The incredibly loud music from the live bands at the neighborhood parties is mostly doable, but there are some bands that push the limits well into the wee morning hours. To the west of me, behind me about a block, is a party house: at least every other weekend there is a well-attended party that often features the same live band, judging from the same musicality I hear when there's a party.
I've tuned it out every other time, but this morning? It kept getting louder and louder as the hours ticked by. Finally, at 1:00 AM, I called the police department and asked dispatch to send officers by to tell the revelers to turn down the volume. There were whistles and sirens, as well as what has to be an electronic drum set as I've never heard drums that loud. When the dispatch asked me where the party was, all I could say is behind my house at least a block over, but as loud as if it were in my backyard!
Thankfully, by 1:30 AM the music volume had been turned down, although it continued until well after 2 AM, when I was finally able to go back to sleep.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Not So Precious After All
If the overly-hyped Precious isn't drawing the crowds Oprah hoped it would, I'm going to suggest that it's because it's not a very good story, nor is it filmed well. Blurry, out-of-focus shots compete with constant, needless camera movement and sudden black-outs between scene changes. Precious "tells" the story and also acts it: choose one or the other as a combination of both is a distraction. And, actually, the story just isn't very good, compelling, interesting, real -- pick a word, any word, that captures the essence of mediocre.
It's not a good film because it's too raw, too stereotypical, too racist, too vulgar, too poorly acted, and too poorly presented. I am offended by the "motherfucking" vocabulary, the extreme physical violence, the (*)incestual sex, the unwanted babies and teen mothers, and the emphasis on fried food, living the welfare lifestyle, and going through life unable to read/write/do simple math. If you don't want me to believe the stereotypes, don't make them the focal point of the film. As a white person, it's what I've always thought to be true and, as a black person, it's not a very positive portrayal of the race. Do ALL black people live on welfare, lie about their qualifications for the program to get more money, spend their money on cigarettes, fried food and booze? Are all black parents bad parents who abuse their children in more ways than the average psych textbook details? Are all black teens sexually active and unwilling to get an education or change their futures by getting jobs because their role models are rappers, professional athletes, and drug dealers?
No? Go see the film and that's the message you'll get.
The black teen actress who plays Precious ("this is my story," she states) is hugely fat and physically unattractive, with a flat affect and the compliant personality of a dish cloth until another student calls her fat. Then, she punches the girl without a second thought. Her mother is, in the daughter's characterization of her, "a couch whale" who does nothing day in and day out. She smokes constantly, watches TV, verbally, physically, and emotionally abuses her daughter, and allows her boyfriend, who is also Precious's father, to have sex with his daughter to keep him coming back around, affirming the stereotype of the black woman who can doll herself up to have sex with a man or go to the welfare office, but cannot pull herself up and get a job, marry him and hold him accountable, or go on with her life without him.
Precious escapes from the depths of her troubled life through role-playing fantasies, especially while she's being raped, looking for salvation in a media-driven future life when she'll wear beautiful clothes, have a hot man at her side, and earn lots of money for herself. However, that fantasy is not her life, nor her future. Her first-born is called Mongo, short for Mongoloid, because the little girl is a Down Syndrome baby. The baby lives with the g'mother, who brings her to the daughter's apartment when it's time for a visit from the Welfare worker assigned to verify their living conditions. The entire family's life is centered around getting the monthly welfare check, with the g'mother, the mother, and Precious willing to do/say whatever it takes to keep the money coming in so they can continue to live a dead-end life on the taxpayer's dime.
There is no message of hope: this is the way it is if you're black, and this is the way it's going to be if you're black. School is a joke: the teacher prepares a lesson for students who are tuned in to their own self-interests and totally tuned out to school, which they attend to keep the welfare spigot turned on. The girls dress, act, and talk like future prostitutes, turning all their effort and charm on getting a guy who'll give them a baby so they can add to the family's welfare income. The ego-centric guys drip in gold chains, talk smack, and grab their crotches to show their potential value to the girls walking by on the street. The grafitti is the dominant decorating scheme in the subsidized housing and the physical violence is beyond belief as the basic parenting skill of the women who have children to raise, no job skills, and no family support.
When Precious walks down the sidewalk at the end of the film, a baby in arms and a disabled child alongside, it's not a moment of hope, but a foreboding of a future of endless desperation. She's not going to finish her education; she's not going to attract a man to love her, marry her, build a family with her. She's going to repeat the lifestyle and abuse cycle her mother established, and then her children will teach it to their children. There is no hope that Precious will break free, that Precious will be "the one" in the neighborhood to make it out and up. They all have dreams of making it big on TV, but lack the tools, the talent, and the determination to make their dreams come true -- whatever those dreams may be.
