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A Mostly Center-Right Place For Those With Irritable Obama Syndrome and Diversity Fatigue

When Harry Met Salad: Afrocity Encounters The Organic Police April 27, 2010

The flowering of the organic produce culture during the 1990’s never quite spread to my stomach or the dwindling funds available in my pocket book.  I have nothing against organic produce.  I just do not buy it on the regular basis.

I have great respect for our society’s heightened awareness concerning the dangers of pesticides and other toxins used in the farming industry. However, I don’t lose any sleep over eating a “conventional” non-organic anjou pear.

Do I care about my diet?

Am I concerned with what goes into my body?  Yes, of course I am. Truthfully,  I am more worried about my salt intake and sugary food consumption than I am about the pesticide levels in my ginger beer.

For the purposes of full disclosure, recently I have not been happy with my choice of diet.  I eat a lot of Kettle Brand Sea Salt and Vinegar potato chips.  Burgers and fries make my menu when I can’t afford the time to make a real meal. Pizza on Friday nights. Ice cream, cake, lots of carbs. I work and I get too lazy to cook. The microwave is my saving grace when I pop in a Stoufer’s Swedish Meatball frozen meal.

I should eat healthier meals, get more grains and fiber in my diet -drink more water.  There are times when I actually do decide to work on my eating habits.   This past Sunday was one of those times.

I had just made a stop to my local Blockbuster Video and rented Crazy Heart and The Lovely Bones.   The Whole Foods store was a hop skip and a jump around the corner from Blockbusters. I thought I would pick up something good for my body.  Yesm the Kettle chips were there but I would also get salad fixings, some fiber filled smoothie juices, maybe some smoked salmon.

Brevity marks my strategy to sane, calm, uneventful visits to Whole Foods Market.  Let’s face it.  Whole Foods is a liberal’s haven. Hemp muffins, organic cat food, Obama sweat pants, white guys with dreds…Peace, love and liberalism. Afrocity gets a rash when she is in the place for too long.  I hit the automatic door, breeze past the floral section, make a bee line for the Naked juice section.

Round the corner past the seafood counter and stock boy who smells like cumin and gluten free cookies, pick up a can of Wellness cat food just in case I am too busy to make it to my regular pet store.

As I near the counter, I grab an evil salt and grease bag of Kettle sea salt chips.  Then presto, I am out of there like a happy tea partier.

That is usually how it works. ..How it was supposed to work until Sunday April 25th. This one particular cold rainy Chicago day was full of monkey wrenches. My visit to Whole Foods was one of them.

Everything was proceeding as planned.  I got my Naked Juice it was on sale for $4.99.   I decided that I needed more fiber. Salads are fun and I could throw in some avocados. Hmmm think I will get some pre-packaged salad and this is where things went terribly wrong for me.

AFROCITY: [Stands looking at refrigerated salad selections.  Organic choices, arugula (ugh), Boston Lettuce. Notes that the same bag of Fresh Express pre-cut salad is a whole dollar cheaper at other Chicago markets.  Does not really want to pay $3.99 for a bag of salad...Maybe wants spinach but would like something with crunch like iceberg.  Sees a bag that costs $2.49 on high shelf .  Notices a Whole Foods employee with long dreds wearing a do-rag,  stocking bags of salad. Decides to ask him help her get bag of iceberg lettuce  salad because she is too short and his cart of boxes is in her way]  Excuse, me could you reach that for me? [Points to bag of salad]

PRODUCE GUY:   Sure. [He reaches for bag of salad, hands to Afrocity]

AFROCITY:   Thank you. [Takes bag of salad.  Notices that it is smaller than it appeared on the shelf.  Sees that it is organic and realizes why it was $2.49 for a smaller portion.   Stands there holding bag of organic salad. Feels like it is not a good bargain.  Could use some spinach anyway.  Hmmmmm...Sigh...Well Fresh Express is $3.99 but it is a bigger bag and has more varieties like 50/50 (half iceberg/half spinach)...Okay will go with the Fresh Express...Now what to do with this bag of salad that I won't buy.  Leave it here on top of the bananas?  Will just ask nice produce guy to put salad back]

Can you put this back for me? I have decided that I do not want it. [hands bag of salad back to produce man]

PRODUCE GUY: [looking puzzled takes bag of salad and places it back on shelf]

AFROCITY: [Turns and grabs bag of Fresh Express 50/50 drops in basket turns to leave]

PRODUCE GUY: Oh, no. Wrong move. You put back the organic.

AFROCITY: [startled] Excuse me?

PRODUCE GUY:   You just traded that bag of organic salad for a bag that is filled with toxins

AFROCITY:   …um…yes I know [and don't care] I know.

PRODUCE GUY: Organic is better for your body that was a wrong move.

