Tag Archives: race

The Last Book I Loved: Miss Anne in Harlem

Do you guys remember back in college when you’d pick up your books for a new class and the first thing you’d do is skip to the back and be thrilled to find out that 100 of the 500 pages you were expected to read were citations and bibliography? No? Just me?

miss-anne-in-harlem-jacket300wSo last night, on the train home, I found myself in the exact opposite position, eagerly anticipating the last 150  pages of Miss Anne in Harlem: The White Women of the Black Renaissance by Carla Kaplan, about the highly problematic, complex, fascinating lives of prominent white women in Harlem in the 20s. I was downright devastated to find instead 150 pages of index and acknowledgments. Noooooo000000000.

It is a rare piece of historical analysis, without traditional plot or suspense, that can grip a reader like that. Slow clap to Kaplan for pulling it off and making it look easy.

I was wary of Miss Anne from the title alone. Do we really need to go looking for ways that white people’s contributions to history, particularly black history, have been overlooked? Really? Those are the buried contributions we want to spend time and energy uncovering? Look! More stuff that you thought black people did but actually it was white people! And a white historian writing about and profiting off of a book about white people writing about and profiting off of black identity politics in the 20s? Are we really not going to address the irony? This book had the potential to go seriously, seriously awry.

And yet.

Oh my god, you guys, it was so good. As you might imagine, I’m a sucker for the behind-the-scenes, never-before-revealed, forgotten-by-the-sands-of-time/ignored-by-the-patriarchal-powers-that-be stories of women shaping, influencing, wielding power. This also applies to people of color, LGBTQ individuals, and other members of marginalized groups whose contributions are often painted over by a whiter, straighter, male brush. The story of Bayard Rustin is one example; a gay black activist who organized the March on Washington and is literally standing behind MLK Jr during the “I Have a Dream” speech, but whose name is often left out of the textbooks. Or all these women I read about when I was traveling Peru.

The assumption that history was built by (white, straight, rich) men, is undermined when you get into the nitty gritty of who was actually working, writing, creating. With each such story that ultimately gets told, it feels like a slow expansion of the canon, and goddamn does the canon need expanding.

That very tension between untold stories of fascinating women and appropriation of black culture is literally and intentionally the central struggle of Miss Anne and all of the women it chronicles. Kaplan selected six white women, “Miss Annes,” to illustrate the variety of roles that white women inhabited (mostly uncomfortably) during the 1920s in Harlem.

The women she picks range from writers and journalists to “philanthropists”–like Charlotte Osgood Mason, who financed significant work by Langston Hughes, Zora Neale Hurston, and Alain Locke while maintaining a dictatorial grip on their social calendars–to playwrights and poets who attempted to “capture the black experience”. Many of them thought of themselves as boundary-breakers and reached into Harlem for certain freedoms they weren’t allowed in upper middle class white society. Some of them craved the spotlight, others were content to work in obscurity (until now) on behalf of the betterment of blacks. There is no unifying thread in their experience, except for their whiteness and femaleness in a period of history mostly discussed from a black male point of view.

It was an era when primitivism ruled and white Americans took tours of “exotic” Harlem to experience the “carefree” music and dance of black dance halls. Some of the women in Miss Anne subscribed to the worst of those primitivist theories. Some of them didn’t. Race novels like Imitation of Life, Passing, and Let My People Go, grappled with the meaning of racial identity, especially when identity was not visibly obvious. The notion of “volunteering for blackness” existed in opposition to passing for white. The dueling concepts of “race pride” and “race is a useless social construction” were constantly being debated in the press, on stage, and in salons. Can you choose how you identify? What happens if it’s in conflict with how others identify you? Why is choosing blackness different than passing for white? What obligations do you owe the members of your group?

In short, it was messy as hell, and to her credit Kaplan ignores none of the mess. Thank God.