Just because the film is (allegedly) about "The Black Experience" does not make it worth seeing. I remember walking out of a Spike Lee film many years ago that was required as part of a college class I was taking. I was offended by the constant stream of obscenities that substituted for an actual language (the students at the alternative school literally do not know the alphabet), the portrayal of black people as ignorant stereotypes (in the film Precious does not know the difference between the word insect and the word incest), and the constant sexuality that led me then to believe that if you're black, the reason you don't have time for anything worthwhile is that you're too busy having sex (the girls in the classroom change the old playground chant to "...sitting in a tree, f-u-c-k-i-n-g").
Seems as if, some twenty-five years later, not much has changed, judging from this year's Oprah offering, which is anything but Precious.
(*) A reader commented on my usage of this term, incestual sex, rather than the word rape, to describe the father's sexual violation of his daughter. The feeling from the film developed a sense of entitlement to the fathers and/or boyfriends from the unmarried women who gave birth to daughters. In the film it is NOT just Precious who is raped by the man she also knew as her biological father, but the incest is presented more as a cultural practice than an illegal criminal action.
It's not a good film because it's too raw, too stereotypical, too racist, too vulgar, too poorly acted, and too poorly presented. I am offended by the "motherfucking" vocabulary, the extreme physical violence, the (*)incestual sex, the unwanted babies and teen mothers, and the emphasis on fried food, living the welfare lifestyle, and going through life unable to read/write/do simple math. If you don't want me to believe the stereotypes, don't make them the focal point of the film. As a white person, it's what I've always thought to be true and, as a black person, it's not a very positive portrayal of the race. Do ALL black people live on welfare, lie about their qualifications for the program to get more money, spend their money on cigarettes, fried food and booze? Are all black parents bad parents who abuse their children in more ways than the average psych textbook details? Are all black teens sexually active and unwilling to get an education or change their futures by getting jobs because their role models are rappers, professional athletes, and drug dealers?
No? Go see the film and that's the message you'll get.
The black teen actress who plays Precious ("this is my story," she states) is hugely fat and physically unattractive, with a flat affect and the compliant personality of a dish cloth until another student calls her fat. Then, she punches the girl without a second thought. Her mother is, in the daughter's characterization of her, "a couch whale" who does nothing day in and day out. She smokes constantly, watches TV, verbally, physically, and emotionally abuses her daughter, and allows her boyfriend, who is also Precious's father, to have sex with his daughter to keep him coming back around, affirming the stereotype of the black woman who can doll herself up to have sex with a man or go to the welfare office, but cannot pull herself up and get a job, marry him and hold him accountable, or go on with her life without him.
Precious escapes from the depths of her troubled life through role-playing fantasies, especially while she's being raped, looking for salvation in a media-driven future life when she'll wear beautiful clothes, have a hot man at her side, and earn lots of money for herself. However, that fantasy is not her life, nor her future. Her first-born is called Mongo, short for Mongoloid, because the little girl is a Down Syndrome baby. The baby lives with the g'mother, who brings her to the daughter's apartment when it's time for a visit from the Welfare worker assigned to verify their living conditions. The entire family's life is centered around getting the monthly welfare check, with the g'mother, the mother, and Precious willing to do/say whatever it takes to keep the money coming in so they can continue to live a dead-end life on the taxpayer's dime.
There is no message of hope: this is the way it is if you're black, and this is the way it's going to be if you're black. School is a joke: the teacher prepares a lesson for students who are tuned in to their own self-interests and totally tuned out to school, which they attend to keep the welfare spigot turned on. The girls dress, act, and talk like future prostitutes, turning all their effort and charm on getting a guy who'll give them a baby so they can add to the family's welfare income. The ego-centric guys drip in gold chains, talk smack, and grab their crotches to show their potential value to the girls walking by on the street. The grafitti is the dominant decorating scheme in the subsidized housing and the physical violence is beyond belief as the basic parenting skill of the women who have children to raise, no job skills, and no family support.
