Janus Only with Better Hair

So I find myself in a place where I am at once both looking backward and forward. As always my twin, the other half of myself is thinking the same thing. We really do share a brain.

My kid turned 12 a few months ago. I don't know how many of you remember being 12, but it's sort of a no man's land. You're not a little kid anymore, but you're not yet a teenager ready for independence. We've had some stumbles as a family lately trying to work out what the right balance of independence and parental control are. It's a fascinating experience to be on this side of the pre-teen/teen transition.

And it's got me thinking of my own self at that age. Me and the kid have had talks about what's going on in school socially. And his experience is eerily similar. So, I'm pondering if I should tell him what he's in store for.

Basically, it's gonna suck ass for the next few years. You're way more mature than your peers, and it's going to be that way at least until college. You'll make some really good friends. But, it's going to take you some time to grow into yourself and find a way of belonging. The good news is that there are bunch of folks going through the same thing. And after you guys figure yourselves out, you'll find each other. And I can assure you will grow into a wonderfully rich life full of smart, sophisticated, funny people who totally get you . And the good news is, you're going to be old a lot longer than you're going to be young. Even though it doesn't seem that way from your vantage point right now.

Why I love Emily Post

I know it’s hard to believe that someone who says fuck as much as I do gives a whit about etiquette. Yet, I do.

I know Emily Post is seen as being the ultimate in snobbery. But, nothing could be further from the truth. Emily was the highest of high society ladies. But, she married an asshole. After her fancy husband had an affair with a stripper, she got herself a divorce and a job. In 1905. Back when such things were just.not.done.

We can pretend, if we like, that America is a classless society. But, we only are kidding ourselves. Even as race, gender, and sexual identity become less and less important … class remains.
The way Emily saw it, the only thing that separated high society from the rest of us was knowing the rules. If you could know the rules of high society, anyone could join. So she wrote all the rules down. What’s more inclusive than that?

There is a growing sentiment that manners and etiquette are outdated. According to Miss Manners, “etiquette is no longer a ladder for social climbers or a bludgeon for snobs; it's a tool for transforming ourselves and our society into something nobler, by bringing the ideals of mutual respect, dignity, and equality back into our everyday lives by the way we teach each other.” Manners are the grease that keeps society moving along.

In the introduction to Mrs. Post’s 1922 opus, there is an almost eerily prescient passage.
“The polished gentleman of sentimental fiction has so long served as the type of smooth and conscienceless depravity that urbanity of demeanor inspires distrust in ruder minds. On the other hand, the blunt, unpolished hero of melodrama and romantic fiction has lifted brusqueness and pushfulness to a pedestal not wholly merited.”

If only Sarah Palin had brushed up on her Emily Post, she might be Vice President.

WHOOT-MOTERFUCKIG-WHOOT!

Dear Blog,

I'm sorry I've neglected you. We've taken a little trip to Crazytown in the Comer household lo these past few weeks. Although, for once it was not My Crazy that was driving. In fact, My Crazy stayed locked in the trunk duct taped to the spare tire for most of the ride. Whoo-hoo, go me! Although I did succomb to few new pairs of boots, brown patent leather flats, and some clothes. But chile, they is fierce! Mostly, I was in the passenger seat trying to naviagte my husband's crazy away from the edge of the cliff. It seems we have finally found our way back on to the interstate and are sailing along back to Normal (or least our equivilant).

Can I just take a moment to encourage you (okay me really, I know no one reads this) to say it out loud one more time ... President Obama. Yep, still makes me grin. I still find myself getting weepy. It's better than Christmas. There was much crying and laughing and toasting and crying at our house Tuesday night.

Thank you. Thank you to all those folks who struggled and fought to make this happen - those who fought literally and those who fought quietly in thier daily lives to move us just a little bit closer. Those folks who who were turned away from better schools and jobs. From a simple seat on a bus. Thank you to all those folks that despite being spit on and hosed down, they never let bitterness get the better of them. Thank you to my mother in law, who when her son and I - some white girl she didn't know from Eve -needed some where to go ... all she said was "come home". This is for y'all. For our kids. For all of us. Today is little bt better than yesterday.

Mommy Dearest

She asked me did I feel abandoned when she asked me to move out. I lied and told her no. Really the truth lay somewhere in between. I did feel abandoned, but not because she asked me to leave. I had been an ill loved dog tied in her yard so long; the relief of being turned loose was like shaking a stone from a shoe.

And so I left. And my sorrow and indignation were utter and righteous all at once. I have held it, fondled it, examined so many times it’s worn white and smooth like a scar. My prized possession. My battle wound. Trotted out to titillate and disgust like an incision from a particularly gruesome surgery.
I have no interest in forgiveness. I need the scar to remind me of where she used to be. I’ll never have her, but I’ll have the scar from where she used to be. Closing together the two halves of me make me whole.