There’s only one thing I would add to Miss Anne. If you recall from writing history papers in college, the trick at the end was always to pull the past into the present with some trite sentence like, “And that is why these issues are still ones we are discussing today.” Only better than that, obviously. While Kaplan successfully draws strong lines from 1920s race and identity politics to the present day, there is one piece missing from the puzzle; Kaplan’s story herself. By opening the door to discussing her role as a white historian telling black stories and describing black experience [Note: She is considered an expert on Zora Neale Hurston], she could have added that last complicating layer to an already super complicated, delicious, multi-layered history cake.

Related Post: The last book I loved: The Flamethrowers

Related Post: The last book I loved: The Orphan Master’s Son

Leave a comment

Filed under Books, Education, Gender, Really Good Writing by Other People

Happy 80th Gloria!

Gloria Steinem turned 80 today and is still killing it all over town. Gail Collins wrote a particularly excellent birthday card at the New York Times, but I also committed my thoughts on Gloria to paper (er…screen? We have got to get some new idioms) for Role/Reboot.

Screenshot_3_25_14_12_23_PM-2I was recently talking to my mom about how segmented the “movements” are these days. Where are the great thinkers? She said, Where are the great leaders pushing us forward to be better? The Martins? The Glorias? She’s right, I think, that there really aren’t singular “public faces” to movements anymore. Maybe Sheryl Sandberg comes the closest, but even her momentum and appeal is limited to certain demographic wedges. Individuals become flash points, like Sandra Fluke, or Trayvon Martin, but their influence doesn’t sustain over decades.

The way we consume media has become so fractured and specific that for one person to try to galvanize a large swath of the public is rarely feasible anymore. We’ll change the channel to one of the 900 others, or close the browser and open a new one. There are pockets now, specific strains of ism or anti-ism, that we choose subscribe to based on our politics and affiliations. When Tina Fey skewered Jezebel on 30 Rock, which side did you fall on? When Ta-Nehisi Coates berates the President, who do you think is right?

I don’t think it’s a bad thing that we have these sub-affiliations, I think it’s just an indication of how fucking complicated these issues are. I just finished Lynn Povich’s The Good Girls Revoltabout the 1970 sex discrimination lawsuit at Newsweek. In the recollections of some of the participants was a certain reluctance to admit that, actually, they hadn’t wanted the jobs they were suing for. Most of them certainly did (and  they all deserved the opportunity to compete for them), but some felt that the movement was so all-encompassing that to opt-out or question any part of it was to undermine it. They didn’t want to jeopardize the group to protect themselves, even though their interests didn’t always line up 100%.

It was an interesting angle that I wasn’t expecting Povich to address. It’s not all rah-rah. One person or committee or caucus can never speak for everyone, so the goal has to be about creating options, not dictating how we utilize them.

Related Post: Raunch humor and feminism.

Related Post: When celebrities talk about feminism, the good, bad, and ugly.

 

1 Comment

Filed under Gender, Media, Politics, Republished!

The Cool Kids

Got your geek out goggles on? Good, you’re going to need them. This week the Schomberg Center organized a conversation between Zadie Smith (White Teeth, On Beauty, NW) and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Half of a Yellow Sun, That Thing Around Your Neck, Americanah, “Flawless”). 

In an hour long discussion full of epic brilliance, the powerhouse pair address among many, many things: how white people think of black people as one homogenous class, how most literature neglects the sexual agency of grown women, how Americanah is Adichie’s “Fuck you” book, what it was like to write the rape scene in Yellow Sun, how splitting the check represents (or doesn’t) love, 12 Years a Slave, Barack and Michelle, policing blackness, and of course, hair.

See for yourself:

Screenshot_3_23_14_9_33_PM-5

And may I also say that I called the Their Eyes Were Watching God/Americanah connection. Ten points for Gryffindor.

Related Post: How to move a wall o’ books

Related Post: My book club is famous.

Leave a comment

Filed under Books

“If you’re feeling attacked, it probably means you’re having your privilege challenged”

If you haven’t spent much time with the Batty Mamzelle essay “This is what I mean when I say ‘White Feminist'”, you should.  If it hasn’t entered the canon of intersectional third wave feminist texts, it’ll be inducted any day now. It is brilliant.

