Black Friday can bite me

Recently, two different friends emailed me a "get to know you" questionnaire with a Christmas theme. Since I'm a sucker for those time-killing, ego-stroking surveys, I set to work.

One of the questions in the survey asked what my least favorite part of Christmas was. That's easy: rampant, insidious consumerism! Obscene consumerism. You MUST spend lots of money on your loved ones. WANT! WANT! WANT! GET! GET! GET! CONSUME NOW! The spend-and-purchase messaging we're inundated with is repugnant and profane. Today, I can add to those adjectives, murderous. Come along ...

Black Friday, as the day after Thanksgiving day has become known, has long been the start of the holiday shopping season in the U.S. It's called Black Friday because this is the day when most retailers make enough money to move out of the "red," into solvency. This was something I learned a few years ago. Before, I thought "Black" Friday referred to the abyss of our souls; how else to explain how a nation can move from day of humble gratitude to harried greed in less than 24 hours?

Each year, stories of incivility in retail shops surface by the time the evening's news rolls around. Soccer moms getting into fist-fights over Chicken Dance Elmo, store clerks being berated by customers because an item has been sold out, the occasional shooting in the parking lot. It's shameful. This year a WalMart employee was crushed to death after he opened the doors of the store to let shoppers in. So eager to get a Wii or a Numi or whateverthefuck people are cravenly drooling over these days, were these shoppers that even as other co-workers tried to move to this poor man's aid, they had to fight to stay standing. The metal frame doorways of the WalMart were actually bent by the crush of the crowd. People wanted so badly to spend their hard-earned dollars on paltry shit at 5AM that they wouldn't even stop to help this man stand up. Who the hell are we? Frankly, that story makes me ashamed of my countrymen. Clearly, our desire to consume supercedes our desire for patience and our capacity for mercy.

Consumer spending is probably good for the economy, in general. But when are we going to recognize that rampant, careless consumption is baaaddd for our souls?

Christmas consumerism is particularly offensive because, the ostensible reason we're supposed to sate our bottomless greed is to celebrate the birth of the holy man who told us the meek would inherit the Earth, that it would be easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter Heaven and that God was most pleased when we clothed the naked, fed the poor, visited the prisoner and generally tended to the "least" of those among us. Even if one celebrates Christmas in a purely secular fashion - which I suppose most do since it is more a cultural holiday than a religious one - it seems we can all agree that the assumed point of Christmas is to celebrate our loved ones and our time with our loved ones.

Gift-giving is fine. Good, actually. But how does it genuinely benefit anyone for one's kid or spouse or partner to get $1,000 worth of toys and goods on Christmas day? That there are wise shoppers out there who may spend that amount on gifts that will have a long lifespan, I do not doubt. But most gifts bought are simply upgraded the next year and disposed of. We are a nation disposed to the disposable goods. I, too, am a less thoughtful consumer than I should be. Can't and won't deny it. But I'm trying to improve. I'm taking baby steps to be more mindful of what I spend my money on and my motivations behind spending it in the first place.

The image at the top is from a documentary titled What Would Jesus Buy? The premise is that a performer named Reverend Billy visits temples of Mammon to exorcise them and call people's attention to their spending habits. I think I'll bump it to the top of my Netflix list. Something we can all do, next year anyway, is join the folks who choose to spend Thanksgiving Friday at home, doing a puzzle, reading a book, hanging with family and otherwise observing Buy Nothing Day. It seems the least we can do to honor the memory of Jdimytai Damour is to not be a part of the insanity that killed him in the first place.

Everything's Coming Up Milhouse!

Last month, I said that something had to change in my job situation and I'm happy to report that the change is now in progress.

