Saturday, October 15, 2011

Over it

     I’ve had plenty of fun in my life. I have had wonderful bright shiny moments, great sex, academic accomplishment , spiritual oneness etc.  But nothing so quietly and completely fulfilling as seeing my son sleeping safe and sound, happy and well fed. I have finally discovered work worth doing. Being a mom is that work. If I had a job offer for 200,000 per year, but it would take me away from my son, I would decline. There is my conundrum. I need income to provide security for him , but I cannot bring myself to leave him. There are parents that work outside the home, whether a pair or single, everyone is supposed to ‘pull their weight’. I cannot argue this sentiment, because it was my own before I had my son. However, when I finally did quit the part-time job I held, stress and fear I ignored stopped gnawing at me. How do I remain available for my son and chase the damned dollar? Win the lottery? Hah! Nope! I tried to do that. Really I prayed and concentrated all my ‘positive’ thoughts, I was receptive and convinced that my wish was an honorable one and hence the powers that be would grant it. Then I considered homeless families, I considered war torn countries and knew, that strong desire, honorable dreams, fervent wishes are not enough. So now what? Now what? 
     Here is my theory. We women of the world, who believe there is no more important job than raising children, must ban together. We need to live together, share a single household to halve(at least) the expenses, to exchange child care responsibilities, to offer each other respite, to combine our individual skills and function like a small society. We must. To continue to wait for the knight, or a life-saving government sponsored program is just irresponsible. We have all that we need to go forward.  So where are you kindred spirits? I know there are not many women who will see the potential in this, I sound like a new aged hippie, but think about it.  College students by way of frat houses and roommates do this all the time. Technically, it is what married couples do, come together for a common goal.  Don’t panic ladies; I am not seeking to marry you. I am saying that cooperative living for one to five years may grant us the financial lee way to save for a home; it may grant us the support and resources to offer tutoring, piano lessons, art classes, visits to museums, all the ‘non’ essentials(?) that build character and self-worth. We can do this. Where are my kindred moms?
    Look at the price of rental homes. I pay 625 per month by myself. I found 5 bedroom houses, some with a yard, basement and porch for under 1000.  One hundred plus dollars already saved if I share with one other mother. We can swap childcare instead of paying the equivalent of a mortgage to day care centers. We can split utility cost. We can share chores. … Ugh!  Am I talking to my-self in the age of independent women?
     We can occupy Wall Street and Center City in the hopes that big wigs will share the wealth, but can we share? We can complain that the American Dream has turned into a never ending nightmare (because who among has Ever experienced Enough), but can we wake up and stop expecting solutions without compromise, without fundamental change?
I get it. Autonomy and privacy are major issues. They were my clarion call for 7 years. I’m over it because the price is over my head.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

No Longer Torn

     The sisters who responded to my original post called ‘Torn’, which I am now responding to, were very gentle with me. Neither of them told me to stop whining and take a realistic look around. Every community has problems, even the pretty ones with no litter, two car garages, and well-spoken parents. If I see a problem in my community, in my home, it is my responsibility to address it, not mourn or run.  
   Three separate conversations on a social website brought me face to face with my own elitism. I read the opinions of my peers and was disturbed to hear the whole, ‘Pull your-self up by the boot straps’ argument, as though it was new.I was saddened to hear my neighborhood referred to as an empty husk, my neighbors (and myself) written off for lost.  I also saw a video written and produced by North Philadelphia teens addressing violence. There were no solutions expressed, just thin hope and the repetitive blame placed on parents and lack of social programs. These are all the same issues that existed when I was teen. These are all the same reasons, the same disgust. Something has to give. I am considering a radically different approach to healing these ills, beginning with the illusion that I am not part of the problem.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Book Review

