You, Sir, Are No MLK

With the "Restoring Honor" rally on the Lincoln Memorial scheduled for tomorrow, there is one little detail about Glenn Beck's crazed politicization of the Civil Rights era and Martin Luther King's speech that occurred on August 28, 1963 that I would really like to address.

There are many Glenn Beck quotes that have attracted much deserved attention for their outlandishness, hypocrisy, inaccuracy, and provocativeness, but these two excerpts really stand out to me:

"To establish Socialism rivers of blood must flow."

"...there will be rivers of blood if we don't have values and principles"

I realize this phrase "rivers of blood" is broadly associated with Virgil's Aeneid and his description of the last days of Rome, but anyone who knows much about 20th century Britain cannot help but be reminded of Enoch Powell and his famed "Rivers of Blood Speech" of 1968. In the speech, Powell speaks out against anti-discrimination legislation and the threat that colonial immigration poses to the English nation if it were to continue unchecked. Although this incredibly incendiary speech caused Powell to lose his position in the Conservative Party, it did make him the hero of bigots and racists throughout the British Isles, so much so that he became the face of the emerging National Front, a baldly white supremacist/English nationalist organization behind many acts of racial violence in Britain in the 1970s. To be sure, even today, the campaign slogan "Powell was right" is a rallying cry for white nationalists in Great Britain.

While Media Matters has drawn attention to this phrase in Beck's harangues as evidence that he is deliberately inciting his listeners to violence, the organization does not seem to recognize the "dog whistle" quality of this phrase. I believe that Beck is using "rivers of blood" quite deliberately to appeal to white supremacists, who tend toward internationalism when seeking out tips for white power activism. And when he uses it, he is signaling to people who are committed to white separatism/supremacy/nationalism/power across the English speaking world that he is one of them. This should really be taken into consideration before we dismiss Beck as a simple "rodeo clown" with a show on "Faux News."

 

This week in education

This is exactly what I needed this week:


In The Know: Are Tests Biased Against Students Who Don't Give A Shit?

I hope one day to be "the teacher who reached out and taught [some student] the importance of pretending to give a shit."

This day in "HOLY EFFING SH*T!"

You've got to see it to believe it: "A whirl-wind of flames..."

That's right folks, a fire tornado. A tornado. Made of FIRE.

Although this may be among the scariest things I've ever heard of--including that gaping maw that opened up in Guatemala--at least this particular fire tornado stopped before it knocked out an intercoastal bridge and was eventually put out by a tsunami.

(gahhhh!)

Oh Come ON!

You know what I've had enough of? Sexy Nazis.

I'm of the mind that every actor cast as a Nazi in movies and television ought to be ugly or horribly bloated. I realize that the Third Reich prided itself on its presumed biological superiority, but I've never seen a picture of an actually sexy Nazi. No, they looked more like this:

You see! They are as unattractive as their depraved souls, which is exactly how I believe they ought to be depicted in film.  Hitler's assumption of the master race notwithstanding, I'm getting pretty sick of the inner turmoil that comes from being attracted to an actor who happens to be playing a Nazi.

It happened the first time watching 'Schindler's List'. I'd never seen Ralph Fiennes before this movie so I can't claim to have taken to him in another context.

OH MY GOD, he's gorgeous...no wait, he's a hideous Nazi! He rapes and murders people with impunity! But, but just look at those smoldering eyes! Ugh, it is so freaking confusing!

After the movie I was ashamed to admit that I wanted to see a lot more of this particular actor. Then, when I finally owned up to it, I found myself making statements like, "Did you see 'Schindler's List'? Wasn't that head Nazi hot?" Fuck you, casting director. Fuck you.

Anyway, it has happened again: I am uncomfortably attracted to an actor playing a Nazi. Lucky for me, I knew he was easy on the eye before I saw the movie "The Last Drop" (which, by the way, may the single worst WWII themed movie ever). You may know him as "that dishy detective" DS James Hathaway on the "Inspector Lewis" series, now showing on PBS's Mystery!, but his real name is Lawrence Fox and I luuurve him (!hearts!):

I wish I could find a picture of him in character, but I think his overall tall, lean, blondness pretty much explains why he was cast as SS Major Kessler [N.B. his "brother" in the movie is played by Alexander Skarsgard, if that don't just beat all].


Let me just state for the record--and I realize this is not necessary, but so goes the anxiety this subject produces in me--I'm not down with Nazis, in film or otherwise. This whole subject would be so much less complicated if filmmakers cleaved to this one simple rule:

The role of Nazi shall be played by Steve Buscemi / Willem DaFoe / Ron Perlman.

