Why I'm Not Going to the mNSC Meeting Tonight

For weeks I've asked myself at every meeting of the mNSC, in an accusatory voice, Why are you doing this? Some part of me felt persecuted - no: under scrutiny. As if somehow I was not a legitimate member. I didn't care in the right way, I wasn't dedicated to the right degree. My body may have been there, it may have been useful for lifting and lugging, but I wasn't quite right in the social scheme.

I always have to acknowledge that in deploring someone elses' sense of superiority over others that the heart of the issue may be my own sense of inferiority.

However, how I'd really come to view the mNSC meetings were as social gatherings. A slim few, a small core, were pumped, were dedicated to setting goals and achieving them, but somehow the remainder was there only to meet with like-minded people and had no real goals to accomplish. Which is alright, but there seemed to be a denial of this designation.

What I'd like to see is this group of kids acknowledging within themselves why they are members, what they personally wish to achieve. But who am I to question the motives of others? Can I answer my own questions?

I joined mNSC out of hope. Hope to meet new people, hope to physically bash down some racial walls, hope to woo the heart of someone unexpected. Why did I remain? I clung to the former and latter while becoming disillusioned with the remainder.

I guess that this post really is about is this:

Why is social/racial reform important to me? Growing up biracial in one of the most stringently segregated American cities, I became self-obsessed. Race became my banner, my ten under which all other issues gathered in my mind. Even when I harbor a secret doubt that racism can ever be eliminated - or perhaps because of this reason - I fight. A losing battle? Against myself, indoctrinated by and beneficiary of of the racist institution. Against my peers, post-modern, post-civil rights ironical defeatists. Against society, self-perpetuating and self-congratulatory.

What am I fighting for if I don't think there's an end? I'm fighting for the fight. In all other subjects, I am unwilling to face the possibility of confrontation; on the subject of race, I'll battle, tooth and nail.

My dad said last night that Sarah Palin is so unimpressive because she has no philosophy behind her words. Without a philosophy, he said, a person cannot answer questions on the fly. Do I have a philosophy? I do see racism as an institution; on which is structured to underprivilege the brown and boost the pale. Economically, biologically, academically, psychologically. There is so much history I do not know, but I have a voracious appetite to learn. My solution has long been to foster discussion; and it still is. Until discussion becomes repetitive, and I am easily bored. After discussion comes direct action; constantly innovative direct action. There must be philosophers, planners, and actors, right?

I was going to write a two paragraph explanation for why I'm not going to tonight's mNSC meeting, but now this.

What is my philosophy? We're all dirtied by the institution. We all have chosen our own fight, I have chosen race. Maybe I fight out of guilt. The tragic mulatto, that's me. But I can only hope that as long as I recognize my biases, and avoid harming anyone because of them, then I've fought the good fight.

Whatever that is.

What do I personally wish to achieve? A Milwaukee that provides children with the opportunities I had and didn't have. A Milwaukee known less for its beer and cheese and racial segregation, and known rather for its successful artistic initiatives, its progressive educational policies, its encouraging economic climate.

The words in the mission statement of the mNSC are beautiful. This gathering of young, white middle class hopefuls so promising. But historically, I would be wary of that very group, myself (half-white that I am) included. We may wreak more havoc than foster positive social relationships if we aren't careful.

I can only hope. And keep fighting.

Questions of legitimacy aside, I would like the kids in mNSC to become more accountable, more self-aware, more organized, less defensive. For instance, a group cannot become a sustainable, reliable non-profit if the members are unwilling to designate some small structure. For instance, a group of white, middle class kids cannot successfully fight racial and economic injustice by providing free culture for kids just like themselves. For instance, progress cannot be made if different ideas will not be entertained.
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A Riddle: Or, Sara Stagg Looks Like a Toucan

Two items from the weekend.

First, the riddle.

If you have one person on one side of the river with a bike
Two people in the middle with a bike in a car
And another person the other side of the river on foot
How do they all get together?

Second, the quiz we found online, featuring: ME.

10) Joe is at a party where a lot of alcohol is being consumed. He
notices this very attractive girl sitting alone on a sofa. Gathering his
courage, he walks over and introduces himself. The girl smiles and invites
him to sit down next to her. She introduces herself as Sara. Joe
notices that Sara is drunk. Her eyes are glazed over, she smells like
beer, and her speech is slurred as she talks to him. Sara starts giving
Joe signals that she may be interested in him sexually. She rubs his knee
and his shoulder at times, and even sits on his lap at one point so that another
person can sit on the sofa. By the end of the party, Sara seems so drunk
that she can hardly stand on her own. Joe, who hasn’t had anything to
drink, thinks that he and Sara could easily wind up having sex tonight.
What should Joe do?