When Precious walks down the sidewalk at the end of the film, a baby in arms and a disabled child alongside, it's not a moment of hope, but a foreboding of a future of endless desperation. She's not going to finish her education; she's not going to attract a man to love her, marry her, build a family with her. She's going to repeat the lifestyle and abuse cycle her mother established, and then her children will teach it to their children. There is no hope that Precious will break free, that Precious will be "the one" in the neighborhood to make it out and up. They all have dreams of making it big on TV, but lack the tools, the talent, and the determination to make their dreams come true -- whatever those dreams may be.
Just because the film is (allegedly) about "The Black Experience" does not make it worth seeing. I remember walking out of a Spike Lee film many years ago that was required as part of a college class I was taking. I was offended by the constant stream of obscenities that substituted for an actual language (the students at the alternative school literally do not know the alphabet), the portrayal of black people as ignorant stereotypes (in the film Precious does not know the difference between the word insect and the word incest), and the constant sexuality that led me then to believe that if you're black, the reason you don't have time for anything worthwhile is that you're too busy having sex (the girls in the classroom change the old playground chant to "...sitting in a tree, f-u-c-k-i-n-g").
Seems as if, some twenty-five years later, not much has changed, judging from this year's Oprah offering, which is anything but Precious.
(*) A reader commented on my usage of this term, incestual sex, rather than the word rape, to describe the father's sexual violation of his daughter. The feeling from the film developed a sense of entitlement to the fathers and/or boyfriends from the unmarried women who gave birth to daughters. In the film it is NOT just Precious who is raped by the man she also knew as her biological father, but the incest is presented more as a cultural practice than an illegal criminal action.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
A Moldy Oldy
When the tile floor was installed in the bathrooms, the installer removed the toilets and then reinstalled them. The toilet in the master has been rocking and rolling for the past few years, leading me at one point to drive a wedge between the tile and the toilet bowl.
While cleaning the house for T'giving company, I noticed there was a black border around the base of the toilet bowl. I zapped it with bleach and it disappeared, but yesterday morning, again cleaning the bathrooms, I noticed the black was not only back, but fuzzy, a sure indication of mold -- one of my primary asthma triggers.
My plumber came today, unbolted the toilet, and exposed the very wet floor underneath the toilet covered with mold. He cleaned it up while shaking his head at the shoddy installation of the toilet, and then did the job correctly. He killed the mold with bleach and said it won't come back now that the slow water leak is fixed and a new wax ring is in place.
Job done. Again. I wish I had a dollar back for every one I've spent doing jobs, then having to hire another person to redo the same job.
While cleaning the house for T'giving company, I noticed there was a black border around the base of the toilet bowl. I zapped it with bleach and it disappeared, but yesterday morning, again cleaning the bathrooms, I noticed the black was not only back, but fuzzy, a sure indication of mold -- one of my primary asthma triggers.
My plumber came today, unbolted the toilet, and exposed the very wet floor underneath the toilet covered with mold. He cleaned it up while shaking his head at the shoddy installation of the toilet, and then did the job correctly. He killed the mold with bleach and said it won't come back now that the slow water leak is fixed and a new wax ring is in place.
Job done. Again. I wish I had a dollar back for every one I've spent doing jobs, then having to hire another person to redo the same job.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
The Way I See It ...
1. There is no "win" in war. The Middle East has been at war for centuries: no surge or conventional warfare is going to change that. If we aren't going to drop the bomb and literally level the field of battle, let's try leaving them to their own devices. It's their decision to IED themselves into oblivion if the PEOPLE who are being bombed won't stand up for their own safety. We have serious work to do within our own borders, so either get it done or get the hell out of the Middle East.
2. Yes, they did it for the show and their well-rehearsed press conference to the contrary lacked believability. They knew their lines better than Raven, but it was the same scam. Turn the cameras off the party crashers.
3. The record-breaking profits in the auto industry were made on the backs of the taxpayers who funded the Cash for Clunkers program, not by a new business model or a new product line or new consumer-friendly pricing strategies. The auto industry cannot rebound until cars are once again available at prices the consumer can afford. The MAJORITY of the consumer base cannot afford $40k even when stretched out with a 5-year payment plan that adds another third of the purchase price in interest!
4. Contrary to public opinion, Tiger Woods' personal life is his business. Neither he nor his wife nor anyone else associated with the Tiger Woods brand needs to explain what happened -- or did not happen. Tiger adhered to the letter of the law; it was no big deal; we need to move on, people.
5. The new financial philosophy needs to hammer home the "live within your means" point, rather than exhorting the consumer to spend, spend, spend its way out of "these tough economic times." The cycle of living on credit cannot continue, no matter what enticements the businesses and/or the credit card vendors offer to help the public through "these tough economic times." Don't spend money you don't have and you'll be debt-free. Eventually.