You see! You don't have to sacrifice talent for looks. These are all good actors; they are all almost universally recognized as unattractive. Would it be that hard to cast them as the Nazi? NO! Because they are almost always cast as villains! Why? Because they are unattractive. And unattractive usually means bad. And Nazis are bad. BAD!

So, casting directors, stop it already. There is no solid reason why you should be casting good-looking people as Nazis. I don't want this to happen again.

Putting Two and Two Together

Last spring while at a conference, I spent two days hanging out with another attendee who, I learned, has a very interesting past. She had once been in a band that, according to her, inspired a comic book character. That comic book was being adapted into a movie starring Michael Cera. I thought that was pretty cool, but in truth, I liked hanging out with her because she is just a really nice person.

After returning to this side of the Mississippi, I lost touch with her and kinda forgot about the movie.

Now, I've been watching commercials for Scott Pilgrim vs. The World for about two weeks, and it did not dawn on me until this morning...THAT's the movie my friend was telling me about!

So in honor of my fellow historian and friend, I give you the song that inspired it all:

Affirmations

Three things I love:

Alan Alda

Fleetwood Mac's album "Rumours"

Chimpanzees and Jane Goodall

For My Sister's Birthday

My older sister's 40th birthday is on the horizon and I have been working on a gift for her. It occurred to me that she is probably not all that thrilled about this milestone, so I thought it would be nice to make her a "mixed tape" of songs that remind me of her. Initially I thought of it as a sort of soundtrack-of-your-life retrospective, but as I worked on it, I realized that what I was really doing was writing her biography from the perspective of a younger sister. In the end, I think that the narrative is simple: It is a love letter to the one person who has always been my ally, my friend, and, because she is 3 1/2 years older than me,  the vanguard of all things I wanted to see and do.

So, by way of a rough draft, here is an excerpt from the history of my sister, with love:

New Order "Perfect Kiss"

This song is the one that got me to thinking the mix tape was a solid gift. Annie was on the dance squad at Yorktown High School in the 1980s, and this was one of the songs that the group decided to do for a routine. She had to practice a lot and found my bedroom, the basement, which I shared with my younger sister, the roomiest place to go through all of the moves. We were both still very much into gymnastics, so routines were the stuff of life for us. I still remember the opening salvo of this silly routine, and I can't here the song without being reminded of how much fun I had learning the moves from her. Also, how mysterious is this line?
--"Now I know the perfect kiss, is the kiss of death."

Depeche Mode "Stripped"

Annie's best friend, Lisa, used to come with us to the beach every summer, and she really became a part of our family. The two of them discovered Depeche Mode when they were in middle school, and the Black Celebration album has become in my minds' eye the single most important recording of our trips to Hatteras, NC. I have scads of memories related to this album but the one that deserves reference here relates to how the two of them sang the song: In their delightfully naïve, eighth-grader ears, Dave Gahan crooned, "Let me see you sprint down to the barn." It took their even more naive, but exacting little sister to ask, "Isn't he saying 'let me see you stripped down to the bone'?" They weren't convinced, but it didn't matter. They introduced me to DM and I was never the same again.

Foreigner  "Waiting For A Girl Like You"

One evening, c. 1982, my family was sitting around the radio, listening to the all-request hour on Q-107 and taking it easy. Then, out of the freakin' blue, there was a request for this song from a young boy named "Rickie". When asked if he wanted to dedicate to song to someone in particular, he said--and I am not making this up!--that he wanted to dedicate the song to "Annie, a girl in my class at Williamsburg Middle School." The coincidence was delightful at first, but when we looked at Annie we could see that she knew exactly who this Rickie kid was, and judging from the look of abject horror on her face,  she was mortified by his very public profession of love for her. She will never--NEVER!--live this moment down. It still makes me smile!

The Smiths  "Bigmouth Strikes Again"

The Cure "Close to Me"

When Annie turned 16, my parents helped her buy an old, tan Volkswagen Beetle which she used to tour the entirety of Northern Virginia. Bless her heart, she often took me for these drives, and nothing thrilled me more than to listen to her The Smiths and The Cure tapes along the way.   These two songs remind me of drives through McLean and Fairfax County, admiring the beautiful homes of the rich and significant, while we dreamed of something bigger for ourselves. These are the days that I miss the most.


  

Oh Happy Day!

1.  California Proposition 8? Officially declared unconstitutional, although actually unconstitutional before the ruling was made!
2.  Three sitting female Supreme Court Justices? Historic, wonderful, and about damn time!
3.  Dinner with Sweet Pickles!

