Autographed Letter Signed

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

Hillary and Barry- An Apathy Story September 10, 2010

During the last six months, I have read all sorts of articles which speculate that our Secretary of State Hillary Clinton will make a run for it against President Barack “Barry” Obama in 2012.

I voted for Hillary in the DNC Illinois primary.  I supported her despite my African American family telling me that I was a traitor to my race.

“Color before gender!”  they told me. “Send money to Obama now.”

I ignored them.

As a former New Yorker, she was my senator and I felt her qualities were impressive.  She was the better man or woman for the job.  However legitimate the claims of African Americans concerning a lack of black representation at the executive and legislative branches of government;  it did not warrant my voting for the empty suit who was my “present” voting senator from Illinois.

Once the Democratic primaries were over and “Barry O.” was “declared” the winner, my support of Hillary remained.  I joined the PUMAs  and made sisterhood with like-minded women who believed that Hillary and womankind were dealt a sexist blow. Unlike more than most if not all PUMAs,  I was conservative in my views. Throwing my support behind John McCain and Sarah Palin was not as difficult for me as it was for some PUMAs and you know me here at my blog as a “conservative PUMA”.

Afrocity is a Republican now- still a feminist and still supporting women who want to venture into politics right or left.  I just may not agree with all of them but the more women in politics, the better it will be for our gender in the future. No woman should be silenced.

But what of Hillary? Was she silenced after her 2008 loss to Obama and betrayal by the DNC?


Would she remain the Senator from New York and regroup for a 2012 run against an arrogant demagogue that is sure to be a one termer like Jimmy Carter?

No.

She would throw her support behind Barack Obama and later join his administration as  Secretary of State.

And then I began to distance myself from the woman I had once campaigned for so adamantly.

The shock of seeing Hillary surrounded by hope and change logos was not an easy Kool aid drink to swallow. I know that she is a forgiving soul. She did it for her husband and she did it once again for Barack Obama.  Perhaps she even did it for the Democratic Party.

But not I.

Obama was/is just a DNC tool.

It was the DNC that was Hillary’s true nemesis and if I were she I would not have helped the DNC one bit. There was an irony in their view that she should help Obama campaign.

Sure we are the party of women- but we will beat you down and call you vile names- even develop hysterical blindness and disown you- but woman you had better get up the next day and fix our damn breakfast. After Hillary and her supporters -including myself- fought valiant battles to break down barriers of sexism and race bating during the primary-  I was disappointed that Hillary woke up in bed with the enemy.

If you recall it was only a few weks after Hillary made her famous orange pants suit speech at the 2008 Democratic National Convention in Denver, that  GOP VP nominee Sarah Palin gave her “pitbull with lipstick” speech at the Republican National Convention in St. Paul, Minnesota.

The same path of sick ironic feminism that led the DNC to gun down Hillary Clinton months earlier had found a new target in the governor from Alaska.  Fresh organic, caribou fed  meat for them to sink their teeth into.  While Hillary did not join in on the frenzied anti- Palin media feast, I was not particularly impressed that she did not expressively  speak out against it either.

Perhaps Hillary was upset that this tape of Palin critiquing her response to the negative media cover quickly surfaced:

At the core of anti-Palin rumors was the divisive meme:  women who are “pro women” should not vote for McCain just because he chose Palin-a woman- because she is 1) pro-life  2) dumb as rock salt and 3) does not really have respect for Hillary- a woman- as demonstrated by documented proof of her calling Hillary a “whiner”.

I do not believe that Sarah Palin was calling Hillary a whiner.  In fact Sarah prefaced her statements in that clip “with all respect” .  Sarah’s position in regard and response to media criticism- and I have mentioned this in a precious post-  is quite different from Hillary Clinton’s.  The former, meets it head on not really mentioning it much. Sarah just rolls it down and keeps on coming.  No tears, or “perceived whines”.  If anything, the clip shows you that Sarah practices what she preaches as she did with giving birth to Trig despite the news that he would have Down’s Syndrome and supporting her daughter’s teenage pregnancy.  She is a pitbull with lipstick.

However different their handling of the patriarchy and media criticism,  I honestly cannot see Sarah campaigning for someone like Barry even if Barry was in elephant’s clothing. Let’s say that Mitt Romney is neck and neck with Palin in the GOP primary and the campaign is name slinging nasty on the Romney camp’s part.  I do not think that Sarah would help the man later.  Screw the GOP! The man does not conform to her values as a good conservative.

When Hillary aided the Obama campaign, I felt that it was an endorsement of his values.  It seemed rather staged and there was no real unity behind it.

Few Democrats for Obama that I knew,  said they would support Hillary had she been the primary’s victor.  And you know what??? I believed them.

If Obama loses…I ain’t voting for that bitch. I don’t care if she is Democrat…I just won’t vote.”

Obama would not have supported her had she won- unless he was made the VP nominee– a courtesy that was not extended to her.  With the spread of Kool Aid zombie fever, I would not have “took one for the team” as they say.  Also, screw the “keep your enemies close”  thing.  Stand up and tell your supporters not to vote for this special interest pandering race baiting charlatan.  Sure, I smiled when she was as announced as Secretary of State.  That was quite a feat for a former First Lady.  But when she sat at the picnic table with Baby Barry.

