Upside My Head (Pay Attention Now)

Thursday, February 11, 2010

13 Black Truths by Elon James White

Being a white girl and all, I feel a little odd posting something called "13 Black Truths" but this is great -- and funny as hell. Many white folks might be thinking while watching this, "Really?" And Black folks, well I can't speak for you, but probably something along the lines of "Amen, brother."

Here's the intro from the You Tube post: "There are a lot of things that we all take for granted as being commonly known facts. This Week in Blackness' host Elon James White wrote a few #BlackFacts in a Twitter Discussion and decided to share it with you."

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Pink is my inner doppelganger

My dad, who will turn 80 in a month, often exclaims when he looks in the mirror, "Jesus Christ! Who the hell is that old man!" My dad's outer self no longer matches his inner self -- a handsome, outdoorsy, fishing, hunting, fun loving guy (Dad, you are still all that and more, but I get it now).

In addition to looking in the mirror first thing in the morning, the moments where I get really blown away by what I actually look like at 53 are in dressing rooms and when faced with an image of an aging celebrity or rock star who is about my age. (If he or she looks that old, I must too -- "Jesus Christ! What the hell!")

So last week there was a thing going around on Facebook about posting a photo of your celebrity doppelganger. It was game that was only fun to play if you were under forty. The middle aged crowd, if they dared to play, posted something like this "When I was younger, people used to tell me I looked like xxxx," and then uploaded a (younger) version of that fabulous celebrity's photo.

I considered putting up a photo of me dressed as Elton John for a drag show I did last fall, but why? Would that make me feel better? But humor works when all else fails. See:

Then I watched the Grammys. And along came Pink, in all of her glorious bad ass, hot as hell, push the boundaries, iconoclastic, rock star self doing a nearly naked, breathtaking aerial performance of "Glitter in the Air." Just watch:

It was me! The real me! And now you know. Don't be fooled by my chubby, middle aged appearance. I. am. all. that. And more.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Sade: Loving her for 25 years

My love affair with Sade began early in the 80s when I was a young mother with two young children. She was the music for making love in the beginning, but during those years she evolved into something much deeper - music for my soul. Read this old writing, circa 1986, when my daughter, now a mother herself, was a tiny, difficult baby and I was desperately trying to keep it together:

"She is crying constantly. Never napping. And it's been unbearably hot and humid. She is so tiny, so fierce. But we are finding a way to each other's hearts. I hope the worst is over. Last night was a turning point.

It was just me, my baby, the heat, the night, the whirl of the ceiling fan, her sobs. She wouldn't stop crying. I put on some music, Sade, to help me keep it together. It’s music that’s made for lovers, but last night it was music for a desperate mother and an inconsolable daughter.

I always hope that you remember / what we have is strong and tender / in the middle of the madness / hold on / it's about faith / it's about trust...

Barefoot on the wood floor, I held her close, my sticky skin pressed close to her little body. As the music swirled and the fan whirled through the night air, her cries slowly, surely subsided and even more slowly, she let herself fall into my skin, allowed her head to slide down on my shoulder, her damp curly hair to rest softly against my neck. I let the record play over and over and we rocked and turned and swayed and sighed and sweated and slowly, so slowly, deep into the night, my baby finally fell asleep."

Years later, when Lover's Rock was released, the magic of Sade saved me once again. I kept the CD in a little player on my night stand, and this time her music was for a broken heart - mine.

Every night I listened to the haunting and lovely music, the only thing that could soothe me to sleep.

The Dj's playing the same song/I have so much to do/I have to carry on/I wonder if this grief will ever be gone/will it ever let me go/I am the king of sorrow...

Now, a middle aged woman and grandma with more than half a century of living behind me, my love affair with Sade still burns brightly. I am counting the days until the release of Soldier of Love in early Feb. What will her music bring? Will it be the soundtrack for lovemaking deep into the night? What piece of my soul will it touch, healing the tender parts of me, once again? Listen to the title track:

Sade. Music for lovers. For mothers. For grandmothers. For a lifetime.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Minnesota Hearty

This photo was taken at about 7:30 a.m. on Jan. 7 as I was on my way to work. The biker is getting ready to cross a busy street and is coming off a snowy, icy sidewalk. It's morning rush hour, barely light out yet, a snowstorm underway, and a temperature below 10 degrees. This is how we do it in Minnesota! (At least some of us. I took the photo from the comfort of my car.) And for those of you who don't live on the northern tundra know this: we don't think behavior like this is crazy; we feel proud!

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Tiger Woods and race: Vanity Fair cover speaks volumes

As most of the world knows, Tiger Woods has been in the news of late due to his exploits off the golf course, not on. What interests me most about this are the myriad of racial implications to the coverage of this relatively common story of a famous person who cheats on his wife. And we care why? Or why anymore than anyone else who cheats?

But the race part is important since Woods, who is of mixed African American, Asian, and white heritage, has dug a complicated hole for himself by distancing himself from the Black community for years and aligning himself with a white community that he should have known would turn on him on a dime -- and did. The white majority transformed his image from a nice guy sports hero to Black sexual savage faster than you can say "Cablinasian." And the black community, for the most part, has not had his back, for good reason.

Case in point: This month's Vanity Fair's already infamous cover features a "raw" (their words) Tiger Woods looking like a thug with a freshly cut cell block body minus the tattoos. Our Mr. Clean golf hero is gone gone gone.

RaceWire has a brief, interesting post about the cover shot and its implications. The post simply says:

"So folks, what do you say? The photographer, Annie Leibovitz, should be well known to RaceWire readers as a shameless provocateur, with questionable race politics. We know Leibovitz’s track record. We know the cultural context of this moment in Tiger Woods’s life and career. What say you about this latest image?"

I find the comments interesting. For example:

"Dunno if it's intentional, but I think this serves as a brilliant illustration of how public perception of Tiger has shifted from 'nonthreatening Asian/mixed-race American success story' to 'sex-crazed Black professional athlete' over the course of a single scandal..."