As a feminist who is white, I do not want to be a White Feminist, which Cate defines as follows:

“White feminism” does not mean every white woman, everywhere, who happens to identify as feminist. It also doesn’t mean that every “white feminist” identifies as white. I see “white feminism” as a specific set of single-issue, non-intersectional, superficial feminist practices. It is the feminism we understand as mainstream; the feminism obsessed with body hair, and high heels and makeup, and changing your married name. It is the feminism you probably first learned. “White feminism” is the feminism that doesn’t understand western privilege, or cultural context. It is the feminism that doesn’t consider race as a factor in the struggle for equality. 

For visual learners, she included this amazing Venn diagram, and I’ve added my notes with yellow arrows:

Screenshot_1_16_14_1_08_PM

I know I have flirted the line with White Feminism. I was in White Feminism territory when I posted on Facebook about blackface. I was in White Feminism territory when I failed to consider how a movement like SlutWalk may not work for women of color whose experience with hypersexualization (see #FastTailedGirls) is different than mine. And I know that, when my White Feminism tendencies come out (and if you grew up with White Feminism, were taught White Feminism, and read White Feminism, it can be hella hard to retrain yourself), I am epically embarrassed to be called out. When you are working hard to be the best ally you can be and you take a misstep (even a well-meaning one), it’s hard not to go straight for a defensive crouch. But you don’t know me. I’m not like that. I’m on your side. 

But that’s a selfish, unhelpful response. It’s not about you (me). As Cate writes “It can be very off-putting to feel attacked for a transgression that you know yourself not to be guilty of. But in the context of social justice and movement building, if you’re feeling attacked, it probably means you’re having your privilege challenged, not that you are a bad person.” All you can do is apologize, step back, analyze, and learn from it.

In a related story this week, Jeff Yang wrote for the Wall Street Journal about the selection of Ashley Wagner for the Olympic Team (4th place in the Nationals) over Mirai Nagasu (3rd). As he points out in his follow-up piece, we will likely never know for sure whether race, specifically, played a role in the selection, but it’s not unreasonable to ask the question:

My WSJ piece is focused on the idea of the “golden girl” — a term first applied to one of Olympic skating’s early superstars, Sonja Henie, and which has survived since then through the years as an appellation for a particular type of skater: Blonde, ivory-skinned, willowy, slender. The term “golden girl” is akin to the term “great white hope”: It is a racialized archetype that infuriates people when you actually call it out as a racialized archetype.

Remember guys, if you’re feeling defensive, you’re probably just having your privilege challenged.

Related Post: Pax Dickerson didn’t notice male privilege

Related Post: David Roberts at Grist explains White Liberal Dude Privilege

4 Comments

Filed under Media, Really Good Writing by Other People, Sports

Sasheer Zamata and “Preferential Casting”

As you’ve probably heard, Saturday Night Live hired a black female comedian this week, Sasheer Zamata, 6 years after their last black female performer (Maya Rudoph) left the show. You may not have heard that, in addition to Zamata, SNL announced that they had hired two new black female writers, LaKendra Tookes and Leslie Jones.

After the Zamata announcement, I went and watched a trillion of her youtube clips of her stand-up and sketch work. This is my favorite:

Why do I think it’s important for cultural touchstones (which, whether you like it or not, SNL is) have diverse writers and casts? Because a straight white dude would never do a bit like that. Ever. And it is brilliant, and insightful, and kind of uncomfortable, and funny as hell. We need this kind of comedy to be part of the mainstream. That’s not to say that straight white dudes can’t contribute (Louie CK’s rape joke remains one of my favorites), only that a diversity of experience (like for example, having different colored skin, growing up in a different neighborhood, having immigrant parents, etc) creates a diversity of content, and that diversity of content is what eventually leads to empathy with people who are, on the surface, not like us.

