Big Fun With the Wretched

A woman in an online group posted about her child getting into trouble over the weekend and she referenced The Wretched episode of The Cosby Show. It was actually a stray line at the end of her post, but as soon as I read it, I immediately turned to the Hub and remarked how all of us of a certain age knew that reference. We shared a laugh, and my Niece who was nearby asked us to explain, so I pulled up a clip on YouTube. In recalling some of the specifics of the episode, I had gotten a few of the details wrong, so that meant that we watched several clips from different episodes until I realized my lapse in judgment and slammed my laptop shut.

We are still mad at Bill, by the way. So damn...

To the Niece, I was over-reacting. At nine years old, she is aware of the Cosby revelations and his conviction, but she has NO idea how big a deal it is for me to actively avoid watching reruns or even how significant certain episodes are. Maybe this is just my issue (because a friend who listened to my lament told me that I could not wipe out that aspect of our childhood), but I cannot be the only person who gets a little queasy at the thought of Bill leering at the extras in between takes. At some point, I know that won't always happen, but damn.

Before I came to my senses, I told the Niece that Vanessa Huxtable and I were about the same age when that episode aired (thus, Tempestt Bledsoe and I are the same age now). I have vivid memories of being a teenager who came up with some pretty stupid ideas of trying to evade a parental directive. Most of the time, I never got beyond my front door because I didn't have a crew of friends crazy enough to implement those schemes but if I had, I doubt that I would be here today to tell the story. So the most hilarious aspect of Big Fun with the Wretched is why we all remember that line.

We remember that it was a series of totally sitcom-y unfortunate events that led to the unraveling of Vanessa's cover story: the fire on the same block where the best friend lived; that friend's grandmother being interviewed on the local news; flaky Denise suddenly becoming a responsible adult who reads newspapers; the stolen car at a doughnut shop in Wilmington, DE where the cashier remembers Van and Co; getting scammed and stranded in Baltimore; and somehow making it back to New York City alive for the big parental confrontation. Perhaps you don't recall that specific sequence--I thought this was the episode where Rudy provided a shaky cover story that resulted in Clair and Cliff turning the couch around to greet Vanessa when she came home, but honestly, the details don't really matter. What matters was that climatic showdown with Clair repeating the line about Vanessa going off to have Big Fun with the Wretched (in your head, I bet you read that with the same inflection as she did)--and nearly killing her.

And that's why everybody in that online group probably had the same visceral reaction. A laugh or a chuckle or a shudder of a similar attempt to get over on our parents and the inevitable fallout from getting caught. We were all transported back to high school, when we thought that our parents were ridiculously stupid. Or like the woman who posted about her kid, maybe a few of those women recognized their own Clair reaction to some adolescent foolishness. Whichever side of that memory we inhabit, all of us acknowledge the sheer brilliance of that scene.

Which brings me back to this place of being frustrated by this entire shit-uation (yeah, that's my new word for it). It isn't like I can't live without The Cosby Show since I've done pretty well so far, but it just nags at me how that show captured the zeitgeist of my youth so perfectly. I mean, yes, there were plenty of other family sitcoms from that era that featured Black kids with professional parents...nope, Cosby started that. There were other shows with strong mother figures who were loving, but firm with their wayward children, but that also happened after Cosby. Surely there was another show with a similar story line that did not end with dramatic music, hugs and studio audience applause because what other reaction makes sense to lying and sneaking out, getting stranded with no money, and having to be rescued by your parents in the middle of the night?

Such was the genius of The Cosby Show. Sprinkled throughout its run, there were plenty of silly and random episodes such as those with dream sequences, the this-is-your-life-in-a-sitcom throwaways, and all of the celebrity guest stars, but those indulgences could be forgiven. As a lawyer, I still question why Clair would settle for a recording session with Stevie Wonder instead of suing him for side-swiping a car carrying her children, but that wasn't my call. I just know that 30 years ago when Vanessa and I were scheming teenagers, while Theo was secretly living with Justine, after Denise had returned from Africa married to Sandra's date, and while Sandra and Elvin were running a wilderness store and raising twins, the man who portrayed their father was...

