Takin' the Fifteen

Today marks 15 years since fierce LA riots ensued after four LA police officers were acquitted of charges related to the Rodney King beating. Even today, the issue – along with more recent examples, such as inadequate response to Hurricane Katrina in very poor, non-white areas – highlights the presence of racism (among other things) in our country.

I grew up in a small, southern town and have certainly seen my share of racism. I recall annual threats of black vs white riots in high school, social cliques clearly delineated by color, derogatory language, and inexplicable fear of interracial dating. And I graduated in 1994, not 1964. More recently, I was shocked by comments from (very) extended family members on similar topics. Luckily, this mindset was never a part of my immediate family, but I must admit, foolishly, that I often forget racism still exists.

I could go on to produce serious commentary about racism and its implications in our society. But my point isn’t so much that racism is wrong and socially detrimental (which it is – is there any question to that?). Here is my theory about racism:

One has to try to be racist.

That’s what I don’t get. Who has the time and energy to devote to something so useless and unproductive? One has to make an effort, to routinely exercise muscles of ignorance, to put intense energy into hate. And for what? I don't know about you, but I'd rather make a smoothie or take a nap or something.

I can’t even be bothered to bring an umbrella when it’s raining. So how could I be bothered about race? I just don’t care enough. Sure, I am only one emotionally lazy, pleasantly apathetic person in our society (hey, I get tired!). And yes I’m basing this on my own mindset. But again I say, one has to TRY to be racist. I can't even TRY to clean out the trunk of my car!

So maybe the opposite of racism isn’t tolerance…or change…or love. Maybe it is simply apathy. That isn’t to say we shouldn’t be tolerant, shouldn’t seek change, and shouldn’t love. But it seems to me a little apathy would go a long way in the first place. Why do people care so much to be racist? Who cares about skin color, background, or ancestry?

Why bother? That’s what I don’t get. So to paraphrase Rodney King: Can we all…not care?

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12 Bottle Salute

The guy across the hall has a much nicer place than I do. From this statement one might ask: Lissermay, have you made a new friend in the building? or Were you invited to a party? or Did you lose something or need to borrow a cup of sugar? The answer to these questions is no.

So here is how I know my neighbor has a nicer place.

I stopped for a chicken shwarma and baba ganooj sandwich (not relevant but tasty) before picking up a twelve pack of bottled beer (relevant and tasty) on my drive home. I must have overestimated my ability to carry this up three flights of stairs. But I had it all worked out – bag over shoulder, keys in fist, sandwich in right hand, 12 pack of beer delicately balanced on left forearm. In hindsight this may not have been the best plan.

Clink clink clink. Clink clink clink. I went up the stairs. Clink clink clink. And just when I made it to the last step… I lost control of the beer.

It rolled off my arm and flipped mid-air. It clinked and clanked like the end of the world. Finally it crashed on the floor, rolled fiercely one last time and landed along the edge of my neighbor’s door.

Now you wouldn’t think a 12 pack of beer could have the power to blow a door wide open while an unsuspecting neighbor chats pleasantly on the phone, but I found this assumption to be untrue. The door blew wide open while I stood there in awe, holding a sandwich and fearing the worst – that Sam Adams was sure to be a casualty. My neighbor bolted to his feet. I scrambled to pick up the 12 bottle culprit, grabbed the doorknob, and wittily commented, “Oh, let me close the door for you” and left.

So this is how I realized just how nice his place is. (And in case you’re wondering, the beer was just fine - and tasty!)

Notes on the Vine

I'd hate to be the grape who discovers her destiny is raisinhood. Can you imagine all the cool kids taking limos to become fine wines while you’re standing around (ok, wobbling around) waiting for the SunMaid shuttle? Now that is embarrassing. (It’s probably not as embarrassing as riding in the grape jelly jalopy, but still.)

Raisins. I wonder how there is enough demand to sustain an entire industry. I contend that the raisin business is crumbling because, well, they're selling ... raisins. Does anyone eat raisins anymore? Do you have a box of raisins in your kitchen? Of course this is a half-baked theory (damnit! where is that research assistant when I need one?), but I think I’m onto something.