A) Lead Sara to an empty bedroom and have sex with her.
B) Bail out. Sara looks like trouble just waiting to happen.
C) Don't have sex with Sara. Drive her home, since she seems to have
come to the party alone.
D) Try to get as drunk as Sara and see what happens.

For the full quiz, go here.

Who knew I was such a ho-bag.

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Business and Whimsy

I discovered the most delightful thing last night. I was in the bathroom at the UWM library, and the lock on the stall had a stylized engraving of a bathroom stall door, and the words, in whimsical lettering, Hiny Hiders. See the picture below. (Not mine, actually; found here. I really do need to invest in a digital camera.)
When I got to work this morning, I decided to do a little research on the product because, well, why wouldn't you want to find out more on a company that stamps their product with a euphamistic yet blunt acknowledgment of their purpose?

On Google, there are over 100 hits dedicated to Hiny Hiders, but I'd say maybe half of the links take you to cloth diaper websites. What'd be funny is if there was a company that made panties, for instance, and called themselves Hiny Hiders. I suppose only Grannys would buy them though, right? Well, I'm part granny, so I might.

I digress.

The product was originally marketed by a Scranton-based family-owned business called Santana Products, Inc. but was bought out by Winston Partners/Scranton Products in 2005, I think.

What I find interesting is that this company, started in the 70s, is so widespread. Some of the hits on Google mention San Francisco, Philedelphia, Chicago; now Milwaukee. I guess there is room in the business world for whimsy in the otherwise dull world of bathroom fixtures.

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Some thoughts on reading "Food and Wine"

I was terribly giddy when I stole the magazine from the downtown YMCA. I was thrilled to thumb through the pages of elegant culinary photography and metropolitan wine recommendations. The chance to gaze upon a lifestyle that I thought I no longer longed for. (Remember the return from New York City? When I "decided" I was more than what I would up as in the city? I guess I never quite gave up that hidden wish for a glamorous uptown life.)

But after I read a few articles, I found myself bored and resentful. Sure, you recommend affordable bottles of reputable wines; sure, you try to democratize wine knowledge. But you still present and laud a lifestyle reserved for the moneyed sophisticates. Here's a cheap (excuse me, inexpensive) bottle of wine, but if you're a true connoisseur, you ought to visit Turin, Italy or Mendoza, Argentina.

I don't know what I expected. This isn't Food and Wine for the Politically Conscious and Slightly Broke.

What I really wanted to say was that it brought up some questions of class, and in talking about it with Jordan, he brought to my attention that, having known these kinds of people, he never aspired to be like them. And I countered with, but I'd want that lifestyle under the condition that I could redefine what it means to be wealthy; politically conscious, fiscally generous, socially cool. But he countered with that's what they want as well, but they still come off as, well, rich and snobbish. They want to not be defined by the sum of the parts, but by the parts themselves. And we agreed that, indeed, a person is rarely viewed as anything other than their wealthy class, and negatively so, and that, well, maybe the wealthy shouldn't expect anything else. Almost as if they'd chosen the label and accompanying stereotypes.

But last night, sitting on the toilet, thinking this through, I realized this can't be a just way to view things. Because if I expand the reasoning to, say, the opposite perspective, I would hate to be viewed only as a poor Riverwest kid, or a middle class Midwesterner, scorned because although I didn't choose these things, I could certainly change them, right?

Because once I expand beyond class, which Americans are so fond of imagining is fluid, I land in trickier, and often less changeable, and more historically persecuted territory. Race. Religions. Could I quietly accept being essentially blamed, hated even, for being a halfie? (Didn't I abandon a burgeoning interest in Jill Scott for that very reason?) Choosing to conform to a group and not define myself as an individual, transcendent of my label?

It's hard to say I despise the wealthy yet conscious people presented in Food and Wine, especially because I still secretly yearn for that very lifestyle. Jetsetting to Italy for a great Barbaresco wine with rooster agnolotti? Sure!

Is it enough to say I'd love to try the life, critique it, then build a knowledgeable, cynical, warm amalgam life in opposition to that which I tried and rejected?

Ronal Craig 1932-2008

My grandfather died yesterday.

I intend to write about it shortly. After my staff meeting.

Le sigh.

As Brown as I Wanna Be

This is hard for me to write about, because I was never really given a dialogue on race with my mother. My mom was in town this weekend, and it's so strange that this woman can have such a long history in interracial relationships and never have a conversation with her biracial daughters about race.

I'm a little bit tired of the confess-all, anguished mixed-kid autobiographies, but I'm about to plumb the resources for some ideas for launching conversations about race with my white mama, or at least for some guidance on how to even understand race in relation to her.

I love her. But I wonder, does she recognize her role as Midwestern, Middle Class White Babyboomer? Does she understand who my sister and I are and how we are inherently different from her because of who our father is? Does it matter that we understand race differently if indeed we are both "on the same side"?

Gracious.