April 9, 2009- Official White House Photo by Pete Souza

I felt sorry for her and I felt even more sorry for the people that she led to Kool Aid mountain to support him and his failing policies.

PUMA’s- well some of them- stood strong and did not vote for Barry.  Simofish, Regency, Angie, Lana to name a handful.  No way and no freaking how.  Barry O. is bad news.  You can be as liberal as rolled up ground hemp and at the end of the day, Barry is not just bad for Democrats who supported Hillary- Barry is bad for America.  Hillary and her supporters who voted for him are also responsible for the stimulus, TARP, uncontrolled debt and anything else Obama has fumbled.

Yeah, right!

And that is why when I see articles like this one on The American Thinker blog:

September 10, 2010

Hillary Clinton’s Campaign for ’12 Is Underway

By Lee Cary

…Hillary is preparing to run against President Obama for the ’12 Democrat nomination by wielding the two-edged issue of fiscal responsibility and national defense. She’ll align herself with moderate establishment Republicans, like Bob Gates, just as she made nice with John McCain. She’ll be the moderate Democrat in the race, even though she called herself a “modern progressive” during the last campaign. In her unscripted remarks above, she juxtaposed “conservative” with “progressive” rather than with “liberal.” Expect to hear more of that ahead.
Hillary will tout her long-established involvement with the health care issue as offering her the unique ability to convert the hash — she’d never use that word — of ObamaCare into a sirloin of change that Americans will find more palatable, and even embrace. She’ll talk McCain’s Crossing-the-Isle Talk. He might even campaign for her.
Hillary will cite Bill’s fiscal record as president and mention in favorable terms Newt Gingrich and the Republican Congress who once helped bring fiscal responsibility to Washington, D.C. Let’s return to those days of bipartisan cooperation, she’ll say. End the stridency once and for all. Her supporters will shout, “It’s her turn. It’s her turn.”
Her strongest talking point will be that she’s untarnished by what Barry, Nancy, and Harry have done to the country, although she’ll never say that directly. Some wondered at the time why she agreed to become Secretary of State. But had she stayed in the Senate, she’d either be tarnished by the Democrats’ legislative heavy-handedness of the last two years or be at odds with her own party. In either case, she’d be damaged goods by now. If asked why she didn’t speak out earlier, she’s already answered that, saying, “I am by law out of politics.” Raise your hand if you believe that.

When Hillary runs against Obama again, she can’t lose the support of blacks since against Obama, she never had them on her side anyway. But she could offset their failure to vote if Obama isn’t on the ticket by gaining heavy support from Hispanics. Plus, blacks are not going to vote for a Republican in any significant numbers under any circumstance. If wind-blown moderates perceived the GOP nominee as too conservative, Hillary will regain their support by positioning herself as a moderate middle-of-the-roadie.

Pure speculation? Obviously. Ridiculous? Perhaps.

Hillary 2012…I really do NOT care.

No…Really I don’t.  Afrocity will not buy tickets to that beltway show.

2012 is two years away but at the moment there is no ultimate case for me supporting Hillary Clinton should she run against Obama in a primary or as also rumored, Joe “foot in mouth diseased” Biden steps down as VP and she takes his place by Darth Obama’s side.  Neither scenario compels me to do anything except feel manipulated.  At this juncture, in her relationship with Barry and the DNC,  it is hard for me to know who Hillary Clinton really is and I don’t want to waste anymore of my time or votes finding out.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY

Advertisements
 

Notes from the Mirror-less Fitting Room: Feminism Dead in Apparent Murder-Suicide August 18, 2010

Clothes are a woman’s second skin.  For many girls, it does not matter if we are pro-life or hanging out at our local Planned Parenthood passing out the morning after pill- we like to look good.  Hillary and her sisterhood of traveling pantsuits.  Sarah Palin sporting a sassy pair of heels during her VP debate against Joe Biden (those heels looked good buried in his ass by the way).  Michelle Malkin, always the stylish conservative.  So I am told, Condi Rice has a shoe collection to die for.  And there is Michelle Obama who mixes organic arugula and J. Crew sensibility with liberal platitudes and $500 Lanvin tennis shoes.

The point I am making is that women like to shop.  Clothes are clothes right?  Vegans and environmentalists aside, you don’t have to be a stark raving libertarian to appreciate a beautiful women Bottega Veneta classic brown leather bag.

When it comes to shopping, girls check their political differences at the fitting room door.

Or so I thought.

On a recent visit to Manhattan, I made a stop at one of my favorite and most physically debilitating stores- Century 21.   I was in pursuit of  off season designer bargains.  What I got instead was a nose full of dust and pathogens- possibly from the British tourists that sneezed in my face and a bruised shoulder.

The best thing about Century 21 is its endless plethora of cool stuff from clothes, to handbags, lingerie, hats, hosiery.  The worse thing about Century 21 is its uncanny ability to demonstrate the worst behavior demonstrated by women since Seinfield’s  Elaine had a meltdown over the Today Sponge.