Damn. And it's going to take some more time before I can sit with my Niece and my Kid to share that nostalgia without wincing. I just hope it happens before either one of them devises some mad-cap shit-uation that requires me to drive more than 100 miles outside of the city for a late night rescue from Wilmington in my pajamas because they're off having Big Fun with the Wretched.

All Up in the Kool-Aid

If stupidity was a flavor, it would be the ubiquitous red Kool-Aid, and I swear some folks have it coming out of their faucets. Not only do they drink that mess, but they bathe and wash their clothes in it. I guess that explains why they love that red MAGA hat so much, because it goes with everything.

The Kool-Aid seems to flow on full force whenever the topic is race, which is everyday in America, despite what most would prefer to believe. Almost every issue touches that third rail, and even if no one believes this, high voltage is what makes the trains work. We can't run away from race; we have to learn how to work with it.

Last week it was this essay, written by my imaginary BFF Jemele Hill, that suggested a return to HBCUs by Black athletes. Football is not my lane, but anything that supports HBCUs is and so I agree with her arguments in theory, even though I know good and well that train has left the station. It would be nice, but HBCUs just cannot compete with the enticements and amenities offered at the marquee programs.

But can I tell you what train was right on time? The Kool-Aid car full of folks who were drinking full cups of the flavor I like to call Incredulous Red. How dare she make such a suggestion, that Black players segregate themselves by going back to the very schools that used to supply the NFL with its Black gladiators? What good can come from abandoning from The Big State U for a handful of schools located on the other side of the tracks? Martin Luther King would roll over in his grave to hear that some promising young man who has maybe a 5% chance of playing in the NFL would rather attend his alma mater and actually finish with a useful degree. It's racist to even say the word Black in a sentence!

Of course, that is usually the first round of responses brought to us by the same folks who miss the irony of colorblindness as a deficiency, much like tone deafness or talking out the side of your neck. Whenever a bunch of white folks start whining on social media about touching that third rail, just know that train is going nowhere. These are the folks that spot the capitalized B in Black and get triggered. These are the folks that claim hyphens are more divisive than actual racism. These are the "All Lives Matter" crowd, the folks who visit plantations for the architecture.

Right after that train leaves the station, here comes that little hand car that you've seen in the Wile E. Coyote cartoons, being operated by those thirsty black folks (small b) who've added too much extra sugar to their Incredulous Red drink. Folks like our little sister Candace Owens, who had the temerity to come for Hill on Twitter by calling her an insufferable idiot. Mind you, Candace hasn't even finished college yet, but we're talking about Kool-Aid, not spilling tea. Or this dude, Cornel West's evil twin who even had FOX's Laura Ingraham shaking her head in disbelief. And this guy, some comedian who's probably convinced himself that his rant went viral because he's funny...

Yeah, it never fails. But what gets me is their willingness to not only drink the Kool-Aid, but it is also the eagerness to mix it, serve it, and wash those red solo cups for reuse on the next trip. If that subservient description evokes some discomfort, then next time ask them why are they always the loudest and the wrongest ones with opinions.

Is there a special sweetener that they mix into that Incredulous Red that transforms it into Seething Self-Hatred Red? That must be a hard swallow to take on behalf of a bunch of folks who claim not to see color, so why should it matter if a few Black athletes seriously consider Hill's suggestion? Who would notice the difference? Unless the worry is that a significant number of Black players and their parents will do more than consider her suggestion, thus giving HBCUs a chance to be competitive in a system that was built at their expense...

What if it became the norm for HBCUs to win against programs that only play us now for exhibition purposes? What if an HBCU showed up in a primetime bowl game instead of the Celebration Bowl? I bet more of us would actually attend our Homecoming games instead of hanging out at the tailgate. We would have more to brag about than what the band played at the halftime show. And the Kool-Aid flavor we'd be serving--How You Like Them Apples Green.

The Billionaire Boys' Club

Shawn Carter is not one of us. Maybe thirty years ago, back when he was still out in these streets, he was a regular person (and I mean that in a semi-good way), but that was before anyone ever heard of Jay Z. Back when he was this dude.

