This won't surprise everyone, but I'm not nearly as clever as I thought.
I had been planning to write a piece about Obama as the Magic Negro, but somebody else thought about it months ago.
As the writer explains, The Magic Negro is a media-cultural staple. The MN shows up to help out the poor white folks. Sometimes he helps the WM get his groove back, like in "The Legend of Bagger Vance." Other times, he rescues the WM from the forces of darkness: Stephen King uses this a lot, like in The Shining (psychic magic negro saves white boy and mom from evil white dad) or in The Green Mile, where the large magic negro saves the guard from his infections and gives him back his sex life. And God has lately been depicted as the most Magic Negro of all, by Morgan Freeman in two movies, and in both of which is helping poor, mis-guided white guys.
Yep, the Magic Negro is pretty all purpose.
I think it goes beyond the Magic Negro...that particular expression is just common to our culture, and especially to the Liberal persuasion. I think it is more about the Magic Other. For instance, the Aztecs believed White People from somewhere else would come and save them.
That Magic Other reflects our fear, "Oh, my God, we (that is, people like us, whoever us happens to be) can't help ourselves. Obviously, only someone not like us can save us."
So, if you're liberal and you think that America is fallen and corrupt and racist, then, of course, you will be looking for the Magic Other to save us. Since the fallen and corrupt and racist are by liberal definition white, then the Magic Other will have to be a Magic Negro. And since he is Magic, one need not consider or question his qualifications. That fact that he is the Other, the Magic One, is enough.
If you believe in Magic, that is.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Saturday, December 27, 2008
End of the Year
The end of the year is, really, an illusion, I know. The days and the days just keep coming, one after another. Without watches, without calendars, our only reference points would be the weather, or the stars, or the migration of the birds.
Yet, the illusion of orderly changes created by the watches and calendars is very compelling. So, at the “end” of this “year,” I find that I’m exhausted.
As in so many confessions of my weakness or fatigue, I feel stupid admitting. My fatigue is nothing compared to that experienced by others with really tough lives...refugees, immigrants, the homeless. Hell, one of my staff, a temp, works two jobs just to support herself and her daughter.
Regardless, I’ve had to admit I’m worn out. The commute to work is wearing enough in good weather. During the winter, add snow shoveling, ice scraping, and chain installation, along with the increased attention and stress of driving icy roads, and there goes more energy.
That’s just one example, and it’s enough. I had to acknowledge that I was tired all the time, for whatever reason. So I’ve decided I’m not going to do anything for the rest of the year. Okay, that’s only another four or five days. But I hope my enforced idleness will let me recharge a bit, and then I can face the New Year with renewed energy and enthusiasm.
I’ll be back then, with my promised piece on “Magic and Empty Suits,” as well as continuing Doubly Standard Procedure watch.
Be well.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Winter
Winter has landed on us with both feet.
I live in the mountains, and was snowed in for a couple of days. I'm staying with my mother-in-law (down the hill, as we say) for the next few days, waiting for the storm to pass. Can't spare the time off from work.
Down in the flatlands, it's raining hard. Traffic will be a challenge for folks today.
But, with winter, comes the snow. Adventureboy loves the snow. And well he should...he doesn't have to scrape ice off the windshield, dig the car out of a drift, or hack a path down the driveway to the street, nor drive in it.
On the other hand, what the hell. He plays in the snow until he's numb, drags himself in to warm up with some hot chocolate and then he's out sledding again. I drag myself out there to sled with him, too. I've discovered that getting air on the sleds is tougher on my old bones than on his. It is time for us together though, and I do my best to spend some time with him like that. One of my few stated goals as a parent was to ensure my son had good memories, and a lot of them.
Coming soon: Doubly Standard Procedure Watch resumes, and a few words on Magic and Empty Suits.
Be safe.
I live in the mountains, and was snowed in for a couple of days. I'm staying with my mother-in-law (down the hill, as we say) for the next few days, waiting for the storm to pass. Can't spare the time off from work.
Down in the flatlands, it's raining hard. Traffic will be a challenge for folks today.
