OOJ: Thin Mint Spa Day

i don't like dip: guacamole, ranch dressing, liquid orange cheese. i do, however, love dipping stuff in things: roast beef au jus, giant sourdough pretzels in crunchy peanut butter, bite-sized chunks of filet mignon in mashed potatoes. behold, my newest dipping masterpiece: Girl Scouts thin mint cookies in a tub of chocolate pudding. you're welcome.

Don't Be Surprised That People Still Say Racist Things

Donald Sterling (left) and V. Stiviano (right), forbes.com

lots of publicity this week for racist people. Donald Sterling, owner of the L.A. Clippers, was banned for life from the N.B.A., by the N.B.A., after a tape recording surfaced of a conversation in which Sterling made some impressively racist comments ("N.B.A. Bans Donald Sterling"). 

"BANNED FOR LIFE"- i love that phrase! it has an absolute, unyielding gravitas, like a royal decree issued forth from a throne in booming, echoing tones. am i surprised an 81-year-old white billionaire makes racist comments? child, please. "Don't be surprised that people still say racist things." am i surprised he was publicly punished for it by a group of other (mostly) white billionaires? yes!!!! (note to President Obama and Ed. Secretary Arne Duncan: can we raise funds for public education by fining someone every time they say something racist? the money would not stop flowing in for decades.) 

i realize that the N.B.A.'s decision was mostly financially motivated. Sterling hadn't exactly tried to hide his feelings towards people of color in the past; he already had a history of lawsuits against him alleging housing discrimination towards black and Latino tenants. the difference this time was the potential for monetary loss at stake- sponsors were fleeing the Clippers; other N.B.A. teams were threatening to boycott future games; and all this during playoff season. Sterling was fined $2.5 million- a slap on the pinky. the guy is worth $2 billion; now that he has to sell the team to someone else, he stands to make at least $575 million (as valued by Forbes). he's not exactly hurting for cash. 

but wait, it gets weirder. Sterling's personal assistant, V. Stiviano (a 31-year-old woman who identifies herself as mixed-race, black and Mexican), agreed to be interviewed by none other than Barbara Walters. she was the one who Sterling had been talking to in his damning recorded statements; he had told her to stop "taking pictures with minorities" and posting them on Instagram. in the interview, Stiviano defends Sterling and insists he is not racist. (she also denies being his mistress, and instead calls herself his "silly rabbit"; i'm not even going to touch that one.)

“I think Mr. Sterling is from a different generation than from the one I am. I think he was brought up to believe those things … segregation, whites and blacks,” said Stiviano.

(by the way, her statement checks two out of three boxes from my list of top 3 most annoying excuses for racist comments.)

in social work school, i learned a phrase called "cognitive dissonance". it describes the discomfort a person might experience when that person holds two conflicting beliefs at the same time. i stretch the meaning to include people who quite comfortably hold two conflicting beliefs simultaneously, whether they are aware of it or not.

both Sterling and Stiviano are fascinatingly depressing examples of cognitive dissonance when it comes to racism and oppression. both individuals chose to change their last names: Donald Sterling used to be Donald Tokowitz, son of a Jewish family. Stiviano's original family name was Perez. now i can't say for sure why each changed his/her family names, but i do know that, for hundreds of years, people living in the U.S. have changed their family names in order to blend in more smoothly with white dominant culture. in other words, if you change your last name to something that sounds less- god forbid- foreign, you just might have a better chance of succeeding with white people (who control most of the money, power, etc. in this country). 

i can only wonder at the self-hate that both Sterling and Stiviano have internalized, which is now so publicly manifesting itself as hate towards people of color. both of them insist they are not racist. "I love black people," says Sterling at one point in the recorded conversation. yet they both go on to present a perfect capsule of race relations in this country, as they discuss Stiviano's skin color. "Do you know that I'm mixed?" she asks him. later, Sterling tells her, "You're supposed to be... a delicate Latina girl (italics mine, from outrage)." NYT columnist Charles Blow has already parsed the "antebellum-level coloristic thinking" of their dialogue, so i won't press the issue. my point is this: cognitive dissonance, y'all: racism has fucked us marginalized people over so badly that we can simultaneously carry hate for ourselves (which we've absorbed as a result of white oppression), and also continue to perpetuate this oppression by passively accepting/making excuses for it (Stiviano) or committing racist acts (Sterling) on others around us.