Now that he is this dude: married to Beyonce, Daddy to Blue Ivy and a set of twins, friend of Barack and Michelle, newly designated Black Billionaire who doesn't even bother to record his own music anymore (because why). Jay Z is no longer in our lives like he once was. To be honest, he hasn't been on our level since he and Kanye sawed up a Maybach for a joy ride in a music video. I don't care if it was a prop--who da phuck does that?

So let's break down all of this hand-wringing and public consternation about this NFL deal. Actually, let's focus on the real deal, which has yet to be officially confirmed except as told to TMZ (but they usually get it right). I suggested to the Hub after Jemele Hill and Very Smart Brothas weighed in, that this seems more like an effort to make nice with the owners because Jay probably wants to own a team. Unlike basketball where the owners tend to change regularly, NFL ownership is akin to membership in a private club. They don't let just anybody in, which is why the DESPOTUS is now leader of the free world...

And after you wrap your head around that revelation, team ownership makes a lot more sense than believing Jay wants to lock down a Superbowl Half-Time gig for Solange. Any dude that can rent out the Louvre for a music video isn't really entering into a partnership to provide entertainment that is easily obtained. And the sellout narrative doesn't fit him either since, and I repeat, this is a dude that can rent out the Louvre for his wife's music video. So no, Jay is simply doing what billionaires do, which is the type of shit that the rest of us can't fathom.

This is what Beyonce alludes to in Flawless, why she can work out her anger about his cheating on an entire album, and then go on to have twins with him. She was mad, not crazy. This is why Oprah won't marry Steadman. She did a cost-benefit analysis and determined that she only needs him for special occasions. This is why Robert F. Smith went off script, made an insane promise to a bunch of guys he never met, and has pissed off all those salty white people who have been paying off student loans for all of eternity. This is why Michael Jordan doesn't care that his visage has become the crying man meme because he's laughing on the inside. All of them can say without an ounce of irony what Dave Chappelle has been saying for years.

Billionaires operate on a level where the type of mundane stuff that the rest of us live with on a daily basis is, well mundane. Beyonce isn't clipping coupons for her children's back-to-school supplies. Of course Oprah doesn't know how to pump her own gas. Warren Buffet probably never carries cash, nor has he ever had his credit card declined. Mellody Hobson has a day job because she is just a millionaire married to billionaire George Lucas. If Robert F. Smith and his wife think the young men in the Class of 2019 need custom cuff links to wear with their off-the-rack suits, we won't suggest otherwise.

We expect Black billionaires to demonstrate a higher level of responsibility with their money and influence, which is why folks are seeing this move as a bitch slap to Colin Kaepernick. But don't feel that sorry for him. For all of his self-righteousness, that dude said that he would still play for the NFL if a team expressed interest. This is after he already signed a lucrative contract with Nike for not playing football. This is after he allegedly urged Nike to scrap a certain shoe design that was all ready to go on the shelves (and let's just ruminate on the idea that some dude who isn't selling shoes by playing in them has enough juice to kill another pair of shoes that he wouldn't even be promoting.) Kaep has every reason to be salty, but he's not operating on Jay's level. Billionaires aren't looking for jobs.

Billionaires create more opportunities for themselves to make more money. Oprah is preaching the gospel of cauliflower because she probably owns a farm somewhere. Does anybody actually believe that she eats frozen pizza? Jeff Bezos has convinced people that a trip to the store for basic items is more of a hassle than waiting 24 hours for front door delivery. He knows that we call Whole Foods 'whole paycheck' so while a few items are cheaper since he bought the chain, all of the exotic stuff is still overpriced. The Walton family makes more money per hour off the cheap crap y'all buy at Walmart than you save from shopping there (let that sink in).

Billionaires don't protest injustice the way the rest of us do. That's why Jay can declare that the time for kneeling is over because he doesn't plan on doing that and Beyonce isn't trying to ruin her expensive hosiery. Instead, billionaires use their money to address the world's problems (philanthropy is the fancy name for it), so that's why Bill and Melinda Gates are trying to eradicate certain diseases; why Michael Bloomberg is backing advocacy groups to address gun violence; and how in one grand act, Robert F. Smith has sparked a conversation about massive student debt. Jay might not have knelt or marched in these streets, but as a patron of the arts, he has been backing documentaries that address why folks are kneeling during the Anthem, such as the Kalief Browder story and the Trayvon Martin story. He has used his powers for good, and with the right type of pressure, that can and must continue. 