6. The family members who sheltered the career criminal who gunned down four police officers catching up on paperwork at a local coffee shop should be prosecuted as accessories after the fact. Their perspective that the man was mentally ill and deserved to be treated humanely, not hunted down like a common criminal, lacks substance: he murdered four innocent men in a public place, then ran! The family hid him, obstructing a murder investigation and putting the entire community into jeopardy, and now cry on the TV news to take the onus off their actions. Nope. Hold ALL criminals accountable for their actions, even those who commit a crime for which they do not want to go to jail.
7. I willingly throw out a head of lettuce that has gone bad because, face it, tearing up lettuce for lunch doesn't do it for a sugar addict, but I refuse to toss out the sweet rolls I made for b'fast! Priorities skew when it's an emotional time of the year. Really, Santa, I've been good for months and months and months!
8. No matter how many donations I make to worthy charities, there are always several more in tomorrow's mail. I hate saying "no" to any of them, but I'm drowning in donations.
9. It offends me that so many employees do their holiday shopping by computer during the workday. It equally offends me that the media covers the increase in the number of employees doing their holiday shopping on the company dime as if it were another work-related task during the day. If people have that much leisure time to spend doing personal business during the workday, either cut their hours or dock their pay or charge them a usage fee for the company equipment. When I'm on the clock, I'm on the clock!
10. Hurrah to everyone who loves Christmas and celebrates it for days on end. My only request for Christmas this year? Leave those of us who are not so enamored alone to do our own thing. Don't extend invitations to holiday parties we don't want to attend. Don't ask us to go shopping with you because that is probably one of the aspects of the holiday with which we are less than enchanted. Don't ask us to share your holiday dinner so we "don't have to eat alone." I am used to making my own decisions the other 50 weeks of the year, so allow me the courtesy of doing the same during the holiday season. I'm okay with that. Really.
All done.
2. Yes, they did it for the show and their well-rehearsed press conference to the contrary lacked believability. They knew their lines better than Raven, but it was the same scam. Turn the cameras off the party crashers.
3. The record-breaking profits in the auto industry were made on the backs of the taxpayers who funded the Cash for Clunkers program, not by a new business model or a new product line or new consumer-friendly pricing strategies. The auto industry cannot rebound until cars are once again available at prices the consumer can afford. The MAJORITY of the consumer base cannot afford $40k even when stretched out with a 5-year payment plan that adds another third of the purchase price in interest!
4. Contrary to public opinion, Tiger Woods' personal life is his business. Neither he nor his wife nor anyone else associated with the Tiger Woods brand needs to explain what happened -- or did not happen. Tiger adhered to the letter of the law; it was no big deal; we need to move on, people.
5. The new financial philosophy needs to hammer home the "live within your means" point, rather than exhorting the consumer to spend, spend, spend its way out of "these tough economic times." The cycle of living on credit cannot continue, no matter what enticements the businesses and/or the credit card vendors offer to help the public through "these tough economic times." Don't spend money you don't have and you'll be debt-free. Eventually.
6. The family members who sheltered the career criminal who gunned down four police officers catching up on paperwork at a local coffee shop should be prosecuted as accessories after the fact. Their perspective that the man was mentally ill and deserved to be treated humanely, not hunted down like a common criminal, lacks substance: he murdered four innocent men in a public place, then ran! The family hid him, obstructing a murder investigation and putting the entire community into jeopardy, and now cry on the TV news to take the onus off their actions. Nope. Hold ALL criminals accountable for their actions, even those who commit a crime for which they do not want to go to jail.
7. I willingly throw out a head of lettuce that has gone bad because, face it, tearing up lettuce for lunch doesn't do it for a sugar addict, but I refuse to toss out the sweet rolls I made for b'fast! Priorities skew when it's an emotional time of the year. Really, Santa, I've been good for months and months and months!
8. No matter how many donations I make to worthy charities, there are always several more in tomorrow's mail. I hate saying "no" to any of them, but I'm drowning in donations.
9. It offends me that so many employees do their holiday shopping by computer during the workday. It equally offends me that the media covers the increase in the number of employees doing their holiday shopping on the company dime as if it were another work-related task during the day. If people have that much leisure time to spend doing personal business during the workday, either cut their hours or dock their pay or charge them a usage fee for the company equipment. When I'm on the clock, I'm on the clock!