     I just read a book called ‘When Rocks Cry Out ‘by Horace Butler.  I could start by tossing around a bunch of overused adjectives and superlatives but I hate that. When I ‘m reading a book review, I want to know about the book.  Spoiler Alert!
     This book will challenge your ability to think for yourself. You see there are no endorsements from academic celebrities. There is not a title of authority preceding the author’s name. What he presents are well organized, verifiable facts that challenge the long accepted location of biblical Jerusalem, Israel, and Egypt as we know it. Get a World map, a Bible and a chronological timeline of historical events and follow him step by step, page by page to the continent of South America.
 It’s on you, the reader to determine if these calculations are feasible. This information is not brought to you by McDonald’s, AT&T or Disney. No conglomerates. Read it. Challenge it. I dare you.
    Before my beloved Neo-Semi-Pan Africans start getting nervous that Mr. Butler is attempting to take our beloved Egypt ‘away’ by relocating it, take a deep breath and continue reading the book. Egypt does not change hands.
     So what Does this mean? Can the Middle-East stop fighting over the Holy Land, because it’s not the Holy Land? Does it mean that Egypt was once a world power rather than a stationary African anomaly? Doesn’t it make sense that a culture we recognize as mathematical, philosophical, metaphysical forefathers would have the wherewithal to navigate the oceans and seas?  Did not the Pharaohs and Moses demonstrate a mastery of the element of water? Is it really a stretch of the imagination to consider that the currents were used (much as we use land highways and roads) to travel to and fro?
    There is a piece of the puzzle that baffles me still. Where did the knowledge of a civilization, functioning on such a high level, go? I understand, books were destroyed and monuments were leveled etc., but what of oral history. Have we been told but ethnocentricity prevents our understanding and blinds us to the (picture) writing on the walls?
  
    Read it and tell me what you think.
      

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Before you read another self-help book.


     Consider this:
It becomes awfully tempting to sit in contemplation, perfecting ones’ thoughts.
It is time and energy consuming to constantly monitor and edit inner dialogue to match a Disney script. If you are having a good day, you are in the 'vortex', the coaching is working. If you are having a bad day, then you are not trying hard enough.There is no measurable product. (No Refunds) No control group.
     Do factory workers read self-help and suddenly aspire to become physicist?
     Do prostitutes get a hold of 'The Secret' and become stars of the silver screen instead?
      I have not heard such stories, but these are the stories that need to be told. Christ’s disciples went from laymen to healers and scholars. There was proof of transformation. I’ve been in the 'vortex' for months now .Every other month I am forced to come out of La-La land, make a decision, ask a favor, sell a painting, to hold me over till my vortex dreams manifest. Why? Because I believed Esther and Jerry Hicks. I believed a collective of intelligent benevolent spirits called Abraham were speaking through Esther? Actually no, I just believed Eshter. She sounded like Louise Hay, Iyanla Vanzant, Susan Breathnach and the plethora of other self-help lullabies I'd listened to.
     I cannot say it is the intention of self-help gurus to keep populations in a state of limbo, yet it is what I continually witness from those who adore and quote Abraham, The Secret etc,. These folks are not suddenly living without fear, taking bolder chances, discovering cures or becoming ambassadors for the voiceless. There are two noticeable products of self-help books and seminars, individuals who now paste a smile on their shitty days and those who become motivational speakers themselves.
 The sales of self-help books increased 96% between 1991 and 1996. How is that working for us? Any rags to riches stories of students who became anything other than hype-men, cheerleaders in business suits?
The author of 48 laws of power could not keep a job. By his own count, he had 80!  But Black men read that book, pass it around and refer to it as if light were pouring from its pages. Mind you, I’ve seen these same brothers after the book is read, still riding a bike, still a short order cook, still not a father to their children, eyes glazed over, minds filled with dreams of intrigue and deception.
At no point have I ever read of one of these gurus of positive thinking (nor their pupils) becoming a brain surgeon or astronaut, thanks to the application of the strategies taught. Nor have I been able to find an example of a single person so empowered by the ‘law of attraction’, visualizations and affirmations, that they fearlessly dedicate their lives to ending reoccurring crimes against humanity such as child prostitution and genocide. If one can think themselves out of oppression, deplorable work conditions, and yes, even natural disasters, why aren’t these fearless masters of the universe applying their alchemy where it counts?
I don’t know the answer to that yet. What I do know is this. These sermons of perpetual positivity ring true and feel wonderful. I believe because the message IS true and resonates in our spirits. The problem is the pep talks are only half truth, the pep rally adrenaline wears off. In sports the hype before the game comes after the grueling sacrifice of training and unwavering focus. Successful people Act. They push their bodies and minds to new plateaus. There is pain. The pain of sacrifice is necessary to carve a place for our bounty. In the same way that humanity inhales and exhales, there must be give and take. Perhaps because I am a woman, my monthly cycle reminds me every 28 days that life and death hold hands. I tried for years to just stay positive. It is an unnatural and unyielding state.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