Starting soon, possibly as early as the beginning of next month, I will be scaling back my hours to work part-time. I detested going back to my boss with my tail between my legs, after having asked for a promotion during the heat of the monster project, and after he'd moved the discussion along, the week prior, about moving me up the ladder. However, I can't deny the fact that my entire attitude about my job has changed. I'm not inspired, I'm strained and a zombie lately. I do want to progress my career, but I think, for my own sanity, I might have to do it at a slower pace than I'd originally liked. Additionally, I genuinely do want to foster some side sub-careers, if you will, because I'm not a person who is laser-focused on one interest. I'm a more ADD version of Ben Franklin, not a John Nash. I always struggle with maintaining interest in any one job or place of employment when winter rolls in. I am sunk by the cold and dark. It seriously affects me. I'm a solar-powered person; 5PM darkness and overcast days are not my friends. This, of course, affects my productivity. (Apparently, I'm not the only one.)

But the main reason I've wanted to scale back is make myself more available to my family and take care of my general and specific health. As it is now, I have to make an appointment any day I want to leave work on time. Not early. On time. Have to give everyone a big heads up that I might want to go home at the time we say we're going home. Even now, in the down season. If I were a Secret Service Agent, I'd understand that my job is not a job, it's a life. But I'm not. Even when I don't have massive deadlines hanging over my head, that kind of tyranny over my time is stressful. After visiting Dad for his second open heart surgery, I've pretty much decided I need to slow the frak down. He had his first heart attack at 38. 38! Not the road I want, and the highway traffic of genetics is already going against me. I don't want to be on the chopping block. No job is worth that to me. Honey has already weathered two very stressful surgeries with me in the last year, I don't need to add more for him to worry about.

I'm hoping to work 2 1/2 to 3 days a week, when I begin this new regimen. So what am I going to do with the extra time? So many things I can do! Look for other 3/4 to full-time jobs that either a) I can work from home and aren't as driven by deadlines (currently pursuing one), b) speak to my creative side, but I can leave directly at 5PM, so I can eat dinner with my husband more regularly and pursue performing without feeling like a jerk; bonus points if the job is in my industry or c) both. I also plan on writing more; getting my personal website to look more presentable and profitable would be a plus; start working with a voice-coach and start pushing for paying voice-over jobs; avail myself to the rent-an-actor company I signed up with but have yet had time to pursue; sell the shit on eBay that I set aside last month; paint the basement; actually exercise again; go back to my thesis and figure out what I want to do with it; spend more time at the doctors' office, which is why one of my supervisors thinks I'm doing this anyway, which is about 20% true ... so many things I could do!

My only reservation about this is, of course, the current economy. I am worried about scaling back while jobs are hemorrhaging throughout every market. But Honey is supportive and isn't panicking, and since he speaks math better than I do - were I single, I'd live in a rattrap, even if I made a gazillion dollars a month, just because I'm terrified of spending a dime on anything - I take my cues from him the way I do from a flight attendant. We hit a bump. Is the flight attendant scared? No? Okay, I won't panic then. Incidentally, this is also why I'd be a bad flight attendant. Though I'm a pretty good host, I can't gauge normal from "holy shit" turbulence. Just like I can't gauge sufficient money from excess money. No money? That, I know. And right now, it looks like stepping back from my table for a while isn't going to leave us in trouble. It's going to mend more problems than it causes.

A trunk full of Shiner Bock and Lone Star

I had the pleasure this week of finally seeing a musician I really, really love and have been meaning to see live, play live. That would be the ever-lovin' Robert Earl Keen.

Having grown up in Texas, I was somewhat familiar with him - more his name than his music. Just a few songs here and there. I knew he was on Austin City Limits a lot, but as I hadn't really watched that show since the mid-80s, he didn't really resonate with me. It wasn't until the summer before my senior year in college that I picked him up. I was apartment-sitting for some friends who were doing summer stock shows around the country. One of my friends had REK's Picnic in his CD collection. As I love raiding other people's music, I made my way through his CaseLogic binder and got hooked. This really surprised me for two reasons: 1) my friend didn't seem the country music type; his collection was typified by Elliot Smith, Dave Matthews and Jamiroquai and 2) I, as a rule, don't really like country music, but Picnic was just that - a fun, tasty, "comfort-food" feast. I burned myself a copy (Shh! This was 1998, so it was okay.) and went on my merry way.