This week for Role/Reboot I wrote more about Sasheer Zamata’s casting, with a nod to Cindy Gallop and Mitt Romney’s “Binders full of women”:

Screenshot_1_8_14_3_39_PM

 

Related Post: My favorite two minutes of TV about oral sex and reciprocity

Related Post: I think Amy Poehler may have served me steak fries

1 Comment

Filed under Hollywood, Media

What I Read in 2013

I read a lot in 2013. Some combination of new proximity to my local library, an enthusiastic book club, and my first shot at the quiet and uninterrupted solitude of single-living has resulted in me cranking through the stacks at record pace.

I believe who we read is in many ways as important as what we read. Which voices do we bring into our homes and absorb into our worldviews? Are they just like us? Older? Younger? Poorer? Richer? Colorful?

Some organizations, like VIDA, formalize this count by comparing bylines by gender at major publications. Here’s how my 2013 reading list shook out:

Screenshot_1_1_14_9_55_PMScreenshot_1_1_14_9_58_PM

Included in that blue chunk in the top right were new books like Taiye Selasi’s Ghana Must Go, Junot Diaz’ This Is How You Lose Her, James McBride’s The Good Lord Bird, and Chimamanda Adichie’s Americanahas well as a few overlooked classics, like Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God. 

Not that 40 is by any means some sort of definitive line in the sand, but I think it’s interesting that most of what I read (with the notable exception of Veronica Roth’s YA Divergent trilogy) was written by real live grown-ups. You know, not 25-year-olds.

Screenshot_1_1_14_10_20_PM

Lastly, was any of it true? I find that, as I get older, my preference for non-fiction gets stronger. I read more journalism, less bloggery, watch more documentaries, fewer blockbusters, read more memoirs, fewer pieces of fiction. Seems like the real world is plenty full of good stories without having to make them up. Cases in point include Behind the Beautiful Forevers (Katherine Boo) and Random Family (Adrian Nicole LeBlanc). I still read a buttload of fiction, but I only expect the slice of non-fic to get fatter every year.

Screenshot_1_1_14_10_26_PM

So what were my favorites? Read everything I mentioned above (especially the Boo and Adichie). For wild cackling on the train, I suggest Mindy Kaling’s memoir Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? For when you have six solid hours on the couch and you need an epic American tale, pick up East of Edenwhich I finally read and adored this year. For the quirkiest love story of the year about an autistic astronaut and his bald wife, read Lydia Netzer’s Shine, Shine, ShineTo deepen your love of great American cities, read Dan Baum’s Nine Lives (New Orleans), You Were Never in Chicago (Neil Steinberg), or Detroit (Charlie LeDuff). And when you really want to be stunned by what magic tricks a book can do, dare yourself to try Adam Johnson’s The Orphan Master’s Son.
 
What did you read and love in 2013, and what’s next?

2 Comments

Filed under Books, Gender

“I won’t date _________ people” = Racist? Yes.

This week for Role/Reboot I wrote about the always controversial subject of racial preferences while dating. It started because a friend (who is Asian) asked if I thought it was racist to not want to date other Asians. So began a long and fascinating conversation about trying to avoid people with similar neuroses, whether those neuroses stem from being Asian, whether “Asian” is too broad a bloc to eliminate (what about South Asians? What about fifth-generation Asians? What about adopted Asians? Will they all have the same neuroses we’re trying to avoid? Probably not…)

My perspective is that you can’t make assumptions about values, beliefs, experiences, or even appearance on race. Consequently, if you say ” I don’t date ______,” the thing you’re objecting to is the census category itself (which is pretty arbitrary…) That, to my mind, is racist. Here are my thoughts in a little more detail:

Screenshot_11_21_13_1_28_PM

The feedback has already been really fascinating, and there is at least one major question I didn’t address in the original piece: what about when people of a minority or marginalized group prefer to date within their group for the purposes of solidarity and preservation of culture and traditions?