A response to 'Moral Minima'

     Lenn Goodman argues that there are certain things that are simply wrong, for everyone, regardless of culture, but each example she provides for universal moral standards are couched in specific cultural values. I understand the danger of relativism. It seems to make the citizens of earth perpetual strangers with no common ground for conduct. How can we engage one another for any extended period of time if there are no boundaries, nothing impermissible? If every act is considered sacred and protected by the culture it sprang from, there would be chaos indeed. Here is the problem: If there are absolutes that transcend culture, who of us is equipped to stand outside of our own cultural context to identify them?(Week One Cultural Anthropology) Objectivity would be the suggested antidote to pluralism, tribalism, relativism, but objectivity is itself a cultural phenomenon, resplendent with its own attributes and flaws.
     It is not that I disagree with the things she listed as crimes. I agree. But I am American. I have no context but this environment, this education, these values and these fears. I recognize that my ken does span the globe, past present and future.
      The areas she touched on were: (1) genocide, politically induced famine, and germ warfare; (2) terrorism, hostage taking, and child warriors; (3) slavery, polygamy, and incest; and (4) rape and female genital cutting. ( page 88 Moral Minima)  Would I be correct in saying that these are all violations of purported western values? Did she deem a single ideology from one of the many cultures we have studied since the inception of anthropology, worthy of mention? Was there nothing worth adopting, such as a reverence for Earth?  The message is that the west is capable of speaking for the good of all mankind. I’m not buying it.
    In retrospect, would genocide have been the appropriate response to the ‘settlers’ of Turtle Island? Are 18 year old soldiers, who are not represented by a vote in this country, considered child warriors?  Capitalism requires a working class of people who have nothing but their own labor to sell for sustenance, does that constitute slavery? Are the breasts considered reproductive organs, and is their mutilation a crime? These examples make it clear that relativism is not a cleverly disguised excuse developed by genius villains to encourage extreme criminal or anti-social behavior. We live relativism every day or perhaps we, western culture, are meant to be the only exception to the rule. When in Rome do as the Romans do. When in Japan, do as the Romans do. When in Indonesia, do as the Romans do. When in Africa, do as the Romans do. This is where the masquerade of universalism leads. I reiterate because no value that the West has not sponsored is represented in these crimes against humanity. Creating a chemical, corporation, or technology that violates the well-being of the planet would be a crime if Any other culture’s core value system was represented.
     To have moral codes aka laws, one needs a moral authority, and moral enforcers. Who, pray tell might that be? If ‘I’ define morality and reserve the right to redefine morality by the authority of Academia or God Himself , ‘You’ will forever fall short. The use of the word universal is arrogant, aggressive and presumptive. Far worse than that it criminalizes entire cultures that came into existence organically, maintained their existence organically, prior to anthropological, religious, social, health, and economic intervention. We forget that while we market ourselves as progressive, civilized, and universal, our model has not proven effective for us. Pornography, pedophilia, incest, rape, slavery, and the degradation of women are a part of the very fabric of the west. Read our fiction, it will tell you what our history and text books will not. Our minds dwell in despair. Our bodies are ill with obesity and cancer. Our prisons are overrun. We have displaced our elderly yet, we would seek to study, nay define, the standard for human conduct. If humanity is to have this conversation let us take into account what is sacred amongst all the known cultures. Let us consider that we are not the mediators of such a forum but contributors along with the other citizens of Earth.
This is not yet edited for submission to class. All references are not included. If you would like references, comment and I will update the post. Thank You.