But, with winter, comes the snow. Adventureboy loves the snow. And well he should...he doesn't have to scrape ice off the windshield, dig the car out of a drift, or hack a path down the driveway to the street, nor drive in it.
On the other hand, what the hell. He plays in the snow until he's numb, drags himself in to warm up with some hot chocolate and then he's out sledding again. I drag myself out there to sled with him, too. I've discovered that getting air on the sleds is tougher on my old bones than on his. It is time for us together though, and I do my best to spend some time with him like that. One of my few stated goals as a parent was to ensure my son had good memories, and a lot of them.
Coming soon: Doubly Standard Procedure Watch resumes, and a few words on Magic and Empty Suits.
Be safe.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Love
Adventureboy was a little better last night. He wasn't weeping openly, but his eyes were very moist.
I picked him up after school. He didn't want to go get a hot chocolate, so we drove back to his mom's house.
We sat in his room. He laid on the bed, cradling Silver, the poor dead cockatiel, against his chest. Bronco, the stray cockatiel they'd rescued, was on the Jigglet's shoulder.
As I mentioned, Bronco is very defensive...opens his beak ready to bite if anyone approaches him. Yet, yesterday, he left my son pick him up without any fuss. He was quite happy to sit on the kid's shoulder.
And, even stranger, he was deeply affectionate to my son. Bronco kept rubbing his feathery head against my son's cheek. He bowed his head to let Adventureboy scratch under the crest of feathers, which was very unusual.
It seems to me that everyone has the need to love someone or something. Even bad people need to express some aspect of love. Hitler, for instance, loved his dog. Twisted and stunted though it was, the need to love came out. Maybe that was as much love as Hitler was capable of allowing to escape from his damaged heart.
My son loved his bird, however imperfectly. I pray he'll heal, and not let this loss make him afraid of loving.
There is no perfect love that humans can express. All we can do is live, learn, and keep loving to the best of our ability.
I picked him up after school. He didn't want to go get a hot chocolate, so we drove back to his mom's house.
We sat in his room. He laid on the bed, cradling Silver, the poor dead cockatiel, against his chest. Bronco, the stray cockatiel they'd rescued, was on the Jigglet's shoulder.
As I mentioned, Bronco is very defensive...opens his beak ready to bite if anyone approaches him. Yet, yesterday, he left my son pick him up without any fuss. He was quite happy to sit on the kid's shoulder.
And, even stranger, he was deeply affectionate to my son. Bronco kept rubbing his feathery head against my son's cheek. He bowed his head to let Adventureboy scratch under the crest of feathers, which was very unusual.
It seems to me that everyone has the need to love someone or something. Even bad people need to express some aspect of love. Hitler, for instance, loved his dog. Twisted and stunted though it was, the need to love came out. Maybe that was as much love as Hitler was capable of allowing to escape from his damaged heart.
My son loved his bird, however imperfectly. I pray he'll heal, and not let this loss make him afraid of loving.
There is no perfect love that humans can express. All we can do is live, learn, and keep loving to the best of our ability.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Time and Punishment
Gloomy day in the land of Jiggy.
AdventureBoy, who wants to be an ornithologist, has two cockatiels. One, Silver, he’s had for several years. Hand-raised, it was a very sweet little creature. I didn’t like birds before encountering Silver; they seemed alien and unfriendly. Silver was approachable and liked being around people.
The other bird, Bronco, was a stray they rescued. He’s more fearful, and thus more defensive when approached.
AdventureBoy developed a bad habit. After he was supposedly in bed, he’d sneak up and put Silver in bed with him, say, on the pillow or headboard.
His mother told him not to do it.
AdventureBoy persisted, because he liked being with his bird.
And today, he’s paying the price. Sometime last night, Silver was crushed while AdventureBoy slept.
The ex-Lady Jiggy called me in tears this morning, saying how angry she was at the Jigglet. It took a little while for me to get the sad story. She said she didn’t know what she was going to do with him, how could he be so careless, and how sweet the little bird was.