OOJ: Family Therapy

today's OOJ is a transcription of a family session i did today with two siblings.

scene: me and two siblings- kid A, 8 years old, and kid B, 7 years old- discuss a problem they've been having at home. we're practicing "i statements".

me: ok, kid A, are you ready? (prompting him) 'i feel...'

kid A: i feel sad when you lock me out of your room but let everyone else [the other siblings] go in.

me: kid B, what did he say?

kid B: he feels sad when i lock him out of my room.

me: good job! do you want to say something back to him? 'i feel...'

kid B: i feel mad when you throw farts in my room.

me: (thinking to myself) "throw farts"? is that a phrase???

kid A: but our brother farts in your room!!

kid B: he stops when i tell him to!

me: kid A, is there something you can do differently?

kid a: i can run to the bathroom and fart in there.

me: ok... are you able to control your farts?

kid a: (sadly) no.

me: kid A, what happens if he can't run to the bathroom fast enough and farts in your room?

kid b: that's ok if he makes a mistake.

OOJ: John Legend, live!

google images

tonight i got to watch john legend perform to a sold out crowd at Isleta Casino (ABQ). his velvety voice sounded even better than the last time i heard him live, at the greek theatre (berkeley, ca), about 6 years ago. tonight's production was stripped down, just the way i like it: nothing more than a beautiful man at a piano with occasional backup from a string quartet + acoustic guitar. here's his latest single, "all of me".

Instagram Envy

if you have to be stuck in the suburbs on a business trip, you can't ask for more than an H-Mart right next to your hotel. an oasis in a desert of chain store blandness, H-Mart offers riches such as over 20 different varieties of frozen noodles (spinach, buckwheat, sweet potato, vermicelli), fresh kim chi in quart-size deli containers to go, and a gazillion asian sodas (what's jujube???). for my dinner of champions, i selected a frozen jabchae entree (better than my lean cuisines at home) and a japanese red bean rice cake (that one not so good, i didn't finish it), paired with a cup of ginger tea. H-Mart, see you again tomorrow night!

OOJ: Lead Pencil Tricks

another verbal OOJ from work today:

kid: (pulling off the eraser on his lead pencil) i can do a trick with my lead pencil!

me: (in a fit of bravado) i know all the tricks one can do with a lead pencil!

kid: do you know how to put it under your arm and make fart noises?

me: (pause) no i do not know how to put it under my arm and make fart noises.

kid: you said you knew all the tricks!

me: i guess you proved me wrong.

OOJ: Office in the Sky

recently the universe gifted me with the best flight i've had in a long time, on southwest airlines from MDW to ABQ. the flight wasn't full, so i was able to snag a window seat near the front with an empty middle seat between me and the snoozing guy with the kindle in the aisle seat, giving me extra space to curl up my legs and spread out my stuff. i spent a near blissful 2.5 hours alternately reading magazines (NYT), practicing drum patterns on my lap ("Basic Rock [Variations for Bass Drum]" p. 10), and gazing out the window into the inky night sky. at 30k ft in the air with the constant engine drone as my soundtrack, i felt like i could write a book, compose a song- create anything. instead, i let my mind meander the mundane: how long can i wait until my next haircut (i got one last week)? what will i wear to work tomorrow? what will i search for on ebay when i get home (rebecca minkoff studded crossbody clutch)? up there, i had no idea where i physically was in space, and the absence of a geographical orientation somehow freed my brain- i hadn't realized how much energy i spend thinking about where do i need to be next, and after that, and after that. my day is a chain of place-hopping, so i'm constantly thinking forward. this flight allowed me to simply be.