To see women in our most primitive state, simply walk into the Century 21 on Cortlandt Street in NYC.  The best seats in the house are on the third floor where the high end designer stuff lies in waiting to be grabbed, snagged, and bagged.

Because I have not lived in New York since 2007, I had to proceed carefully.  Not that Chicago women lack the tenacity of New York’s top shopping barracudas.  It is just that we tend not to kick a fellow woman’s  ass over a once heavily sequined Dolce and Gabanna  thong that has been tried on by hundreds of fat sweaty tourists.   Chicago women reserve their energy for deflecting random bullets from drive by shootings and grabby corrupt politicians.  After all, what good is a sequined thong in the dead of  a Midwestern winter when the coroner must peel it off your rigor mortissed ass for any evidence of sexual assault?  What a waste.   Jockey cotton thongs are more practical and mass produced just for girls like us.   Having said that, I now found my Jockey strapped butt in Century 21 after a two year absence.

Afrocity was somewhat afraid that she lost her bitchy spidey senses.  However this was put to rest once I hit some Russian speaking woman in the face with my big shopping bag with the sharp corners…by accident of course.  Somehow I just lose all sense of balance when I am standing next to a person that shoves all of the clothes on a rack to one side…WHILE I AM STILL LOOKING AT THEM.  Sounds of screeching hangers give me the willies.  I can’t be responsible for stomping my foot on the back of that white Chanel gown you meant to try on later and possibly wear tonight…Yes TONIGHT.

…So many clothes so little time and money. Speaking of money, the sound of foreign language in the store expressed one of my concerns about the declining American dollar. The Euro shoppers were clobbering us Betsy Ross dwellers.  Every time I picked up something I liked , I had to look at the price tag first, subtract it from my checking account,  and decided if I loved the item enough to starve to death until payday and use substandard non clumping cat litter.  My kitties do not dig Johnny Cat no matter how cool their owner looks in the Jil Sander blouse.   Afrocity for the sake of your cats, put the blouse down and walk away.

Within an hour, I was exhausted and walking around in circles with the same tunic and skinny jeans in my arms.  Once I determined that my time was more valuable than clawing my way though piles of clothes arranged on the floor and atop the heads of stroller bound toddlers,  my exit strategy went into effect.   Try on, pay up and get out.    However, I was about to have my hopes of an easy out dashed when the sound of quibbling stopped me dead in my tired from high heeled sandals foot tracks.

“Fuck you Bitch!”  a very tall black women yelled at an Indian woman.

The Indian woman was with a girl who was possibly her daughter.

The site of the conflict was a pair of Seven For All  Mankind jeans on sale for $10.99.

Let’s remember that the desires and motives of a fashionista goes beyond race, ethnicity or political ideology.

“You better take your hands off my fuckin’ jeans before you need a mosque up in this bitch.”

Laughter erupted from a small group of Southern tourists.  I could tell they were from the South due to their accents and proclivity to grab all of the Lily Pulitzer items they could find. The “Arizona Rocks” tee shirt one was wearing was a dead give away that they were NOT LIBERALS.   Which in New York City is a sin.

Eyes rolled at the Southern Belles.   Oh shit.  I feel a plane incoming.

I will pause from the action for a moment to mention that Century 21 is very close to Ground Zero in a number of ways in terms of both proximity and symbolically.  Some of fashions greatest “final sale wars” have been fought here.  Women have morally died on this sacred shopping ground.  Strangely once you depart the store and step outside,  Ground Zero is starring you in the face.

Century 21 store in Manhattan, near Ground Zero.

Mirroring the current debate over the building of a mosque near ground zero has nothing to do with fashion but in this case, the lust over a pair of jeans somehow was transformed into a political insult.   Before I could say Tandoori Chicken and Junior’s Cheesecake,  fuzz began to fly as the women grabbed at the jeans back and forth in a tug of war.  Where is Solomon when you need him? Threaten to cut the damn jeans in half and see who loves them more.

“Don’t bring the mosque into it,”  said a voice.  My eyes scanned the clothing racks and it was some dowdy “I am waiting for my teenage kid to try on everything in this store type” -a back to school shopping causality among the Marc Jacobs new fall arrival section.

I gave her a mean look but somehow that did not register with the brawl groupie because she continued to say stupid things.  “Who let in the Tea Party pro-life  racists  Sarah Palin’s over there?” the woman said gesturing towards the once laughing southerners.

And therein lies my problem with liberal women. The root of all evil begins and ends with Sarah Palin.  The root of all conflict begins and ends with abortion.  Make accusations and name call first, ask questions never.

Protect federal funds for education??? Can you say school vouchers?

Can someone explain to me why every so called feminist attempt to bring down Sarah Palin results in a murder-suicide for all womankind?  Liberal women shoot Sarah Palin and conservative women. Liberal women in turn make all women look stupid and catty thus murdering our potential for political strength.  Men will divide and conquer- always.  Hillary Clinton’s  race against Obama proved this.  Sure some women were mad and did not like Obama as the presidential nominee but what happened?  Katy Couric, the MSM used women against women.  Sarah Palin, the liberal deemed CUNT was used to scare women back into the arms of Obama.