.....

She Rocks!

  
  If you have not seen the Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl, you must stop what you are doing (including reading this) and go to the website www.awkwardblackgirl.com immediately. Issa Rae is my hero. She is doing what I aspire to do with this blog, which is to use Internet 2.0 to tell the story of the (this) girl next door. Thanks to the internet a black girl does not need to look or behave… a 'certain' way to be seen. We can show ourselves, tell our own stories. We can redefine popular culture, stretch it to include us. We can connect with, look up to, sympathize, empathize, and identify with someone who not only looks familiar but feels familiar. Though I would not describe myself as awkward I found myself saying ‘me too’ during each episode. Check it out, show some love, donate if you can, like the page on Facebook and last but not least, lets tell our stories.
    Oh and Ms. Rae, if by some chance you read this, I recognize that it takes no small amount of courage to be yourself, love and respect yourself enough to reveal a woman so vulnerable and vibrant. I Thank you.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Conflicting desires


      I wanted to be self-sufficient, well-off, independent, healthy, happy and whole. I also wanted someone to save me, to demonstrate love by coming to my rescue. But how could I be rescued without being in despair, in need?  I have known for quite some time that I am capable, yet I sat in constructed drama so that my knight would know me, so that he would recognize ‘the damsel in distress’ and be moved to become my savior. I’m not the only one right? Isn’t this is why we costume ourselves in vulnerability? Short hair would be easier, but men don’t like that. I’ve got to walk to and fro and I knew that when I put these stilts/ heels on. It is hot as Hades but I’m in full regalia (makeup, jewelry, etc.)…Look at me. I am ripe. Look at me I am falling from the tree….Come on! Man! Catch me.
     I think I am at last willing to let one of these wishes go. Check in occasionally and I’ll let you know how things are progressing.
    

Monday, August 22, 2011

Always Connected

      I told my best friend of 16 years that I need some space. We live 8 hours apart but the internet and cell phones make it impossible to naturally grow in different directions (even temporarily) without proclamation and explanation.
     We talked on the phone every day for hours. We sometimes talked and instant messaged at the same time.  I ran every thought by her. Soon, she (and some other Facebook friends) just took up residence in my head. I found myself considering the imagined input of others as I shaped my own thoughts. And I began to pimp myself, needing every status update/conversation to be profound, funny, informative, or biting.
      I did not see the detrimental effect of constant communication until I almost failed my computer literacy class. I found the class challenging so I had to restructure my priorities and how I spent my days. I plugged up the many social cavities from which my energy was pouring. I sent my best friend a text attributing  my sudden silence to the demands of that particular class. I felt a difference in my peace of mind. I became more physically active. I finally started this blog (which requires that I finish my thoughts and sort out my own convictions) I’m socializing with family and friends face to face, I go to sleep smiling, and I managed to pass the class! So when the class ended I did not resume our usual interaction. Instead I continued to taper down on Facebook and left my cell phone off.
    Tonight I received a brief ‘goodbye’ message that ended with 'take care of yourself!'
    
    
    
   
   
   
   
    

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Chasing Autism 4: Autism is NOT

