March 18, 2013
Okay, here I go, here I go again. Girls, what’s my weakness? Beyoncé, okay then. Beyoncé’s new track “Bow Down \ I Been On” is awesome. For several reasons. It’s just the kind of rap that we might expect from Her Highness: simple and melodic with a message of female financial independence and empowerment.
Sure the lyrics aren’t that clever; she’s always rhyming girls with world: “I know when you were little girls\ you dreamt of being in my world \ Don’t forget, don’t forget it \ Respect that \ Bow down, bitches.” But, that’s not the point with Beyoncé. Her message is that little girls shouldn’t give up on their dreams. Ever. Every young person has Queen-of-the-Mountain material inside. Her message is a product of a particularly American class-mobile ideal of independence and the free market narrative of merit-based value. Deal with it. She not only deals with it, never misrepresenting her comfortable, middle-class upbringing and loving and doting parents (see the picture of a young Beyoncé in pageant attire surrounded by trophies and awards on a suburban fireplace mantle that she included as the cover image for this track on her website), but she embraces her success within the capitalist music system.
In the “I Been On” section of the track, her revelling in financial success (and her Southern drawl) is loud and clear: “Gold every-thang\ Gold-ass chains \ Gold-ass rangs.” At least she is spending and recirculating her money, not psychopathically hoarding it. In the footsteps of many before her, she identifies as a Southern, Black, female, “self-made” millionaire, and she’s enjoying her lifestyle and using her fame to try to inspire others. She’s a straight-forward, non-subtle, mainstream, pop star. And mostly, we are missing out if we expect anything else from her. But, she delivers something more – her own brand of womanist feminism – anyway.
The opening rap subverts the stereotypical representation of women in relationship to other humans, most commonly as wives or mothers: “I took some time to live my life \ But don’t think I’m just his little wife \ Don’t get it twisted \ This my shit \ Bow down, bitches.” Her recent status as mother and the naming of her “Mrs. Carter” tour has been read by many as a loss of her independence. Motherhood has even made her a target of strange moralistic criticism. Considering B’s recent family-centered life choices, one womanist blogger was compelled to critique “Bow Down” for its lack of “age appropriateness.” What is this, Sunday School? Let’s also remember that marriage for Black Americans has a history parallel to the story of slavery and emancipation, so the fact of her naming her most recent tour after her legal, married name is a celebration of equality for Blacks. And, considering that she – Beyoncé – will keep every single penny of her earnings no matter what name she goes by or performs under is a marker of a significant historical feminist victory. Furthermore, the prenup signed by both her and Jay Z includes a clause that he is to pay her for every child she bears with his paternity compensating her for any lost income due to pregnancy, birth, or child-rearing. Um, paid maternity leave? Can you say feminist economic utopia?
Other bloggers, including Sarah Dean from the Huffington Post, read the repetition of the word “bitches” as a put-down directed at other women. Dean even claims that B is taking a cue from Jay Z and the like, using the word “bitches” to dismiss and degrade women. But I don’t hear the rap like that at all. I hear it as reclamation of the term that has been incredibly popular in the rap genre. I read Beyonce’s use of the term “bitches” as a direct shake-off of criticism, regardless of the gender of the person constructing the criticism, aimed at diminishing Beyonce’s woman-made, confident achievements. It is hip-hop hipster irony. Ironic because she, yes SHE, is posturing and swaggering in a traditionally male industry, in a traditionally white and male mega-wealthy club. She is taking the term from the men and re-associating it, not with women, but with critics. And, come on. She’s right: that’s what critics do. We bitch – about pop culture, about music, about film. Call it analysis and evaluation if you prefer, but it’s still bitchin’.
Especially considering in the second portion of the track “I Been On” when she raps in an electronically male voice, this track is all about her having fun in a character and poking at the boys club that her husband inhabits. She has an all-female band and dance crew, she rose to stardom from an all-female group, and she attributes part of her success publicly and repeatedly to her mother: “Kiss my Mama \ Show that love.” She celebrates traditional, hetero femininity but while respecting women’s work and cooperation as non-traditional sources of power. Ultimately, the artificial deep voice that is really her own reveals gender as a mere performance just as much as rap is a performance. Her critique is of mainstream, over-masculinized, rap culture as a product of patriarchy, not at all of other women.
I’ve said it once, and I will say it again. Expecting Beyoncé to live up to a Yankee-made, college-educated standard of feminism is futile. Expecting Beyoncé to rap intellectual like Mos Def – hottie that he is – is just as futile. Nevertheless, she is a more influential feminist, and rapper, than most of us will ever be. So…
October 23, 2012
“It’s the economy, stupid. ” Bill Clinton’s campaign coined the phrase back in 1992 and successfully defeated Bush 1 by focusing on economic issues. And judging by the 2012 presidential debates, American political players are still narrowed in on the economy. One blames China for a lagging economy, the other agrees; one blames the poor, nobody blames the mega-rich money hoarders.