As women we all have vaginae ..right? That does not mean that we always have to agree on everything.

Anyway, the southern women may have been liberals who voted Obama yet their laughter over the mosque comment and Arizona Rocks tee shirt excluded them from any inclusion in the feminists girls club.  You are like Sarah- the Mama grizzly Grinch who stole healthcare, mosques, abortion, and anything else that liberal feminists apparently stand for. Meanwhile the men stand around and watch our political cat fights.  Laughing at us, laugh fight, demean and tear down each other.

Perhaps a birth control pill flavored smoothie is appropriate at this time.  Stop the fighting. Feel the love and restricted reproduction. But alas, before we could break out the blender and soy milk,  a male store manager arrived on the scene to pull the women apart.

Afrocity took one look at the line for the fitting room and sighed.  Off went her clothes right in the middle of the store.  Yep, I tried on the jeans in public.  The mirror-less fitting room.  This was my tiny contribution towards the dying sad sound of a woman’s dignity.  Cellulite beginnings  and all,  Afrocity squeezed into the 29 waist skinny jeans only to feel like a sardine marinated in patriarchal snake oil.  Fuck this.

I threw down the jeans and tunic, running down the escalator to my sanity, guarding the contents of my checking account like a momma grizzly bear.  I will not spend one conservative dime in this feminist burial ground zero.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY

 

Sunday Soliloquy: Afrocity- An Accidental Study in Sustainable Design July 11, 2010

Only by the most elaborate maneuvers of denial could I pretend that I am not getting older.  Whether it is the cellulite that is taking up residence in my thighs or the pain in my left hand from ever so worsening arthritis,  Afrocity is no spring chicken.

Last Saturday, I went for sushi with a friend.  Proud of the eel and uni delectables I consumed over white rice,   I eagerly opened my fortune cookie and read something ghastly:

YOU ARE NOT OLD BUT YOU ARE NO LONGER YOUNG EITHER.

Great. Thanks for the losing lotto numbers too.

Forty-one year’s old I will be in just under a month.  I feel as though I have lived at least another twenty.  In my avoidance of aging, I have purchased a used bicycle,  bought lots and lots of creams for my face, ass, and thighs and invested in mega Omega-3 fatty acid supplements. Middle age is knocking tap, tap, tap.  I look out of my peep hole…Oh nobody’s home go away.  What mother’s death in 2007 taught me was that I needed her alive to feel young.  Now that she is gone, I am left behind with her memories and orange-peel prone hips.  “Fat Girl Slim” is the $47 cream, I purchased from Sephora to help with cellulite.  Every night I rub the caffeine laced concoction into my skin after a vigorous dry brushing.  Night time prep has gone from 5 minutes as an 18 year old, to now nearly 45 minutes.  The days of splashing cold water on my face and washing with Phisoderm are over.  My ritual is quite eventful. First wash with Perricone MD, Nutritive Cleanser,  then tone, then my eye serum to combat dark circles, then my pre-moisturizing night time treatment, followed my retinol A moisturizing treatment, and of course my vitamin C/Ester eye cream.  Pretty pathetic huh?  To end the night perfectly, I drink mint tea and soy milk. This should be the last thing that goes into my stomach at night but I am a cheater and keep a bag of Kettle chips underneath the bed.   In light of the prison which is my beauty regimen, I am actually pretty low key in other areas of my life well most areas unless you count politics.

Whereas most normal women can walk into a store and see tote bags as only tote bags, I look at the ones with 100% GREEN and SEXY plastered all over and want to barf.   I see government intrusion and crazy far left moon bat political agendas. Can’t a girl,  I mean middle aged woman just find a simple tote bag and carrying it to the market without advertising an agenda or Japanese anime sex symbols?   I get it, we all must embrace internationalism and green technology.  I see it everywhere when I shop for my make-up and “war on Afrocity aging products”  .   Green make-up had quite a different meaning when I was a teenager. Then it was that awful tacky mood lipstick. Green in the tube but changed to an irritating pink on your lips and the lips of your friends. Every friend!!! They lied, no matter what mood you where in, that mood lipstick was the same shade of pink on everyone’s lips.    Now “green cosmetics” make resounding claims to keep you looking young and beautiful while being healthy for the environment but not your pocket book.   Look, I am not an incorrigible conservative that hates anything pro-environment.  I actually care about trees and rain forests.  I have seen the IMax movies at the museum.   However, “in-your face”  propaganda and legislation just does not sit well with me.    Rushing from store to store, “going green”  is like a painful stalking form of lifestyle.  You either succumb or just die.

Walking to the fridge for a bottle of water one night, my cat was whining for a wet food refill.  I grabbed the $1.70 a can premium grain free can of food made with spring water (filtered).  As I dumped its contents into his bowl, I looked around at my laundry supplies which reside in the utility room where the cats whine and dine.  Tide liquid detergent, 100% GREEN formula.  Biodegradable fabric sheets by Arm and Hammer.  Hmmmmm. Arm and Hammer…back in the day, I used baking soda just for brushing my teeth and deodorant when mom and I were low on cash.