That doesn't absolve Jay from throwing Kaep under the bus; but let's be honest and finally disentangle ourselves from this righteous boycott/protest narrative. The real issue is not Colin Kaepernick, nor is it disrespect of the American flag. In some cases, kneeling has been in direct protest of the authoritarian posture of the DESPOTUS, which is why athletes in different sports like   Megan Rapinoe and fencer Race Imboden, have joined in solidarity. So we kind of get your point Eric Reid, but how much of your outrage is about your boy not playing, instead of about the deaths of Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland, and Philando Castile where it belongs?

Billionaires play these high stakes, ruthless games of 3-D chess. Or poker. Or craps. So I agree wholeheartedly with Jemele Hill and every other smart person who saw through this shuck and jive move by Jay from the beginning. He is helping the league to save face by giving them a pass. In return, his reward will be a financial stake in a franchise, which is a lot more than the traditional 30 pieces of silver we're used to seeing in exchange for one's soul. But that's because he is already a billionaire, and in his world of 99 Problems, a soul ain't one. 

This is America

This started as a statement of annoyance on the Facebook page, but then I added visuals and started using big words and...

Monticello (2019)

I saw this post on Twitter and my initial response was to allude to my recent visit to Monticello, where the updated house tour now includes a more in-depth discussion of slavery. Then I went searching through my new phone to find the pictures that I just took there of the Hemings' slave cabin and the Big House. Then I started on a rant about why these images need to be seen together, regardless of your ethnicity because, for goodness sake, YOU WERE VISITING A DAMN PLANTATION!!!

Then I started on another paragraph about the many trinkets and artifacts that get preserved at those homes for display and how no one ever seems to wonder how those items are kept in such pristine condition considering the people who lived in the house didn't do much work. Maybe the lady of the house kept her trousseau organized--hand washed and ironed her own linen tablecloths and embroidered napkins. Maybe she polished her own silver brushes and handheld mirrors, then carefully wrapped them in tissue paper before storing them in velvet-lined boxes. Maybe she endured the heat of the sun to tend to the antique rose bushes, camellias, and hibiscus. Or perhaps that was the job of her husband, who also rose early every morning to tend to his vast acreage of cotton/sugar/rice/tobacco, which he planted, picked, and prepared for sale all by himself, dressed impeccably in a perfectly antebellum seer sucker or white linen suit.

For example, it is fair to argue that no one goes to Versailles to learn about the people who worked there, so why should anyone care about the people employed on southern plantations? Of course, Versailles is a beautiful palace museum, a showcase to the excesses of the French Monarchy, and we know this because once the servants got tired of going hungry while serving cake, enleves leur têtes!

Hemings' Cabin (2019)

But again, what does that have to do with visitors to an historic plantation home somewhere in the American South where once upon a time, people were enslaved? Why should you care that Miss Anne compelled her half-sister to serve as her chamber maid? Or that Master Tom worked his own son, whose mother was the head cook (upon whom he forced himself in the hidden places at night after everyone else was asleep), as his coachman? Who wants to hear about all of that depressing shit while on vacation? How dare they make you think about other people's suffering?

After all, your grandparents came to America years after all of that happened via a 'legal' immigration system that excluded Chinese immigrants, for example. Black people were already emancipated, so your Sicilian/German ancestors didn't own any slaves. Instead, they worked hard at those jobs in the industrial North and Midwest in factories, building trades, and shipyards (where the Blacks who had escaped Southern peonage could only secure work as janitors, cooks, and manual laborers). Your ancestors were allowed to fight to defend their adopted country, while Black and American Indian soldiers languished in segregated units or were barred from joining the unions. While it is tragic and unforgivable that 11,000 Germans and less than 2,000 Italians were interned during World War II; between 110,000 and 120,000 Japanese-Americans (note the hyphen, because many were naturalized citizens) were interned on the US mainland and in Hawaii. After the War, your ancestors took advantage of the GI Bill and moved to suburbs like Levittown, NY and Clybourne Park, IL, while we faced restrictive covenants and redlining.