But it wasn't really until we moved to the East Coast that we slowly started collecting his albums. This is when I really started to appreciate him. Keen's voice is gravelly, nasal, a little higher register than you'd expect from a country singer and painted thick with a drawl more reminiscent of West Texas than his native Houston. More importantly, he captures the Texas experience - at least the middle, and I presume, lower class Texas experience - so bloody well. He sings the low-brow Texas fantasies (as in his signature The Road Goes on Forever, which I want played at my wake, btw), redneck realities like those in Merry Christmas from the Family (every Texan has at least one relative like those), sweet, simple pleasures as in Gringo Honeymoon and just general appreciations for the land that bore him (and me), all its people (Mariano) and all its beauty and flaws (Levelland). He's a troubadour that sings about Texas sometimes adoringly, sometimes sharply tongue in cheek, and when he's great, he accomplishes both, simultaneously. He doesn't sing only about Texas, but life in Texas inspires about 90% of his music.

Honey isn't much for him, so I talked a college girlfriend of mine, with whom I'm reconnecting, into joining me. She's a trooper. I wouldn't've been cajoled into spending $45 on a ticket to an unknown commodity the way she was by me. I'm far too cheap! But she did it and she had a blast, so I was happy, and I owe her. (As I do virtually everyone I know.)

When I saw him, he performed against black duvatene curtains. No flashy backdrop, not even a banner with his name on it, like his opener had. Just the man, his band and the music. Even the lighting was simple. It had motion, but the lighting was made up entirely of simple gelled lamps. Something I'd expect for a brand new musician playing his first "for real" gig, not for a man who has a following. And he rocked the joint! I really, really wish there had been space to dance, because there were moments when I just really wanted to two-step. My girlfriend two-stepped in place with me for a bit, but complained that I moved too much from my hips. If I don't use my hips, I betray the only Latina-seeming part of me. Plus, it's the only part of me that has any grace; I'm fairly uncoordinated and my legs often move like those of a foal when I dance. The crowd was among the whitest I'd seen in this area in quite a while, but I suppose that's to be expected. It wasn't Texas, but it was a close enough facsimile, that I felt really at ease. My girlfriend said she felt like we were back in college in Texas, what with the frat boys and country music.

Aside from dancing like a fiend in a crowd with a red solo cup full of beer and discovering I'm really, really shitty at remembering lyrics of even some of my most favorite songs, I think the most amusing part of the evening was the "cowboys." My brother sees Robert Earl Keen live every year or so. He plays Texas a LOT. He's huge; a legend, approaching the status of Stevie Ray Vaughn, there. Bro said the crowd he usually draws is a mixture of cowboys and hippies, which in some parts of Texas (Travis Co., I'm looking at you) are not mutually exclusive categories. Our East Coast crowd was mostly transplanted Texas and southern professionals, and New Englanders who let their hair down. But we did have some cowboy-hatted guys show up. They offered my friend and me Rebel Yell. (Uh, no thanks.) They were at the foot of the stage and occasionally waved their hats around. Had I actually been in Texas, there wouldn't've been a group of 5 or 6 hatted guys in the front; there'd've been a sea of hats, and boots. All fine. What bugged me was that their hats were funny looking. By no means do I claim to be an expert on western wear, but the material looked a little cheaper and the hats overall more colonial-flavored. Like someone took the material for a tri-corn hat, began making a bowler and then decided to give it a cowboy brim. They loved the show, but I think they loved the opportunity to wear their hats in public, just as much. It reminded me of a second-hand anecdote my dad told us in the late 80s. A friend of his was visiting her daughter in New York City. They decided to go to a country western bar in Manhattan to see how the locals did it. Apparently, all the guys in Manhattan were happy to two step with the ladies and did alright, but they tucked their jeans into their boots! (This is apalling, if you missed the subtlety of the italics and exclamation mark. You don't tuck into boots unless you're a dancing extra from the cast of Oklahoma!) But really, even if people don't pull off the dress with authenticity, I suppose the attempt is evidence of the appreciation. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, even if the imitation is off. Heavens knows if I tried to emulate the fashion of subcultures I admire, I'd fall way short. I can barely keep up with the subculture I'm a part of! (Bad yuppie!)

