Poem

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I have be frigidity all day. Rather than stew in my own juices I'm trying out an experiment. I have wanted to try making video poems. There are people that are doing just that; there is a wonderful site called Moving Poems that curates the various ways a video poem can be created.







If you do check out that site you will discover that there is more than just talking head poets on video or film. There can be dance, animation, performance, text sculptures and a bunch more video poem formats than I have time to type.

I've been thinking about doing this for long time. I'm going to try to make my experiments public and use the Create Video Notebook blog to explain the tools and resources on how to create them.

This is a photo text poem. The text and the photo create the actual poem. Take away one element and it is meaningless or weak. There is no narration and it is open captioned.

Anyway, this is #1 with more to come.

Past as It Plays Itself Foward In Time

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It wasn't like this. It was gritty. Dirty. There was a smell, sometimes. There was people selling vegetables in boxes on sidewalks or in half stall stores. There were winos and bums and people who had no place to go. People stood around talking all day long. They didn't need talk radio to keep a conversation going.

There were people going to work or to school. The streets were filled with busy people.

It was filled with motion.




There were no tables or chairs outside. No place for them. The sidewalks were narrow then.

There were belching cars and trolleys trying to get some place. Everybody was trying to get some place other than where they were.

Me included.

No, it didn't look like this. I tramped up and down those streets and what I knew is gone. I only have the memory of it.

I remember the good pretzel place where you had to wait for a hot one because they sold out quick. You could have plain with mustard or extra salty. Small, or freaky big. A couple of stores down from the pretzel place was my home away from home bookstore.

The bookstore, I think it was called Robin's, is where they sold alternative comic books. Where I could get a copy of High Times for a quarter. I was more interested in the hydroponics than the weed.

I was a strange person.

I must have been the only person to buy High Times for the articles and to check out Vaughn Bode's comic called Cheech Wizard. Bode was the only cartoonist I knew that celebrated big behind women.

There were days when I'd have just a dollar and have to choose between a photo magazine and three other candidates. If you didn't buy it when you laid eyes on it it could be gone.

One day I found this book called I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream. Paperback. It was right next to the Ice Berg Slim books . My arms where loaded up but I flipped to a few pages and thought this dude Ellison was on to something.

I fell in love with his writing. I fell in love with how he would talk to you in the fourth wall breaking pages before the start of a story. I didn't care for his gangster books. Gangsters were getting shot up all over town and making the tabloid covers every other day. Fiction couldn't trump that Goombah reality.

I kept my radar out for anything else he wrote. One day when I was able I paid full price cash money for a paperback that had the original script of the City on the Edge of Forever. Then I bought his other books with covers intact.

So when I heard that Harlan Ellison was going to be in Hollywood I thought I could go see him in person. I needed to make amends for buying those first stripped books when I was a teenager.

But meeting inspirations can be tricky.

So this is the past that you need to known to put context to the future that was.

Witness to a PUA Failure - My Testimony

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Dear menfolk, I like you. I do. Really. Well, some of you. A specific few. Let's just say there are positive lights in the firmament of mankind. Emphasis on the kind part.

Some of y'all are doing things that make the boogie man look honorable. A small percentage of the tribe has issues that need to be work out with a therapist or six months in the wilderness with a guru.


I understand that many of you would like female companionship. Others just want a body or access to specific female body parts. We are not like a car, Ruby on Rails or a jigsaw puzzle. We are people.

The poem below is an interpretation of an experience I had on Hollywood Boulevard. I was just an observer. This is the sanitized version.

No, not really. I tried to remember word for word what the tour barker said.



Either way, you cannot go around and cuss women out because they:

  • Chooses not to talk with you.
  • Is totally afraid of you, your clothes or the saliva emanating from your mouth.
  • Has other things to do that do not include you.

I have to say that the actual man who inspired this poem towers over most women. He is also wide, in a muscular way. Booming voice. Bull in the China shop kind of guy.

If a woman walks away from you and she is not interested,  game over.

Done.

Let it go.

You do not need to blast your disappointment up and down the street and casting aspersions on her character where 30 seconds before you were quite interested in getting warm with her form.

In conclusion, that page in the PUA handbook that tells you to annoy women to get attention? Burn that page. Well first rip out that page, burn it and stomp the ashes.