Little Brown Book

In keeping with the last few posts, I'd like to introduce you to today's featured book:

Drs. Richman and Sheth's guide to shit, illustrated by Peter Arkle, may not change your life, but it will definitely change how you feel about puns. Just when you think there isn't a poop joke in the mix, there it is in all of it's stinky splendor! To be fair, as much as the author's are having fun with the subject, they are also medical practitioners who want you to be well-informed, so the book isn't simply a gag-gift; it is  a repository of fecal facts. And, it answers the age old question, "What's the deal with corn, anyway?"

Each chapter focuses on a different outcome of a visit to the toilet, and explains what you may see if, say, you are German and you have one of those German toilets designed for fecal inspection (which apparently most German bathrooms have so you don't really need to be German per se, you just need to be in Germany to experience. Those who have lived in Germany almost certainly have done).

Anyway, each chapter first approaches the topic in classic potty-humor style, and then turns things over to "Dr. Stool", the cartoon gastroenterologist, to explain why these results occur. There are also great vignettes from the history of medicine and toilet technology, as well as little factoids called "Nuggets" which are very informative (ex., the skipper caterpillar "can propel its stool over five feet in the air!").

When the list of synonyms aren't enough to help you visualize which kind of poo is under consideration, Arkle's illustrations remove all doubt (my favorite among these drawings is the Sneak Attack, a.k.a. Deuce is Loose or Shart).

Chapter titles include:
Poo-phoria
Rambo Poo
Number Three
The Clean Sweep
The Honeymoon's Over Poo
(etc. & &)

I really can't remember the provenance of this particular book, but I do recall reading it to my fellow as we drove from Illinois to Mississippi after a weekend visit to see friends. I suspect it was a birthday gift from someone who rightly assumed we would get a kick out of it. We really are that lame.

But, frankly, you read one book on poo, you've read 'em all. And there is no good reason to keep this little brown book for the grandkids. But YOU may know someone who could use a little more information about shit, and I'd be glad to send it your way.

Featured Book of the Day

Lube Jobs: A Woman's Guide to Great Maintenance Sex by Don and Debra MacLeod

This book is in my collection thanks to dear ol' Skinn, who gave it to me as a way of saying, "Congratulations on successfully finishing your dissertation!" It is evident that this book is his adorable way of also saying, "Blush, Monkey! Blush!" Over the years, Skin has learned that I am to my core, a total prude. And what is more fun than poking fun at another person's guarded sensibilities?

I tried to read it, I really did. I even convinced myself for about a week that I was the type of woman who could just "curb her nag gene" and roll-play my way towards his total sexual gratification (although, to be sure, I never did it). This book does more to enrage my inner "Feminazi" than make me feel empowered. I've got nothing against sexual exploration, but I resent the suggestion that I need to simulate a scene from "Backdoor Sluts, III" to satisfy anyone.

And that, dear readers, is exactly what Skinn was going for. Look at the angry prude! Laugh at her! Laugh!

Anyway, I'll be glad to give this book a new home to whomever wants it.

As for you, Skinn, thanks for the gift--it really is the thought that counts.

The Highballs Are On Me!

This weekend I spent some time sorting through my personal library with the intent of thinning the crop. There were a bunch of books from my early grad school days that I've not opened since 2000, and a bunch of novels that I've already read and will be glad to pass onto someone else. I'm going to find a way to unload them online, but if anyone is interested in a title list, I'll be glad to send it and the books you'd like to have for your very own to you free of charge.

One book that I intend to leave off the list --on account of my will to destroy it-- is a copy of Blanche Knott's Truly Tasteless Jokes IX. As the title suggests, this is a collection of jokes that you will not, if you have any sense of humanity, repeat to your mother. After flipping through it, I discovered that none of these jokes made me laugh. None.

To paraphrase the old Virginia Slims advertising campaign, "We've Come A Long Way, Baby!" Published in 1989, this book could be exhibit A in defense of "political correctness." Tasteless certainly covers part of the collection, but downright racist, sexist, and homophobic would certainly cover the rest. This is like some crazy handbook for making small talk at a KKK rally or Augusta National (c. 1984, I suppose).

Here are the chapter titles:
Ethnic variegated
Polish
Jewish
Blacks
Handicapped
Celebrities
Male Anatomy
Female Anatomy
Homosexual
Religious
Cruelty to Animals
Miscellaneous
Too Tasteless to Be Included

Don't you just love that last one? A chapter dedicated to jokes too tasteless to include but they've included anyway. What?

Miscellaneous seems to be a synonym for pedophilic and incest-based jokes. I realize that humor depends on the element of surprise, but some of these jokes would just make a person want to call the police on you if you told them within 100 yards of an elementary school.

Who is this Blanche Knott character anyway?

As I'm sure by now you are just "gagging for a taste" of one of these jokes, I've selected the most tame one I could find that is also slightly, vaguely, remotely funny:

What did the giraffe say when he walked into a bar?
--[see post title]