Here is my reading schedule for this month. Last night I flaked out. But, I only have about 50 more pages to read tonight. Sinchy. Especially since it’s Trinh and I happen to think she’s awesome.

Ok. I’m off to read. This is fun!

I have imbibed too much caffeine. Not as a hedon. But rather, an epicurean. I don’t like chai — it’s too sweet. I’m an undercover-bitter-girl who drinks out-of-the-closet bitter drinks. Surprisingly, I learned today that I like chai. I know that you care deeply about this. But, fear not, it’s not some warm coffee house soy chai latte that I like. No, it’s the coffee house reject from the display board: dirty chai. Dirty Chai just doesn’t look good in chalk . . .  It’s fantastic and goes pretty well with a file of deliriously boring student research papers that  is demanding my attention.

THANK YOU for sitting there, next to me. For not being grossed out by my nervous nail biting, my sketchy shiftiness on this slippery bench and my inneccesant hair twisting. You may be thinking, “God! That girl must be so sexually FRUSTRATED!” I would never admit to that . . . anything can be abstracted.

Now, to you . . . The three of you hunched over towards each other totally sound like siblings. You have been debating over how much the color scheme of a plate counts in a Thanksgiving meal for quite some time now. You want to know what I think? Definitely. It seems as though the time spent looking at the food on your plate in a long holiday meal is much longer than the actual amount of time that is spent tasting the food. Besides, aren’t there many more senses involved in “tasting food” than mere tastebuds? Smell, texture, etc?

Anyway, you have entertained and enlived my boredom. You have reminded me that there is no such thing as the normal that my eighteen year old student things he has a handle on. There are SO many other ways beyond mine, here, now in this coffee shop that I despise, but choose because I am tired of Jesus Juice.

The end of the semester is nearing … that slight frustration is increasing as I try to think about what exactly it is that I have accomplished with another five months of this meandering life that I have been leading. . .

With love and appreciation,

LuLu

Here’s a good Weepies lyric:  ”Citywide Rodeo”

Citywide rodeo, you set on the stage

Where all the clowns will go when they feel their age

I know that you think you’re not good for anything

The world makes you feel so small

Get on your wooden horse

This is a ride, not a fight

No need to save face, say goodnight, Grace “Good night, Grace.”

There’s dust on the stadium seats, there’s dust in your hair

You wonder how fast you’ll go when you hit the air

And oh, isn’t it strange how things can change you?

And oh, isn’t it plain that some things unname you

So don’t ask anybody else.

Citywide rodeo, step into your car

Look up at the indigo and pick out your star.

But first, here is a funny story about Carlee.

