Day 286: Popcorn & Peter Pan

There's something so damn cool about settling in on a Saturday afternoon for a movie and a bowl of popcorn. I could spend entire weekends this way if given a chance. 

Today offered such an opportunity, in the form of "Peter Pan." It was my daughter's choice, and I trust her taste about as well as I do my own. So, with popcorn in hand (popcorn we actually cooked ourselves, mind you), we hunkered down on the coach and proceeded to watch. 

I've seen "Peter Pan" numerous times over the years, but I guess I wasn't anticipating and  I had put out of my mind just how disturbing it is on a couple of fronts. First, Peter isn't all that kind to Wendy. In fact, he's pretty demeaning on a couple occasions, and he makes no bones about flirting with other girls right in front of her. He definitely has a problem with women in general, and he isn't shy about treating them inferior and putting them in their place. 

Second, Tinkerbell is way out of line and in need of some anger management therapy. She flat out attempts to put Wendy 6 feet under at least once and nearly gets Peter and the rest of the gang blown up. Beyond that, she doesn't so much character when forks over the goods to Captain Hook without much of a fuss. There's jealously, and then there's Tinkerbell. She makes no attempt to hide her contempt for the chick moving in on her would-be man (Peter), and she has no problem getting others to do her dirty work. 

What's really disturbing and even appalling about "Peter Pan," however, is the way Disney choose to represent Native Americans. Now, anyone who has watched a Disney flick or two knows Walt didn't go to great lengths to cover up his prejudices, and Peter Pan is no different. First, there's Captain Hook referring to the Natives Americans living on Neverland as those "redskins." Then there's the Lost Boys referring to them as "injuns" over and over in the cute little song they sing. Worse of all, though, is how the Disney animators chose to draw the "redskins," obviously working in every stereotype imaginable. 

I try not to get too bent out of shape about these things. It was a different time and place and ignorance was the name of the game when "Peter Pan" was released. Racism was prevalent. Old white guys were at the head of every movie studio, just like about every other organization. It's not all that surprising that Disney movies would be distasteful and outright offensive by today's standards. 

I'm only glad that such things go right over the head of a four-year-old. Well, mostly. There was the moment when my daughter asked, "What is an Indian?" and I had to explain but first give a lesson in proper terms, which I'm sure just confused her. There was also that moment when she said, "Why does Tinkerbell hate Wendy so much. That's not nice." Or the scene that caused her to say, "Those mermaids are pretty much naked and really coming on to Peter, aren't they?" Well, she didn't say that last thing, but heaven knows she very well could have been thinking it given how little those mermaids really did have on and just how they were throwing themselves at Peter without so much of a blush. 

At any rate, at least my kid now knows what an "Indian" is and what the proper term is that we should use. She knows that murder isn't the solution to a problem, even if you can convince someone else to do it for you. And most of all, she knows that just because a boy can fly, that doesn't give him any right to treat a girl like dirt. 

Day 285: Boo! The Art Of Halloween Costume Selection

The other night, my wife ordered my daughter's costume for Halloween. This seemed funny to me--ordering a Halloween costume. Why, in my day, we trucked on down to the good ole' Ben Franklin store, sized up what was available by looking through the plastic on the front of the costume box, and then picked out the best one from what was available on the whole two shelves stocking the item. Ordering costumes? Different time and age, I guess. 

Online ordering issues aside, I'm happy to report that my four-year-old will be living out her curiously strong fixation to vampires on this Halloween, a fact that should make her incredibly happy and me just a little more disturbed than I already was. She latched on to vampires when she was all of about two years old, and it's been a growing obsession since. Why, I don't know exactly. Maybe it's the teeth. Maybe it's the cape. Maybe it's the white skin, long fingernails, bat wings, or weird voice. Maybe it was a "Scooby Doo" episode she saw. She does after all have an equally strong fixation on that hound that I find just as disturbing. At any rate, I'm looking forward to where she takes this, whatever dark recesses they may be. 

There was a few  years a while back when I was on a roll with Halloween costumes. Instead of going the traditional route and buying one at some store or another, my older daughter and I went from thrift store to thrift store piecing a costume together that was original and from our hearts. I loved those years. I felt like a kid again when my mom did the same for me, helping me make a costume. Even if the results were decidedly mixed, I covet those memories. The year she helped transform my boyish face into rock drummer extraordinaire Peter Criss of Kiss, well, that was special, and I kicked Halloween ass. The year she turned me into Pinocchio, however, complete with a long nose fashioned from a piece of paper grocery sack that was taped to my nose, well, that wasn't so kick-ass, especially because I was 10 or so, and wearing red rouge on my cheeks wasn't my idea of an All Hollows Eve night out with the fellas.   

