Women for Hire - Palin's Crowning

I wonder if it's really progress when a woman gets a job simply because she's a woman.

As the media scrambles to get more info on Republican Vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin, I take issue not with her capabilities but the fact that her sex and positioning alone put her above other worthy contenders both women and men.

Would a guy who was mayor of a city with 85oo strong and lead as governor for 18 months be tapped to be a VP contender?

Of course not. He wouldn't even be in the running.

Even if the VP selection was limited to Republican women, it's Palin's image and the spin of her story, that of a young driven mother of five with one kid headed for war and another with Downs Syndrome, that's stronger than her national credentials.

She's not even an advocate of the core issues that define the woman's movement, including equal pay and reproductive rights.

While she might be a great lady, smart and capable, none of that was a deciding factor in the decision.

The selection is an insult to women everywhere.

Palin's in for quite a ride. The political buzzards are swarming and I wonder in the hype of it all if she has any idea what she's just walked into.

Palin is charged as running as a maverick, waving the banner for working women while supporting a candidate who's proposed policies mimic the much maligned Bush administration. She benefits from the women's rights movement while simultaneously undermining the very rights the movement's fore bearers fought for. And she's about to go under one heck of a microscope.

It reminds me of Obama's Senate bid when the Republican party nominated Alan Keyes, a African American serial candidate who didn't even reside in Illinois but was propped up as a worthy opponent. I suppose the hope was that he'd split the black vote. Keyes probably figured that if nothing else, he's build some solid relationships in the party. That never happened. He only embarrassed himself.

Palin is expected to woe women. While she's no Keyes, she is a political pawn.

And that's not progressive.

Where's My Flag? - ObamaRama, Pat Buchanan's pride

I was headed to Kung Fu class last night when I realized that I would miss arguably the most important moment in Barack Obama's campaign thus far. With history pending, I called my instructor and prepared for the moment to unfold.

I watched MSNBC as an excitable Keith Olbermann, with a released version of the golden speech in hand, read three powerful paragraphs nearly spoiling the whole surprise of it all. Granted, he was caught up in the magnitude of history, too. But imagine some giddy reporter on that memorable day before the Lincoln memorial "teasing" the audience with King's "I Have A Dream." "Oh, this is amazing. And then he says' Let freedom ring . . "

I called my girl Gina and complained that this guy was reading the speech before the speech, but my rants were putting me off focus. History was on speed dial and I needed a videotape to record it all. I hit the streets and rushed to a drug store and like Superbowl night or the legendary Bulls Championship games, the far South side was a ghost town. Not a kid or a straggler in sight. And no one was at Walgreens either, which is why I bought the tape in two minutes flat, catching Joe Biden's intro on NPR as I raced to get back home.

The speech was amazing. And lest I be criticized for mimicking Michelle Obama's misread comments on being proud of her country for the first time, I will say that I felt uniquely American and felt a rush most people get from watching action flicks. But this wasn't Morpheus' speech to Zion in the Matrix, it was real life. The sentiment was echoed by Gina who called me afterwards yelling "Democrat's, What?" And then we agreed to buy U.S flags.

Sometimes with the racial and class issues we tackle in this country, we can forget that our struggle and quest for civil rights is born in the promise of a Constitution that promises so much, including the pursuit of happiness. Every struggle and protest in our history was an effort to make good on that promise. Obama spoke of the American Spirit. He said our nation's wealth isn't in how many millionaires we have or the might of our military or our culture. It's in the American Spirit.

And it's this American Spirit that we all buy into. The belief is that if you work hard you can be whatever you want to be, you can live the life you choose, you can provide for your family. It's a core belief echoed by ministers, teachers, rappers, parents, and volunteers alike.

But the icing on the cake was watching Pat Buchanan, a staunch Republican who in his previous commentary on the election walked a tight rope between party punchlines and glee over the gut fighting of the race, was stunned by Obama's speech. Buchanan, who in watching these pundits, I've come to respect as a savvy guy with key insights into campaigning despite his politics, had been criticized Obama during much of the race for not sticking it, so to speak to McCain. Obama wasn't tough enough. Buchanon wanted Obama to go for the juggular. And with speech in hand just minutes before Obama took the stage, Buchanan was flabberghasted. A former speechwriter, he remarked "this is a speech."

After the speech, fellow pundits stood silenced as Buchanan gushed over the magnitude, the power, the reach of the speech. He sounded like a proud father reading Obama's speech point for point and his fellow pundits were speechless. Chris Matthews, another reporter who once reported that Obama's speeches made his thigh tingle, said "to hell with his critics" and hailed this moment as a great in American history. Matthews even thanked Buchanan for crossing party lines and admitting to the glory of the hour.

And for a moment I could feel people putting politics, decorum and special interest aside as they stood receptive to change.

I'm glad I stayed home to witness history. Even if it came live via the small screen, it was a big moment that I'll remember.

Impossible Dreams- Barack's Grace Under Pressure

In a few hours, Barack Obama will give his acceptance speech, securing the Democratic nomination and becoming the first African American to represent any major party for President.

I missed the emotional roll call yesterday, but I did see the aftermath - veteran civil rights leaders in tears, longtime party members with reddened eyes and it brought home to me just how impossible some people thought this moment would be.

I never thought it was impossible. I'd say it was a generational thing, but little over a year ago, before Barack's prominence, many people my age didn't think it was possible either. "We'll never see a black president in our lifetime," they'd say. It was such a self defeating belief, so entrenched in fears stoked by our nation's past, that it was sad to see the pessimism so alive in people so young, the very people who would determine the shape of our tomorrows.

There's a fear to hope. A fear of the mountains to climb and mental blocks to slay. A fear of the disappointment, the racism. But without vision, the people perish. Without hope our future looks like yesteryear.

