A New Day in America...

Racism is just one of the many human foibles that has never made any sense to me. It defies logic, which I guess is one of the reasons you can't stamp it out. I mean, read a newspaper for one week, and you have concrete evidence in black and white (no pun intended) that no one race has cornered the market on cruelty, stupidity, savagery, greed, atrocity...it's everywhere, the human condition. On the other hand, in the very same newspaper, you can see fine examples of bravery, kindness, intelligence, humanity, compassion in people across the globe. This, mercifully, is also the human condition.

One of my neighbors is from Oklahoma. The only thing I ever really knew about Oklahoma was several songs from the musical, and the name of the capital city I had to memorize from the list in 4th grade (Oklahoma City...among the easy ones). However, one thing I learned about my neighbor is that he does not appear to have the courage of his convictions. During the campaign season, I noticed that his large white SUV took to sporting any number of highly provocative bumper stickers, from a straightforward "Obama Sucks" to a couple of more flagrantly racially insulting ones, topped off by a small confederate flag. Given that OK didn't become a state until about 40 years after the Civil War, I could only assume that his attachment to the flag was not heritage-related, as so many Southerners lay claim.
As the campaign drew to a close, and it became quite evident which way the winds were blowing, the stickers started to disappear one by one. The day before the election, only flag and "Obama Sucks" were still hanging on. The day after the election, the SUV was once again pristine...not a sticker in sight.

So, I admit, I'm curious. Is this an indication that my neighbor has seen racism for the nonsense it is, and got it off of his car and his soul at the same time? Or simply that he decided that flaunting his views was unwise at the moment, and is keeping his unchanged opinions to himself? I don't know.

For me, I continue to return the polite wave he gives me if we pass each other around the grounds. Polite works. I think on a global scale polite is a good place to start.

Talkin' 'Bout Bad, Bad Girls

Quick! In 101 Dalmations, what was the name of that nice woman who owned Perdy? How about that sweet guy who owned Pongo? No peeking! Can’t remember, can you? Now, what was the name of the evil, dissipated, puppy-skin coat desiring she-devil? Didn’t even have to reach for it, did you? Cruella DeVil. And I bet when her name crossed your mind, it was in a little melody…”Cru-ella De-Vil, Cru-ella De-Vil.” You know it did.

I always wanted to play Cruella DeVil. Or Rizzo in Grease. Or Miss Muzepah in the stripper’s scene in Gypsy, horn and all. Bit part, you say? Second banana? Who cares! Villains are just more fun to play.

Good girls go to heaven, but bad girls get to raise hell. And look fabulous doing it. Not to mention they get all the best songs written for them. Or about them. "Cruella DeVil, Cruella DeVil."

Look at those ponytailed ninnies who lined up around the block for that Grease-based reality show. Oh sure, every woman wants to be Sandy, sweet and blonde in her virginal housecoat, singing in the spot light about being "hopelessly devoted." Not me. I want to wear tight sweaters and rail at the world about how there are "worse things I could do." Heck, in the end, even Sandy got sick of herself and teased her hair and picked up a pair of Candies to find her inner strength and gumption. Rizzo had it all along.

Retro Rewind--Minus the Leg Warmers!

So, today I have gone totally retro! I loaded up my player with 80's classics, slipped into my Payless brand, fake-Vans and came to work, ready to ska, skank and pogo.

I know exactly why there are so many nostalgia radio stations hanging around. When you feel older than dirt, and life is dragging you down, you need to throw on some music that reminds you of being a kid. If hear "Alive and Kicking" I think of riding around in my friend Laura's Ford on a Friday night, about 6 of us piled in the car, cruising through the Burger King and then headed off to just hang out and watch MTV (back when it was good) or play games at somebody's house. Any song by Thompson Twins sends me zooming back to the post-football game dances we used to have every Friday night in the high school cafeteria. Or Saturday nights at the local teen club in our town, awkward and nervous when slow songs came on, but always ready to shake something when they played Prince or Janet Jackson. Life was scary, but at the same time, I had hope. That's the feeling I needed to recapture. It's not about going back to when we were young and beautiful, or when we were carefree. That's a lie, and you know it. No time in your life is perfect when you are living it. Heck, even in the womb, there must a been a few bad days when Mom ate a spicy meal and you had to pay for it.

Every age brings with it something to be uncertain about. But what we should be nostalgic for is that feeling of hope that went along with the nerves. That is what we should always hang onto.