But I digress. What my mom showed me then was that you didn't have to spend money to make something cool and noticeable. I may be biased, but my daughter came alive those years when we worked up incredibly cool Elvis and Joker costumes. They weren't great because we bought something patterned after The King and Batman's nemesis. They were great because we were motivated to use our own imagine to pattern a costume based on our love of The King and The Joker. I'm only sorry to say that my daughter lost faith somewhere along the way in my costume-making skills and began to venture down the dark path of department store Halloween outfitting. Oh, lost youth.  

I think half the excitement for kids around Halloween is dreaming about which larger-than-life character they want to escape into, if even just for one night. My daughter has been plotting this year's costume since about last February, fluctuating among a dragon, vampire, Iron Man, Spider-Man, zombie, pirate, and so many other possibilities. Literally, every night for at least seven months straight, I've had to tell her a "spooky" story at bedtime because no other type of story seems to do. These stories are always either prefaced or followed by, "Dad, I think I know what I want to be for Halloween" conversations. 

Truthfully, I'm shocked she was able to settle on one. Just last week as we walked the aisles of the toy store, she changed her mind literally five times in a minute's span looking at what was on the shelves. Typical for every kid, I guess, but considering this one has seemingly given little else much thought in recent months, I was a bit surprised. I'm sure, though, she's going to be just fine with being a vampire, and I have no doubt, she'll put all her energy into diving into character and vamping it up, as it were. I only hope she comes out of character once Halloween is over. 

The only remaining question now is what do I want to be for Halloween this year? I could be Frankenstein like I was in second grade, which still ranks as my second all-time favorite. My favorite would be the full-body skeleton outfit I had going all the way back to kindergarten. That thing was straight-up sinister, and every costume has paled since. I could break out my purple and gold Luchador mask and turn myself into a pro rassler, but I've done that already. I guess more daydreaming is in order. 

Day 284: Sean Penn, Kid Rock & Me? Forget About It

Sean Penn, in my humble opinion, is a remarkable human being. He's made the most of his life. He's lived his life in as about an uncompromising manner as I can imagine anyone possible with his celebrity status. He very well may be a dick, but I'd be willing to expose myself to his wrath and anger for just a few hours of hanging out time. The guy is well read. He's arguably the best actor walking the planet (certainly one of the very best, at any rate). He's a filmmaker. He's a writer. He's a humanitarian who puts his money everywhere he puts his mouth. He knows how to surf and skateboard. He wears cool clothes. He lives what he believes. I could care less if he's a dick. 

Kid Rock? Well, let's just say I'm less of a fan, at least of his music. But in other facets, you can say he's very much like Penn. He lives his life pretty much the way he sees fit. He does what he wants, when he wants, how he wants, and with who he wants. He drinks like a fish. He likes fast cars. He wears funny hats and pulls it off impressively. Besides, I can respect anyone who holds Merle Haggard and Run DMC in the same high regard. I may not be crazy about his duets with Sheryl Crow  because, well, it is Sheryl Crow (sorry ladies), but he's alright in my book. And yeah, I wouldn't mind a few hours of hanging out time, even if he is backing Romney. 

Put all three of us together? Holy hell, the things I would learn. The insight I'd receive. The pointers I could use to my benefit. The alcohol we would consume. Why can't my fantasy life come true even once? Why can't the dream world meet the real world if even for a fleeting moment. Maybe it will one day. Who knows? Until then, I've got moments like this. I love living in the Internet age. It makes it possible to live all my weirdness out from behind the keyboard. Rock on, Kid Penn! Rock on! 

Day 283: Malala Yousufzai

Considering that I've never met Malala Yousufzai, she's been on my mind a lot today. I guess that would be otherwise surprising, being that she lives half a world away in Pakistan and that she's just 14 years old. But after reading the details this morning about how a cowardly, grown man blatantly and unflinchingly walked up to her in broad daylight and proceeded to put a bullet through her neck, I guess it's not all that surprising after all.

I guess it's not all that surprising either to be deeply affected and moved, including to tears. When a grown man approaches a girl, waiting to get on a school bus no less, and puts the barrel to her flesh and pulls the trigger, it's not that shocking that people would be taken for a loss. Outraged. Devastated. Incensed. Saddened. Lost. Dejected. Speechless. 