Autism is not
A new, politically correct, way to say ‘mental retardation’
A spoiled child
The result of poor parenting
   These children, who grow up to be autistic adults, think differently. They are not wired the same as ‘neuro-typical’ people, nor are they wired the same as each other. You would need to get to know an autistic individual specifically to gain any useful insight. Reading books about the spectrum, watching videos on youtube is helpful but not always applicable.For example: My son is verbal, but his words are chunks of scripts, he does not choose words for their specific meanings. One would need to be around Kal’el to know that a ‘stand back’ is the oven, a ‘don’t touch it’ is the computer, or ‘Come on. Get some drawers on!’ means: pull yourself together.  I have not read anything that prepared me for this communication style.
   It is only from being around my son when he picks up and tries out these phrases that I know his intentions and can nudge him toward a more universally understood verbal response. One night in a dance class, I did not understand. My son cried and screamed repeatedly ‘that’s too loud’. I thought the drums were too loud, so I grabbed our belongings, Kal'el's hand and made my way to the exit. He pulled away from me, still screaming ‘That’s too loud!’ I sat in the hallway with tears in my eyes because I wanted to dance and thought my son would enjoy the class but he was having a melt-down instead. I was emotionally exhausted from isolation but also angry with the adults who looked at us and shook their heads then averted their eyes. Come to find out ‘That’s too loud” was a drum. He wanted to drum.
   ....and drum he did.
   In order to know what autism IS, you will have to invest your time and attention in relating to people on the spectrum. Books and other second hand sources wont cut it.
  


Monday, August 8, 2011

Seventeen... +20



      I am discovering that much of what I thought was my talent, personality, charm, luck, sexiness and energy, was actually youth. Now that I am 17 plus 20, I have to figure out which parts of me remain. I mean, was I ever smart, witty or sensual or was I just 17? Was I ever generous, forgiving, and brave, or was I just 17?
    All these years I thought myself to be a social butterfly. Not. All this time I thought I was a free – spirit. Not. And I really and truly believed myself to have above average intelligence. LOL. That may be the biggest ‘Not’ of all.
    I hope this does not sound sad, because I do not feel sad. I am curious to know who I am without the built in excuse of immaturity, without the buoyancy that is ignorance/innocence. Who is this woman who must wear a bra every day? Who is she whose sexual appetite has not waned but whose sexual activity has taken a nose dive? Who is she that is willing to accept the stigma of being a welfare recipient if it means I can be home for my son? I do not know this chic. But she is here every morning fretting about her weight and how to pay next month’s bills.  

Wii Workout

     When I started working out with the Wii, it rated me at the age of 70. The next time I was 67 and today 43. I am only 37 and really believed myself to be in reasonable shape. Ha! I think I will commit to three dance routines in the morning, that usually gets me sweating and feeling competitive/assertive enough to take on whatever challenges lay ahead in the day.
     I am making this commitment to myself to remain active because I can sit and read, eat, and take baths all day. I did that yesterday. Well, not quite. In my own defense, I also completed this week’s homework assignments and convinced Kal’el to eat one half of a peanut butter sandwich. That took 2 hours. I also did some writing toward 3 stories I intend to publish via Amazon later this year. I just have to find a balance between keeping my mind and body active. I also need to quit looking at the scale. I am 190 lbs. every time I check it.  Today is August the 8th. I’ll put the scale away until September the 8th. I'll peek at it through one eye on that date to see what progress I’ve made.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Week 4 of Cultural Anthropology is wearing me out!!

After reading these past two chapters in cultural anthropology, I have to wonder how it is possible that we don’t get it yet: Capitalism hurts/kills/decimates/reduces the humanity of the majority of the people it touches. If the word ‘socialism’ puts a bad taste in our collective mouth, then why not take a page from the marketing industry and call it something else? If we can call Kool-Aid, flavored water, if candy can be called fruit snacks, then why not call Socialism…oh I don’t know….Humanity over greed?
Wait. Let me pull back for a second. It is not simply greed that fuels capitalism it is fear. It is also the misguided notion of ‘other’. It seems we believe ourselves to be individuals in an absolute sense, as if there is some barrier, some space between you and I. There is not. I am not an anthropologist or a mathematician. I am only a human looking around. I have twenty four hours each day and a limited amount of energy. If I put all my resources into acquisition, then I am not maintaining.  I am not nurturing. I am not even culling what is no longer uselful. This is what we are doing. We are only pulling and storing, pulling and storing. We let food rot while people starve. We let houses sit empty while people freeze in the elements.
Did I miss something? It is possible that I missed something. Are human beings only driven by ambition and thus at risk of becoming lazy husks without the promise of out doing our neighbors? Or is that assumed personality trait a mistake? Has it been observed that all cultures desire ‘progress’ even at the cost of our sanity and community? If not, then maybe we should sit and listen to those, observe and take note of how to value each other.
 I keep reading ‘as above, so below’ in various books by authors who claim to have from one secret to seven, about spiritual enlightenment, but when will we actually look, underfoot, at the people(s) we are currently oppressing and displacing for a clue about how to live? Please know, I am not saying we have it All wrong, just that we have room to learn.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Chasing Autism 3: Kal'el's Prayer