Now the famous muscular arm and rusty hammer are on my kitty litter, sanitary napkins and dryer sheets.    Continuing to the fridge, there was the box of baking soda sitting on the top shelf next to my green tea ginger ale .  I grabbed a bottle of spring water.  Something looked different; the bottle seemed thinner almost flimsy.

Picture of me taken on the Forth of July, last weekend. Knee length hemlines are in my future. No more short shorts or mini-skirts.

Still, I was somewhat groggy and could not really identify what it was.  That is until I tried to twist off the cap.  My right hand has trouble with small caps on aspirin bottles due to my arthritis.  Now I could add bottled water to the list.

From Bezinga.com

Pro Mach Receives 2010 Green Award for Sustainable Packaging Machinery Solutions

June 16, 2010

CINCINNATI–(BUSINESS WIRE)–

Pro Mach was awarded the first ever 2010 Manny Green Award from Cincy Magazine this month for manufacturing initiatives and product innovations that helped customers improve package sustainability.

Three examples were highlighted during the award process. In the first example, Pro Mach’s Fowler division, which manufactures capping equipment, collaborated with several major bottled water companies and multiple material vendors in a solution to package water using lightweight, thinner, smaller containers and caps. Fowler set up test packaging lines and engineered the capping machinery solution that allowed them to greatly reduce packaging material and maintain line speeds. One of these companies estimates they are using 1/3 less plastic, a reduction of more than 95 million pounds at a cost savings of more than $60 million. Comparable savings are also being achieved by the other producers.

In the second example, Pro Mach’s Roberts PolyPro division was noted for producing 100% recyclable single and multi-pack handles for the beverage industry that average 5 to 35 percent less resin than alternative processes. In the third example, Pro Mach’s Orion division developed a customized solution to help a fresh produce customer significantly reduce food product loss and damage during transit.

“We’re honored to receive this recognition from Cincy Magazine,” said Jack Aguero, Pro Mach Vice-President of Marketing and Business Development. “All of these sustainable initiatives have taken a team effort from customers, material suppliers, and our staff. Without the commitment of everyone involved we wouldn’t have been successful.”

Finally I took off the water bottle cap and looked at it.  It was hardly a cap at all.  The bottle label read “Our Caps are smaller that means less plastic for a greener you”….  But now my arthritic right hand was hurting and the city of Chicago taxed me a dollar for the case of water because bottle water is supposedly not green at all.  Can I get a refund?

I closed the door to my stainless steel , energy efficient refrigerator and walked across my bamboo engineered floor to my bed covered in organic cotton sheets.  My green life was not planned.  I did not orchestrate the environmentally friendly cat litter or the strange shaped light bulb in the lamp next to my bed.   It all sort of just happened over night without my permission.  Just like the cellulite on my thighs and no matter how many creams I use, it is here to stay whether I like it or not.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY

 

“F” is for Friday and Fruit Cups June 18, 2010

One might think that it is easier to deal with a death that occurs suddenly.  No pain or suffering.  The person goes quickly into the afterlife.  Friends and family of cancer victims often describe the agonizing process of watching a loved perish as a death before a death.  When someone you love battles cancer, everyone around them is also there for every victory and defeat.  Cancer kills and everyone dies.  While there is only one that leaves the earth physically, the others are left behind to mourn. The sick room remains: the carrot juice in the fridge, vitamins, cure books, the wicker waste basket by the bedside lined with plastic.

For a woman that was so time-consuming in life, my mother’s passing assaulted me completely by surprise. She died at the elder-young age of 68 , perhaps in her sleep- no one really knows.  But she died without linger.  We were afforded no proper send off.  My ego craved the moments I lost taking care of her into her deep senior years.  I had always imagined her dying in her bed, in my home.  I was her daughter and it was my job to take care of her for better or for worse- soiled bed linens and all.  Robbed of my daughterly virtue, I felt like a girl scout missing a badge.  The elderly parent care-person badge.   I  never expected to come up twelve boxes short at the mother-daughter cookie sale.   This was a woman who called me for money when I was in college. Who stayed in my dorm because she was homeless.  Who always needed something and she goes out like this? No warning at all? No trips to check out the lush green grounds of nursing homes.  No dribble to wipe from the corners of her mouth after spoon feeding her favorite bread pudding.  No having to say “I am Afrocity, your daughter, remember me? I was here just yesterday. “

I was left holding a box of ashes and a refrigerator full of  Del Monte fruit cups.

Jealously would besiege me as friends complained of “ol’ dad” and the battle to keep him of his wounded knee.  ” Dad fell again,” the friend would complain. “Know I have to take time off from work again…Oh Afrocity, you should be glad that your mom went quickly. I have all of my dad’s medical bills…”

And all of that Gen-X peer complaining made it worse! Friends telling me that I should be thankful that the death of my mother was benign in terms of the potential financial and emotional draining tumors it could have placed upon my young late 30’s life.

Admittedly selfish as it sounds, I needed to be my own primary heroine in the story of mother and I.   I also needed someone around me to be old…so I could feel young.  Someone to act as a buffer between myself and death.  My youthfulness and mortality was so vain that it needed an older sidekick.