All the attention paid to “economic recovery” this and “recession” that fails to consider a few things. Humans, more and more, are creating our own economies based not on how much money we can stockpile in the bank or how many 2-story houses and SUVs we can buy, but on how our earning and buying align with our morals. Humans don’t do things just to make money, like so many businessfolk and politicians seem to believe and would have us believe. There is a renewed interest amongst us human beings in bartering, reusing, DIY, repurposing, and recycling products that doesn’t give 2 shits who is or isn’t POTUS.
My friends and fellow humans truly interested in progress are going back to small-scale, in-house production for a variety of reasons, most of which have nothing to do with earning a buck. We are growing our own food when possible, turning our yard space into garden space, and brewing our own beer because it makes us happy. And then we share with our friends because that also makes us happy. We are repurposing grandma’s old dress into new baby clothes and pillows and stuffed toys because handmade is better than store bought. Always. Objects with a creation story last beyond the material expiration date and have value beyond a number.
What’s more is that humans care about the Earth. Because of our increased awareness of unresolved environmental problems, we are cutting our purchases of disposable crap. We are choosing, instead, to buy lasting or buy used, and we are returning to systems of trading and bartering. We are also buying local, so that we don’t use as much gas \ spend as much money on gas. We are looking up videos on how to fix stuff on our own or with our children, and we are helping other friends in our community with services they might need FOR FREE.
This black market economy has not been an accident. While we humans – my generation especially – were accused of being apathetic, uninformed and lazy, we were actually re-wiring an old economy to work better for us. And we’re not just employed\ unemployed workers or confident\ unconfident consumers because democracy is not a business. After all, this is ours. Call me idealistic but my vote isn’t about the economy, and I don’t even like the word ‘stupid.’
October 11, 2012
I am an Adjunct college English teacher, as many of you know. This semester, I am teaching 2 sections of Introduction to College Writing for non-native speakers, or English language learners (aren’t we all?) as some in the profession prefer. Whatever, the problem is that one of my classes is at 8 a.m. Can you imagine having to wake up in a foreign country and go hear some Okie-accented lady talk about the rules of essay writing, how to write a strong thesis statement, adjusting your approach for an intended audience, coherence and transitions, sentence-level revision, etc.? I can’t. So, I try to make it as fun as possible. Today, we talked about and learned about how to write a Comparison\ Contrast Essay. I began with the ol’ “comparison = similarities, contrast = differences” spiel. Then, I had them generate their own topics. I was trying to get across the idea that comparison and contrast essays could be about wevs: two objects, two meal choices, two ideas, two forms of renewable energy, two political systems, two music genres, two singers, two songs. It was getting boring: the kid in front was falling asleep as usual, the group of young men in back were chatting in Arabic, the young lady who always comes in late was digging through her book bag. I was losing their attention. Then it hit me: MICHAEL JACKSON. I pulled up “Thriller,” the whole-damn, 14-minute thing. Here it is in case you haven’t seen this 1982 classic in a while:
Then, I showed “Beat It.” And here you go again:
Then, I asked them to compare and contrast the two videos. And the students were paying attention! Better yet, they had ideas! And better still, they used their voices to express them!
Thriller is longer than Beat It; Thriller has more special effects; Thriller is a better story; Beat It is better; Thriller is silly; The acting is bad in Thriller; Thriller represents a fictional fantasy while Beat It is a reality-based drama; Beat It is about fighting between gangs or groups with different opinions while Thriller is about monsters within our own imagination (seriously, the chronically late girl said this!).
Both use dance; the choreography in both is used to tell the story and to unify song and video; Michael Jackson wears similar clothing\ colors in both – red, black, and white; Both are stories within stories; Both involve large groups of characters; Both are set at night; Both are set in seedy, urban streets; Both play with the idea of an audience; Both offer ripe fruit for discussions of masculinity and fear (okay, that was me).
They learned the concept behind a comparison\ contrast essay, and I didn’t have to teach straight from the helpful but sometimes boring book. We all left class satisfied. And for real, next time I find myself in a similar situation… I’m pulling out the MJ.
September 9, 2012
“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.”