I'd tell you to burn the book but that is something I cannot promote. But should it accidentally wind up in the barbeque pit don't bother to retrieve it.

Or replace it.

Waiting for Harlan at the Barbershop

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It has been a few weeks since this happened. Maybe I have a better perspective from a distance. I don’t know. To recap, I had an opportunity to see Harlan Ellison in Los Angeles and I took it. This involved trains, Hollywood Boulevard and buses. And my ability to get lost when I think a place is other than where I think it should be.

After the tour barker incident and waiting 20+ minutes for the right bus I arrived at the 4300 block of Hollywood Boulevard. To say that this block has memories for me is an understatement. The last time I was in this area was the afternoon of the Rodney King verdict. There was a bookstore that I checked out from time to time. It is gone now.

So is the Circuit City and other businesses. There weren’t that many of them. It was the kind of street you walked fast to get to your bus connections.  It was a miracle that I made it home that night.

Now there are upscale boutiques. hipster hamburger joints and spray art on the sidewalk. I don’t see any winos or junkies. I don’t smell anything but air.

It is discombobulating. Not bad, but I occupy two different places at the same time.





This is not how it use to be.  I am adjusting.

There are a few fans lined up between the Sweeny Todd Barber Shop and the Luz de Jesus Gallery. We are older. Hair is grey in patches. Everybody has their phone ready to take a photo. Denim, spandex and tattoos are plentiful.


This is the cover of his new book of long out of print lad stories. Seeing as how I bough his  books at a stripped book store in the past (I had no way of knowing it was un-ethical at the time) this is my way of making amends. Should you be so inclined to read his early gang and men magazine stories of the 1950s and 60s you could visit Kick Books to find out how to obtain a copy.

(In the interest of honesty, I didn't care for the JD line of books so I can't speak to the quality of them. I was not in the demographic at the time of publication and nothing has changed since then.)

The game plan was that Ellison was supposed to get a haircut and then walk over to the gallery. I would have liked to gone into the gallery but it was a small place with too many people inside. There was plenty of action on the sidewalk.




The barber and Harlan come out of the barber shop. Harlan told the crowd don’t stand in the sun too long. Had on a nice lavender shirt, by the way. He looked good.

The barber was a right nice looking beefy guy with a traditional barber jacket that showed his tats very nicely. Poor fellow made a mistake; he asked Harlan how he was doing.

“I’m 79 years old. I feel lousy.” It is a known fact that Mr. Ellison can be terse. Caustic. They turned the corner and no one seemed to notice.


I’m still looking around clicking atmospherically evidence that as we go to hell in a hand basket a good time will be had if you know where to go.

Time marches on and I’m thinking it is mighty hot outside. Still, nothing can induce me to go inside the gallery and I sure wasn’t going into a $10 to $20 hamburger joint. I’m loyal but passing out on the boulevard is not a test I’m willing to take.

I snap up other items of interest and slowly move my body away from the festivities. Then I hear a horn, A old school horn and peep into the car. There he was in the back seat. I had this quizzical look on my face. I looked at him. He looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and I nodded back.




I understood. I think.

Harlan got out of the car. Two motorcycle people in black leather braced him as folks took photos. Then he entered the barbershop. And people proceeded to take photos of him getting a hair cut.

I’m looking at them. At the Lone Ranger billboard. At the neighborhood that sprung up from the old.

The colors of the buildings and the sky.



I couldn’t ask for anything more. Or so I thought. The driver of the car got out. He was a little tense. His only words were a frantic “I gonna have my beer.”

Back on Hollywood Boulevard proper, I came across another person who was throwing up because he was drinking fortified malt liquor in the 3 p.m. sun and that wasn’t a smart thing to do.

My center had been restored.

I went home.

Kathleen Sebelius on Preventative Health Care Services - BlogHer 2013

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Health and Human Services Secretary Kathleen Sebelius spoke at the BlogHer 2013 HealthMinder Day Keynote session.

In this clip, Ms. Sebelius talks about some of the preventative services available to women under the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act; often referred to as Obamacare.






Some of those services are:

An annual well-woman preventive care visit for adult women.