So I decided to adopt old people.

That’s right. I steal old people.

Visiting  somebody else’s Grandmother on Mother’s Day with my cornbread stuffing.  Taking cupcakes to old men in my apartment building. Buying someone microwaveable slippers. Listening to an elderly couple tell endless stories as we suck on Dairy Queen Blizzards.   I have no shame about it.  Born into a dysfunctional mother daughter relationship, I had become co-dependent and need to prove desperately to God, Betty White, Rachel Rae -basically anyone who will listen -that I could have been the best damn elder care daughter on the planet.

If you are an old person – you need me damn-it.

Yesterday marked the beginning of the week that my mom could have died (long story referenced in previous blog posts).

I have been feeling sorry for myself again.  I miss our talks and I miss being needed.  Every old person is a gift. Those wrinkles are a map- a topography of life and memories.  The skin is dry, rough, pull it and it stays in the same shape.  Why bounce back when you are so close to the finish line?  Everyone loves and appreciates the elderly.

Then I read about Marilyn Fay.  Marilyn was a 64 year old retired Chicago Public School teacher who worked part-time at the Brookfield, Illinois Public Libary.  Marilyn’s friends describe her as kind and giving- especially after Marilyn befriended a 30 year old homeless man by the name of Steve Kellmann.  Kellmann was an “alleged drug addict with a lengthy crime record”  that Marilyn met at the library. According to one suburban paper Kelleman possesses:

…a long criminal history. According to court records provided by the Cook County State’s Attorney’s office, Kellmann has faced felony charges before. He was convicted in 1999 for felony obstruction of justice, an aggravated robbery charge in 2001 for which he served six years in prison, and a 2007 felony theft charge that landed him in prison for two years.

But Marilyn did not care about Kellmann’s past, she saw real good in him. Potential that was overlooked by the prison system. Out of the kindness of her heart, Marilyn allowed Kellmann and his girlfriend to stay at her home.  He performed odd jobs around her house.

Kellmann painted and made Marilyn’s awnings look bright and new again but he  also caused her a fair share of trouble.

From the Chicago Tribune

On May 27th, 2010, Marilyn bailed Kellmann out of jail. He had been arrested for driving with a suspended license. Marilyn only living on her modest school teacher’s pension and part-time library job, used her credit card to post 10% of Kellmann’s $25,000 bond.

On the bond forms, Marilyn listed herself as Kellman’s “friend”.

On June 14th Marilyn was found in her home, dead.

From this article in the Chicago Tribune:

Woman paid bail of man now charged in her slaying

June 18, 2010

Weeks before a retired school teacher was found dead inside her Brookfield home, she posted bond that freed the man now charged with her murder, the Tribune has learned.

Marilyn Fay, 65, used her credit card on May 27 to put up the $2,500 bond for Steven Kellmann,  according to court documents. Fay was found dead in her home on the 3300 block of Arthur Avenue on June 14.

Kellmann had been arrested in May on a felony charge of driving with a suspended license.

Fay posted 10 percent of the $25,000 bail set in the case and is listed on the bond document as a “friend” of Kellmann.

Fay had repeatedly tried to help Kellmann — an alleged drug addict with a lengthy criminal record — and had even let him stay in her home when he was homeless.

Kellmann first met Fay at the Brookfield Public Library, where she worked part time, and for a time she allowed him to live at her home, according to authorities and Fay’s friends.

She had tried to help him repeatedly because she saw the good in him, and even after she asked him to move out because he had anger management problems, she allowed him to do handyman work at her house, friends said.

Several times in the past, Kellmann had posted bond but violated the terms for his release and forfeited the money.

In the May arrest, a Chicago police officer spotted Kellman driving on the Eisenhower Expressway without a seat belt and pulled him over about 10:30 p.m. May 16, according to prosecutors. He was arrested on a charge of driving with a suspended license that stemmed from a prior DUI arrest, prosecutors said.

This morning, Judge James Gavin set a $2 million bail for Kellman, citing his arrest record and bond forfeitures.

Assistant State’s Attorney Andres Almendarez said Fay was last seen alive with Kellmann about 7 p.m. Sunday. Her body was found by police the next day in the bedroom of her Brookfield home. She had been stabbed, beaten and suffocated.

In the hours after her death, Kellmann tried to use her credit cards three times. He also called family members telling them he had messed up, was suicidal, was going back to jail and that he had killed somebody, Almendarez told the judge.

Using a locating signal from a cell phone, Kellmann was arrested about 5 p.m. in a hotel room on the Southwest Side of Chicago with a 23-year-old Arlington Heights woman.

Fay’s SUV was parked a block and a half away. In the hotel room police found bloody clothing and more than 40 bags of heroin. Kellmann also had Fay’s cell phone, credit cards and keys, Almendarez said.

The woman was later released without charges.

Kellmann’s criminal background includes an aggravated robbery for which he was sentenced to six years in prison for forcing someone to withdraw money from their account at gunpoint. Other convictions include battery and theft. The ongoing suspended license case stems from a previous DUI, Almendarez said.

