United States

Thank You Internetz

and the Coca-Cola company. For turning over the rock, and allowing light to shine on the racism that is alive and all too

Statue of liberty (Photo credit: rakkhi)

well in America.

I didn’t watch the Super Bowl, didn’t see the commercial that caused waves in our amber GMO enriched grain until this morning. If I was a gambler, I’d put money on the idea that many of the same people shitting themselves over a Coke commercial featuring people of color! language other than English! would consider me suspect, not a real American for the simple fact that I’m not a football fan, not a sports fan at all.

That’s what America’s all about, right? The Pilgrims came here so they could chase a ball and drink beer without any pesky brown people, or hearing anything other than the dulcet tones of English. Such a pure language, developed in a magical place without any influences from any other nasty, discordant languages. Mmm hmmm.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not too highbrow for football. I was annoyed there was no new episode of The Real Housewives of Atlanta last night–I assume because they didn’t think they’d get enough viewers. I know, I know, RHoA, more brown people. Black women. If it makes you feel better, dear racists, I found that out after eating a slice of apple pie. My dessert, after a dinner of arroz con habichuelas.

At this point, I don’t know if I’m more angry, sad, or disgusted. I do know I wish we were a smarter country. Smart enough for everyone here to understand we are a nation built on the backs of immigrants, after stealing the land from the Native Americans already living here. Guess they didn’t count, since they didn’t speak English. Guess what? You, in your racist spouting household probably have traditional meals included in your pure American Thanksgiving dinner that are actually throwbacks to your family’s heritage. Potato salad? German. Pasta? Italian. Butter cookies? Norwegian. Corn? Beans? Squash? The three sisters are Native American, and you should stop serving all three because Native Americans certainly aren’t what you mean when you talk about real Americans. And I’ve got another little surprise for you, all the rhetoric you’re spewing, about these Mexicans/Domincans/Haitians/Koreans/fillintheblankins, you know, the crap about not learning English, not becoming American enough for your taste, their strange foods, the way they’re taking your jobs and your wimmenz…not original or new. The same tired fearful and fear mongering lines have been spouted for two centuries of immigration. I’m very sorry to tell you, the good old days weren’t what you think they were.

English: A Turkish immigrant in New York (1912). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I wish we were smart enough to understand that we are not an isolationist nation and never were. I wish we were smart enough to understand that instead of trying to fit everyone into a cracked mold that’s a figment of stultified imaginations, we need to move forward, leave this nonsense behind. I wish we were smart enough to understand that the affordable air travel, internet and cell phones have brought us more than resort vacations, Candy Crush, and sexting. We are living in a global economy. Guess who’s going to get ahead in a global economy? Those who are able to respect cultures other than the one they grew up in; those who speak more than one language, those who aren’t terrified by the sight of someone who has different skin color, eye shape, hair texture, religious beliefs, clothing or customs than their own. Those who don’t vomit hatred because their sacred game has been tainted by nothing.

That’s right, I said it. Nothing. You’re up in arms because the ridiculously priced commercials selling shit you don’t need during a game dared to show America as it is, not your fantasy of what it should be.

I just got off of the train. On the subway I hear English, spoken with a broad number of American accents. I hear English spoken with accents from Ireland, England, New Zealand, Pakistan, Guyana, Australia, South Africa, Ghana, Jamaica, Zimbabwe, Kenya, Papa New Guinea. I hear Spanish, Italian, French, German, Hebrew, Arabic, Tagalog, Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Tagalog, Portuguese, Hindi, Vietnamese, Yiddish, Polish, Serbo-Croatian, languages from Scandinavia and languages from Africa. I don’t know who was born here, who’s an immigrant–documented or undocumented–who’s a tourist here to pump thousands of dollars into our economy. Shocking though this might be, I don’t care. It’s beautiful to my ears, part of being an American in New York.

I’ve spent quite a bit of time in New England, including the more rural areas where it’s truly rare to see a person of color or hear a language other than English. Also beautiful, also part of America. I’ve spent time down South, where outside of the major cities you don’t hear as many different languages, but still a few, and see many people of color. Beautiful. I’ve spent time in the Southwest, where there are more Native Americans, and I heard bits of languages rarely if ever heard in NYC. Beautiful. Time in the Pacific Northwest, where I heard more Norwegian words and influences than I hear in the east, heard languages and saw faces originating from Alaskan Native cultures. Beautiful. To me, that’s what makes America. It’s vast, our population is huge and mixed, influences from all over the world are seen, heard, and felt in our in language, music, food, and clothing. My America isn’t more or less American than yours.

I want to be clear, when you say things like “I don’t mean you,” you do. You mean my children, my family, my friends, my neighbors. When my kid is chosen for a job over you or yours, it isn’t and won’t be because of looks or last name. It will be because he has always and continues to work his ass off, speaks three languages, knows how to be respectful and appreciative of all cultures and focus on commonalities in our global economy.