My only complaint about the show was that he was not as talkative as I'd hoped he'd be. I like singer/songwriters who spin short yarns and give us background. I was told by a friend of a friend that REK was, indeed, chatty. However, he didn't really engage until almost the end of the concert, which was too bad. My only other complaint is that we didn't stick around for him to sign merch. I got a shot glass, 'cause I'm classy like that, but I was thinking about getting a signed t-shirt for my brother. He'd love that. But alas, I am no longer a lass, nor is my friend, and we were tired, and had work the next morning. So we ducked out during the second encore song. Next time, I'm staying for the whole megillah. And I want some talk, Robert!

Yes We Can! Yes We Did! Yes We Will!

I've been running a mile a minute since election night, so I haven't had time yet to post since the United States made history Tuesday night. I am out of town, currently and will be returning within the hour, so I have to make this post brief, which is unfortunate, as I have so many thoughts and emotions. However, I will say this: I spent a large portion of yesterday grinning like a goofball and another portion of yesterday crying. Particularly since it seemed every song on the radio was speaking to my hope. ("Imagine" started the instant I turned on my car to drive home; cue the waterworks!) Not incidentally, Honey and I began listening to the Audacity of Hope in the car, yesterday, making me even more confident that we made the right choice and we've elected a man who chooses to build bridges.

So, instead of writing a well thought-out post expressing my joy and hope, I figure I'll just cut and paste from emails and direct you to other blogs. When I have time later this week (tomorrow night or Saturday), I'll sit down collect and go at it. Just suffice it to say: I am thrilled and proud of my country and hopeful for the man who will lead us for at least the next 4 years.

I emailed a bunch of friends and family yesterday expressing my joy and hope. Here are some (or portions thereof) of their responses - all misspellings, etc, theirs:

It is a great day! I also thought that I would be glad that anybody other than GW would be a breath of fresh air, but seeing Obama win gave me more confidence in our country and in our future than I ever could have imagined. It is a great thing that happened historically because of his race, but it is also a great thing that happened because he knows that people are going to help change this country and he can get us reved up to do so.
- from a cherished cousin in Texas

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My vote was based on Scarlett Johansen's endorsement of Obama. She is an avid Obama supporter and her shit don't stink. Serioulsy though, it was based on the belief that we needed a change. We needed someone (anyone) who could give us a different face to the world. As romantic as it seems to say "we don't care what the rest of the world thinks about us, we Americans!" As bold and patriotic as it sounds to say "stay the course". As proud as is sounds to say "we don't need their approval" it simply isn't the case. we live in this world, we use more of it's oil than anybody else, we owe trillions of dollars to other countries, we affect its finanical market as they affect ours. it is time for us to have a slice of humble pie and say "okay what can we do to be part of the solution?" There are some epiphanies you have that change the way you think for the rest of your life (I guess that's why it's called an epiphany). But I recall listening to NPR several years ago just after Arnold was elected as the Governor of California when I had an epiphany. I remember listening to a speech he made about "terminating high taxes" and getting the "girlymen out of the Senate". I laughed and thought very realistically that every citizen of California was an idiot for electing him. I had never been to California at the time, but all the stereotypes of how "hollywood" and "soft" they were came to fruition in my mind. Then a ton of bricks hit me and I realized "Holy Shit! that is what the rest of the world thinks of us when they hear Bush speak." Then it got even worse when I thought "Hoy Shit! that is what people think of Texans when they hear Bush speak." I went out and got a Natalie Maines tattoo that afternoon.

I will take a Jr. Senator from Illinois over the Governor of the greatest State in the Union who doesn't know his ass from a whole in the ground any day of the week.
- Bro

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Aside from the potty mouth, I am delighted that both my kids are thinkers with their heads on straight and their hearts in the right place. We do not really know what coming years hold or what President Obama can or will do to correct our course, but, like both of you, I am very hopeful - and very encouraged that this generation has made a powerful statement against apathy and cynicism.
- Dad

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I agree! I, too, cried tears of elation and felt a deep sense of empowerment both as a black woman and as an American. I am proud to be an American. ALL men are truly created equal. We have overcome. I'm glad my grandparents and parents were alive to bear witness. Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we're free at last!!!
- a friend

Lastly, PLEASE visit my friend's blog here. She's an African-American woman currently teaching English in Japan and that's interesting enough. However, her reaction to the Obama win is cathartic just to read! (And she's got an awesome graphic included.)