– Virginia Woolf
It was back in late Spring or early Summer. The first time my boyfriend cooked for me in his apartment – the first time a man had cooked for me in his home – I play the memory like a silent film except in color and with emotions and smells. Firsts are always memorable, I guess. I don’t remember many lasts, like the last time I ate with my dad before he died or the last time I ate with my grandmother before she died. Anyway, people are always writing and painting and making photo essays and going on and on about last suppers. But we can all agree on one thing, surely: There is more to each meal than the food.
The inside of his refrigerator, he shared with two roommates. He had his own section, I remember, the lower right-hand drawer as well as the right side of the bottom shelf. I had never had an assigned section of a refrigerator, even when I shared a kitchen with 8 other girls in college. I was impressed that 3 young men, all in their 20s, had such organizational creativity and discipline.
His vegetables were loved. Some were from the Farmer’s Market which had recently opened, some were from the grocery store. Others were from his mother who had recently gone on vacation and jettisoned produce that wouldn’t last until her return. All were in their own place, none were spoiling. Some were recently used and those were the ones he set out on the cutting board to chop up first. There were also the jalapeños from my garden, looking like shiny little green prizes.
Once, I did a peck of research on jalapeños. I learned romantic facts like that pepper flowers are a perfect union; I mean, they contain both female and male sex organs. The male organ, the stamen. The female organ, the stigma. Each flower usually has one large stigma and several smaller stamens, ready to share pollen and proceed with reproduction. Reminds me of a harem of ready women and a lone, steady man.
After the pepper pollinates itself, a fruit begins. Pepper gardeners watch small pea-sized blips yawn and stretch to full-size within 3 months. The placenta holding the seeds and the veins lining the walls of the fruit contain large amounts of capsaicin. It’s what makes the pepper taste “hot” to humans, and contrary to popular belief, the seeds themselves do not produce any capsaicin.
In one of nature’s amusing displays of reproductive tension, the sexiest part of the plant (the fruit) that is often evolved to attract animals, in the pepper plant, is also evolved to keep certain animals from getting too close. Most mammals – say, bunnies – find the capsaicin to be an irritating repellant. On the other hand, birds and their digestive systems are not bothered at all. And so, the secretion of capsaicin protects the fruit from consumption by mammals while the bright colors attract birds that will happily eat and disperse the seeds and potentially spread the glory that is the pepper near and far. Such a spicy tease.
He had good knives, in a drawer just out of his roommates’ convenient grasp, somewhere between communal and private. I asked him if I could help with anything, but I really just wanted to watch him. He took out spices from the cabinet above the island stove. He didn’t even have to stretch to reach them, he’s so tall. Mixed spices like lemon garlic pepper and taco seasoning and single spices like paprika. Reds and yellows and browns. Sautéed onion, garlic, and peppers are almost always a must, like foreplay to sex. The smell of them cooking is so familiar, in kitchens all over the world, I’m sure of it. It’s a smell that can get you in the mood to eat, no matter if you were in the mood before. It’s a smell that can convince anyone that the meal to come will be great. He cooked, and I watched from the barstool drinking my coffee, if I remember correctly. I hadn’t had food yet so it is quite possible that this memory is somewhere between reality and fantasy.
One of the roommates walked in, maybe the smell in his territory attracted him. Ridiculous how I was thinking of animals in a den. I started feeling self-conscious, that I might say or do something that would interrupt them. The roommate started preparing to cook, chopping vegetables and such. Have you ever seen two men cooking and sharing the counter space, the stove, the cutting board? It’s a sight. It may even be the spark needed to ignite global peace and harmony: two men cooking brunch in households the world over.
Mostly, that day, I felt honored that this man would cook a meal for me in an expressive and practical kind gesture. We ate and were happy. No struggle, no figuring out, no stress, no bad news to discuss, no confusion, no anxiety, no egos. We ate, and it was delicious. It could have tasted like circus peanuts and canned spinach, though. The point was made before I took a bite: He cooked for me, and I felt well loved.
June 29, 2012
February 28, 2012
Today was a good day to protest the “Personhood Amendment.” I went to the Capitol building in OKC with my daughter and friends Daniel, Amanda, Sara, and Amelia. Here’s Daniel and his super sweet sign:
I was also happy to see people of various religious affiliations – and none – all on the same page.
And I want to be her when I grow up:
Proud to be an Okie,
February 2, 2012
Hey, Planned Parenthood! Remember that time you caught my pre-cancer before it became full-blown cancer? And you referred me to a really badass doctor who was kind and smart, and she got all that cancerish shit out of me? THAT WAS AWESOME!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!
For more stories like mine, you gotta go here: PLANNED PARENTHOOD SAVED ME.
Thanks to my friend Maurice for showing me this site. It’s a great response to all the haters that have been hating on PP lately.
To healthy bodies!