But by all means, do not allow these pesky facts to ruin your visit to Tara, Twelve Oaks, Nottoway or whatever other plantation you visit during your stay. (Update: I've learned that your Yelp complaint was posted about McLeod Plantation in South Carolina...did you even look at the brochure?) I'm sure that the little old ladies in lace white gloves who maintain these historic homes would rather host an upcoming wedding/vow renewal, prom, debutante ball, etc., than answer hard questions. For decades, they didn't want to talk about the slavery either because their side lost that war, so instead they regaled visitors with alternative tall tales like Gone With the Wind. That's a far more interesting saga than say...the story of why Hattie McDaniel couldn't attend the premiere of the very film that won her an Oscar.

Guess what, we (the Blacks, Native Americans, Latinos, Asian Pacific Islanders) are tired too. We're tired of insisting that our stories are as valid and as important and as significant as others. We're frustrated that the history of slavery and segregation in this country are considered optional, as if racism was no big deal. Because an understanding of slavery makes it a lot harder to ignore the Trail of Tears, the role of Chinese railroad workers in westward expansion, the Bracero Program and migrant farmwork, Hawaii, and the immigration raids in Mississippi. Understanding our history in this country is acknowledging that it is all American History--including how your Sicilian and German ancestors were similarly victimized.

An Appreciation: Toni Morrison

When I first heard the news, I immediately thought about my Mother and how if she was lucid and able to articulate, she would write a more fitting tribute to Toni Morrison. That is because my Mother was one of Morrison's biggest fans--she read all of her books, taught several of them as well, celebrated her birthday in the same month, etc., while I can admit to having latched onto my Mother's appreciation. Like many of the Black women writers who came into my life in my youth, I loved Toni Morrison because my Mother loved her first.

So as I pondered the type of tribute that my Mother would have written, I decided to visit her. My Dad and I discussed Morrison's transition, but he said that he hadn't told her yet...because to him, my Mom is still very much aware of the world. The Alzheimer's has only made her mechanical existence a challenge, so I went along with his reasoning. Instead of sharing the sad news, I told her how I would download some of Morrison's audio books for us to enjoy together on my next visit. And she smiled.

Then as usual, life intervened, but before the great calamity of technical difficulties and shitty customer service, I had an epiphany via a text message exchange with one of my line sisters. I just learned that she is also a writer, so it seemed rather out of the blue that she would reach out to praise Morrison's well-known accomplishments. I responded with my wish that we could have had the chance to sit at Sister Toni's knee just to inhale her wisdom...but then it occurred to me that is why she wrote and became so celebrated--so that we all could receive her gifts.

I did not formally meet Toni Morrison in the flesh, but in hindsight, it would be inaccurate to say that I never sat at her knee. I heard her speak at Spelman College more than 25 years ago. It was right after she had been awarded the Nobel Prize. She came to Sisters Chapel for a reading that was open to the public, so the gathering was standing room only. Somehow, I managed to find a seat while she stood at the podium and read from Beloved and Jazz (just published). Afterwards, she offered some thoughts on reading and memory and history. I recall being childishly underwhelmed...

That story of my youthful foolishness could be another reason to cede this task to my Mother, who clearly would have had a different, more appreciative recollection. And that is entirely the point--I can't ghostwrite a tribute from my Mother's perspective on her favorite author. I must write from my own collection of experiences and encounters with Morrison's work. I must admit that I never could get through more than half of Beloved, despite several attempts. I must admit that I have only read a few of her books; yet the impact of those was profound. I must admit that I had been hoping to see the film about her life in the present tense before...because I had some sense that this moment was imminent.