Happy new day, America!!

Good Election Morrow!

I'm in a line spiralling around the local school's blacktop right now, waiting to cast my ballot for president, senator and congressperson. Anticipating a multi hour wait, I downloaded this blog app to my iPhone, so I could stay productive. However, it looks like I may be in and out in an hour or less!

Got seriously little sleep last night. Maybe 2.5 hours tops. Schlepped down to Manassas, Va last night to see Obama. The return drive was just as hellish as the outgoing. The rally was very energizing. Tried to coordinate with VA Gal to meet up, but with tens of thousands of people, it was a futile effort. Fate being who she is though, we did run into eachother. The good folks of Manassas, Va provided the worst crowd control I'd ever seen in my life. Seriously worried we might have a Who concert crush on our way out; exits weren't marked and we parting attendants were like the Hebrew children without Moses trying to find their way out of the mess. The friends who joined me last night and I grumbled, but no one else was moaning. Then I heard a familiar raspy voice complaining a familiar, "aye chihuahua! You'd think ... Come ON, people!" And of course it was VirginiaGal. We got to chat briefly before scattering to the winds again, but I was so thrilled we got to meet up. Thanks Manassas fairgrounds for having so crappy a crowd control that 100,000 people had to bottleneck through a single ten foot space!

Well, I'm impressed. Been here about 20 minutes, and already about halfway closer than I was when I arrived. Not bad at all. Thanks early voters!

If you haven't already, to do your civic duty. Stand in the rain if you must. Your forebears didn't suffer for you to sit on your ass. Rock the vote! (or Barack it! ... but that's just my preference.)

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Update: I was in and out in less than an hour. When I got up to the check-in, I was given the option of a paper ballot or digital voting. While touchscreen might be easier, I'm still wary. There's no paper trail to verify how I voted, if there was ever any kind of repeat of Florida 2000. So, I opted for the optical scan paper ballot. Luckily, voting was so quick and easy this morning that I was able to get home in time to do other stuff before work. Think I might take a brief nap and try to catch up on a little of that sleep I lost last night.

Culture Wars

Nothing of import to write today. Just wanted to share this video from The Onion which cracked me up. Tomorrow's election day. GO VOTE! (Even if it means you vote for McCain.)


In The Know: Has Halloween Become Overcommercialized?

Fare thee well, flightless friend

Last Sunday morning, after a night of heavy drinking and little sleep - so worthless there was no veritas which I could type in vino-ed - I was hanging out with a friend of mine when my foggy brain realized that, in his aviator sunglasses, he looked like Steve ... Austin. No. Steve Tyler. Not it either. Steve ... city in Texas; he's a Bloom County character ... Steve Dallas! Compare, here. As he likes the work of Berkeley Breathed, I believe he took the comparison as a compliment. I meant it as a complimentary observation, at least. Then I remembered, "Holy shit. We only have one week until Opus leaves the pages of the comic section, forever." I need to take the little bird out. I need to show him some love. I need to get caught up!

That week has passed, and Opus departed today.



When Breathed announced he'd return to comics, he struck a deal that Opus would be a half-page, front page, one-week only strip. Honey and I were thrilled. Who else but Breathed deserved such an honor? Like Postsecret, it became a Sunday ritual for me. What did Opus have to offer this Sunday morning? This week, I read the preceding four strips only, but I don't feel caught up at all. I had fallen behind in the last year or so. During that time, our paper moved it from the front page of the funnies to the second, then later the third page. Bastards. Also somewhere during that time, my thesis and performing and my job became all-consuming and taking an hour on Sunday to read through the paper became a luxury I didn't afford myself as often as I should have. I needed sleep. Or a drink. Or a Tylenol PM with a benadryl chaser and post-it note reminder to spend 5 minutes with my dear, suffering husband and dog.