He says' Dear God thank you for: school, the playground, Ms. Williams and Ms. Morton, Vanilla, Healthy, Kids, the vacuum cleaner' and more (not necessarily in that order 

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Chasing Autism Part 2 : Please Eat

To be fair, I know what he is going through. I also have food aversions. It makes me gag to think about potato salad. And hence, I have never ever tasted potato salad. The smell of it, the look of it…Oh God… Back to the subject at hand. I have to consider how I feel about some foods as we attempt to tackle the smallest bowl of rice, carrots, and broccoli youhave ever seen. Yes I have tried serving everything separately. It makes no difference. He stalls. Suddenly he has to use the bathroom or he wants to engage in ‘conversation’ which consists of him copying my earlier pleas to get him to eat. For example, he’ll say, “Stop looking at it, like it is something new. Put it in your mouth and chew it. Look at me! Look at me! When you eat potato chips, you don’t eat like that. Put in in your mouth and chew it up.”    
 Right now he is on the toilet singing ‘A Taste of Honey’ by Liz Wright.
…about a half our later El ate three spoons of rice and carrots, ignoring the broccoli.  When I insisted he eat a bit of the green stuff, he put it in his mouth, played with it around his front teeth and gagged. I talked it down, told him to think of trains and trolleys and just get it down. He did it! 
   Now the challenge is mine. The ball is in my court to continue insisting he eat what is healthy, which means I need to prepare healthy food at regular intervals. Ugh, consistency and follow through. I confess we’ve been to this milestone before, but I fall off. So here we go again.


Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Chasing Autism Part 1

Chasing Autism will be a sub series of this blog where I discuss my son’s (and my) journey with autism.
     In the beginning, I ignored the signs. Rather, I ignored the standards by which my son Kal’el was being measured. Why? I ignored the standards because they have failed to resemble or represent me. According to height/weight charts I have always been over the top. According to my gynecologist, I have a tilted uterus. According to beauty standards of my youth, I stood outside of the model, which led to a horrendously painful and unnecessary experience with an orthodontist. So, no it was not surprising or particularly disturbing when the pediatrician said his head was too big. My uncles used to palm my head with one hand and lift me from the ground like a basketball.  My son did not respond to his name being called. If I am immersed in a task (reading a good book) I do not hear my name being called either. Essentially, anything that was normal for me and witnessed in my son was chalked up to heritage. So it follows that his speech delays could not be dismissed. You see, my family and I, we talk. We argue, we joke, we complain, we tell stories. I used to talk myself and my siblings to sleep.
     Let me explain, my son has always been verbal. He parrots what he hears. His tendency to repeat word for word was what finally made me think, ‘Wait a second, I need to look into this Autism thing’. I cannot imagine an existence where I am not able to speak for myself. All other quirkiness and social awkwardness aside, this is the tragedy of Autism (for Kal’el  [because, I realize ASD and its challenges manifest differently for each child]). Communication skills are necessary for freedom, autonomy, inter-dependence, emotional, physical and spiritual well-being. Effective communication is the gift I must give my son.
   As of now, he takes entire dialogues from one scenario and places them, seemingly according to tone, in similar conversations (Which is an improvement over chanting unrelated sequences). He does not yet arrange words to express his unique thoughts. He does not verbally express emotions such as, ‘I am angry’. We are working on that. The cartoon character Cailou plucks my last nerve with his whining but he is teaching my son emotional emphasis. This cartoon demonstrates a way for Kal'el to show disapproval without crying and melting down. So El is now applying varying volumes and force behind individual words to express certainty and urgency. For example:  I don’t WANT to go to school. 
    Another symptom used to diagnose his Autism Spectrum Disorder was the fact that my son did not feel the need to get my attention or approval when he found something new. Other children say, ‘Mommy, Look!’ incessantly. Not my boy.  Neuro-typical children will at-least check their parent’s eyes for cues that say ‘This is good or ,this is dangerous or ,this is interesting.’ Again, not my little one. Not only did he not seek to engage me, but he might gesture for me to leave the room so as not to disturb him.  This, however, is changing. He may just be repeating something he heard somewhere, but now he will say, ‘Mommy look, I’m dancing.’    
  