Do you think that Steven Kellmann knew that June 15th was World Elder Abuse Awareness Day?

I did.

Did Marilyn Fay know? Probably not because she was dead.

My mother passed away sometime between June 9th and 16th in 2007.  Now 2010, three years to the week,  is another senior, dead in her apartment.  She was likely a liberal, voted for Obama.  Hoped to help and rehabilitate someone who was beyond repair. Taken advantage of by someone who did not appreciate her wisdom or kindness.   Marilyn had dogs and I noticed that her obituary requested that donations are to be made in her name to her favorite animal shelter.

I will do that in the name of Marilyn and my mother.

Today will be sunny and warm. How perfect it would be if I could sit in Grant Park, watch the children play, bicycles going by, bumble bees on the tulips.  How perfect it could be if I could do all of those things while sharing a fruit cup with my mother and Marilyn.

How perfect indeed.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY

Drawing by Rembrandt "Children with Old Woman"

 

Finding Your Inner Skank May 25, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized,Women — afrocity @ 10:55 AM
Tags: , ,

At the risk of sounding like a prude, may I ask what the hell was tennis superstar Venus Williams thinking when she wore that horrible outfit to the French Open last Sunday?   That could not be a Wilson sanctioned piece!  Black lace and neon yellow tennis balls do not make for a good match…Pun intended!

During a recent ride on the “L”  in which I had to brave some of Chicago’s dangerous neighborhoods, I noticed a number of young women in clothing that was less than zero on the lady scale.   Shorts in the booty crack, tall stiletto high heels pushing a double decker baby stroller- all the while speaking loudly on the “pay as you go cell phone”  with baby’s daddy.

And please, do not get me started on the sad, sad tattoos some of these women were sporting.  Multiples!!!! On one women.   A picture of Obama on the left shoulder, another of a rose above the ankle.  Ah, how clever a arabesque bracelet tattooed around the wrist! Gee now why didn’t I think of that?  I could have saved all of that money I spent on jewelry.

But wait! As the train pulled into the 63rd Street station, the pièce de résistance boarded in bright”cum fuck me”  red shorts, white 4 inch heels and  weaved hair kidnapped from a Barbie doll- Suntan Barbie.   There is kind of a natural inner scream that wells in my stomach whenever I see someone touch their feet in public.   The young woman dug into her purse, took out a bottle of green lotion and began moisturizing her feet.  Her toenails were painted Liquid Paper white.  There were some sort of designs on them.   While the foot fetish show developed,  I imagine what I would say to her if she were my friend.

“Girl, I love you but…”

I am being too rough on these women.

Perhaps becoming a lady is a transformative work in progress.

Maybe at 40, I have forgot what it was like to be in my teens and 20’s.

There was a time  in my life when I worked pretty damn hard to achieve  the Madonna look.  Headband round my hair, short pink neon mini-skirt, lace leggings.   My own history teacher once told my mother that by idolizing Madonna,  I was destined to be a slut rather than the budding young historian he saw in me.   My decision to wear white spandex leggings and a short fluffy yellow angora sweater to typing class on a 10 degree January day was the talk of the teacher’s lounge.  That caused my high school’s resident pervert “Mr. J.”  to saunter up to me in the hallway and calmly but creepily inform me that some of the teachers found my attire to be not lady like.   Mr. J  was kind enough to mention that in his opinion I was “HOT” and the other teachers were just being “uptight”.

I went home and mentioned none of this to mother- who by the way,  approved of many of my outfits on the weekly basis.  How could I be slutty when I was a virgin? None of the teachers’ concerns apply to me.   I knew who I was.  Clothing was an expression of my inner….skank?  No, no, no.  I was just being creative and experimenting with different looks.  Cut me some slack.  When you are on welfare and do most of your shopping at the Salvation Army it is not like you can afford to look like Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club !!!   So I wore tight leggings. I was about 80lbs and drank a vanilla milk shake at McDonald’s every day just so I could grow a butt that the boys would stare at during gym class.   Don’t I at least get some credit for not wearing mood lipstick or leather gloves with the fingers cut out?

I continued to wear my spandex white leggings mostly because the teachers told me not to.   Because I was a dumb seventeen year old, I could not intellectually understand the metaphor of skanky clothing and girls with restless open leg syndrome.  My hymen reported intact and ready for duty every morning. As long as I knew this, I would not identify with what the others were saying about me.

Over the course of the semester, I found an ally in my music teacher.  Oddly, I was helping her tidy the classroom one afternoon and we began talking about boys.  I told her that I was a virgin who believed in abstinence (with occasional fixes of heavy petting) .

“I knew it!!!”  she smiled.  “I told them you were too nerdy despite the clothes. Anyone who chooses to recite “The Bells” as a soliloquy in World Lit is a nerd. “

That was music to my ears.  Someone actually understood that I was not a skank.

“When you are young and a woman,” teacher continued. ” you like to dress up, wear short skirts, too much make-up.  The mirror never tells you that you look anything less than beautiful- neither do the guys. “

My appreciation for her acceptance of me as a nerdy skank was inexpressible.  Only a huge smile was on my face. What was surprising about the entire moment was that my music teacher was the most proper dressing woman in the entire Chicago Public School System.