Contraception and contraceptive counseling: Women with reproductive capacity have access to all Food and Drug Administration-approved contraceptive methods, sterilization procedures, and patient education and counseling, as prescribed by a health care provider.
STI counseling: Sexually active women have access to annual counseling on sexually transmitted infections (STIs).

Gestational diabetes screening: This screening is for women 24 to 28 weeks pregnant, and those at high risk of developing gestational diabetes.

Breastfeeding support, supplies, and counseling: Pregnant and postpartum women have access to comprehensive lactation support and counseling from trained providers, as well as breastfeeding equipment.

For more information visit the HHS Fact Sheet about women's preventative health services.

This is one of many videos that I have recorded during the BlogHer 2013 conference. I will be uploading more clips of Secretary Sebelius keynote as time and Internet connection permits me to do so.

Not Able to Write the Ballad of Duan Huego

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I wish I could write satire. I can see Duan Huego galloping into the village; his steely eyes talking in the droopy draw-ed teenagers as he smiles at the peasant women who light up when they see him. Old spice in the noon day sun.

Yes, indeed, it could be a laugh riot. Cept I don't know how to write satire. And I don't do humor well. Still, I would kinda start out with something like:


The Ballad of Duan Huego

Imaging, if you will, the sound of a galloping horse, a mighty steed with a manly man in touch with himself. So in touch with the wisdom of the ages he is all knowing, all seeing.
Cue out of tune guitar, belching and 1/3 hand clapping.

In the little dusty brown town there are people. Some that wear belts and others that have droopy draws. Some that wear skirts and some that wear over sized peddle pushers.

I probably shouldn't pinch a bit of narrative structure from all those Saturday afternoons watching movies like A Fistful of Dollars. I probably can't do that without some attorney drooling over possible infringement.

To appropriate a saying from my UK friends, "bugger off " if any attorney is in litigation mode. I'm not writing it. 

Anyway, back to the non-story story:

I imagine that Duan Huego has come to fix the town. Not that anybody actually asked him to. The man has his public and private agendas and feels duty bound to express one or the other at the barrel of a gun.
First, he caps all the droopy draw-ed young men because, well, it is easier to dispose of young men than to deal with structural and environmental conditions that caused their pants to droop.
Sure, he could have allowed them to continue wandering around trying to find some way to support themselves but that would involve actual contact and conversation.
Duan Huego ain't got time for that. He just wipes them all out and tell the town to start again. Yes, there will be wailing and many of the town members would be upset. As Duan Huego clamps down on the Twinkie half hanging out of his mouth, he knows that sartorial appearances trump indigenous rights of existence. 

And speaking of rights, he....

Hmm. Perhaps Duan Huego doesn't have a Twinkie half hanging out his mouth. It could be a  Chocodile.  Yeah, I like Chocodiles.

Anyway, I can see him rolling and sucking on that Chocodile like a god possessed.

Duan Huego looks on as the town re-allocates money from the schools to the new sports stadium. Not sure who is gonna play in the big game seeing as how he whacked most of the local teams.
But he does support Title IX. In his wisdom, he settles in to coach the ladies basketball team.
One of the women in the town approaches him and ask if he can do anything about those laddie magazines in the supermarket. The ones that have all kind of nakedness and booblification on display at the checkout counter.
Duan Huego looks softly into the woman's eyes and tells her he feels her pain, her anguish and her frustrations of being surrounded by uncaring men in shark-skinned suits. At that very moment, Duan Huego central nervous system shifts to his inner femme.

You know, I don't think they had shark-skinned suits back in the day. Need more research on male fashions in dusty brown towns.

Other women start to approach Duan Huego and they like what they hear. They invite him to dinner, the Sunday lunch and the Fish Fry. Duan Huego doesn't do a dang thing about getting the laddie mags out of the supermarket but he talks so convincingly about the need to do so. Many of the women forget the harm that has been done by eliminating other women's male children.
They decide he is their voice; even though they have voices of their own.
One day, a woman came to town. She recognized the horse. The trail of Chocodile wrappers all up and down the street. The weeping widow whose husband ain't dead but might as well have been since she took up with Duan Huego.
The woman with no name talks to other women about what she knows about Duan Huego. They don't believe her. Some of the members of the basketball team also share that Duan Huego has been coaching a little too much in his after school workout. An elder testifies she has seen Duan Huego with a copy of T--ts and Bits while standing in the checkout.