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

First day of Cultural Anthropology


How does the identification of cultural universals impact our understanding of what it means to be human?  
    Hypothetically, the identification of any number of universally shared values should create empathy, compassion and ultimately prevent war. But here is the tricky thing about language; words once grouped together, do not always say (just) what their individual definitions imply.  Sometimes the words spoken convey the exact opposite message. In this instance of 'identifying cultural universals', we back into ‘The’ culture qualified to determine what ‘universal’ is. The culture capable of stepping outside of its own influences and biases to achieve the objectivity necessary to see a common thread has thus elevated itself above the confines of culture. The message implied (though perhaps not intended) is hierarchy, superiority and ethnocentrism. ‘Do you think just like me or do I think just like you?’ In short, the quest to identify cultural universals creates a monopoly on defining what it is to be human. Who are these super humans that can shake the membrane of their own miniscule experience to define the whole? But the class is just getting started. I may be wrong.
 How does the search for universals help us better understand human cultural behavior?
      I think universals as a preconceived notion is a hindrance. The more we know, the less we see. If the canvases of our minds come with a work of Da Vinci printed, pre-approved as the universal model, could it alter, affect our ability to appreciate any patterns which he did not conceive? 
 What examples from your own culture can illustrate the ideas that our behaviors are impacted by our culture more than our biology?
     Ok. Shall we be honest about the biological demands our bodies make on us or shall we ,for the sake of academic propriety, fail to mention the horniness biological readiness that leads to teen pregnancy? We approach the phenomenon like an epidemic that has long plagued humanity. In fact the new cultural criteria that says  two parents should be financially ready(whatever that means) to nurture a child or children, is getting it’s behind kicked by nature's full proof hormonal overload plan. Wait, I do have an example of culture choking biology: Returning to work when my son was only three months old. It was devastating. In fact it still is. I feel I failed my son, by not by being present for him as he came to know an entirely new world. My body screamed, ‘Quit that job, this is your new job.” But cultural norms won that day.
    
‘Cultural anthropology is the comparative study of human cultures with the objective of deepening our understanding of the human condition’. (Nowak, B. & Laird, P.,2010) I respect the ambition, but isn’t it true that what we see is based largely on who we are. We bring our biases, our convictions, our beauty and shame to every experiment, to think that we can define humanity for every human is arrogant, maybe even detrimental.

Is it too late for Cultural Anthropology to become the collaborative study of human nature with the objective of achieveing respect?

Reference
Nowak, B., & Laird, P. (2010). Cultural anthropology. San Diego, Bridgepoint Education, Inc.    https://content.ashford.edu