10. Hurrah to everyone who loves Christmas and celebrates it for days on end. My only request for Christmas this year? Leave those of us who are not so enamored alone to do our own thing. Don't extend invitations to holiday parties we don't want to attend. Don't ask us to go shopping with you because that is probably one of the aspects of the holiday with which we are less than enchanted. Don't ask us to share your holiday dinner so we "don't have to eat alone." I am used to making my own decisions the other 50 weeks of the year, so allow me the courtesy of doing the same during the holiday season. I'm okay with that. Really.
All done.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Back to the Same Old Routine
Sunday was a lazy day, but we finally hit the local mall and planned to see the spectacular light show at the Living Desert after we finished shopping. Imagine our surprise to arrive about 4 pm so we could get a parking space only to learn that the park closes at 5 pm. The light show, which is a huge attraction, was open over the long weekend, but did not include Sunday. It will reopen between Christmas and New Year's, but that's it. I was completely disappointed as it's such a wonderfully festive kick off to Christmas, but I guess financially it's become an issue that has forced pull-backs.
The trip to the airport was short and clear sailing, but could just as easily have been a traffic nightmare such as the one I encountered returning from teaching Monday classes. In the middle of YV, the highway was shut down! No traffic control officers in place to untangle the snarl of four lanes filled with all manner of vehicles. As a local, I was able to make a quick left and run parallel to the problem, which should have been the direction provided by traffic control had there been someone assigned to that task.
However, on the other side of that obstruction was a major accident! Again, I hopped onto surface roads to make my way around the new shut-down, only to find a disabled natural gas delivery truck blocking the roadway, surrounded by a huge wrecker in the process of changing a flat front tire. It was challenging to get around that obstacle without being hit by all the other vehicles trying to get around the two accidents that had shut down the major thoroughfare as there are those drivers who have to whip around you to get there ... first? It must be a game to some drivers to go full throttle through the congestion, weaving in and out, but I'm all for letting them have their way, rather than being the next accident on Highway 62!
Once I was back on the road and headed down the YV grade toward home, I was slowed to a crawl by another accident: a Jeep tangled with another natural gas delivery truck and came out on the losing end. It appeared that the Jeep had both rolled and skidded along its side, ending against someone's front yard landscaping. Finally, on the last leg of the trip, a couple in an SUV evidently swerved off the road at the big sweeping bend in the road and landed in the soft desert sand callawampus, as we used to say, the back end buried. Another wrecker was in the process of pulling them out onto the road.
Mia was glad to see me, but kept going to the couch where g'son slept during his visit and then down the hallway to the guest room, looking for the other humans we shared space with for a few days. We all had a good time, but the days rush by too quickly when you live so far apart. I got the call last night that both dotter and g'son are home safely after a long, but good day of travel.
And life returns to the same old routine!
The trip to the airport was short and clear sailing, but could just as easily have been a traffic nightmare such as the one I encountered returning from teaching Monday classes. In the middle of YV, the highway was shut down! No traffic control officers in place to untangle the snarl of four lanes filled with all manner of vehicles. As a local, I was able to make a quick left and run parallel to the problem, which should have been the direction provided by traffic control had there been someone assigned to that task.
However, on the other side of that obstruction was a major accident! Again, I hopped onto surface roads to make my way around the new shut-down, only to find a disabled natural gas delivery truck blocking the roadway, surrounded by a huge wrecker in the process of changing a flat front tire. It was challenging to get around that obstacle without being hit by all the other vehicles trying to get around the two accidents that had shut down the major thoroughfare as there are those drivers who have to whip around you to get there ... first? It must be a game to some drivers to go full throttle through the congestion, weaving in and out, but I'm all for letting them have their way, rather than being the next accident on Highway 62!
Once I was back on the road and headed down the YV grade toward home, I was slowed to a crawl by another accident: a Jeep tangled with another natural gas delivery truck and came out on the losing end. It appeared that the Jeep had both rolled and skidded along its side, ending against someone's front yard landscaping. Finally, on the last leg of the trip, a couple in an SUV evidently swerved off the road at the big sweeping bend in the road and landed in the soft desert sand callawampus, as we used to say, the back end buried. Another wrecker was in the process of pulling them out onto the road.
Mia was glad to see me, but kept going to the couch where g'son slept during his visit and then down the hallway to the guest room, looking for the other humans we shared space with for a few days. We all had a good time, but the days rush by too quickly when you live so far apart. I got the call last night that both dotter and g'son are home safely after a long, but good day of travel.
And life returns to the same old routine!
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