AFROCITY: [shugs shoulders]

Yeah, yeah [tries to walk away, realizes that produce guy has come to stand in front of her]

PRODUCE GUY:  [looking manic while pointing to bag of salad in Afrocity's basket]  Do you know what they do to that salad…They wash it with chemicals-

AFROCITY [irritated] I KNOW okay. [brushes by produce guy]

PRODUCE GUY: That goes into your body and builds up over time-

AFROCITY:   [pissed off and feeling judged] Look, I am an adult. I do not drink or smoke. I have never taken drugs in my entire life if I want to eat-

PRODUCE GUY:   No! That does not matter. It is not about not smoking or drinking. The toxins build up in your body from eating inorganic and your not smoking is not doing you any good if you continue to poison your system with non-organic products-

AFROCITY:   [abruptly walks away knowing this guy obviously has control issues and is some sort of organic junkie freak-a-zoid. rolls eyes. Disperse immediately. Moonbat alert ]

Immediately after this rude encounter, there was little I could do to contain my disgust.   I stomped to the snack aisle and grabbed my Kettle chips, slammed them into my basket. Checked out in a huff.  How dare he lecture me? It is really not any of his business what I put into my body.  I bet he is a liberal and I bet he is pro-choice. How would he feel if a pro-lifer was outside of Planned Parenthood telling women “Don’t go in there. Do you know what that will do to your body?”

If I want to eat conventional, non-organic ginger root that is my damn business and I do not need employees of grocery stores looking down their noses at me. I mean WTF is happening to this country?   The entire exchange reminded me of the Sylvester Stalone movie Demolition Man (1993).  Stalone  plays a policeman that is cryogenically frozen in the year 1996 and reawakens to face crime and a new world in the year 2032.   One of my favorite scenes in the movie involves Stalone and Sandra Bullock who is his partner.   In this YouTube clip at about 4:46, Stalone is at a dinner and wants salt on his meal. Bullock explains to him that salt is not illegal.

In 1993 when I first saw this movie, I really did not believe that our society would ever come to this.  Now I am no longer so certain.  We have sin tax on everything from bottled water to candy bars. You get taxed for tanning.  New York wants to ban salt.  Whole Foods baggers look at you like you are Hitler’s hairstylist if you request a paper bag. Of course you are a total ugly wasteful American if you do not bring your own bags to the grocery store.  So what now?  You can’t pick up a harmless bag of conventional salad without a pap smear invasive lecture from some produce guy?

Liberals are all about choice when it comes to abortion but what about everything else? They tell us that we should not have guns.  We should not be allowed to pray in school, unless you are of course Middle Eastern or some other non-American then it is kewl to let you openly observe your religion.  You can’t be a Tea Partier without being a racist.  You must get government health care. You must pay taxes.

Where has the choice gone? To the dogs? Or should I say jackasses?

Compromised organic lifehood was my judgment.  Guilty as charged. Velcro some scarlet letter on my chest.  But I am Afrocity and Afrocity does not go down without a fight.  This morning I called Whole Foods and asked to speak with a manager. I explained the incident to her and she was quite thoughtful. She agreed that the produce man’s behavior was inappropriate.  I further pressed the issue by saying if Whole Foods feels that conventional produce is bad for its customers then they should not be selling it. The manager agreed and felt it was wrong for the employee to “bad mouth” a product that was sold in its store. She fully understood my humiliation and apologized.

I appreciated her response and felt satisfied with the outcome of my complaint.

The moral of this true incident is simple.  It is not the place of anyone to decide what we should and should not consume, especially the Federal Government.  Regulation of drugs, tobacco, and pesticides is one thing but when the government begins to micromanage our food choices, America loses that freedom and liberty luster that makes it shine. If I want salt on my chocolate cake and my blood pressure is as high as a kite that is my business.  Food, like sexual partners, is a lifestyle choice. Some eat healthier than others.  Some women like other women. It is your business what you do with your life as long as you are not hurting other people.  We do not need whistler blowers coming up with a blacklist of people who eat non-organic produce anymore than we need a list of women considering abortions.

Now let There Be Peas and Choice on Earth!!!

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY

 

Sunday Soliloquy: Blackwashing An American Classic April 25, 2010

From Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, illustrations by Edward W. Kemble

The library books I wanted to check out were heavy in my arms.  Stacked up so high that I could hardly see over the top of them.  Thankfully, I had the smarts to tuck my library card in my mouth before I picked up the books.  This would allow the librarian easy access without my having to dig through the pockets of my Toughskins jeans.  I was a young girl of nine and at the time books were my only source of adventure.  When school let out for the summer all I had was that library. But this summer would be different.  In a month, I would be going to visit my big military careered brother who was stationed in Germany. As the librarian counted my books, I smiled at the Berlitz book on Germany.

Everything was going fine until my mother who emerged from the ladies room, decided to come over to the checkout desk and act parental.  Normally she never cared about what I read.   I would bounce from Henry Higgins to Harold Robbins and she never cared much.  Really, if I could count how many times a librarian raised an eyebrow at young Afrocity’s choice of reading material it would be more than my ten fingers and toes.   I had free run of the publishing world until this summer day…. As I said, everything was proceeding to plan until my mother began inspecting the spine titles of the stack of books that the librarian had already due date stamped.  Towards the middle of the stack, she winced and pulled a green cloth bound book out so fast that it did not disturb the stacks neat straight lines.

“She won’t be taking this…discharge it.”

Oddly, the librarian looked at me for approval.