“You will grow out of it one day,”  she assured me.

And I did.  Now I only wear legging with tunics or over-sized sweaters.  My wardrobe is de-spandexed.

Miracles do happen.  One day you may wake up and your inner skank is gone.  Did not even bother to leave a note.  All you found was a pile of clothes sitting at the door labeled “DONATE”.

So here’s to you Venus Williams.

You are a tennis icon.

Who cares what people think of you!!!!

Embrace your inner skank.

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

 

Women and Politics: Are We Strong to the Finish? February 9, 2010

Although I am a Republican, I am African American and can relate to the significance of the election of Barack Obama. Whether I like it or not, he is the first POTUS of color and as a country we have been forever changed because of it.  I do not agree with his character or policies but as far as the collective memory of this nation, he is here to stay.

I am not a mother and I probably never will be. Sure I fantasize about it, the feedings, the PTA meetings.

Would my failings as an adult and lapses in judgment cause irrevocable damage to the quality of their life?

Is it possible to be a great mom when my own childhood was so dysfunctional?  When I was raised by a single mom who collected a monthly pay check from Uncle Sam? There was no significant male figure in my life, save for a brother living military life  in Europe most of my life.

What about politics?

Someday this child will want to go out and vote or at least I hope they would want to contribute to the political process.

I also wonder if I were a mom, what would I say to he or she about Barack Obama?

Would I take a copy of Dreams of My Father, hold it in front of my child and say “Bad Man…S O C I A L I ST” ?

Would I yell idiot at the television every time Obama’s image pops up? That would be every day.

You may be surprised at this but my answer is no.

For example if my child arrived from school with a homework assignment about Obama. They have to answer five questions about Obama’s impact on our coutry.

For argument’s sake let’s pretend that the text book is full of liberal embellishments: “Obama is a great man”, “Obama saved our country from the brink of financial Armageddon, “Obama is the greatest president since FDR.”  “Racism almost kept Obama out of the White House”…

How would I handle this situation without passing on my own prejudices against the man?   This is the first president of color we are talking about.   As any good archivist/ historian, I would teach my child to do rigorous research on it’s own.  I would say that while I did not agree with Obama’s policies and I did not vote for him, his election was a pivotal moment in history for all Americans but especially for African Americans.   If the child is very young, there is no need to discuss the motivation and behavior behind Barack Obama.

Afrocity mom would bust out the”Great  Black Politicians in  History”  flash cards which hopefully have cardboard representations Colin Powell, Condeleeza Rice,  Michael Steele,  along with Barack Obama, Jesse Jackson and other prominent black Americans.  Let’s save the Obama and Bill Ayers stories  for middle or high school.  Obama was the first black president and I will not steal that moment–the very significance of it, away from my child.   If I wrote Obama off as a simpleton, say as many liberal women  particularly feminists do Sarah Palin, what would I really be teaching my child?  I just marginalized an important historical figure at the expense of my child’s freedom to choose their own heroes.

The "Fernie Swastikas" A Canadian Women's Hockey Team. In 1923 they defeated the Vancouver Amazons. What would you say to your daughter about this picture today?

Every group or identity politic has memorable stories that endure the harshness of forgetfulness.  Stories that we reiterate to each generation over and over again.  I accept that Barack Obama will be one of them.  His legacy will be held to redefinition over the years. Historians will carefully examine his accomplishments and  spin new interpretations  on Barry-O but still he will never go away.

The same can be said for women’s history.  We can be Republicans or Democrats, Independents, Tea Partiers but we still are women.

What if Sarah Palin did win presidential election in 2012?  What would women, liberals in particular say to their daughters?   “Sarah Palin is a CUNT” ? would they hang her and Piper in effigy over the local Planned Parenthood center? Or would they say: “You know what, I do not agree with this woman’s stance on abortion or gay marriage, but her getting elected to the highest office in the nation is a pretty damn big step for all women”?

As it stands now, we have all this unfolding discourse on how qualified Sarah Palin is. She must prove herself. Over and over and over again like a broken record.   No matter how many speeches Sarah gives, she still must prove herself.

I was somewhat upset with Geraldine Ferraro during this FOX NEWS interview with Megyn Kelly.  Again with the Sarah must prove herself.

I wanted to jump into Megyn’s fancy new studio and say “Hey, Gerry…I was a kid when you ran on the DNC ticket and really I think Sarah Palin gave more interview’s and is under far more media scrutiny than you ever were.”

After a year of fumbles and corpse-men, Obamatons are still chanting “All we are saying, is give Obama a chance”

Would they do the same for Sarah?

I will close this post with one of my most memorable moments in Afrocity once watched cartoons history.  Precious and is this episode of Popeye the Sailor Man.  Olive Oyl imagines herself as being President of the United States of America.  She fights sexism and partisan politics, she has a male secretary. Please watch and I am sure you will be equally entertained and frightened that this antique film reel still captures the underpinnings of a woman’s struggle in politics today. It will take a helluva lot more than a can of spinach to get a woman in the White House sowing the seeds of legislation and real change instead of organic arugula.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY