September 20, 2008

White Privilege

  This is Your Nation on White Privilege

 By Tim Wise

 For those who still can't grasp the concept of white privilege, or who are constantly looking for some easy-to-understand examples of it, perhaps this list will help.

 White privilege is when you can get pregnant at seventeen like Bristol Palin and everyone is quick to insist that your life and that of your family is a personal matter, and that no one has a right to judge you or your parents, because "every family has challenges," even as black and Latino families with similar "challenges" are regularly typified as irresponsible, pathological and arbiters of social decay.

 White privilege is when you can call yourself a "fuckin' redneck," like Bristol Palin's boyfriend does, and talk about how if anyone messes with you, you'll "kick their fuckin' ass," and talk about how you like to "shoot shit" for fun, and still be viewed as a responsible, all-American boy (and a great son-in-law to be) rather than a thug.

 White privilege is when you can attend four different colleges in six years like Sarah Palin did (one of which you basically failed out of, then returned to after making up some coursework at a community college), and no one questions your intelligence or commitment to achievement, whereas a person of color who did this would be viewed as unfit for college, and probably someone who only got in in the first place because of affirmative action.

 White privilege is when you can claim that being mayor of a town smaller than most medium-sized colleges, and then Governor of a state with about the same number of people as the lower fifth of the island of Manhattan, makes you ready to potentially be president, and people don't all piss on themselves with laughter, while being a black U.S. Senator, two-term state Senator, and constitutional law scholar, means you're "untested."?

 White privilege is being able to say that you support the words "under God" in the pledge of allegiance because "if it was good enough for the founding fathers, it's good enough for me," and not be immediately disqualified from holding office--since, after all, the pledge was written in the late 1800s and the "under God" part wasn't added until the 1950s--while believing that reading accused criminals and terrorists their rights (because, ya know, the Constitution, which you used to teach at a prestigious law school requires it), is a dangerous and silly idea only supported by mushy liberals.?

 White privilege is being able to be a gun enthusiast and not make people immediately scared of you.?

 White privilege is being able to have a husband who was a member of an extremist political party that wants your state to secede from the Union, and whose motto was "Alaska first," and no one questions your patriotism or that of your family, while if you're black and your spouse merely fails to come to a 9/11 memorial so she can be home with her kids on the first day of school, people immediately think she's being disrespectful.?

 White privilege is being able to make fun of community organizers and the work they do--like, among other things, fight for the right of women to vote, or for civil rights, or the 8-hour workday, or an end to child labor--and people think you're being pithy and tough, but if you merely question the experience of a small town mayor and 18-month governor with no foreign policy expertise beyond a class she took in college--you're somehow being mean, or even sexist.?

 White privilege is being able to convince white women who don't even agree with you on any substantive issue to vote for you and your running mate anyway, because all of a sudden your presence on the ticket has inspired confidence in these same white women, and made them give your party a "second look."?

 White privilege is being able to fire people who didn't support your political campaigns and not be accused of abusing your power or being a typical politician who engages in favoritism, while being black and merely knowing some folks from the old-line political machines in Chicago means you must be corrupt.?

 White privilege is being able to attend churches over the years whose pastors say that people who voted for John Kerry or merely criticize George W. Bush are going to hell, and that the U.S. is an explicitly Christian nation and the job of Christians is to bring Christian theological principles into government, and who bring in speakers who say the conflict in the Middle East is God's punishment on Jews for rejecting Jesus, and everyone can still think you're just a good church-going Christian, but if you're black and friends with a black pastor who has noted (as have Colin Powell and the U.S. Department of Defense) that terrorist attacks are often the result of U.S. foreign policy and who talks about the history of racism and its effect on black people, you're an extremist who probably hates America.?

 White privilege is not knowing what the Bush Doctrine is when asked by a reporter, and then people get angry at the reporter for asking you such a "trick question," while being black and merely refusing to give one-word answers to the queries of Bill O'Reilly means you're dodging the question, or trying to seem overly intellectual and nuanced.?

 White privilege is being able to claim your experience as a POW has anything at all to do with your fitness for president, while being black and experiencing racism is, as Sarah Palin has referred to it a "light" burden.?

 And finally, white privilege is the only thing that could possibly allow someone to become president when he has voted with George W. Bush 90 percent of the time, even as unemployment is skyrocketing, people are losing their homes, inflation is rising, and the U.S. is increasingly isolated from world opinion, just because white voters aren't sure about that whole "change" thing. Ya know, it's just too vague and ill-defined, unlike, say, four more years of the same, which is very concrete and certain...?