I shook my head thinking mother must have believed I would not be able to read the book in time before my trip to Germany, then the book would sit in my bedroom overdue. She would have to tote the book back for me… “I promise I will read it before I go,”  I protested. ” The movie is coming on Family Classics on Sunday. I want to read the book first-“

Mother pursed her lips and glanced at me crossly “You will never read this book,” she ordered. ” This book makes fun of black people. It has a slave in it who is an Uncle Tom. He follows a piece of white trash name Huckleberry Finn.  Huck treats him like an animal.”

Mother’s voice was not loud but audible to the librarian who had stopped mid air with the date due stamp in her hand.

“You will never read anything by Mark Twain,” she continued. “Not in school. Not from the library. You will never see movies about Huck Finn or Tom Sawyer.”

A big gulp was in my throat, so I said something manipulative to placate her.  Even then I always felt I was smarter than she.  I read a lot more than she did.  She let me see Roots and it had slaves in it too.  She let me watch Bing Crosby movies and she said he was a racist…And what about Rochester on the Jack Benny Show…Mother always laughed at him and to me he looked like a slave… Besides we trusted  Frazier Thomas.

But it is on Family Classics Frazier Thomas said it is a classic that all kids should read-”  Yep that was my line of defense and all mom’s trusted Fraizer Thomas .

Frazier Thomas  is the local WGN Chicago guy with the mellow voice and pretty books in his library. He taught me about Swiss Family Robinson, Black Beauty and Pippa Longstocking.  Now he wants to teach me about Huckleberry Finn and mother is saying I cannot check out the book or see the movie on Sunday and I never miss an episode of Family Classics.

“Frazier Thomas is a white man who reads to white kids.”  Mother fired back. “You think he would have you at his house. Do you think he is reading to you?  Has he ever read a book about a black family? “

I shrugged my shoulders. The honest answer would have been no but I did not want her to be right.

“…and what about that movie we saw at the theater that you hated?” she asked.  “the one with the black man that was on that island with the prejudiced old white man?”

Mother was referring to a Disney movie that we saw the week previous to my summer recess.  It was about Robinson Crusoe and a black guy named Friday.  To my nine year old eyes, the movie was boring and the white man appeared to be very mean to the black man.  I did not like the movie and was really there for second offering of the double feature-  The Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again.

“So the book is boring?” I asked.

Mother knowing that I hated with a passion anything that is boring, especially books and movies answered, “Yes it is a very boring book by someone who wants you to feel inferior to white people. It is about white southern trash like the people in Roots. What did I tell you about people in the South?”

I twisted my lip and looked down at the floor.  One of my friends in school was from Mississippi and I liked her.

“What did we say about southerners Afrocity?”

“That they are ignorant and have the worst white people. John F. Kennedy is dead because of them. They shot Martin Luther King. “

I nodded and answered in a defeated tone “I know.”

The Librarian had ignored the line of people wanting to check out books behind us until one impatient young woman purposefully cleared her throat.  Why she decided to butt into my mother’s lecture is beyond me but it was not a smart idea.   “Miss, may I suggest that you consult your daughter’s Chicago Public School principal.  Huckleberry Finn is taught in many schools and teachers are trained-“

Uh-oh, I thought.  At my age I knew what to expect from my mother.  If there was one thing she did not tolerate, it was well meaning white people telling black people how to raise her children.  Yes we were on welfare but that did not give the the right to parent.

Mother stepped closer to the check out desk.  This all struck me as a when shit hits the fan moment.  I was embarrassed already, now I was certain that I would be banned from the library for ever.

“First of all,” she started. ” Call me Ms. How the hell do you know if I am married or not.  Second, my daughter does not attend Chicago Public School, she is in a private Catholic School so your assumption about all black kids and the schools they go to is wrong. I do not give a damn about what my daughter reads as long as it is not something that makes blacks look like fools. “

The green eyed, blond librarian blinked- a lot. She looked like a blond version of Rhoda from the Mary Tyler Moore show. Somehow I knew she was a good person. I felt sorry for her and this was all of my fault. I should have checked out sooner so Ms. Mother would not have known what I had decided to borrow. Then the books would have been all safe and uncensored in my seersucker book satchel.

Mother took the copy of Huckleberry Finn, flipped through a few pages and found a page she wanted the librarian to see.

“What is this word?” she asked the librarian.

I stood at the desk on my tippy toes hoping to see what she was pointing to on the page.  I saw an illustration of a black man standing in what looked like grass but I could not see the words.

When the librarian looked at the page, she nodded.  “I know what the word is  and I know why you would be upset at the author for using it-“

“Over and over again. Page after page,”  Mother interrupted.

“But it is considered an American classic and my son has read-“

“Does your son look like my daughter?”  On the hostile black woman meter, my mother was about heated seven by this point. “Would you want your son to read a book that called his people Polaks? You are Polish right? “

The librarian chose not to answer. Instead she asked ” Ms. will you be taking your daughters remaining selections?”

Mother browsed my other books for suspect titles.  The Adventures of Tom Sawyer was chucked along with a cook book I had chosen about German food. Mother discouraged me from getting cookbooks because they usually led to me begging her to buy some expensive ingredients so I could mess up her clean kitchen and waste our food stamps.

“You will eat plenty of German food while you are in Germany,” she said.

Finding finally a light note to grab on to, the librarian continued stamping my remaining books. Looking at me and me only as if to make my mother disappear she smiled and asked “Are you going to Germany?”