I’m not a politician, not a sociologist or anthropologist, not an academic, not in marketing or advertising. I’m not a mover or shaker in any circle, no impressive degrees, haven’t traveled the world, really not that smart. A plain old gal living on the fringe. But I know the commercial that prompted this latest round of bullshit has nothing to do with anything you’re whining about. It’s about the Coca-Cola company wanting to reach the broadest possible audience, so the next time you’re in front of a display in the store, choosing between Coke and Pepsi, you spend your dollars on Coke. And I will. Or I would, if I drank soda–or pop, or coke, depending on what region of the US you’re in.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A8iM73E6JP8

Guilty Pleasures

We all have them. The nice part of being old? I don’t actually feel guilty anymore. Maybe just mildly embarrassed.

English: Bates Motel Set at Universal Studio Hollywood CA. Source: Taken by User:Ipsingh (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

We used to vacation on a semi regular basis, once every couple of years or so. We usually took the car, Husband driving until he couldn’t pretend his eyes were open, and then stayed overnight in inexpensive motels (upgraded once we reached our destination).

There’s something fun about a basic motel. The ice chest down at the end of the hall, pulling the car into a spot right outside your room, free continental breakfast! Lucky Charms in the morning! I would get suckered every time, “magically delicious.” Eww. But then you could change your mind and stick with Rice Krispies. When I was a kid, those were the only motels we ever stayed in, and I don’t think I understood the difference between the Super 8 and the Four Seasons. True, there was that one time my mother got fleas from the room we stayed in, but that didn’t dim the glory of the ice bucket for me. You know what? Cheap motels still fit the bill when you’re just passing through, and they’re still fun.

The other part of a road trip. Road food. And here we reach the guilty pleasure portion of today’s post. Road food should be quick if you’re behind schedule, slow if you need a break, it should be cheap, have something for everyone. For people who haven’t done a lot of vacationing, we’ve eaten a lot of road food, especially when you add in the road trips that weren’t overnight, touring boarding schools and colleges for the boys.

Brings to mind cute little hole in the wall places, right? With the tough talking but spunky waitress serving the best. pies. in. America.

No. Cause that might be what you get. Or you might find yourself starving at a table and there’s nothing for half of your family to eat. Or it might be so tiny that there’s no table for a family of five. The food could just plain suck. Or, nightmare of nightmares, you could find yourself on the road with food poisoning. The solution?

Cracker Barrel, road food extraordinaire. Rockers on every front porch, all for sitting and for sale.

The food is reliable, they serve breakfast all day (important when you’re a traveling vegetarian), sure it’s kind of cheesy, but it’s also cheap and charming and very clean.

They have big checkers tables set up on the front porch and inside the restaurant, great for waiting with kids. Even better, there’s one of these for playing with on every table.

The peg game. How many will you be left with?

The food? Country/home cookin’ style. Don’t ask more than that, I think it’s a mix of southern, midwest, new england, or other. And it isn’t just food and games. Ye Old Country Store is attached to each one, selling inexpensive toys/games, old fashioned candy, blankets, candles, t-shirts, sweaters, and countrified nicknacks.

After drinking 12 cups of coffee, eating pounds of eggs, grits, and hash browns, who doesn’t need some candy for the road?

Just sitting, there’s lots to look at in the decor.

Something to see on every wall.

And of course

Heads Up! I’m never certain if this stuff is for sale or not.

Heading north for a couple of days tomorrow. I’m quite certain there’re two buttery, over easy eggs waiting for me.

I’ll save the Lucky Charms for Flower Child.

She Said What?!

Angry-man-rights illustration (Photo credit: HikingArtist.com)

Can we talk about the human side of this election? Yanno, the post-voting fallout?

I’m stunned by the numbers of people posting complete vitriol–from both sides. On my personal Facebook page it’s been limited, but frankly I think that has more to do with having a small circle of friends than anything else. Even within that small circle, I’ve seen plenty of people unFriending each other. Is the shrinking middle class being reflected in shrinking moderation in all areas?

If you’re new to Fringeland, let me tell you now, I’m broke and lean left. If you’re already offended, this blog isn’t for you.

I have friends on both sides, listen to opinions on both sides, see the same facts and figures get skewed by both sides. To me the choice, if not all of the issues, was clear. For all of my reading and listening, I don’t really understand how some of my friends have the beliefs they do. Some, I think I get it even if I disagree, based on clues and things I know are true in their lives.

My Foot is Slipping (Photo credit: Old Shoe Woman)

Others, I don’t get it at all. It seems to me they’re fighting against their own interests, one foot in the same muck mine is in and the other heel grinding into the dirt to be buried alongside the first one.

But here’s the thing. I know they’re looking, listening/reading, and thinking the same about me. They believe our country, our values, and our basic rights are slipping away under Obama. And no, I’m not talking about any of the hateful, ignorant worms we’ve all seen photos of and quotes from online– you know the ones, those who proudly held up signs saying “Bring the White Back into the White House,” or any of their despicable cohorts.