So, I guess despite having only crossed paths with Malala Yousufzai on this very day and only through news reports, it's not that surprising that I'm utterly inspired. That I've thought about her often today. That I've contemplated my own courage. What I'm willing to fight for. What I'm willing to not back down from. What I'm willing to die for.  

I have the greatest admiration and respect for anyone who exhibits bravery, particularly when doing so means your outcome isn't guaranteed, when it exceeds the norm. It's admirable when someone, say, faces down a life-threatening disease, but it's entirely different when someone takes on the welfare for an entire gender, for fellow citizens, for humanity to a great extent, knowing that doing so means staring down an uncompromising violent force that will not hesitate to end you. To snuff you out as if you never existed in the first place. 

Malala Yousufzai has done more in 14 years than I could contemplate doing in my lifetime. 14 years old. Just think about that. 14. Not 40. Not 60. Not an age that carries decades of experience and acquired wisdom. 14. Still a kid. Amazing.

Moreover, she's a girl in a in a land where being a female certainly is nothing like being a female in the United States or other countries. A land where a group like the Taliban has a definite idea about a women should and should not be. To disagree with such notions and show such unbridled courage and tenacity to speak out against that dominating voice as a 14-year-old girl, well, that's impossible to ignore or impossible not to pay due respect. And she's been living her beliefs for years, as this passage from the Associated Press indicates:

 

"At the age of 11, she began writing a blog under a pseudonym for the BBC about life under the Taliban in the Swat Valley. After the military ousted the militants in 2009, she began publicly speaking out about the need for girls' education, something the Taliban strongly opposes."

I wish I would have crossed paths with Malala Yousufzai before today. Despite the timing, however, she's left a deep, lasting impression. I only hope I can live up to her amazing example. 

Day 282: Sweet Honey In The Rock; Salvation Delivered

From Psalm 81:16 comes the promise to a people of being fed by honey out of the rock. Honey – an ancient substance, sweet and nurturing. Rock – an elemental strength, enduring the winds of time. The metaphor of sweet honey in the rock captures completely these African American women whose repertoire is steeped in the sacred music of the Black church, the clarion calls of the civil rights movement, and songs of the struggle for justice everywhere. 

I've never really been a person who falls prey to road rage. Sure, I have my moments when I can't tolerate the "idiot" driver in front of me or I feel the need to shoot a menacing glare at the "dumb-ass" that just cut me off, but for the most part, I'm not an angry driver. I have plenty of other things that regularly piss me off. Frankly, I don't have room to add many more instigators of frustration, annoyance, and irritability. 

That said, I'm finding my rage levels spiking upward more and more as the school year progresses. Every morning from roughly 7:15 a.m. to 7:50 a.m. as I traverse Lincoln roadways across the city to Southeast High School and then back across the city to my workplace, it seems as if my blood pressure rises higher, my mouth starts spewing the nastiest of phrases more frequently, and my "you're really pissing me off" game face gets pulled out used more often. 

In no way am I proud of this. In fact, I pretty much hate it. I hate being a passenger in a vehicle where the person behind the wheel lets every little frustrating incident be the cause of an inflammatory reaction. I hate that people's emotions are so quickly manipulated and played when they're behind the wheel. What the hell is it about driving that induces the Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde phenomenon, turning a normally pleasant person into a barbarian? It's as if you can see the horns and claws come out. It's a wolfman transformation. It's ugly and scary and sometimes brutal.

 Literally, I'm physically starting to notice the toll the stress of driving in bumper-to-bumper morning traffic, coupled with my growing intolerance for little ole' lady drivers, is having on my psyche. By 7:59 a.m. I'm ready to beat someone's ass. Anyone. This morning was no different.

Thank the sweet,sweet Lord for Sweet Honey In The Rock. This beautiful band of ladies came to my rescue just when I need it rescuing today, providing sweet, sweet salvation. Pretty much at the time I was ready to go to work banding my forehead against the steering wheel to relieve the pain mounting inside my anger-filled, throbbing skull, I heard these incredible words come pouring out of my car speakers, delivered in a heaven-sent, a cappella, spine-tingling, mind-altering, soul-pacifying, rage-reducing touch of brilliance in the form of "I"m Gon' Stand":  


I just can't tolerate racism. 
I just can't tolerate injustice. 
I just won't tolerate exploitation.
What you going to do? 
I'm gon' stand. 
I'm gon' stand. 
I'm gon' stand. 
Yeah. 