Hang on, maybe Duan Huego is an asset dude instead of a rack man? Then again, the way he uses his tongue to get what he wants he could be orally fixated. Need to research names of straight male magazines that denigrate women but aren't violently disgusting.

The women on team Duan Huego fight for their man. Who still talks a good game but doesn't do jack. He does put the feel on Maria behind the bleachers as the game is in progress.

Maria has that kind of voice that carries so when the ref called "Foul" Maria followed up with "Oh, God, mmm, Good God Owwwwwww with the ow rhyming with foul.

That sealed it.  The woman with no name was telling the truth. As was the elder and all other women. Everybody could now see it and there was no denying it happened.
Or could it? Yes, even with evidence Team Duan Huego would not relent. Duan Huego himself did a duck and weave as he promised never to enter the stadium again. He still is gonna diddle his woman but this time in private.

No. Not a laugh riot. Not funny. It really sucks. Just like it does in real life. 

A savior by definition is someone who takes your side. Protects you. Doesn't have to be religious to save you or reflect what you believe in. There are people that groups and communities have anointed flawed people to be their spokesperson/public saviors.

Hell, we are all flawed.

And like a true love it is hard to let go of the person that you projected so much time and effort into making what you needed him or her to be. It is the real life version of Juicy Got 'Em Crazy. 

They can't let go. They won't let go. Saviors are really hard to let go of. Because it is hard to say that you made a mistake in judging a person.

The only way to let go is to be willing to listen. And step out of the comfort zone. Not many people are willing to take that chance. It is hard. There is no progress without it.

And that is where we stand at the moment. 

Cue out of tune violin, knuckle cracking and 1/4 hand clapping. Fade to Black.





Harriet Tubman - Lift Her Up!

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It is time for clean up duty. The damage has been done. The Russell Simmons video that was an alleged comedy about Sister Tubman has been pulled from YouTube. I suspect there may be other copies of the video that will be posted again and again.

There are people who insist that it is their right to laugh at the video and call it funny. It is their way of fighting political correctness. Those people are not my immediate concern. 

There is a problem that we can do something about. Nothing goes away on the Internet. That damn title of the video is the most recent search engince citation containing Harriet Tubman's name.

When it comes time school children to do a search guess which item is going to come to the surface? There are currently about 290,000 Google listings for Russell Simmons, Tubman and Sex.

Do you want to be the teacher or parent that has to explain this?

Those poor kids are going to be bamboozled about Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Killer. What do you think this will do to them? Grown folks, we gotta clean it up.

Lift Her Up! 


Here is your assignment. If you have a post about Ms. Tubman that is appropriate then post it on your blog and tell two friends.

If you have a book recommendation or want to do a book review of something that you have read to your kids post it up and tell two friends.




If you know of a video NOT created or paid for by Russell Simmons that can help people understand the real deal lets share that link that up as well.

We need to push the title of the video way, way down in the search results. This is also a good time to inform the young ones that we have a history that cannot be bought with silver and gold.

You can be angry or you can do something about it.

I'll add citations and other info in this post but I can't do this by myself. As many tweets that went out about the video is that's how many good resources we'll need to flush it out.

For People that Cut History Class and Have to Get up to Speed

Harriet Tubman Humanitarian, Leader, Hero Mini Documentary

TeacherTube video on Harriet Tubman as Older Woman
Intro Video on Harriet Tubman Byway in Maryland

One hour video from the Brooklyn Museum's Elizabeth Sackler Center on Feminist Art - Author Beverly Lowry discusses her book Harriet Tubman: Imagining a Life

U.S., State and Local Government Sites

America's Story from America's Library - Harriet Tubman
National Park Service Underground Railroad Monument Page
Maryland's Harriet Tubman's Underground Railroad Byway



For Parents and School Research

Good Reads Book List on Harriet Tubman
IMDB Page on the movie A Woman Called Moses performed by Cicily Tyson
Library of Congress Harriet Tubman Online Resources
Scholastic Harriet Tubman Web Hunt
University of North Carolina at Chapple Hill - Black Abolitionist Papers about Harriet Tubman   
WorldCat Library Search of Books, Audio, Articles and other media
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