My job was to listen, and maybe, speak calmly to her. And then to the Jigglet. He was in tears, saying “I’ll never forgive myself.”
Ah, kid. Welcome to adulthood. Where there are consequences to everything you do or avoid doing.
He wasn’t being cruel or malicious. He might have been indulging in the fantasy of bonding and being with his bird at all times. But that fantasy, following that fantasy, killed this sweet little cockatiel.
I’ll be going by the house tonight, after work, to try and comfort the kid. I won’t suggest any “punishment” to his mom. I’m sure he’ll feel bad about this for a long time, and he'll punish himself far more than we ever could. I’ll work to make sure he learns from the experience. It will only become a mistake if he repeats it.
In the larger scheme of people losing their homes and livelihoods, not a major story. But a sad day, none the less.
AdventureBoy, who wants to be an ornithologist, has two cockatiels. One, Silver, he’s had for several years. Hand-raised, it was a very sweet little creature. I didn’t like birds before encountering Silver; they seemed alien and unfriendly. Silver was approachable and liked being around people.
The other bird, Bronco, was a stray they rescued. He’s more fearful, and thus more defensive when approached.
AdventureBoy developed a bad habit. After he was supposedly in bed, he’d sneak up and put Silver in bed with him, say, on the pillow or headboard.
His mother told him not to do it.
AdventureBoy persisted, because he liked being with his bird.
And today, he’s paying the price. Sometime last night, Silver was crushed while AdventureBoy slept.
The ex-Lady Jiggy called me in tears this morning, saying how angry she was at the Jigglet. It took a little while for me to get the sad story. She said she didn’t know what she was going to do with him, how could he be so careless, and how sweet the little bird was.
My job was to listen, and maybe, speak calmly to her. And then to the Jigglet. He was in tears, saying “I’ll never forgive myself.”
Ah, kid. Welcome to adulthood. Where there are consequences to everything you do or avoid doing.
He wasn’t being cruel or malicious. He might have been indulging in the fantasy of bonding and being with his bird at all times. But that fantasy, following that fantasy, killed this sweet little cockatiel.
I’ll be going by the house tonight, after work, to try and comfort the kid. I won’t suggest any “punishment” to his mom. I’m sure he’ll feel bad about this for a long time, and he'll punish himself far more than we ever could. I’ll work to make sure he learns from the experience. It will only become a mistake if he repeats it.
In the larger scheme of people losing their homes and livelihoods, not a major story. But a sad day, none the less.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Adulthood
Christmas party this past weekend. Company party. It was fun...music was loud.
I must be getting old.
Anymore, the big question about any party is: do I try to dance?
I am not, shall we say, a gifted dancer. My style varies between spider on a hot skillet and full blown epileptic fit. Since I have the genetic curse of my people, rhythm dsylexia, the art has escaped me.
But during those moments when I can achieve un-self-conciousness, I can have fun. When I can "dance like no one's looking," as the song goes.
Pondering the dance/no dance question, I noticed that there was unacknowledged part of the equation when trying to weigh the possible outcomes. I was wondering, "What's the reward?"
Or, to put it another way: "What will result if I dance at the party?" See, when I was single, I danced with young ladies because I might get lucky. That's not an issue these days, so a prime reason for dancing was removed.
I realized that the idea of simply dancing because it was fun wasn't even part of my consideration.
Once I was aware of that, it struck me that I rarely do anything for the hell of it anymore.
Everything has to have a purpose.
I run for heart-rate and time. Same with biking.
I swim for time and distance.
I go play with Adventure Boy because I should.
Is that what being an Adult means? That everything has a purpose? That spontaneity is a thing of the past?
When's the last time you did something just for the hell of it?
I must be getting old.
Anymore, the big question about any party is: do I try to dance?
I am not, shall we say, a gifted dancer. My style varies between spider on a hot skillet and full blown epileptic fit. Since I have the genetic curse of my people, rhythm dsylexia, the art has escaped me.
But during those moments when I can achieve un-self-conciousness, I can have fun. When I can "dance like no one's looking," as the song goes.