Divine intervention? Heavens, yes. Suddenly, the lion was tamed. The beast was soothed. I was a changed man. A calmer man. I gentler man. A better man. 

Damned if it doesn't take a woman to set the coarse straight. Damned if the voices of beautiful, God-fearing, faith-toting women of conviction can't make a narrow-minded, short-sided, easily-swayed man see the error in his ways. 

Damned if I won't praise the power of Sweet Honey In The Rock from now until eternity. 

Want to feel the power yourself? 

Take a listen yourself here. 

Buy the song here. 

See the influence it's had on others here. 

Praise to sweet honey. 

Day 281: Talking About My Generation

"Everybody talks about the entitlement generation. There is no time I would rather live in than now. ...There's a tendency to live in a nostalgic state in this country, and think that other generations possessed an integrity and a tenacity better than the generation that is now. I wholeheartedly disagree with that, and I believe this is a group that will rise up to any challenge that comes before them, as well as any other generation in America would have done. My advice to them would be to please don't think of me as an entitled moocher when I'm collecting my government benefits."

- John Stewart during recent Internet-held debate with Bill O'Reilly

I get caught up in the mentality that John Stewart is describing here myself time and again. The mentality that today's younger generation is somehow inferior to mine and the ones that came before it. I know when I fall into that mindset, I'm not alone. I hear and read others stating as much in no uncertain terms all the time. Often, these statements are derogatory and mean-spirited. They're delivered in an attempt to humiliate and echo a certain amount of disgust. They're meant to illicit an "Oh, hell yeah" reaction from others reading them who agree. "You're damn right. Today's younger generations are an entitled lot of slackers who don't want to get a job. Who don't want to feed themselves. Who don't to move out of ma and pa's basement. They'd rather sponge than earn."

I start to kid myself into believing that current generations really do lack the work ethic and drive that my generation possessed. Until I take the time to remember all those people I've crossed paths with along the way who were my age and older who didn't like to work so much themselves and therefore didn't. 

I tell myself periodically that kids today do lack respect. Until I start to think back on some of the  kids I knew who didn't have a problem with breaking a principle's window in the dark of night or throwing eggs at random houses or breaking mailboxes or stealing from the downtown dime store or worse.

I start to convince myself that today's younger generation is more concerned with meeting their own immediate needs than helping the community progress. Until I live through another election and am reminded yet again at just how drastically far apart people belonging to all generations really are where helping all mankind vs. doing for me and my own is concerned.  

I start to fool myself into believing that current generations want everything handed to them right from the start without paying any dues. That they've been babied and cuddled. That we've strung so many medals around their necks for just participating that they don't know how to truly compete or truly strive or how to really, really want something so badly they'll do anything it takes. Until I wake up and realize just what my generation and others handed today's youth. The environmental messes. The climate messes. The diseases. The earthquakes and tsunamis. The oil spills. The debilitated economies. The rapidly disappearing natural resources. The rapidly disappearing animal species. The polluted waters. The terrorism at home and abroad. The gulfs in race relations and religions and sexuality still. 

I realize  how drastically different an educational experience today's younger generations have and are having compared to mine. How they're pushed and pulled to "catch up with the world." How they have homework for hours after school after sitting in school for the equivalent of a work day. How they're pushed to specialize. Hone in. Pick up a discipline. How they're encouraged to take a career path before they know what careers are out there. I was a good student, but I rarely, if ever, did homework for an hour, let alone several, on a consistent basis after school. I never felt as if college was out of my reach because I was going to put myself or my family in deep debt or spend decades paying back loans for the mere prospect of actually landing a job I'm qualified for. 

I never felt as if the problems my peers were being asked to solve were literally being counted upon to save the world and ensure the future of my children's children. To rectify irreversible climate damage incurred by generations who ignored the warnings. To bridge the gaps between the classes that is tearing the country apart currently. To learn to live in an increasingly corporate world where "the America dream" arguably has never been more difficult to obtain. 

I don't know. When I stop to think about today's younger generations, for as many things that I might not personally like or wish were different, I know how misguided such beliefs are in reality. 

Day 280: The No Cable Experiment

We're about three weeks into the no cable television experiment, and I couldn't be happier. Honestly, I was a bit worried, but now I wondering what I was ever worried about in the first place. More time to read. More time to listen to music. More time to draw and play games. Honestly, cutting the cord to cable television has been nothing but gains. A gain in money saved. A gain in children wasting time moving from one channel to another. A gain from more time to just think uninterrupted. Less strange voices floating about in my house has been a godsend. Honestly.