When I go to campus and work late at night I usually take her with me. Not only is she cute and good company, but this little Pit Bull Lab can be frightening in the dark. . . hopefully, right? So, we are walking up to the back door and suddenly she jerks on her leash and looks up at me with the ‘Mom I gotta take a dump’ look on her face. While I was thinking, Oh god really?, I could help but chuckle at the irony and hilarity of my dog taking an urgent shit next to the English building. I never claimed she was the most reverent dog – just among the cutest and happiest.

~~~~~~~~~

Anyway, like many businesses one of the banks near where I live has a marquee under their sign. (If I had a digital camera I would have taken a picture. So, this will have to do.) Instead of putting advertisements on this marquee, however, the bank will post cute proverbial sayings. Perhaps this is supposed to reflect some deeper investment in the community. Beats me. Nevertheless, these quips never go that deep and sometimes don’t even really seem to make sense. For example, one time they had something about a tractor and a bee in the field … ? The most recent, however, is lacking the luster of cutesy harmlessness that seems to go so well with a name like Farmers and Merchants Bank.

It reads, “In life all that matters is intent.”

Being that I now live in an often startlingly conservative neck of the woods, I am not surprised that a sign such as this would be widely received as magnanimous. . . . . . .     Wait! Yes, I am surprised! And a little taken back! Hell, I am not going to write this off as excusable and fall prey to letting them off the hook because of their intent.

We (me, the bank, and some other people-j/k) are in a city that is home to a fairly large HBCU that is over a hundred years old! Not only is the HBCU old, it is also a positive presence in the community. Then, we also have a HUGE state university that is literally right down the street. Point being: there are lots of people in this ‘small town.’ This community is rich in its diversity … Well, when this diversity is not glossed over with such careless quips such as this.

Then … I started thinking … and began to think about the location of this particular bank. Given the capitalist business model within which it is situated, this bank’s location does not necessarily lend it to the level of social awareness that I would like to see. So, I wonder: would the bank put up the same sign if they were located on the other side of town?

Now, this does not mean that I think that my neighbors are fine with this (not so)subtle bigotry. No. I think the issue is more about what this bank perceives. How does the bank perceive the immediate community within which it is located? How is this community constructed? Then, how does the bank deliver to this perceived pool of actual and potential consumers?

Do you see where I am going?

Yea, I am not finished thinking about the issue that my last post responded so vigorously to.

Let’s pretend that this bank was instead located on the other side of town – a side of town that is constructed as visibly populated by more African Americans. The side of town that I am thinking of also has a “reputation” that relies on this constructed identity of a community. While there just might be more people of color in the area that I am thinking of … that is not the point here… (besides, I can’t actually say that I have ever been to this area) The point is that the neighborhood where I live does not need to identify its Whiteness. It’s whiteness is already identified through a juxtaposition with “the other” side of town that is constructed as the Black side — regardless of who actually lives there.

While cycles of racism, poverty, and crime churn away banks such as this stay out. The businesses that are there, and the crime headlines that splash across the newspaper, however, ensure that this Black community remains visible as such. In the mean time, there are plenty of African Americans who live on this side of town, drive by this ignorant marquee, and remain invisible – or rather ‘not seen’ in the constructed identity that blankets this community.

I am not, actually, quite sure where this is all going. Perhaps, I am meditating on the ways in which we code race and location. If this is the case, I am guilty of the same ignorance as the bank because I am reading my area as coded ‘white.’ While there seem to be more white people here, the “code” erases all of the other people – renders them invisible and then we see ignorant quips about intent.

Btw: Which, if you are missing why I find the bank’s sign bigoted and offensive let me put it this way. . . Who can really blame Jesse Helms if he just wanted his grandchildren to grow up in a strong moral environment living the way of God? How often have we heard, “They just don’t know any better.” “Their heart was in the right place.” “It’s not their fault if they have never met a gay person before.”

However, we can push this further and ask, why/how could I consider this side of town as being coded “white” when I am not sure that anyone would actually say that this is the/a White part of town. I think that this is how a lot of racism gets off the hook… I can only say that my community is spatially coded white because there is an area in this city that is SO coded black. Thus, it works by nature of juxtaposition. If there was not a clearly identified and shaded Other, this more affluent side of town could not be so ‘innocently’ coded as White … and all of the loaded subtexts that come with it.

Ok, so now that I have written this it strikes me across that head that I am largely relying on Toni Morrison and the theoretical frame that she begins to lay out in Playing in the Dark — an AWESOME read and reread and reread, again!

Dear Mr. Leibovich,

What exactly is a “guys guy?” And, what in the hell does this have to do with “an often profane chief of staff?” Are we to read your (un)insightful commentary and also assume, as you seem to yourself, that Obama is only playing ball with straight men as well?

Have we forgotten that Obama is the leader of an entire nation? A nation, mind you, that blurs the lines you so glibly (and superficially) identify between male and female. I don’t know about your conversation, but mine is moving beyond these mythologized gender binaries — pal. If Ms. Dunn doesn’t want to play basketball, it’s her choice. Not yours. Or, is it that she is not enlightened enough and you need to provide her with a voice?

I cannot help but sense an underlying air of haughty elitism in this piece that relies on a contrived juxtaposition more than critical insight. The “girls” do this, the “boys” do that. Oh… I see now?! Obama shoots “hoops,” has a press secretary that relies on “sports metaphors,” and has “hoisted a beer in a peacemaking effort.” Have the other ways worked that great in the past? Or, wait, is Obama beginning to step outside of the all-to-often hollow shell of American [White, hetero-normative, Western-centric, elitist] peacemaking efforts?