I left this out intentionally because I don’t really feel qualified to answer it, having never identified as part of a marginalized group (except for ladies, which is a moot point here). I don’t have a culture or set of traditions that it is important for me to preserve such that my dating choices would be affected. “Whiteness” is not a culture. Jewish and black friends (at least, these are the only two groups that have spoken up), both argued for an asterisk on my argument that recognized that, in the case of marginalized groups, there might be value in trying to preserve a culture or strengthen a community that might otherwise peter out if not sufficiently maintained.

What do you guys think?

Related Post: You guessed it, I’m a privileged white girl!

Related Post: Dating should not be a meal ticket.

5 Comments

Filed under Republished!

I promise this is not a post about blackface

I promise this is not an post about blackface, although for the first paragraph or so it might seem that way. Blackface is inevitably in the news this time of year as people nationwide make terrible costume decisions. See Julianne Hough. This is a post about the calling out of privilege, the ease with which one can unintentionally offend, and the fact that ultimately, unintentionality is entirely beside the point. So here’s what happened:

The backstory: In light of Julianne Hough, my brother and I were discussing why blackface is offensive. Neither of us was suggesting that it is not racist or in any way advocating for its acceptability, but we were testing the boundaries of it in a purely academic sense (and yes, I know that sounds uber douchy, but as you will soon see, the douche-factor is sufficiently addressed by what happens next). We were talking about the difference between blackface and other forms of racial imitation (white people with dreadlocks or cornrows, for example). Why are some considered more harmful than others, etc (one obvious answer is the history of minstrel shows which hinged on blackface). We ultimately agreed that, regardless of whether we could articulate in any specific way why blackface was so offensive, it didn’t matter because we know that it causes harm, so duh… don’t do it.

Chapter 1: I am overeager with social media: After our conversation, I went a-reading on the interwebz, as I am apt to do, to see what good writing was out there on the subject of blackface. I found a bunch of interesting things, but nothing that I thought was accessible for my brother (and I wanted to continue our conversation). So, I posted this in FB:

Screenshot_10_30_13_3_44_PM

A bunch of helpful people sent articles and commented, and I wrote a follow-up  email to my brother using some of the new stuff people sent and sent it off without a thought.

Chapter 2: In which I found out that tone is important: I got a Facebook message from an old friend named Laura. Though she (correctly) assumed that my intentions were good, she had a “wtf reaction” to my post and solicited opinions from some of her friends who are all, like her, women of color. And man, their responses were brutal. A few highlights:

"I find Emily's comment offputting because I feel that she is digging for something deeper than racism which kinda makes me feel like she does not get race relations. I say kinda because I obviously don't know her. She wants a reasoning for black face being unacceptable to please her audience. (Wtf to please her audience?) Anyway, how is racism not enough of a reason?" 
asdf
"my advice to her would be if you don't know the answer, maybe you don't need to be the one trying to go around and educate other white folks who "don't get it." and relying on "comprehensive" "articulate" "pieces" (of what?) seems to me like she's looking for a good journal article to circulate, which brings up its own issues of what is a legitimate source of information. also does she really not know the history of blackface in particular? google that shit." 
adf
"Agreed! also, to add to D's point, why does she have to use "hyper-academic jargon"? Can't she just say that blackface is a remnant of one of the most overtly racist facets of pop culture in American history? The end? " 
asdf
" Her comment irritates me specifically because it seems like her intentions are good, but if she doesn't understand why blackface is so much more than "cultural appropriation," I question her motives on why she's bothering taking part in the conversation at all. It's problematic to espouse a viewpoint that you don't actually hold or that you don't understand why you hold because it muddles the narrative and potentially does more harm than good. Listen first, then talk.