I never, ever hear a good thing about raisins from anybody. A few people despise them, but most seem impartial. They’re sort of a nuisance, something we tolerate between bites of the good stuff like oatmeal cookies and granola. But people are starting to wise up, and I fear that soon the raisin will be gone forever. Finito. Extincto.

Have you noticed a lot of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies these days? Ten years ago you might not have imagined cinnamon bagels without raisins, but they exist. And you might be thinking about rice pudding and how that always has raisins, but who the hell eats rice pudding? (I mean really. Who?) Celery with peanut butter and raisins, you ask? Nope, we’re down to just peanut butter, my friends. Raisins are being rubbed out of everything!

And it ain't right.

So I’ve started a Save the Raisins campaign. It is my mission to create a safe environment for the revival of the raisin, or ROR if you will. But first I need to start a little buzz by getting Alberto Gonzalez to fire them and Lindsay Lohan to crash into them. It’s about time somebody spoke up on behalf of raisins and got them the attention they deserve.

I hope you're all with me in this important cause.

For more information, click here: www.savetheraisins.org

Blah blah blah

So I think I’m going freestyle today. Who could be clever or funny on a day like this? I’ve decided I am bored. I need a change in my life and have narrowed it down to a few possibilities – I can shave my head, buy a new home, get a new job, or find the love of my life. I already made an unsuccessful attempt at learning a new instrument this year. So yep. Now where is the razor?

I got up early today – a shocker I know. I guess I’m old.

I have a toothbrush holder with a capacity of four. There are currently two toothbrushes in there. They are both mine. Why I have two I’m not sure, but I do. Maybe it’s to look cool.

I need to update my condo, but if I buy a new home why bother? Maybe I’ll move out into the sticks – I'll buy a drumset and a piano and start a one-woman Metrowest band. And I'll make a point to drive into “the city” every now and then in an effort to retain my youth and super dooper cool edginess. I'll definitely need a BJ's membership. Who names their company BJ's? Sorry but that still makes me chuckle.

It’s raining today. Yep. And I already had coffee. It wasn’t that good. I have a check from my mom for $25 for Thanksgiving on my desk. I suppose I should cash it. She also sent me $20 for Easter. I guess some things you never outgrow. Or maybe my mom thinks I am poor with a major eating disorder. Perhaps both are true. She also sent me Girl Scout cookies last week, 3 boxes. No Thin Mints, no coconutty ones, no chocolate/peanut butter ones. So you know what that leaves, but I’m not complaining. That was sure nice of her.

A repressed memory I recently unearthed: I was about 8 or 9, and it was Easter Sunday at the only Catholic church in a 30-mile radius. I decided to change out of my dress and into appropriate Easter egg hunt attire in the back of my parent’s van. It was the 80s, so it was a big boy with two tones – brown and tan. A real beauty she was. Well I was a little chubby then and got stuck in my Easter dress. It's true. I remember wriggling and crying, and I stayed there stuck for a long time. I missed the Easter egg hunt. But I’m ok with that now. I probably wouldn’t have found any anyway. I was quite the underachiever then. Still am.

In fact I never won anything really. I had very few Brownie or Girl Scout badges, tried to eke out of reading books for book reports, got “S” for satisfactory and was ok with that, hated science projects, spent an entire Sunday making a last-minute diorama for the book Strawberry Girl which I hated (but certainly didn’t read), still hate dioramas and have just learned how to spell that.

Maybe I should have invented spellcheck. But I’m a pretty good spellar, so I probably wouldn’t have scene the need.

Anyway, on to not winning important things. I did win ribbons for field day, but never first place. I did win a giant stocking once, a popcorn maker, and two cakes on a cake walk. I also won $7 on a lottery ticket last year. I just cashed it in a few weeks ago. They shouldn’t give such a long time to claim those. Underachievers will wait forever.

My sister and brother won things. Top of the class, top athlete. I made dumb jokes and had a messy room and a rabbit with an impressive pile of poop in her cage. I fumbled my lead in Social Studies Jeopardy in 6^th grade when I missed a dumb question. The pressure got to me. It was a short fall from grace.