I’m talking about people who aren’t in the 1%, people who are intelligent, reasonably well read, often highly educated. Maybe they have children they’d like to send to college, maybe they have children with significant chronic medical needs, maybe they work union jobs, maybe they’re on disability, or collecting unemployment benefits, maybe they’re women, maybe they’re people of color, maybe they consider themselves caring and moral people (with or without religion), maybe they’re gay, maybe they’re counting on help from FEMA, or the Federal government to rebuild the infrastructure of their community in the wake of Hurricane Sandy.

In my opinion, these are all people who have the potential to benefit more from Obama than they would have under Romney. Some of them disagree. Fine. I accept that, I was raised with and am quite comfortable with our two party system. Frankly, I’d like to see some teeth from one or two of the smaller alternative parties in addition, to keep people thinking and evolving along with the world. I don’t have enough hubris to write all of these people off, blanketing myself in the assumption that they’re all either dim, heartless, or evil.

Some people ranting, roaring, and picketing is good. We need people with that level of passion to get everyone else paying attention. I admire those who fully devote themselves to the causes they believe in, and I thank them for putting their time and energy into these causes, caring enough to keep up the work and attention when elections end, and others might think there’s no more work to be done.

I rarely, rarely see honest, potentially helpful political discourse. The closest is Real Time with Bill Maher, which I’m sure will have 2 of my 3 readers screaming at the computer screen when they read this. The third will wail that I’m rolling over and giving in, not passionate enough.

But. When did it turn into everyone screaming? If everyone is screaming, no one is listening. I see rants, misleading partial quotes, and a whole lotta lalalala.

Franz von Stuck: Dissonanz Heliogravur von Hanfstaengl. Plattengröße 53 x 46,5 cm, (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I grew up in a home where there was a lot of political arguing. My father would rant, calling my brother a fascist and my brother would bellow back, calling my father a communist. I would go hide in my room, wishing they would both shut the fuck up. The past year has felt like old home week. Except I’m not hiding in my room and don’t want everyone to shut up. I care very deeply about my life, your life, and the world my children are going to live in. Just lower your voices so I can hear your words, and the intention behind them.

Plans vs Dreams

Vintage Chenille Designer Fabric Girl Patchwork Quilt with Fuchsia Fringe (Photo credit: Nesha’s Vintage Niche)

Mmm hmm, we’re all human, want to love and be loved, put our pants on one leg at a time; insert whatever cliche feels right to you here. But there are differences between those who worry about paying the rent and those who don’t, same as there are differences between men and women. Then again, maybe it’s just me.

I don’t make too many plans, but for as much as I lecture myself not to do it, I still dream. I dream of my beach house, I dream of a 135 gallon tank stocked with the flashiest fish and corals money can buy. I dream of buying my kids everything they need when they need it, I dream of a brand new fully loaded van, a little hybrid for myself and another one for Man Child. I dream of being able to take Flower Child to the absolute best doctors to maximize her quality of life and her joy, no matter where they might be, or how much it would cost, of being able to search out and pay for a school that truly fits her needs. I dream of Virginia Woolf, and being able to say yes, I have a room of my own to write in, and the time to do so. I dream of indulging the shoe whore who lives inside me, letting her out. I dream of being able to say to the fabulous fancy schmancy schools that have given scholarships to my boys, “Here, take it back. Let me write you a check x 2, so you can offer scholarships to two more kids who need and deserve their shot.”

Dreams don’t cost anything, some would even argue they’re food for the soul. I’m not sure which side of that argument I’d take. Plans, though, plans are something else. Plans are what people do when they have enough, and some extra. When decisions aren’t made out of panic and absolute necessity, but careful thought.

What’s that old saying? Man makes plans and God laughs? I was on Facebook yesterday, trying to catch up on the “news” of my online friends, and saw someone had posted a map of the US, illustrating how many hours would need to be worked in each state at minimum wage each week in order to pay (fair market) rent on a two bedroom apartment. Some were much worse than others, but not one state would afford a two bedroom if you only worked 40 hours. I live here in Gotham City, so that wasn’t exactly shocking. What was shocking were the comments made on the side. So much self-righteousness I was afraid to type a response, surely a viscous sludge that reeked of pomp and circumstance would ooze from between the keys. “Just get another job!…They shouldn’t have had children they couldn’t afford!…Join the army!…Share the apartment with another family!…Who told those people to procreate (yes, I’m well aware I already wrote that, but it was mentioned many times)…Let them go back to their own countries!…”

I don’t know any of the people who posted those comments. I don’t know if they go to the union meeting on Tuesday, the PTA meeting on Wednesday, or church on Sunday. I do know that I, and others I know like myself and my family, used to make plans. It doesn’t take much; the loss of a job, a real estate bubble expanding and then bursting, a diagnosis of a chronic medical condition, to push Average Jane/Joe off the solid weave and onto the fringe. Staying on the fringe and not falling into society’s lint pile, well, that takes a lot. Focus, strength, determination, maybe even the remnants of faith in a better life, possibilities, and dreams.