My mother was still closely watching this whole book check out affair and I was frankly afraid to say anything for fear that mother would get reactivated.  My nod was covering my enthusiasm to tell someone, anyone about my upcoming trip.

Well you have a good time…Okay?”  she pushed the pile of now fully stamped books towards me.  I loaded them in my bag. Mother escorted me out of the building.  As we walked to our bus stop our conversation was restrained.  She only asked me if I wanted to stop off to get some orange Push-up sherbet ice cream treats  from the store. Mother was like that. She would talk up a storm in public sometimes then when you thought she’d let me hear it in private- suddenly silence.

I would never watch the Huckleberry Finn movie on Family Classics that upcoming Sunday.  Frazier Thomas had lost all credibility in my household.

I would also never ever read a book by Mark Twain at all.   Mother and I never spoke of the event again.  Lucky for me, Twain was never assigned in my literature course in high school or college.  I really never thought about it again until the other day when I crossed paths with this piece in the Atlantic.

When Great Art Happens to Bad People

Apr 24 2010

By Erik Tarloff

Every few years, it makes the papers: somebody opposes the teaching of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn in some high school, or even wants it banned from the local library. The reason, of course, is the book’s frequent use of the word “nigger” (over 200 occurrences, according to people who count such things). When one such incident made a splash sometime in the ’90s, and the minister who was leading the crusade made a large number of appearances on TV and radio, my friend Wendy Lesser, a distinguished literary critic and editor, protested to me, “But he’s missing the whole point!”

She was right, of course. To seize on a single word, even a single word reiterated 200-plus times, without regard to its context or purpose represents a misreading that seems almost willful. But to my mind, defending the teaching of the book on those grounds, while justified on the merits, also misses the whole point, or at least concedes far too much. Because, what if the protest didn’t in fact miss the point? What if Huckleberry Finn actually were a racist book, rather than a non-racist book that permits its characters to speak in an argot appropriate to their time and circumstance? Would the banning then be justified?

Jims Coat of Arms

Thanks to the Atlantic, my memory was jarred.   I paced through the den of my apartment and stood in front of my two large bookshelves.  My deceased mother’s ashes were in a box nearby.  Thoughtfully looking over my library, I found many books that my mother would object to.  Glenn Beck’s A Christmas SweaterFleeced by Dick Morris.   My library is full of a conservative’s arsenal against liberal thought, against welfare, affirmative action…against phony racism.

Rare books, pretty books, cookbooks everything seemed to be there on my shelves.  However, something was missing.  I think it may be time for Afrocity to read something by Mark Twain and though I have the money to buy the book…I think instead I should go to my local library…and check it out for myself.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY

 

Bill Clinton: Great and Not So Great Moments In Politics April 20, 2010

It wasn’t until the Monica Lewinsky scandal that I realized my beloved President Bill Clinton was capable of being human.  He fell off of my Afrocity made pedestal like a ton of donkey manure.

This was a man that I campaigned for relentlessly, endured sexual harassment from Jesse Jackson staffers and voted for twice. From the moment he played the saxophone on the Arsenio Hall Show, I was in love.   I was also a twenty something liberal, lukewarm in her support of previous candidate Mike Dukakis and happy to vote for someone who gave her hope for change.

You see at the time I was voting with my heart not my head.  Liberalism is a low-yielding farm but it employs minorities and that was all I cared about.  Republicans help the rich. Democrats help the poor.  Got it.

Because I was there once, I understand the young people who voted for Obama.  Kids like Kool Aid.  It was the other demographic of seniors and middle aged that I did not understand.  Kids need a rockstar candidate and one decade’s rock star does not necessarily translate into another decades rock star as Bill Clinton soon learned  when he was campaigning for his wife presidential candidate Hillary Rodham Clinton.

(Shudder) I hated that primary. That was when conversations about hatred and racism began to get ugly.

We were really hoping the race and hate monger cards would retire to the deck after the 2008 primary.  Unfortunately, they never did.  The cards continue to be played with more vitriol than ever, especially when it comes to the Tea Party movement.

From Obama, Biden, Gibbs, Pelosi, Reid and MSNBC, I would expect this sort of rumor mill talk.

From Bill Clinton, I would not.

Oh, Big Dawg.  Tea Party rhetoric leads to Timothy McVeigh-ish domestic terrorism acts of epic proportions?  NO.  Not you BC.  You President Clinton, of all people who was dragged through the Kool Aid flavored mud of Obama Island during the 2008 Democratic Primary along with your wife “Bros before Hoes”  Hillary and daughter “Pimping for Hillary”  Chelsea, I would think that you would be more open minded concerning the Tea Partiers.

Perhaps our former president has had a temporary memory lapse. He has not yet divorced himself from the liberal right to hype.

Allow me to kick Mr. Clinton back to reality.


Ah, see how lovingly demonstrative the left can be? Didn’t you just feel the love for Hillary?  Not one drop of hatred in the entire leftist bunch.  No dreadful “fringe” people.  And of course, PUMAs were embraced by all.

Terrible image of women being lynched on Anti-PUMA website

Listen up liberals!!! We all know the real deal. Remember I used to be one of you, so let’s not EVEN go there. I know the tricks in your government issued feed bags. Please stop the madness.