Sexist

Senator Obama's attacks against Sarah Palin are not sexist. In fact, trying to play it like the big scary black man is beating up on the wee white woamn is more than just a little racist. If Obama can't "play the race card", y'all need to lay off "the gender card".

Let me clue you in on a few things, Republicans.

Never in the hostory of ever have I kissed my boss. Why?

Because it's sexist.

Bypassing other male heads of state to grope the female? Sexist.

Not supporting women's access to birth control and oppsosing abortion? Sexist.

You keep using that word. I do not think that it means what you think that it means.

Open Letter to Anthony Bourdain

I see it’s been about a year since anyone has suggested Baltimore (other than the clip of that crazy lady with the MICA squirrel in the Travel with Tony montage). It appears to be time to reassert the need to do a show here.

First, some things you should know about us. We have a huge inferiority complex and a chip on our shoulder.

1) You dissed us in Kitchen Confidential, and we won’t let it go till you give us another chance. Granted, that diss was deserved. All you saw was the Inner Harbor. That place is a tourist trap shithole. There … I said it! Bring it on Baltimore Tourism Bureau. I ain’t skeered a’you. Going to the Inner Harbor and saying you’ve seen Baltimore, is like going to Five Points and the Coca Cola Museum and saying you’ve seen Atlanta. You haven’t. But, we don’t blame you. That place is an assault on the psyche. It’s okay. We understand. But, let us show the rest of city that will be a healing balm to your scarred, scarred soul.

2) You’re doing a show in DC. The only thing Baltimorons hate more than being dissed in public is DC. We are everything DC isn’t. A very wise friend of a friend described Baltimore as DC’s ugly, older sister who’s a lot more fun to hang out with. Growing up around the DC area, Lord knows I love me some go-go and Ben’s Chili bowl perhaps a little more than is healthy. But, eventually you get tired of playing SoWhoDoYouKnowAndHowCanThatBenefitMe game. Yeah, there are great museums and stuff, but DC is such a see-and-be-seen town. And it gets old … fast. In Baltimore we ask all the same getting to know you questions, but it’s because we’re certain that we have a friend in common – we just have to figure out who it is.

3) Fucking Cleveland??!? You did a how in Cleveland? But still you won’t come to Baltimore? Harvey Pekar is an American subculture icon. And you got to hang with Marky Ramone. Either of which I would give my left tit to do. I understand the appeal. But, how can you ignore the city that gave us Frank Zappa, John Waters, and The Wire? Baltimore is a weird place. But it’s good weird. Yeah, we’re Bodymore, Murderland. But we’re also still a place where folks dance in the streets. You see folks dancing at bus stops. We will literally stop our cars in the middle of the street to get our groove on. There’s a weirdly awesome dichotomy here. We’re the Northern most Southern city. We’re not New York or DC. We all the best of those things and all the worst of them at the same time. To quote John Waters, New York City is weird and everyone there knows they’re weird. Baltimore is weird and no has a clue.

4) The food. The fooooood! We know you love a public market. Baltimore has 6. Some of which have been in continuous operation since the 18th century. Each one has its own neighborhood and vibe. And the crabs, of course. But, like so many other local cuisines, you have to do it with a local to do it right. No one but tourists goes to those schmaltzy crab houses. To do it right you need a bushel of crabs, lots beer and good friends, someone’s back porch, an assload of newspaper, and whole an afternoon. Crabs are a slow food. They cannot be rushed through, assembly line fashion, in some bustling crab house. Sure, they are better/bigger/meatier crabs than the blues. But crabs are really about the picking, and picking is an art form learned on lazy afternoons filled with talking shit.

So, the choice is clear. Either give in and do a show here, or continue to be hounded until you do. We promise to make it worth your while.

Words I Hate

Well, not really so much words, as phrases.

On a flow basis

This is the latest bit of corporate speak to circulate around my office. What does this mean? Stringing random words together is not insightful, folks.

Full Time Mom

This one makes me want jam a stick into the eye of the speaker. Really? Full time mom? So I guess that makes me a part time mom? I assure you mothering does not come with full and part time labor breakdowns. I’m a mom all day long. I don’t have a nanny or housekeeper. Kids don’t come in the less needy part time models. I still have doctor’s appointments and sports practice and school plays and all the same crap your kids have. You know what else I have, in addition to all the crap you have? A full time JOB.

Values Voter

Why is this always applied to the Christian Right? Isn’t wanting everyone to have the same basic human rights a value? The right to marry and love who ever you want, the right to healthcare, the right to an equal and adequate education? Aren’t those values?

Words are powerful. Language is meaningful. Be conscious of the words you use.

To quote Orwell …

“In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible. Things like the continuance of British rule in India, the Russian purges and deportations, the dropping of the atom bombs on Japan, can indeed be defended, but only by arguments which are too brutal for most people to face, and which do not square with the professed aims of the political parties. Thus political language has to consist largely of euphemism, question-begging and sheer cloudy vagueness.”

Pay attention folks. Listen not just to the words people use, but the implication. Think it through.