Cities of Hope; or Utopian Urbanism

I just finished reading an article which really piqued my interest. A few days ago, I stumbled across a website called Bad Subjects. "Bad Subjects is a collective that publishes a magazine (Bad Subjects: Political Education for Everyday Life) and provides access to it via a public access website." In issue 78, published in November 2007, Zack Furness of Chicago interviews David Pinder, a Geographer from London.

What grabbed my eye immediately was the subtitle: "Geographer David Pinder talks about radical geography, cities and the politics of utopia." I've always been skeptical of the idea of utopia; this was made especially clear while attending Hampshire College. Hampshire is a cozy little school nestled in the Pioneer Valley of Western Massachusetts. New England has always been a little baffling to me; this tiny, dense area of the country, rich in history and rich in contrast; home of the poorest and wealthiest people in America. These contrasts gave rise to a strange breed of folks, whom I was made aware of through my fellow Hampsters: liberal, hopefully, radical, and yet dogmatic, elitist, ignorant. (This could be said of any group of people, especially college kids, but there's something about New England elitism that stuns me.)

Anyway, what was I getting at? While living in New England, amidst the apples and the Academics, I was prone to stumbling upon these Utopian experiments. College kids and grandparents alike would find some perfect place and set up a society that ran on rules (or a lack thereof) that suited their opinions of regular society's ills. Admirably to redefine or demand something more from society, but not in a way that pre-supposes isolation. Isolation begets ignorance.

So, the article. After a bit of introduction, Pinder explains how he came to geography through an interest in different places and people, and geography's interdisciplinary approaches to addressing social problems, he mentions radical, even anarchist geography, which - ping! - grabbed me.

He goes on to describe the negative emotions surrounding the physical and cultural make-up of cities; viewing cities as intense concentrations of people and things which lead to "poverty, environmental degradation, [and] lack of sanitation."

Pinder explains that he is, like I am, critical of concepts and manifestations of utopia:

"there have, of course, been many murderous regimes that have justified their
actions in the name of a utopia to come, not to mention a long history of failed
urban utopias that have frequently been repressive and authoritarian in their
actually existing forms."

I had never experienced repressive Utopian societies on so grand a scale as to which he refers, but I could always picture this outcome while in the utopias I knew. Did you ever read The Giver or A Wrinkle in Time? Both books I read in 5th grade, both books featuring repressive utopias; my introduction to a subject at 11 which I still struggle to understand 13 years later. I still remember the conversation I had with my father about the ideals and practices of Utopian politics, specifically Communism, at that age.

So why was I so interested in Pinder's interview? Because of his reference to cities of hope, utopian urbanism, and the right to the city. He distills the points of view of influential thinkers to explain what utopian urbanism can be. A rallying cry, he calls it, in struggles for urban social justice. The city as a work of art and revolution; all citizens can and should be given the opportunity to reconsider, reclaim and restructure city space. In the face of corruption and apathy, when those in power belittle the efforts of community organizing, perhaps we - or more specifically I - should reconsider utopia. To make my own city of hope that is inclusive, not retreative.

And while I still - STILL - want to leave this silly Milwaukee town, there's no saying I can't build a little bit of wonderful before I go, right?

The problem then is going from theory to practice. What is a City of Hope? What would my ideal city look like? And how can I ensure that I always try to look at these questions from varying and even opposing perspectives? For, as interesting as Pinder was (and I recognize that only so much can be articulated in the space of magazine article), he merely bypasses his Western perspective; I would like to explore how non-Western scholars have theorized "the city" and the citizen's role in its make-up.

Anyway, things to look up:

• radical geography
• David Harvey
• anarchist geography
• Peter Kropotkin
• Henri Lefebvre
• "the right to the city"
• Situationists
• "under the pavement, a beach!"

My Heart in the Oven

I find such delight in dinner parties and meals with unexpected people. Cooking with or for other people fills me up, even if I do have a million dishes to wash and never have enough seating. One day I'll fill my house with people; a simple, elegant dining room, a stunning, utilitarian (sexy) kitchen, full pantry, curious wine cellar, and lots of laughter and munching and crumbs.

Until then, I make do in any way I can. Dinner parties, quick meals together, grocery and farmers' market excursions; what and how a person eats is an important way for me to get to know someone. If we're compatible in the kitchen, chances are I love you. Do you ever catch yourself peeking into other peoples' grocery carts in the check-out aisle? I love making up tales about who someone is based on what they put in their cart. Yesterday, I saw this tall fellow with big feet and basketball shorts buying pizza, chips, children's cereal, and Gatorade. Fascinating that an athlete can survive on that; all I could think was as soon as you stop playing basketball, you're going to get real fat.

Or the firemen who wander the aisles in twos and threes, checking grocery lists, discussing meals and warming my heart. Bonding over food.

I got the idea for a series of dinner parties a few weeks ago; I wanted that joy and that creative control over my diet.