The question remains whether or not Bill Clinton actually believes his charge that the Tea Party can incite acts of domestic terrorism?

Really now, does this look like a potential Timothy McVeigh to you?

From I Own The World.com

I am thinking (hoping…praying) a firm NO.  Hopefully he just chose the wrong words to show support for the Democrats.  Clinton could also simply say nothing but then again that has never been his strong suit.

Yes I still have a soft spot for the Big Dawg but I will not let him get away with anything just because I have always admired him.  I felt compelled to write this post because I truly am disappointed in his words concerning the Tea Party movement, especially when the shoe and the navy blue Gap dress have been on the other foot.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY

Our prayers are with the families of the Oklahoma Bombing on this anniversary of an act of terror that never should have been. God Bless America.

 

Thursday OPEN Stitch and Bitch: Happy Anniversary Tea Partiers April 15, 2010

In the spirit of the Tea Partiers and of course tax day, I have decided to let my readers bitch about whatever is on their mind.

I just finished my taxes and I owed more than I did last year.  That is my reward for working and not having children, or owning a home or driving a car.

In fact, I made less money than last year and I got taxed more…Go figure.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY

 

Moonbat Monday: Tea Party Haters- Ugly and Amazing April 12, 2010

So much for the left wing being open, tolerant and understanding.

The right to free speech and assembly are American freedoms that the left seems to believe is only available to them. Why else would the Tea Party movement unnerve them so much to the point that they attempt to discredit it as a racist bunch of rednecks?  If you attend a Tea Party rally,  some skinhead is sure to be there just thinking the “N-word” .  Even if you are an African American Tea Party participant, you are simply invisible to the liberals.  No, No, there are no blacks in the Tea Party and someone is there about to say the “N-word”.  He/she  doesn’t have to say it but a liberal knows they are thinking it.  Unlike left wing protesters, Tea Party folks are hateful anti-Obama racists out to kill our president.

From I Own The World

Liberal moonbats are psychic clairvoyant mind readers you know.  Someone was thinking that awful word at the Tea Party. How else could you explain liberal claims of John Lewis being called racially derogatory remarks without there being any proof on tape? If John Lewis and the AFL-CIO head Richard Trumpka (aka union scum),  says racists are at Tea Party rallies then betcha by golly it must be true.

I love it!  Protesters of Tea Party protesters.  Andrew Breitbart just imagined those liberals throwing eggs at the Tea Party bus.  As if in a moonbat fever,  some liberals so badly want to discredit the Tea Party movement that they will stoop so low in the donkey cesspool to serve as Tea Party poseurs.

The blacks at the Tea Party rallies must be vampires because their image does not capture on liberal video tape.   All people of color love Obama right?  So this African American man who created a YOU TUBE video describing why blacks should NOT be Democrats is just some illusion?

Liberals just don’t get it.  Obama’s election is actually a blessing in disguise for conservatives.  With their golden ass made in God’s image now seated in the White House, their behavior has been on auto-pilot and without filters.  Now they have finally outed themselves as the most oppressive, racist, controlling and manipulative political party known to Americans. The peaceful liberal protest and shining happy people fighting for freedom of speech for all has been debunked. It is okay to hate a president if he is a Republican.



I have said to my PUMA sisters that you can waste your time attempting impossibly to save the Democrats from their own poison. They are a train wreck.  No longer what they once were, the Party of ASS is now only a shill for Obamabots and socialism. Drinking Kool Aid by the gallons, five swallows at a time without stopping to check out their reflection in the mirror of truth.  Dribblings of purple dye all over their mouths and shirts. They look absolutely and positively ugly and amazing.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY

 

Sunday Soliloquy: Black Bird Singing April 11, 2010

Someday inevitably all of the Beatles will be gone and buried but the their songs will remain a treasure of my life.  My favorite Beatle is Paul McCartney. I love his song writing and I can tell the difference between who wrote what in a “Lennon/McCartney” song.  John Lennon was a great musician but he was defiant- a rebel.  He had an almost abusive anger about him which was apparent even in his more tranquil and reflective songs such as Imagine.    “Now is the time to act”  is the message Lennon wanted to convey.  The world is a barren war filled place and we are at its mercy.

“I’m just sitting here doing time,
I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round–“John Lennon

Paul McCartney on the other hand gives me a feeling of sadness but hope.  Yes he acknowledges that life is about loss but he is able to recognize that the loss is something that we should embrace as a natural order.  In that there is beauty.  A trail of comfort can be seen in McCartney songs. He is a healer if not physically then emotionally.  His album Flaming Pie was written shortly before his first wife  Linda, died of cancer.  One of the tracks “Willow”  really moves me. McCartney  wrote this as a tribute to Maureen Starkey, Ringo Starr’s first wife who died of cancer in 1994.

There are many things to admire in his use of tone.  Respect for the power of loss and a sense of control in succumbing to it.

Hey Jude leaves me feeling the same.  Written as a comforting verse for small Julian Lennon, the lyrics begin with a poignancy but ends in victory…Take a sad song and make it better.  John loved Yoko but it was Julian who was left behind without a father.  Paul captured the loss of a young boy touched by divorce and turned it into a lyrical masterpiece.

