fromthemouthofmoi

I forget that my mania manifests itself in this loopy dirge of what I refer to as my 'Marie Antionette' phase. I call it thus because when I am in its grips I can often be heard muttering: off with their heads! I become convinced that everyone is an idiot and a waste of space. I want forced sterilization brought back to the table for discussion. I have been know to snap and yell at companies or individuals who fail to provide good customer service. Why customer service rankles me so, I do not know but I sometimes think that people who are incapable of connecting dots tend to be drawn to this profession. When I am in the grips of this cycle I find a passion in beginning conversations with others for the sole purpose of getting the other to see what an idiot they are. I am determined to make a point. I am invincibly right, violently correct, blindly driven, and unable to sleep. You might immediately think that because a chemical imbalance swirls through my blood I must therefor

What is the exact number of times one can be hurt, used or abused before one can righteously say: Fuck Off, and want nothing more to do with the person? If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and walks like a duck, and I've operated as a duck sanctuary in the past, am I not entitled to refuse entry to ducks if I have no more room? If one has to talk to 100 people before finding 1 decent person, doesn't that mean one has to say: Fuck Off more often than not? If you meet someone who introduces you to someone whom they rave about and you finally meet, and you instantly know they have discomfort because you are not white, what do you do? Do you tell the well meaning person that introduced you? Do you not tell the introducer so as not to hurt their feelings, or do you smile like you don't notice and just grin and bare the obvious discomfort of the person not liking you? If you are the only one that makes overtures of friendship, in a one sided friendship, are you fri

I have been watching episodes of The Honeymooners and what struck me for the first time was how strong a character Alice, Ralph Kramden's wife, was. She stands up for herself and tongue lashes Ralph every time he needs an ass kicking, which is practically every episode.  Every time he uses the phrases: "Bang! Zoom!" or "To the moon, Alice" he is saying it in response to her standing her ground. Every time he thinks she is behaving, like a bitch, he threatens her with those phrases. This, in part, is one of the inspirations behind this post. That and two emails I received in the last three days. I am the luckiest woman in the world. Last Thursday, during the Language Exchange Group which is held in my home, one of the students came to teach a Spanish class. I have structured the group in such a way, fashioned after my own progressive experiences with education, so that everyone teaches and no sole person is the source of information. Benjamin arrived and gave a

The last four days have been truly exciting for me. I came across a blog, How To Be Black, through another blog -both linked below- titled: Racism 101. The first blog is a bit tongue in cheek and the second is serious business. The second blog is an advice column of sorts, readers pose questions about all things race related, and the blogger replies. Having read about 100 questions and the replies I would describe the blogger as precise, snarky, and well informed. I was impressed. How To Be Black, in part, asks for its readers to answer a few questions (irregardless of race), and it stresses that the format of video would be best received. After having watched a few videos, I became struck by how the format of video, unlike written text, can have a far different effect upon the reader/watcher. As a viewer we can take in things like body-language, and facial expression, that the written text, by default, leaves out. Over time, when I have tried to express myself about my personal experi

I had been unhappy about the quality of people I have met here in Merida. I found them to be either raging alcoholics incapable of a decent conversation, uninteresting, not in their own right, but in terms of matching my interests, or from some place on the planet that infers that New Yorkers are obnoxious and to be avoided. There is truth in a language spoken and shared; being sometimes a relationship of immediate understanding. When I was introduced to C, a fellow New Yorker, I was made happy by her snide comments and fast clipped talking and constant interruptions. It made me feel 'at home'. And I knew that my reciprocation of equally snide remarks and interruptions were well received too. Try doing that with any other state member and you will see people flinch and look annoyed. As they wander away, you can hear them mutter things about your rudeness all with an air that is supposed to convince me they went to elocution school and graduated from Bryn Mawr. At anytime I ca

I want to go and travel. I'm on a budget. I can't go willy nilly despite having a passport that says I can leave when I want. It's sort of like that comic saying: What do you mean I am overdrawn? I still have checks. I want to go visit Bob in Panama; he was my first employer in Oregon and now he lives close-by. I want to tell him that when I was employed by him, I often took a straw into the walk-in refrigerator and opened beers and drank. I hope he will laugh at this point in time. I want to re-visit the UK because when I went before I was as sick as a dog and I feel gipped. I want to go to Africa. Anywhere in Africa because I am of African American descent and I feel a need to see where my ancestors might have come from. I want to go too, because I love Black people. I like they way they look and I think I will feel comfortable in the presence of those that never left my Motherland. I want to visit Tbilisi, Georgia because I have a Pen Pal there. I want to see Petra

The Canadian literary theorist, Northrop Frye, in his small but important book, The Educated Imagination writes: "...Literature keeps presenting the most vicious things to us as entertainment, but what it appeals to is not any pleasure in these things, but the exhilaration of standing apart from them and being able to see them for what they are because they aren't really happening. The more exposed we are to this, the less likely we are to find an unthinking pleasure in cruel or evil things". I would add that when we read cross culturally we become exposed to the thoughts and experiences of people that we might normally never come in contact with in our daily lives beyond a superficial contact. Reading allows us to form opinions, pose questions, and see another point of view that adds to, or changes our previous perceptions. When I reached graduate school I was quite surprised by how many fellow students had not read cross culturally beyond what might be touted on a b

The following essay was written in response to an online comment about sexual abuse. It is a difficult topic to say the least. In keeping with my ongoing fascination with how race and colour play out in the world, I began to think of my own abuse, in conjunction to my academic studies: how Whiteness and its power plays out in literature and attempting to understand how this same relationship has  inadvertently played out in my own life. First came sleeplessness. My earliest memories are of insomnia. Then came physical torture in the form of being wrapped and pinned into sheets while she jabbed my fingers with pins and needles attempting to rid me of the pus infecting my fingers. Somewhere in this time I climbed to the top of a sewing machine to glance in a mirror and saw, with shock, that I did not look like this blond haired, blue eyed woman that called herself my mother. Me? I had cotton candy brown hair and golden brown skin.  As my body developed prematurely, the onslaugh

My knickers got in a twist. I was feeling overwhelmed and pissed off. Too many people with a hand out and never a hand held out. Too many people with obvious problems that I was willing to lend a hand to, but who clammed up and, became ridiculous, yet still wanted comfort. I've been pondering things like: If you know someone is having money problems but they don't reveal it, do you still have a moral obligation to be a good friend and feed them? Or lend the car, or whatever? Right now I have decided: No. My rationale is that part of sharing your predicaments is the bond it creates between two people. Any successful relationship one can expect a give and take parlance. But if one person does more without the benefit of knowing why they are giving more, then things begin to stink real fast. And if one person is always accepting your generosity but never reciprocates, and you don't know the reason why, then it stinks twice. So what did I do? I talked to myself for a few da