 White privilege is, in short, the problem.

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August 31, 2008

Separated At Birth

Cindy McCain and the Crypt Keeper separated.jpg
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July 7, 2008

In Memoriam...

This week, our beloved cat Madison was gently put to sleep after a time of illness. He would have been 22 years old today. We planted a memorial garden in our backyard yesterday... a place of which he was very fond. The garden is full of hearty and prickly things, mostly succulents, which reflect his personality very well. He was such a lovely companion, full of wisdom and affection. He was a good friend to our little dog Sancho who misses him terribly. Rest in peace old friend.
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May 21, 2008

Unread Books Meme

What we have below is a list of the top 106 books most often marked as "unread" by LibraryThing users. Bold the ones you've read, underline the ones you read for school, italicize the ones you started but didn't finish.

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Anna Karenina
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel: the fates of human societies
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran : a memoir in books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian : a novel
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible : a novel
1984
Angels & Demons
The Inferno (and Purgatory and Paradise)
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Corrections
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes : a memoir
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake : a novel
Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a rogue economist explores the hidden side of everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
The Three Musketeers

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April 27, 2008

A San Francisco Moment

So... walking back from the garden store this afternoon, Anthony and I come across 8 men in plushy, pink bunny suits on the corner of Castro and 18th Streets. They are all holding beautiful red roses and waving at cars and people as they walk or drive by, smiling and hopping up and down. I overhear a gentleman asking, since apparently he expects them to hand him an advertisement or be plugging for something. "What are you guys out here offering," he asks. "Love" one says and then turns to wave his roses at another car pulling through the intersection. Seems like quite the way to celebrate orthodox Easter, I imagine.

God I love this town!

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March 25, 2008

Misspoke???

OK... so let's get something straight about Hillary Clinton's remarks on the Bosnia situation. Ms. Clinton didn't simply misspeak. She did not make a mistake. It was not simply human error.

She LIED! A blatant, bald-faced lie in keeping with her exaggeration of her qualifications to be Commander in Chief. She LIED! You do not simply mis-remember whether or not you were under sniper fire. A civilian under any circumstances remembers being shot at, especially in a war zone. You remember those things.

Ms. Clinton... I think you're pretty OK. But you LIED. And you LIED in order to boost your credibility and simultaneously to diminish that of your opponent for the Democratic nomination. I never for one moment thought of you as anything other than human.

But not all humans are LIARS. And you, madam, are a bald-faced LIAR. That's the biggest revelation for me. And it makes me sad.

Remember ma'am... you are not ENTITLED to my vote.


"In a recent speech and interviews, the New York senator described a harrowing scene in Tuzla, Bosnia, in which she and her daughter, Chelsea, had to run for cover as soon as they landed for a visit in 1996. But video footage of the day showed a peaceful reception in which a young girl greeted the first lady on the tarmac.

Clinton told reporters in Pennsylvania on Tuesday that she erred in describing the scene, which she now realizes after talking with aides and others.

"So I made a mistake," she said. "That happens. It proves I'm human, which you know, for some people, is a revelation."

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December 24, 2007

Cantos, Parts VII. - XI - The Annunciation - The Nativity

VII.  The dance of Sakti and Indra

Once…
Upon a long ago time
In Sakti's journey on to paradise,
There appeared Indra
Leaping like a spark from the shadows.

Indra's face was fiery, sweet

And tempting,

Like…
The taste of honey,

And his eyes gleamed brightly,
Shining like wildflowers
In their pride.
Blushing and feverish
With desire,
He bowed and kissed the ground

And Sakti's heart wept.

Sakti whispered through her tears,

"Tell me your name, that I may know your truth."

And Indra whispered,
    "My name is Celebration,
        Redemption,
            Desire"...

And he smiled
A telling smile

And his eyes laughed

Skillfully

As if to entertain.
Sakti looked but for a blush
Into cold November sky,


And said,
    "Love me! Love me
If you dare!"
Indra laughed in many colors,
    Spinning
Threads of
    burgundy and gold
And said,

"my favored one,
My sweet dew blossom,
Only by your pleasure!"
    An eternity away
A smile was born
There up in the heavens,
That today even illuminates
    the stars.

VIII.   In anticipation of stars
Tremble in the living fields.     Tremble on the cliff-sides.
For death has been undone,
    (And a child's voice
        Has been heard above the thunder)

"be it done with me as you say."

Love sits laughing
At the foot of the stairs,
    Laughing at moon beams
And stars in the dome of the sky.
She sings a song
    And whispers a prayer.