So why I am writing about the Beatles songs on a political blog?   The reason I need music is to cope.  Something has to give me hope and strength to carry on through these barren times. The “historic moment” was not enough for me.  It never was.  Lately I have been taking a much needed break from writing.  I did not want to contribute anything negative to an already polarizing political climate.  Mother always said if you have nothing nice to say…

Instead I decided to digest in silence my fat healthcare bill meal that was shoved down my throat.  Obama and the Democrats were rushing ahead with their gloating while actual people were still suffering.   One afternoon,  I was riding the bus home from the Art Institute of Chicago.  My arms were carrying two shopping bags of gift shop goodies I caught on a 60% off sale.  Posters of old Chicago and some  decorative Japanese bowls.  Nothing I really needed, they just looked pretty and I desperately needed some pretty in my life again.   The morning had been chilly but by 3:00PM, my trench coat and tights were itchy from the 68 degree breeze.  For some reason my bus card was rejected.  I knew I had put ten dollars on it.  Kindly, as I was about to dig in the abyss of my Marc Jacobs purse,  the bus woman told me to sit down and forget about it.  She must have thought I looked pathetic with all of my bags.   I was.  Not a young girl anymore, aching feet and ready to go home.   As we moved down State Street, I shut my eyes while the sun was shining on my face.  Mother and I used to take this bus I thought.  So long ago when there was no Obama or iPods,  just us…

My public moment of solitude was interrupted by two aged men speaking loudly about Chicago politics.  Both were decidedly suspicious of everything- as they should be in Chicago.  Gossipy tones plagued the bus now as the two “magpies”  began a Heckle and Jeckel esque conversation about Obama.  They supported him, that much I could tell. Jesus nearly everyone in Chicago did but me.  As one man dug a thermos out of his bag and begin to drink, the other gave his monologue on political theory and Obama.  Politics is a cesspool and Obama is untainted.

Drinking, magpie #2 just nodded: He is too classy for that Daley shit.

Magpie #1:  He is too smart for that…Keep your friends close but your enemies closer…that is the Obama way.

Magpie#2:  (Wiping some liquid from his mouth with the back of his hand)  Like with his cabinet.  That Hillary chick.  You know put her in the cabinet that way you can watch her…watch what she is doing… control the woman so she don’t say or do nothing to hurt you later.  She ain’t running for nothing now ’cause she too busy with that secretary post.

Magpie#1: (nodding, thin shirt soaked with sweat at the armpits) Yep like I said keep your enemies close.

Afrocity: (rolls eyes).

My bus stop could not have come soon enough.  So tired of Obamabots and their verbal Kool Aid droppings.  Where is my Ipod?  Ugh. One of the magpies smiled at me as I went to the exit door.  “Hi sweetie,” he said.

I sneered.  Get real Mr. Delusional.  I am not attracted to you in this dimension or any other and Hillary is not an enemy of Barack Obama.  He is an enemy of us.  He is an enemy of women… of the American way and everything our forefathers stood for.   He is the cesspool.

Once in my apartment, my non-partisan cat greeted me at the door.  “Meow”

I was his government and he wanted to be fed.  I was fine with the arrangement.  He paid his taxes in affection and warmth for my feet at night.  I will pay for his food and healthcare.

Reaching for the cat’s  special $1.89 a can grain free, venison cat food (because he is a diabetic),  I wondered if my cat were under Obamacare and not Afrocity-care would he be afforded the luxury of premium cat food? Duck, venison, pheasant, along with a raw diet.   The can was opened and the cat knew I would deliver the goods.  I hummed “Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night”

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

The cat hovered over the dish as I clopped in a hunk of wet venison.  He brushed against my  hand and began to devour his meal.  The cat and I…A symbiotic relationship between two animals.  Just like  Obama wants it between Americans and the Federal Government.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY.

 

Happy Birthday Autographed Letter Signed April 8, 2010

Cakes By One of my favorite artists, Wayne Thiebaud

A sense of accomplishment is in the air. Today is the first anniversary of ALS. Wow an entire year. What brought me, lil ol’ Afrocity to create this blog in the first place? In short, after not quite fitting in at The Confluence and not quite fitting in at Little Green Footballs (which turned out to be a liberal blog disguised as a center right blog or some strange experiment in blogger as evil puppet master), I decided to get my own diggs.

"Lemon cake" by Wayne Thiebaud

Shedding a political spouse, in my case the Democratic Party, required some solitude and space to explore my values. What do I really want for my country? What causes are worth fighting for? I had to ask myself these things because for so long I played in the liberal sandbox watching my pals kick down castles of military defense, christian values, parental rights and all sorts of things that really mattered to me. Externally, I muttered yeah “fuck the military!”,  “burn that flag” , “sure the government owes blacks” but internally, especially as I aged, I winced at mostly everything liberals stood for with the exception of women’s rights.   Compassion and equal opportunity for all is something I can agree with.  I had it in me to be a good liberal, however I also had it in me to be a better conservative.

There is a difference between being a compassionate person and an enabler.  Liberals have a tendency to dramatize the human condition,  particularly that of minorities and any one they see as down-trodden.   When you just spend, spend, spend money- tax dollars- on “compassionate programs” , you have to take a step back in order to see if those programs are really helping anyone or are they enabling a persistent problem to turn into a generational saga.   Let’s take welfare programs for example and you know how I feel about those.