My first idea was for a kind of Stone Soup party. I wanted everyone to bring an ingredient: any one item that they may need to get rid of, or haven't ever used before, or are just curious to see how it would fit with other things. I didn't want to know or to plan; I wanted to see what a dynamic group could come up with.

Kate arrived with wild rice, chick peas, and salsa. Jen brought potatoes. Sarandi brought coconut milk and rice noodles (and something else?) Jordan brought fresh corn and yellow squash. Rosy brought green tomatoes, and basil and chives. From my kitchen, I provided curry powder, jalapeno, roasted red pepper and some staples, like salt and pepper and olive oil.

The meal was:
Potato and Yellow Squash Curry
Fried Green Tomatoes
Blackened Corn Salad with Roasted Red Pepper and Basil

I was given the suggestion to document the event, but was unable to gather camera materials in time. I'll have to take this suggestion next time. I have some footage from a visit to Michigan a few years ago; Jen, Gareth, Laura, Jordan, Jesse and I were making burgers and other things, and I was obsessively videotaping everyone's hands as they chopped onions, formed patties, stirred juice. I wonder what I did with that footage.

(I've been steering myself away from my media production interests, but have all these ideas I'd love to try out. Like the Swing Set Symphony. But that's another issue, for later exploration.)

It was fun to see Jordan and Sarandi, Rosy and Kate and Jen interact. I like throwing people together and watching them connect over something like food or music or racial justice or peace action. Warms my little heart.

I have some other ideas already brewing, and I'm eager to see who I can get to come back, who I can persuade to come to a cooking event for the first time, who will surprise me.

One idea is to focus on home cooking. Have everyone make one dish that they grew up eating which defines their idea of home and family. That would make for some wicked story-time.

Another idea is to have a potluck of only dessert. I've thought, too, about basing a potluck on a single ingredient or set of ingredients, a la Iron Chef, and I'd like to have more Stone Soup parties, of course.

I wonder how many dinner parties I could get away with having? One a month?

I'm running away with this idea; it's a bright light in the face of an otherwise puzzling evening. It hurts to talk and not understand. But that's another post.

Have you, oh five readers, had any awesome potluck experiences? Do you have any amazing potluck ideas?

Hell, what's your Favorite Food?

Crickets

Last night, having written a lot of shitty prose in my blank new journal, I gave up and daydreamed myself to sleep. You know how sometimes a piece of music or a great movie gives you that happily sensual feeling? Last night it was the crickets. I turned off the TV, turned off the radio, and threw my book across the vast expanse of my bed. The chilly wind came in through my window, carrying the harmonies of crickets. I'm beginning to think I've come to like this silly Riverwest neighborhood. If I could, I'd sit and watch it go by. Better yet; I'd devote time to writing about it.

Last night I made this great new salad. Part recipe, part experiment. Potato, roasted red pepper and mustard greens. I boiled two potatoes, roasted a red pepper and wilted a bunch of mustard greens with onion and garlic. Chopped it all up, added a sherry-dijon vinaigrette and a handful of chopped fresh chives and dill, and it turned out quite well. I may play around with it a little; the vinaigrette didn't inspire me much, but otherwise, it was a success. Even my pizza/macaroni/tuna salad eating sister enjoyed it.

Seeking the Dazzling Life

Ach. Tuesday morning, September 2nd, 2008. Yesterday I was sitting in the park, under a tree, eating a sandwich, watching people go by, and I realized that I no longer see much sparkle in the world. I'm not charmed by much anymore; no more of those gasping "wow, life is great" feelings. And I hesitate to claim that it's because I haven't been drinking or taking drugs as much as I once did, but it's the easy thing to blame. What's more likely is that it's really my self-control. I haven't allowed myself to let go; to get stupid, to make mistakes, to feel and be utterly sloppy about it.

I was talking to Alley several weeks ago, trying to define how I've been doing lately, and I finished my description with "I guess I've just been feeling lonely lately," and she agreed, adding that maybe that's just a part of growing up. Is that true? Is part of being an adult really exemplified by a pervasive loneliness and a loss of enchantment?

I want that sparkle back. Daydreams and wishes and magic and myths. I've tried to get it back by reading graphic novels, but it's like heroin (like I'd know): after one hit, you're forced to keep seeking desperately to tap into that transporting feeling. Am I actually saying that graphic novels are transporting? Well, any well-written piece of literature is, any well-made film.

Veronica Chambers from The Root called it the Grand Life, I think. That joy and humor and grace.

I started writing about this, but didn't post it here; about heroes, people who keep that dazzle and delight. Like Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, Bobby McFerrin, Shel Silverstein, Billie Holiday, and Stephen Hawking. All these people make me want to enjoy life. Maybe I should spend time seeking out ways to live up to that.

If you're reading this, how do you find that dazzle in your world?