Clutching her breast with tiny hands,
Beauty feels star bursts.
    Across ten thousand thousand
Years and miles,

Piercing her skin,
    Piercing her heart.
The universe's child
Has called her name
    And clothed her in purple linen.

IX.   In the beating of wings
The secret lies
    (Hidden and warm)
In the palms of her hands;
The seed of expectation,
    Of new life,
        Of resurrection.
Even the stars whisper and dance
Upon her breast

"It’s time."

    There, in the tall grass,
As the sun sets
Upon a plentiful land...

    There in the tall grass
She catches her breath

    And darkness curls
           upon the celebrating ground.

Standing in shadows
    Before the dawn of mystery;
        Beneath the shadow of wings;
            Beneath the shadows of
Oak trees and memories,

Near the old stone hedges;
Where we honor old bones,

        "It's time."

The tall grass sings praises
    To new life,
        To new foundations.
Out in the lazy fields,
Where seedlings, 'neath
Bone bare feet
Reach out needy arms in praise,
Our life begins anew
    With promise.
        With hope.
In faith.

X.   Of the weeping of stones
Take me to where
The stones cry,
    Out by the tide pools,
        By the sandy shore.
There, at the foamy edge,
A footstep from abundance,

Beyond the feeding roar
They cry, longing
Longing in their thirst

(beyond all satiety)

To feel the waves'
Sweet kisses;

    O foolish Narcissus, why did you leave me?

Sharing sorrow with the moon
They cry, they share
Her need... strong enough
To pull the waters closer,

    Yet not enough
        To feed her,
            Not enough to touch

Nor draw her back
Into that womb
Where mountains drink their fill.

    O foolish Narcissus!

Take me to where
The stones cry,
Where the moon cries
Waiting for the tide
    To condescend
        To reach her...

Much too far away
To see herself
Reflected on the surface...

    Cradled and caressed
By kissing waves;

Much too far to hear
The great womb whisper
Of the greatest love.

    O foolish Narcissus, why did you leave me?

XI.  For covenants and promises
How full of yesterdays
You are...how
Solitary in this moment;
giving birth to tomorrows and
Tomorrows.

Onward,
    At the wing's soft edge,

Look there...the sweet
Soft, radiant dove,
pendent, in between
Currents at the crossing

Of east wind,
    west wind,

Old world and new,

Blue sky
    and watery horizon.

May this one comfort our sorrow!
    Zeh-yenahamenu.

Look there,
    leeward bound,
Seeking some lonely cliff-side,
    Some small island to rest the sole of her foot.

We painted our future
Somewhere

    between
The lush green life of
The olive branch
    and the fragrant sweetness
    Of the vineyard;

Between the receding
Waters of yesterday, and
The hillside promise
    Of burnt offerings.

Where is your refuge
Sweet solitary dove?

Somewhere is a clutch
Of straw, somewhere
    A place where leggéd beasts

May shuffle on the
Hardened ground;

Somewhere a place
    Beneath the singing stars;
Somewhere a place

Large enough

    To hold the promise of tomorrows.
In this moment
    At the wing's edge,
In this moment
    That spans from a longing moon to her reflection
The stars hold their breath...

And the waters pant
And gasp, pushing forth
Mountains to the surface,
    Striving and struggling
        To fulfill their charge...

Bear fruit and be many!

Let us stand,
As leggéd beasts,
Reverently at the strand.
    Awed beneath the cliff-sides,
Let us reach into the waters
    And draw the moon
        Into the palms of newborn hands.
Such sweet kisses on the shoreline.
Such sweet kisses on the moon face.
Such sweet kisses at the wing's edge.
Such sweet kisses...

Kisses large enough
    To hold the promise of tomorrows.

XII.  In answer to the question of colors
A spark, awakens to a soul aflame
Burning like a star at birth,
A color, far to bright to see
Or capture, like a painted sky.
Within, my heart

The whole creation shines and smiles
....are you ready?

Yes...I believe,
    I am newborn.
        I am clay.
            I am anticipation unfolding.

Whose tiny hand... ?

The child reaching in the dark
To caress a broken world.

    Will you love me?

Yes Lord...with my soul.
    I need... I love... you know I will.
For I was made for such as this.

Mindful of the sky's need
For an answer to its color
    A heart beats;

And a cry in chorus with
The stars calls us
    To our meaning,
        To salvation.
Are you willing?

In an instant of a gasping world
At daybreak, suddenly aware,
She holds him up in offering
    To the world… a gift,
And hope is born again
In a blaze of glory,
And in some brief eternity of moments

    The world is saved.

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