Obviously, I want Barack to be president. It will be interesting to see what impact his race has on people's belief in their own possibilities and limitations. Many still probably can't quite wrap their brain around what it means. What does it say about our nation? Our neighborhoods? Our lives?

For starters, I can say that any strife I've experience doesn't compare to the ridiculousness he's had to deal with recently. His patience and ability to rise above the mess is mind blowing. He was never anchored by the hater machine, which in some cases came from the people he least expected.

And obviously, cable news doesn't ruffle his feathers, either.

Barack is the ultimate modern day example of focus, inspiration and grace.

He's also an example of a leader who operates in integrity. I don't know why some wannabe
leaders believe conniving, backstabbing, duplicitous behavior well intentioned or otherwise
is the way to achieve. While it may seem effective in the short run, it always ends in their own unravelling.

In my own daily squabbles, whenever I feel the tug of the mudslingers and that playground instinct inches to the surface, I just think on how Barack dusts off his shoulders with a smile and I switch gears, too.

Grace under pressure is possible.

Cheers

Democratic Convention - Family Junkies

Watching the Democratic Convention is a treasured past time in my family. We look forward to it the way others look forward to the Olympics, the Black College Classic.

Some years its better than Christmas.

It stokes the fires of the American Dream, somehow connecting the political struggles of the past with hope for the future. With all the political, historical analysis that's tossed around the family table as I grew up, there's also a bit of nostalgia, too.

I remember my family huddled around the table watching Jesse Jackson deliver his convention speech in 84'. I remember my dad video taping it with our spanking new VCR, and I remember how we, dad, mom, little brother and me played it over and over again, jumping up and down with every and ebb and flow of Jesse's fiery words - as excited about his campaign as we were about our ability to play it again and again. "Keep hope alive," he said.

Then I remember my dad saving that same video tape a whole four years and taping Jesse's next speech in 88'.

I would sit in front of that TV screen watching the endless speeches, the crowds in American flag pins and hats, the people from every corner of the nation . . . fully believing in the promise of America and my responsibility to do something and be somebody.

My generation didn't have the same kind of freedom fighting stories my parents had. We didn't have those personal memories of Martin Luther King; I was too young to vote for Harold Washington; and the opportunity for marches and protests to prove our meddle in the hard won fight for human rights were few and far between.

But that rush of historical significance could always be found watching the Democratic Convention. And I looked forward to the day when I could vote.

I thought about that today while I was watching the convention with my mom. She teared up as Teddy Kennedy took the floor. And after Michelle Obama spoke she jumped up to give me a high five.

In the legacy of Democratic Conventions, this is certainly the most exciting one.

As far as family viewing goes, it's the Superbowl, NBA Championships and Martin Luther King's B-Day all in one.

Go Obama!

Straight No Chaser- Writers & the Bottle

The New York Post just did a funny story on writers and drinking.

Apparently, the writers love affair with the bottle that was the hall mark of legends like Hemingway and others, has gone the way of the typewriter.

Gone are the days when writers cohort at the local dive - the days when tortured souls clutched a pen in one hand and brandy in another channelling their life through ink.

Gone too are the days when publishers, editors and the like felt like accommodating such folks.

The article featured my friend Kenji, who confirmed that writers nowadays are more into yoga and juice. The lush life having gone old school, he says, hard drinking is "something your parents do."

Which isn't to say that writers don't drink, they just don't drink to write. Or they don't drink to write and then write about drinking. Or if they do drink to write they don't write about it, they just drink and think about it and write about something else.

The only drink I guzzle while writing is a cup of green tea. I have some wildflower honey I'm really digging. And in this green is cool world, doling over my favorite teas doubles as the perfect libation for self indulgence.

Funny how times change.

http://www.nypost.com/seven/08202008/entertainment/writers_on_the_rocks_125199.htm

Sho Nuff - True Shogun of Harlem

I was talking to my sister the other day. We both know Julius Carry aka Sho Nuff's mom, and she was checking in to be sure I knew about his transition.

Sho Nuff, the venemous kung fu villian in The Last Dragon is a pop culture icon. Who knows how many city-fide kids enrolled in karate class after what is probably the only urban aka black martial arts flick to hit the big screen in the 80s. That movie rivaled Coming to America in oneliners. Like a true thespian who cut his teeth on the likes of Shakespeare, Carry made lines like "Who's the Master" and "Kiss my converse," lines that could have been the corniest ever in the mouth of a lesser actor be the coolest catch phrases of the decade. The flick featured heartthrobs Taimak and Vanity, who's posters lined more teen walls than I'm sure they're aware of. But Sho Nuff was the film's superstar, later to be reearthed in Busta Rhyme videos and hip hop lore alike.

My sister and I discussed this and then she made an interesting point. Unlike other larger than life icons, whose images loom and symbolize an era (Mr. T, Flava Flav, George Jefferson etc), Carry never played himself.

You didn't see Carry sporting his Sho Nuff gi years later, he didn't try to hawk cereal, go on The Surreal Life or spend his days in the camera lens screaming "Kiss my converse." He went on to play low key cool roles in TV shows and lived a respectable life beyond the boundaries of his iconoclastic character.

You have to respect that.

He'll be missed.

Back in Space

After much debate with myself, I'm back in blogger sphere.

And just in case you're wondering, I won. Not that I couldn't win, obviously. But I did spend a lot of time juggling the possibilities of what this space could be. Is it my heartfelt journal open to the legions in cyberspace? Is it a mirror of my quirks and fantasies? My quack happy days? Or is it just a serendipitous update of whatever I find interesting. In this nouveau marketing world where everything you do, you doggone well do yourself, I figured it's okay for it to be all of it and neither of it at the same time. In essence, it's totally me.

I figure that should be interesting enough.

Peace & Green Apples
Ytasha