"Watermelon Slices" by Wayne Thiebaud

One of the reasons I am against government assistance is because I grew up on it.  And yes, it fed me, kept me adequately healthy, but did it advance me or my mother?  No.  Did it pay for my prom dress?  No.  Prom was a big deal to a 17 year old girl.  How would the $250 government check pay for my prom gown, my hair appointment,  my #352 pink dyed shoes to match my dress and my jewelry?   The answer was, it would not.  Mother went looking for dresses at the Salvation Army store, meanwhile Afrocity began looking for a job.   This image of one of us actually working was a bit much for my mother to handle,  “you know they will cut us off, ” she warned.

"Rosebud Cakes" by Wayne Thiebaud

I did not care, I had a date with a Victor Costa gown at Nieman Marcus.   School by day, working until 1am as a hostess at a Mexican restaurant was tough.  In retrospect, it was dangerous to take the bus home so late at night.  My school work was neglected B’s morphed into C’s.  One night I was so tired, I fell asleep with the curling iron still rolled in my hair.  When you are young, you can put up with a lot and my first paycheck made all of the trouble worth it.  My first paycheck- that I earned for my work. Money not for nothing but for something I did besides being black and poor.  I came to a particular understanding that my mother had yet to achieve.  Welfare may let you survive but it doesn’t let you live.   Maybe I got the job out of necessity.  I had a need that a welfare check could not fulfill.  I had a dream about a dress but what about my life beyond the dress?  What happens when welfare will not pay for your dreams?

Republican candidates would appear on television, right away before they could speak several words, my mother would shout, “They are only for the rich people, they want to cut welfare and programs in order to hurt blacks.”    Funny how our lives did not improve much under Jimmy Carter.  Funny how mother’s life did not improve much under Bill Clinton, until she was forced to get a job because the conservative state of Texas would not let her draw a government check just for being her wonderful self.

Shakes by Wayne Thiebaud

In working, she began to buy nice things, take me to lunch, actually act and behave as mother.  When she lost the job, she lost her sense of self again.  Being 65, by that time, the government was there waiting for her to pick up the pieces.  Back she went to waiting for their check.  When she died, she had not more than $345 in her bank account.  I reported her deceased and the government took back $325 and left her with $20.  Why was I angry?  True, it was Uncle Sam’s money to give to her and she was dead.  However, could he not at least left her with some dignity and money to be buried with? He left her with what she came to him with…Nothing.  Nothing at all but her life and the clothes on her back.

The reason I created this blog was to chronicle the thoughts and feelings of a reformed liberal.  To some degree I am still evolving.  One of the problems some of my critics have with me is my ability to be so compassionate and pathetic, yet turn into a brutal critic of the Obama administration.  A lot of people, especially those of color call me a self-loathing Auntie Tom who has sold out.  They think I am really a liberal and delusional on some level about my move towards conservatism.   I have struggled this year with the enormity of my exodus from Donkeyville.   People especially, PUMA’s have posted and gone.  Once friends are now distant acquaintances in the political blogosphere.

"8 Lipsticks" by Wayne Thiebaud

Am I happier now having left the Democrats? Oh definitely yes.  That party is unrecognizable to me.  This country and the direction it is moving in is unrecognizable to me.

Am I a well rounded conservative? Oh definitely, no.  I remain pro-choice.  There are many things to admire about the pro-life movement but a woman’s choice is a woman’s choice and she should always have the freedom to make that choice.

As this blog continues, I am always hoping to attract people who are willing to hear and understand both sides of an issue.

Before you can help people, you have to first listen to them.  This simple  practice  is something that is severely lacking in the Obama administration and among many compassionate liberals.

Give people what they need, not what you think they need.  Give people the ability to help themselves, not a lifetime sentence to be helped by you.  You cannot wave a magic wand and expect to end world hunger, wars, pain, sickness, global warming and paper cuts using other people’s money.  Your reward will be debt, depression and a lowered moral among those who actually do contribute to society.

You cannot have your cake and eat it too.

Autographed Letter Signed on this our 1 year anniversary,

AFROCITY

 

Sunday Soliloquy: In the Heat of the Night April 4, 2010

It is never really one place or one time that I think about how lucky I am to be alive…How lucky we all are.

My mother always taught me that life is a gift, something that we should respect. Since childhood, the Easter holiday has been special to me.

Mother and I would always buy jelly beans and Paas Easter Kits.  Off to Marshall Fields department store we would go to purchase a nice outfit for myself, complete with a flowerful purse, lace gloves and a bonnet.

Would the cruel Chicago weather subside to allow the use of these holy garments? Ah! It did not matter. Even if it were 45 degrees, young Afrocity would dress to the hilt on Easter, patent leather white Mary Jane shoes and all – freezing her cottontail off.

Mother would shake her head in disapproval,

“You just had to wear that outfit didn’t you? Look at how foolish you look in those lace bobby socks shaking like a leaf.”

Who cared if my body temperature was that of an icicle! I was stylin’ and honoring the day that Christ rose from the dead.  Jesus wanted me to look my best. Later on Easter night, we would watch The Ten Commandments.  My favorite part was God’s powerful voice:

“THOU SHALT NOT KILL.”