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Torn

     I’m torn. I want to get out of North Filthy. This neighborhood, these people, I fear the mentality that allows adults to throw their garbage on the ground, fist fight in the streets, speak obscenities in front of toddlers is contagious. But, what if it is already in me? What if I moved here because the trash filled gutters are familiar, comforting? What if the language of despair is my native tongue? What if people look at me the way I look at some of my neighbors?
     I do not want my son to wake up to this, come home to this. Yes, I scrub our floors, yes I correct his language, yes, we pray and say ‘thank you’ for neighbors, our playground, the kids and the ice cream truck. But what we rail against is pervasive and his development, his idea of self is developing now, in a pile of feces, like a maggot. And yet there is this truth also: here is where the work needs to be done. Here is where the cycle must be broken. I could shelter my child, protect mine and mine alone as is a mother’s instinct, but what of the children who do not have any other example of how to speak or be?  Don’t we former activist and children of the projects accuse those who ‘made it’ of abandoning their roots? These are my roots. If I push away, move away, sequester my son off to a private school, then what of these children. What of these adults?
Let’s not forget this question; who am I? Who am I to assume that ‘my way’ is the better way.....? I'm not even sure what 'my way' is. I just know I feel disgust,anger, sadness and dismay daily, in the face of this impoverished dignity.That is not the emotional example I want to set.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

More like Snatch.com

     I recently tried an online dating site where you get to choose who you would like to know further according to a profile picture and a brief self-description. If such criteria were enough, if my ability to discern was not obviously impaired, I would not need to pay for what I thought would be Help.
     If only there was a site where I could choose two (or more) elderly happily married couples to select likely partners for me. We could solve two huge cultural problems with one stroke. Our elderly could move back into the center of society utilizing their hard-won wisdom. We could possibly save the institution of marriage by partnering with complimentary mates from the start.
     Aside from my blind spot when it comes to men, it seems I am behind the curve in yet another way. This site may have begun as a place where hopeless romantics turned to find true love, but I’m getting the feeling it has since deteriorated into the classified ads we see at the back of free city papers, and the infamous CraigsLost. Someone actually initiated a conversation by introducing himself as a submissive. Many profiles read ’I’ll tell you later’ all the way down the line. ‘Well what do I have to go on Homey? Why would I contact you based on that cheesy ass picture?’ I am tempted to ask. But I refrain. I do not want to risk being seen as angry on my profile page, just in case Mr. My Guy should happen to glimpse my picture and like it.  
     Ah well, though it seems unlikely that a cuddly geek who is willing to teach me to cook is on Snatch.com, I’ll wait out my subscription with my fingers and legs crossed.
,Storyteller

Tiny ideals

      My first apartment was a tiny efficiency. I was advised by my grandmother to look for any defects in the apartment and bring them to the landlord’s attention, so that they could be repaired, before I signed a lease.
       One of the things she told me to look for were mouse holes. I knew I was going to take the apartment anyway, but I was relieved that after a thorough examination, there were no mouse holes. One day, after work, I lie down in my very own place, in my very own bed and took a nap. When I woke, there was a mouse staring at me from a triangular crack between the wall and the floor. I was confused. That can’t be a mouse hole. When I scanned my mind for what I expected a mouse hole to look like, I found a perfectly arched doorway, like the ones I’d seen as a child on Tom and Jerry. I laughed at myself but felt alarm too.
      I went to an academically renowned high school. Despite my attitude shift and slipping grades in junior year, I managed to secure a full scholarship for college (which I declined). I thought, ‘ I’m smart.’ How did that idea from a cartoon survive in my head? Then it dawned on me; it had survived because I had no information to the contrary. That shook me. How many more ideas are there in my head that are unfounded yet never contradicted? How many times had I looked right past a friend, a mentor, an opportunity, a talent, all because my reference was limited ?  One would think this realization would have sent me running to the nearest university. But as far as I was concerned, the text books were filled with cartoon mouse holes.
         

First time


     Now that I am here, I am reluctant to write. I know that in a couple of years, maybe even just a couple of nights I will look back at this and sigh or cringe. I have kept journals for some time. Occasionally I dig up the red spiral binder from 8th grade. Though I read it while alone, I feel embarrassed. That will happen here too, in public…Dare I proceed?
     I feel compelled to record what is happening in my otherwise invisible world. That is all. I do Not think I am right about anything. I do not believe that I am particularly creative and last but not least, I am far from grammatically correct. Yet, I sense there is something in here that needs to be out. It may be a single a sentence that bears no relevance in my life time. Ok. That is fine. I still have to do this.
     See you when the spirit moves me to share my view from here.
                                                                                                                              Storyteller