I never sold many Girl Scout cookies, and I am pretty sure I had to buy the chocolate almond bars I was supposed to sell for school one year because I ate them all. So there went my allowance money.

I really need to cash these checks from my mom. There, I just brought this full circle. Well, sort of. (Remember I am an underachiever.) If you managed to make it through this stream of consciousness I truly envy your tenacity.

Maybe one of you can help me make a diorama...

Self Destruction

I think candidate bumper stickers should self-destruct after a certain period of time. Regardless of how the election turns out you end up looking like an idiot. If your candidate won, you appear to be gloating. Ooh, look at me. I am so cool. I picked a winner. But if your candidate LOST, that’s even worse! Wouldn’t you have the decency to give it up and move on? Sometimes I see stickers for candidates who lost years ago. Have these people no shame?!?

There should also be a system to measure just how long that sticker was on the bumper prior to self destruction - like some carbon-14 method to indicate who was basking in reflected glory. It would be pretty easy to pick the winning candidates and throw out support for them post-election. I suspect there are quite a few “I told you so” stickers out there that carried no actual risk prior to the election. But with carbon-14 bumper sticker dating I'm on to you people!

And sometimes you see stickers for the most insignificant post, like “Elaine Higgins, Library Clerk.” Does anybody care? Does anybody care about councilor, school board, city commissioner, etc? These stickers should self-destruct immediately. Sorry Elaine.

A good bumper sticker would be “Halley 2062.” Just think – it would take years to be out of date, and you’d always be right! That Halley's Comet is pretty reliable. And none of this “I rode Hale Bopp to my next life” crap – this is the real deal. That isn’t to say Hale Bopp didn’t come (because it did), but I’m pretty sure anyone who would have had a Hale Bopp bumper sticker has since passed on in their Nike sneakers and bunk beds. Hale Bopp…wait, am I off track here?

Oh yes, candidate bumper stickers. I think that’s all I have to say about that.

That Girl

Marlo Thomas was the original That Girl. Her character was cute and independent, so being That Girl was a good thing. But there are other times being That Girl isn’t so good. Last weekend there was a new That Girl in town, and this time it wasn’t so pretty. It was That Girl.

And That Girl, my friends…was me.

Last Friday I had the pleasure of being a red-dressed bridesmaid in my friend Sandy’s wedding in California (thanks Downs!). The next day her husband summed things up quite accurately by saying, “Every wedding has a That Girl, and this time it was you.” He was right. I guess any event that begins with champagne at noon is bound to end on a rough note, especially with That Girl lurking around. (and of course she never brings a date)

Here is evidence that I was, in fact, That Girl for an evening:

The Cake I don’t recall actually seeing the cake cutting. I am pretty sure I heard it announced, but unless it was conducted surreptitiously, there’s a chance That Girl either missed it entirely or has since erased all visual images from her memory.

The Glass Normal people dance with both hands freely swinging from their bodies. That Girl dances with only one free hand. The other holds a glass of red wine spilling everywhere. Yet That Girl can’t conclude that putting the glass down might be a reasonable solution.

The Dance The electric slide proved to be quite a challenge. But That Girl says it's a stupid dance anyway, and quite frankly, I agree. (I'll teach you the electric slide? Apparently not.)

The Wedding Coordinator Ok, so I hit on the wedding coordinator. Hard. Blatantly. In my defense, I must say if you know my type she was ex-ACT-ly my type. She was gorgeous in a very unique, intense way. So That Girl took a shot, but, alas, no luck with the wedding coordinator. That Girl was totally taken by Straight Girl. Or maybe That Girl was totally taken by Prefers People Who Can Make Complete Sentences Girl.

The Shoes My feet were killing me, so I took off my shoes as soon as possible. That’s not unheard of at a wedding. But That Girl left her shoes under the table and went home barefoot!

The Toasts Weren’t people supposed to give toasts?

So it seems That Girl made quite an appearance and had a very good time! The wedding was beautiful, I didn’t trip in the aisle, nobody has stopped speaking to me, and the happy couple is now on their honeymoon in Europe.

As for the wedding coordinator, well, I like to think it’s her loss…

In review:

That Girl

That Girl