My initial encounter with Toni Morrison came in high school. My Mother was teaching The Bluest Eye to her high school students and had accumulated a collection of her other works. I picked up Sula because of the cover art and inhaled that book twice. Then by chance, it was part of our summer reading list for Spelman, so I read it again. Then as we discussed it in our Freshman Composition class, I read it for a fourth time. Because of Sula, I met one of my best friends forever. Because of Sula, I earned a nickname that allowed me to finally appreciate the birthmark above my right eyebrow.

I re-read Sula every so often because it is a profound statement of womanism--the Black woman's assertion of her worth, her value, and of her free, defiant, and unrepentant self. The book was published the year I was born, in a time when society was beginning to debate the roles that were prescribed for women overall, so I am sure that it caused quite the scandal. I imagine that many good church ladies saw themselves in Nel, as many of us continue to do so now. I was always drawn to Sula, so I re-read this book to remind myself that whenever in doubt, I just need to live. And in my mind, Toni Morrison was a real-life avatar of the character she created.

I also read The Bluest Eye, Tar Baby, Song of Solomon, several of her essays and editorials, and her collaborations with her late son Slade on children's books. But whenever I heard Toni Morrison speak, it was as Sula. I especially enjoyed her interviews with unsuspecting journalists who assumed that she should be honored by their attention. She wasn't--why would Sula be flattered by adoration? In hindsight, I understand now why Morrison seemed so unbothered, including the harsh critical reception of the movie version of Beloved. If we didn't get it, that was our fault for expecting it to be easy to read, easy to watch, easy to process...

Easy to assume that a Black woman with (or without) a Nobel Prize somehow needed permission to be free. To be Chloe Wofford. Toni Morrison. Mother. Sister. Elder. Audrey's favorite writer.

By reading her work, we all had the opportunity to meet her. If you have a favorite from her magnificent opus, you had the privilege to sit at her knee. If you have yet to make her acquaintance, lucky you--prepare yourself for a sumptuous feast, prepared lovingly like a Sunday spread.

That Special Place in Hell

Madeline Albright famously said "There is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women," and Lord, I hope she's right. I have a list of recommendations for a few special ladies who deserve first-class accommodations in their expensive handbags...

1. Let's start with Tomi Lahren, who recently had to apologize for a particularly vulgar tweet aimed at Sen. Kamala Harris. It was so offensive that even her colleagues at FOX took issue with it, which is probably why she eventually apologized. Because really, of all the glass houses from which to throw stones...

2. Every single woman who still stans for R. Kelly.

3. If the world needed a nastier British version of Ann Coulter, there is Katie Hopkins. She is mean, and that is the most respectful thing I can say about her without insulting her looks or using an expletive. She gets regularly re-tweeted by our DESPOTUS, which means she is as deplorable as he is, but with an accent which might make it appear that she's a tad more polished, but racism and xenophobia coming from the gutter or from some lonely woman's parlor is still bile. And her obsession with hating on the Duchess of Sussex reads a lot like she once fancied herself as a contender for Prince Harry's affections (as if).

4. I have several Facebook friends who support her candidacy, but Rep. Tulsi Gabbard is absolutely on the midnight train to crazy town. And that is not my salty opinion in the wake of her debate night attack on Sen. Kamala Harris (because all's fair and politics ain't beanbag). However, it is my humble opinion that Gabbard is playing a very cynical game by going after Harris--the only other woman of color in the race. Take note of the fact that none of the other women have taken similar swipes at each other.

5. Every self-righteous pearl-clutching Christian lady who expresses an opinion on the DESPOTUS's strong faith and values. Yeah, I'm thinking specifically of statements made by former Rep. Michelle Bachmann, but she's not alone as there are clearly churches full of the faithful who agree with her. Believe whatever you need to in order to justify your misguided support for him, but be reminded that this is a man who endorsed a pedophile, has been accused of sexual assault by at least 12 women, and who bragged about grabbing women by the crotch. By biblical, do you mean the plague of evil he has unleashed in the world that has us needing the patience of Job to endure it?