Spiritual salvage is all about reusing lessons of the past but today, I am a far cry from that little Easter girl.  There is no clove scented ham baking in the oven or failed attempts at blowing eggs to make Ukrainian style decorations (that was a passing childhood obsession that drove my mother crazy).  Instead just me and my boxes in my new apartment.  Tired and sore from lifting.  Not a chocolate bunny in sight, only empty pizza boxes and bubble wrap.

I have never missed my mother more than today.

Unlike Jesus, she is not coming back from the dead.  This was made more evident when I opened the box containing her ashes.  Moved from one apartment to another just like my china.  With a deep sigh, I placed the box in a credenza cabinet.  The only thing that would be resurrected was my yearning for the past.  When life was simpler.  When I could recognize my country.

During my unpacking frenzy, I was able to sneak in an internet break or two and catch the daily happenings.  One unfortunate event in Chicago caught my eye, it seems my fair city is getting some much needed practice in before Obamacare goes into full effect.  This year, the Chicago weather ignored the trend of freezing off the cute Easter bonnets.

Once April hit, the Windy City was boasting temperatures that climbed into the low 80’s…and a murder rate that climbed into the 40’s in just two days.   While warm weather devotees rejoice over the Easter holiday and peel off the winter clothing, Chicago’s youth are hatching out of hibernation with knives and guns.

From the Chicago Sun Times:

Brazen shooting just blocks from top cop

Weis was speaking about recent crime wave in which 41 were shot

April 3, 2010

BY ART GOLAB

After 26 hours of violence that left 41 people shot and four dead, Police Supt. Jody Weis called a press conference Friday afternoon in the Englewood neighborhood — the site of three of the shootings.

But just as the press event ended, Weis had to cut short an interview because of a report of shots fired just blocks away.

It turned out a 25-year-old man was shot at 69th and Paulina and taken to the hospital in critical condition.

Weis had just announced a series of police responses to the warm-weather crime wave, including a crackdown on what he called “large gatherings, illegal parties and large house parties.”

It was a house party that got out of control that led to three separate shootings and one death in the Englewood neighborhood, Weis said.

Weis said problem parties often occur in vacant or abandoned buildings, and he appealed to the public to alert police to such happenings.

“These unauthorized parties often involve underage drinking, little or no security and are held in unlicensed locations,” Weis said. “They are simply not equipped to handle large crowds. They are a disaster waiting to happen.”

Police will also step up enforcement of curfew violations, increase foot and tactical unit patrols in targeted areas and focus on bars and other “problem establishments” that generate more than their share of 911 calls.

“These places are madhouses of criminal activity and tie down precious resources which could be deployed fighting crime,” Weis said.

The 41 people shot between the end of Wednesday and 2 a.m. Friday included four people who were wounded outside the Magnolia nightclub near 122nd and Halsted, Weis said.

Other shooting sites included Bronzeville, Grand Crossing and South Shore. During one especially violent stretch, 16 people were shot in a little more than two hours.

Among those was a woman who said she was shot in the arm in Millennium Park about 12:30 a.m., but did not report it until she was treated in a Melrose Park hospital. Police have questioned where the shooting happened.

Weis noted that the second Englewood shooting occurred despite the immediate presence of three dozen heavily armed and uniformed police officers.

It shows the complete brazen lack of respect for authority.” Weis said. “The question that I have to ask is, what would they do when we’re not here?”

Ahem,  excuse me Officer Weis who uttered “…It shows the complete brazen lack of respect for authority.”   Don’t you think that is an understatement?  The Chicago Police Department have gotten into the bad habit of thinking they are holding the remote control for Chicago’s violence.   When you find black on black crime- and this is what it is.  I am not about to parse this as a Chicago wide problem.  It is about African Americans and Latinos killing each other while Louis Farrakhan is worried about some conservative nut job killing President Obama.

The Tea Partiers are not the problem in America.  Obamacare will never put a Band Aid on what is going on in Chicago.

Louis Farrakhan, Barack Obama, William Ayers, Father Pfleger,  Valorie Jarret are all opportunistic parasites on Chicago’s African American community.  These are not community leaders.  Chicago murders and youth violence is plentiful in supply, more abundantly so since Obama’s election.   The hot trend at the moment lies not in the weather but in a surprisingly brazen lack of respect for LIFE in the black community.  A surprisingly brazen  lack of hope after the chosen one resurrected “black pride” from the dead.

Rather than enjoying the Easter weekend outside in the 70 degree weather, I stayed in and unpacked.  A little spider crawled on the widow sill as I opened a box of knick knacks. Annoyed, I began to swat him with an old Vogue magazine then I remembered God’s loud voice.

“THOU SHALT NOT KILL”

Stopped dead in the rolled up magazine’s tracks, I calmly searched through boxes for my Dust Buster.  In the spider went, vacuumed and alive.  It was good for the little creature to be outside I thought as I emptied the filter and he crawled onto my patio.

“Use your imagination, ” the black kids were told. “Now even YOU can be President of the United States.”

Sure they can ..If they can only hope to have a much of a fighting chance for life as a spider.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY

 

 
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