AND, the comment about the frat house? Give me a break! (I am under the impression that) Obama has never been an active member of a fraternity …  Hmm … this is funny. You, Mr. Leibovich, accuse him of running a White House that “feels like a frat house.” You are right — in the past the White House has felt like a frat house (sexual forays with women in dark corners, the venerable good ol’ boys club) and been run off of “valuable” leadership gleened collectively from the many years that our presidency has spent in fraternities across the country. So, what is it really about frat houses that bothers you, Leibovich? The money? The drinking? The general air of hyper-masculinity? The elitism, perhaps? Or, is it the dirty under-the-table-trouble that this fraternization can land us in? Iraq, perhaps? I couldn’t agree with you more…

Except that I think this is precisely the problem. . .  We are not quite sure what to call this ‘White House.’ While it most certainly has its problems, the frat brothers are feeling the heat. Oh dear, is Obama shaking things up? making the good ol’ boys a little uncomfortable? What are we seeing when we look at the White House? What is, as you say, visible here, Mr. Leibovich? Are we having problems identifying what we see if it is neither frat boy nor good ol’ boy?  Hmmmm … President Obama might  even be pulling power from the types of people who can understand  political posturing best through sports metaphors. Just a guess. Maybe there is a Joe the Plumber out there who may not feel spoken down to, but actually spoken to. Wouldn’t you understand this sports jargon? I mean, you must. You yourself are writing along the very binary that you say you are critiquing in this often-times “testosterone brimming” piece.

While we most definitely have room to take issue with the visibility of women with the White House, do we not also need to look back upon our liberal selves and examine the lenses through which we are seeing this President, his administration, and his “social life?” When Dee Dee Myers says “Obama has a personal style that appeals to women … He is seen as a consensus builder; he is not a towel snapper and does not tell crude jokes,” ARE WE REALLY GOING TO POSITION HER AS A SPEAKER FOR PROGRESSIVISM OR “the personal style” that appeals to women? We all know women can tell crude jokes and snap towels. But, are these the wrong kind of women? Or, are these more gradient characteristics just not visible?

Best,

LuLu

Size denotes frequency:

“Man’s World at White House? No Harm, No Foul, Aides Say”

Is this equality?

Frequency of terms within the piece referring to gender.

This brings me to something that I have been thinking about lately. . .

Last week Leticia Miranda posted a piece to WireTap Magazine entitled “Addicted to Facebook? So is everyone else.” While this short piece is no doubt interesting and perhaps a bit surprising at times, I am a bit taken back by her glib use of the term “addicted.” Sounds a little stodgy to me.

Personal story:

Before I left my life in NC to attend graduate school I had scoffed at social networking sites. I didn’t see the need for them. Between a full load at school, 23 hours a week spent bartending, and the partner with whom I was living, I saw everyone I needed/wanted to see on a fairly frequent basis. The few people who I didn’t see, but with whom I maintained close friendships, were kept in touch with via telephone. I wanted to talk to them … not “follow” them online.

Then, I moved to where I am now. While my life now is AWESOME, it is potentially isolating. First, there are not “shifts” for school. Whether teaching or taking classes myself who the hell knows when I will see people. Secondly, seeing someone neither means that I will/can/have the time to actually talk to them. Hell, I am writing this at 1:30 in the morning and have been awake since 8am.

I found that when I started grad school I almost completely stopped using my telephone to talk. Now, there are weeks when I do not talk at all on my cell phone. I just text. Why? If someone calls me when I am working, I am not going to pick up. I will text. If I want to talk to a friend, I am not going to call them. They, like me, may be taking a nap at a random time and I would hate to wake them up.

Reflecting on the past year or so leads me to see that Facebook has become critical to both maintaining and making new friendships. While it is certainly not the location of my relationships, it definitely facilitates them. Using this site allows me to communicate with friends whenever I feel like it … and they can communicate back in the same manner. If I want to plan something I neither have the time, nor do I want to spend the time, sitting around and hashing out the details. Let’s do it on Facebook. WAY more efficient in my opinion.

So, what does this mean? I am not “addicted” to Facebook just because I may pass through it a gazillion times a day. Are we addicted to cell phones if we leave them turned on all the time? Facebook has become part of my “online flow” just like the various e-mail accounts that I have as well as certain blogs and newspapers that I will check multiple times a day.

The application of “addiction” to checking something multiple times a day is erroneous on a deeper level, however. The judgment that Miranda makes assumes that time is a fixed measurement. For example, think about newsprint. Traditionally the news cycle has been 24 hours. Now that the medium through which we get news has shifted so dramatically that if you check the NY Times only once a day you are missing A LOT. The 7:30 am paper and coffee check barely does it anymore. And, for that matter, neither does the NY Times homepage (I would argue) expect visitors to access their site in this manner.

The same goes for Facebook. If you are fairly active in this network stuff is flying across your radar all the time. While some may chuckle and think how silly and mundane it may be – that is a value judgment. I am not discussing the value or prestige of any of my Facebook doings. While there is a personal use value to me, Facebook is simultaneously reflective of broader shifts in the occupation of space online, our navigation of time, etc. “Real” time hardly applies here. I can talk to my cousin in Taiwan (exactly a 12 hour time difference) when she is getting ready to eat lunch at the same time that I talk to a friend down the street on Facebook, drink a glass of wine, blog, and talk to my roommate and another friend who are physically present in my apartment. Oh, and I pet Carlee the whole time, too.

Am I addicted? No. Is Facebook integrated into my life? Yes. COULD this be problematized? Definitely.