6. Those sisters who proudly support and promote hotepian pontificating on social media. Like one sister I know who is on a self-appointed mission to convince Black women that our choices about everything are solely responsible for the deterioration of society. Or Yvette Carnell, who co-founded the American Descendants Of Slaves (ADOS) Movement which is another name for hotep with a hashtag. Of course, there are times when someone might inadvertently share hotepian booshay like a computer virus, such as those instances when someone posts what they think is a harmless meme of some dude sitting in a wicker chair with a barefoot woman standing next to him. If your Pavlovian response is to 'like' any picture that mentions the words queen and real man without taking note of the context, just know that is the same as buying raw shea butter from Walmart...

7. Mean mommies. We already know that abusive and neglectful parents deserve a one way ticket down under, but this special section is reserved for the mean moms who judge everyone else for their parental shortcomings. The women who would never forget the sunscreen or who always bring healthy snacks. The women who troll social media to shame other mothers. And if you don't immediately have an image in your mind of a woman who fits that description, you might need to look in the mirror...#ijs

8. The woman whose personal life impacts the environment of the entire office. And I'm not talking about Miranda Priestly at Runway (because her personal life was the office), I'm talking about that passive aggressive supervisor who makes everybody miserable, even her boss. As she sees it, part of her job is to micromanage everything, so she makes everyone clock in and out and has something to say if anyone lingers too long past a designated coffee break or lunch hour. If she doesn't have children, she brings her dog(s) to the office, but has an attitude whenever someone's child spends more than 20 minutes there. If she does have children, then their schedules dictate your access to her, so she's at work sending emails as soon as she clocks in at 7:30am, but refuses to respond to anything work-related after 4:30pm. You feel compelled to buy wrapping paper, popcorn, and Girl Scout cookies from her but she will call the cops on the kids selling water at the train station. And she is best friends with the woman in HR so there is no point in filing any complaints.

9. The Three Sirens of the Trumpocalypse: Lady Ivanka, Melania Antoinette, and because she is new to this blog and hasn't been properly introduced, the Lovely Lara, wife of Eric the Spare, the Duchess of Cork (since her husband runs the family winery). It seems rather fitting that if you listen to any of their lies long enough, you're headed for certain death...kinda the way our country appears to be heading. We already know that Ivanka only cares about her image, Melania doesn't care about anything, but what Lara cares about is dooming us to another four years of this madness. Which makes her the most dangerous head on the Hydra (yeah, I'm interchanging Greek metaphors all over the place).

10. Again, the Lovely Lara, Duchess of Cork, because for all of her hard work behind the scenes, she has earned her own paragraph. Of course there are plenty of other women who support the re-election of the DESPOTUS and they each have reserved seats (Ronna Romney McDaniel, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, and everyone else mentioned in this article). But isn't it a little strange that the Duchess, a relative newcomer, has surpassed the other ladies-in-waiting? I just watched The King's Speech recently, so I can't help but to wonder if we are witnessing some kind of abdication now that Junior is more interested in romancing his new spokesmodel.

You know what, who cares about whatever Game of Thrones shenanigans they have going on because the point is that on some level, we need to look out for each other! I'm not saying that women have to agree on every issue, but there are a few matters where our interests in the common good should overlap. Like at the very least, we should all want clean air and water.

Revisiting Charlottesville

I had the pleasure of being invited on a girls' weekend trip to Charlottesville, and in as few words as possible, I will share everything that we did (because our trip coordinator RBP, one of those ultra efficient types who kept things moving, would want it that way):

On Saturday we went to the grocery store, got gas, greeted the other ladies, packed the car, then chose an 80s radio station for traveling music. We arrived at Monticello for our 11:45am tour, watched a short film on Sally Hemings, saw an exhibit at the visitor's center, then left for lunch at a nearby winery. We passed by the DESPOTUS's vineyard on the way to Blenheim winery where we had lunch, enjoyed a wine tasting, then left for our hotel to check in. We sat by the pool, had drinks there, then got showered and dressed for our 7pm restaurant reservations in town. We had dinner, took a walk through the downtown outdoor area, had ice cream, and headed back to the hotel for an hour of girl talk. On Sunday morning, we hiked four miles, showered and packed, had brunch, went back to the downtown mall to window shop, then returned home in time to prepare for the week ahead.