Bloom County is the first comic I remember following. (Not that I'm a big comic follower.) It was such a fun world for me. The first time I remember noticing it was when my dad received a copy of Loose Tails for his 40th birthday, from a friend. A wheelchair-bound man bedecked with nerdy kids and wierdo animals? Something about the wheelchair attracted me. Was this about a guy in a wheelchair? What a wonderful country we live in, where one who can't walk can be the hero! And all the little critters and kids riding on him: it's like when my brother and cousins and I used to take turns riding on the back of my cousin S's chair! Awesome!

As I dug into it, it seemed to be less about Cutter John alone, as it was all the awkward misfits who inhabited Bloom County. It was smart and dorky. Kinda like I was when I was 10. Some days I was Milo, principled and precocious, others I was Binkley, clueless and a vegetable resemblant. Incidentally, when I learned that New Orleans' newspaper was called the Times-Picayune, I had a hard time believing that they didn't swipe the name from Bloom County's rag. As a teenager, I decided I should grow up to be Lola Granola; I'm wearing overalls as I type this, ready to garden a bit this afternoon, so maybe that's the connection anymore. I learned what a vegan was from Bloom County. After the aliens swapped Steve Dallas' brain, he ditched Republicanism, got a perm, gave up smoking and eschewed ingesting any animal products. And yes, even though I've been a Democrat since I was a kiddo, I loved Steve, as well. How can you not love a character so sexistly clueless - or cluelessly sexist? He was kind of the antithesis of Cutter John: strapping and healthy, selfish and a defendant of the status quo.

I loved how Bloom County celebrated our hopes and fears, our flaws and fantasies, our accomplishments and mistakes. It's the fault of cockroaches that Bush the elder chose Dan Quayle - I laminated that one, as it was from the last strip received at the doorstep of my native home before our big move downstate; a souvenir. Don't we all need a field of dandelions to escape to to ponder the meaning of life? And of course, there was Opus to love the most. I think I like him - and identify with him - because he's always a little out of place, but wide-eyed, receptive and hopeful. He, like me, suffers from foot-in-mouth disease ("Hare Krishnas = Hairy Fishnuts"). He's both a progressive and a traditionalist. He's a romantic at heart, but also a thinker - for real, he is. And he's got a penchant for silly hats. I don't have that penchant, but I have a deep admiration for it. In recent years, I've assumed that if I ever got a tattoo, it would probably be of Opus; maybe of him looking chastened. Of course, I'm not so sure that pudgy, perplexed penguin anywhere on my body would entice my husband's amourous fingertips to continue their tradition of tracing my curves. (That's for you, VirginiaGal ... you can open your eyes, now, or clean up the puke on your chin, depending on your reaction.)

Now he's gone to live in his fantasy. Even with being so far behind in reading the latest strip as to feel estranged, I can't help but feel loss. My pudgy penguin friend won't be there anymore to greet me on Sundays. My Steve-Dallas-doppelganger pal doesn't think this is the last from Breathed. He's sure he'll pull a Michael Jordan in a couple of years and resurrect something from Bloom County to run for a few years again. I'm not as convinced. Though, I'd be thrilled if he did. Certainly, I'll have the books to keep me company (note to self: ask for entire collection for Christmas?), he'll no longer be part of my Sunday. Who'll fill that gap? Boondocks? Our paper hasn't run that strip in about 2 years. Bastards. Doonesbury? Too overtly political - excellent, but I prefer foibled accessibility. Foxtrot? Puh-leeze. Maybe Pearls Before Swine or Non Sequitir. Apparently, Berkeley Breathed is going to focus on writing childrens' books. I guess if/when Honey and I have kids, I can use those as a starter drug to lure the bairn into the church of Bloom County. Our favorite Homer Simpson quote is, "Raising kids is easy. You teach them to hate the things you hate, and what with the internet and all, they practically raise themselves." I don't hate much, but I do hope I can inculcate them to appreciate the pen of Berke Breathed.