Pondering the dance/no dance question, I noticed that there was unacknowledged part of the equation when trying to weigh the possible outcomes. I was wondering, "What's the reward?"
Or, to put it another way: "What will result if I dance at the party?" See, when I was single, I danced with young ladies because I might get lucky. That's not an issue these days, so a prime reason for dancing was removed.
I realized that the idea of simply dancing because it was fun wasn't even part of my consideration.
Once I was aware of that, it struck me that I rarely do anything for the hell of it anymore.
Everything has to have a purpose.
I run for heart-rate and time. Same with biking.
I swim for time and distance.
I go play with Adventure Boy because I should.
Is that what being an Adult means? That everything has a purpose? That spontaneity is a thing of the past?
When's the last time you did something just for the hell of it?
Friday, December 5, 2008
They Lied...and they will continue to do so.
Never forget: The Media (large newspapers and the Big 3 networks) lied to get Obama elected. We can talk later about why they decided to sacrifice a fair election for the perceived sins of our democracy, but the point remains. They Lied.
Remember, there are three ways to tell a lie:
1) Complete untruth.
2) Tell half the truth.
3) For really advanced practioneers, “Tell the truth, but tell it so badly no one believes you.”
The Media chose Option 2, repeatedly. To pick but one of a thousand examples: we read extensively in the New York Times about Cindy McCain’s drug problem. Yet…the Times couldn’t find the time to look for Barack Obama’s drug dealer from his student days.
We heard about Sarah Palin’s tanning bed, and clothes…but did you hear about Obama and the Annaberg commission? The $150 million (that’s MILLION) that was spent on education with no perceptible achievement from students at the end of it. Obama was on the board that disbursed funds...you'd think such a staggering failure would be worthy of comment.
Half the truth = half a lie.
Never Forget They Lied.
Automatically doubt what they say from here on out.
Remember, there are three ways to tell a lie:
1) Complete untruth.
2) Tell half the truth.
3) For really advanced practioneers, “Tell the truth, but tell it so badly no one believes you.”
The Media chose Option 2, repeatedly. To pick but one of a thousand examples: we read extensively in the New York Times about Cindy McCain’s drug problem. Yet…the Times couldn’t find the time to look for Barack Obama’s drug dealer from his student days.
We heard about Sarah Palin’s tanning bed, and clothes…but did you hear about Obama and the Annaberg commission? The $150 million (that’s MILLION) that was spent on education with no perceptible achievement from students at the end of it. Obama was on the board that disbursed funds...you'd think such a staggering failure would be worthy of comment.
Half the truth = half a lie.
Never Forget They Lied.
Automatically doubt what they say from here on out.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Perfect Movies
I'm just brainstorming here.
I've long believed that movies are a kind of shared dream. A well made film...well, it can move you to tears, laughter, gasps of shock...and we can sit in a room with a hundred other people and have essentially the same emotional experience.
Perfect movies are rare, I think. Partly because they have to be fortuituously created, and they are also subject to a special alchemy based on the actors and other elements of the fictive world that's being created.
Two perfect films I watched this weekend:
Galaxy Quest and Stardust.
Both were funny and touching (the other rule about movies: The Best Movies Are About Love). And everyone involved was completely invested in what they were doing. There was something authentic about the aliens and witches and ghosts and hack actors who were portrayed in the respective film.
And they were about love.
Check them out. They're well worth your time.
I've long believed that movies are a kind of shared dream. A well made film...well, it can move you to tears, laughter, gasps of shock...and we can sit in a room with a hundred other people and have essentially the same emotional experience.
Perfect movies are rare, I think. Partly because they have to be fortuituously created, and they are also subject to a special alchemy based on the actors and other elements of the fictive world that's being created.
Two perfect films I watched this weekend:
Galaxy Quest and Stardust.
Both were funny and touching (the other rule about movies: The Best Movies Are About Love). And everyone involved was completely invested in what they were doing. There was something authentic about the aliens and witches and ghosts and hack actors who were portrayed in the respective film.
And they were about love.
Check them out. They're well worth your time.
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