So why bother to write about all of that since that looks to be a very full and engaging outing? Well, because in the midst of that whirlwind, I was able to take a few mental notes about where I was, what had happened there, and how all of it relates to current events.

Monticello Revised

Slave Burial Ground (Jan. 2009)

My first visit to Monticello was ten years ago right before the historic inauguration of Barack Obama. The Hub and I went there to ring in the New Year and stayed at a local bed & breakfast. Until that time, I never had much interest in visiting any of those old plantations, but in 2009 I was still teaching American Government and History, so I saw this as educational research. I distinctly recall how the tour guides were very deliberate in their language--there were servants who worked in the house and workers who toiled in the fields. And given their reluctance to acknowledge anything illicit about the relationship between Jefferson and Hemings, I just bit my tongue, took a few pictures, and rolled my eyes at all of the hypocrisy on display.

Gate to Monticello Cemetery

So I had no expectations for this visit. I just prepared to endure it as part of the weekend's itinerary. I did note that the tour offerings had expanded to include a separate tour about Sally Hemings, but I assumed that was due to the recent excavation of her living quarters. To my pleasant surprise, the general admission tour had been revised to be a lot more honest and forthright about Jefferson's complicated legacy, and that included a very moving presentation about Hemings' life. I won't spoil anything, but let's just say that there are no more euphemisms about whether the workers had the ability to leave their employment if they were disgruntled...

The winery

As previously stated we drove past the spare's property, with all of its gold-lettered pomposity on full display, staffed by H2-A visa holders.

Heather Heyer Remembered

On the corner where her life ended so tragically nearly two years ago, there is a makeshift memorial dedicated to Heather Heyer consisting of artificial flowers and homemade signs (a common sight in many urban communities, btw). There is also an honorary street sign. However, a few blocks away, there is another memorial to Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson protected by state law and orange construction netting. I didn't see the Robert E. Lee statue, but no worries, I remember the one that stood in New Orleans and have seen countless others (including one in Gettysburg).

Jamestown 1619: The American Paradox

Tuesday in Jamestown, Virginia a ceremony took place earlier to commemorate the first legislative session held in the English-settled colonies 400 years ago. Because an invitation had been extended to the current President, most of the Democrats in the Virginia Assembly opted to skip the festivities. As a public service to my readers, I listened to his remarks and as usual, his speechwriters did a decent job of keeping him on topic. Only one reference to the indigenous people who were already here in 1619, but he denounced slavery and quoted MLK (who was born in Georgia). However, the highlight of the event was the heckling he received by one of the few Democrats who opted to attend, Del. Ibraheem Samirah:

I know that Jamestown is miles away from Charlottesville and was not part of my weekend getaway; nevertheless, that commemoration brings everything full circle to this moment where we are debating the meaning of symbols and language and intentions, as well as redefining what it means to be an American.

Well?

What does it mean to visit the plantation home of a Founding Father that only recently began to acknowledge his participation in certain aspects of the peculiar institution? Or to hike and/or drive through the picturesque Blue Ridge Mountain trails and not contemplate the Monacan, Powhatan, and Manahoac who once inhabited these lands? Why should there be permanent bronze monuments situated in city parks dedicated to men who rebelled against their country? Have grapes replaced tobacco as Virginia's most lucrative cash crop, and are we cognizant of what that means?

Is it ironic that situated adjacent to another Founding Father's plantation home is a property now owned by the 45th President whose unrepentant nativism, racism, and sexism brings to mind the very Disney animated villain whose story just happens to have taken place in Jamestown?

Before I lose track of my point, the past two weeks have given us this moment to confront who we are and the America we purport to be. Is it that fantastical crusading hero booshay that was offered up by the DESPOTUS in his remarks at Jamestown--hours after he disparaged the American city where the Star Spangled Banner was written as a rat-infested mess? Is it their land because they took to the streets to reaffirm their hegemony, or is it our land because we have been here since 1619 too and Woody Guthrie said so?

Maybe these are all rhetorical questions with no straight-forward answers, but at the very least, if we are attempting to reconcile with the past, that is progress worth celebrating. Or perhaps what I need is another fact-finding/soul-searching weekend trip to Charlottesville to visit two or three wineries...