"Also, she needs to google that shit. Don't put it on facebook so that you can draw attention to the fact that you think blackface is bad. It's 2013, put your "I'm not a racist!" flag away and just don't be racist." - Elizabeth

Ouch. Not gonna lie, it stung a lot. Some of their responses were just reactions to the language in my post (for example, I didn’t want to implicate my brother on Facebook, so I used the term “audience,” which makes my motives seem much more authoritative than I meant them.) But some of the criticism was on point, and I was pretty embarrassed. None of these people know me (except Laura, who hasn’t known me personally in eight years) and yet they were judging so hard! I immediately went defensive.

Chapter 3: In which I try to defend myself, sort of: I chatted Laura about her feedback. Big picture, I’m glad she sent it. As we’ve discussed White Privilege Syndrome’s sneakiest strain is the assumption that the way you want to be interpreted is the way you will be interpreted. Julianne Hough ran into this fact with her Orange is the New Black costume, and clearly I was right there with her. While Laura and her friends’ interpretations of my post were not what I had intended, it doesn’t matter. Through their lens as women of color, which I do not share, my attitude towards the problem of blackface was read as appropriating, condescending, elitist, and ultimately offensive. I chatted Laura, and we discussed it further:

Me: i was hoping that someone (likely someone not white) had written an article or blog post explaining in their own words their experience with blackface, and i was hoping that by asking around, people would send me stuff precisely outside of the scope of what i read on a regular basi

Laura: http://www.grantland.com/blog/hollywood-prospectus/post/_/id/90797/how-to-be-a-white-person-on-halloween-hint-skip-the-blackface

Me: yep, that’s one of the ones that people sent me

Laura: i didn’t really like it though, because while i love rembert browne. i think it doesn’t really explain that that shit is straight up racist because racism exists and we live in a white supremacist society. white people have the privilege to put on faces and cultures for a minute and then go back to their whiteness that carries real advantages

Me: yes i agree

Laura: people of color have to dress up white and live in a white world everyday and we don’t get any of those advantages

….

Me: i’m pretty surprised by the reaction y’all had, but I’m really glad you brought it up

Laura: well it’s personal. it smacked of academia, it smacked of coming from a place of asking PoCs to explain racism

Me: right? because isn’t rule of privilege #1 recognizing that the way you intend your words to be heard isn’t the only the thing that matters context matters, history matters, the way you are interpreted matters too. so maybe a good lesson for me

Laura:  also i think in the context of a lot of news and comments and things i’ve seen this halloween. people make a big deal about us moving towards a place and time when it’s not offensive because we’re all equal

Me: lol, not in our lifetime

Laura: and i think thats bullshit because this history is live and well and it’s not in the past its my living present

Me: yours and a lot of people’s

Laura: truth

So that’s what happened. I still feel a little embarrassed by how little I thought about my original post, or the impact it might have on people who confront this issue in a non-academic way in their lives every single day. Feels a bit like getting caught with my pants down. I’m grateful to Laura for bringing it up, rather than just letting her friends rant about it without me ever knowing about the conversation that my post had started. We all need reminders from time to time.

Happy Halloween, y’all. Stay safe out there.

Related Post: Effie Trinket does yoga.

Related Post: Even pumpkin-carving gets sexualized

8 Comments

Filed under Hollywood

History Pockets – The House of Dance and Feathers

The first time I was aware of the Mardi Gras Indians was the second episode of Treme when Clarke Peters emerges from a waterlogged bar to petition his neighbor for help. He is dressed like this:

TOUT_Clarke Peters, Paul Schiraldi_2

I honestly thought it was some HBO magical realism shit, a dream sequence, perhaps, because it didn’t seem possible that black men of New Orleans actually don epic suits of beads and feathers and parade and dance through the streets of the Crescent City. Wouldn’t I have heard about it if they did? I’m pretty well-read, I took a bunch of African-American studies classes in college, I know some stuff….

Apparently not. Between the white privilege bubble and the we-only-care-about-what’s-north-of-the-Mason-Dixon bubble, the tradition of the Mardi Gras Indians managed to fall through the cracks of my liberal arts education, despite majoring in what my mother semi-jokingly referred to “oppression studies.”

1395408_2915680531219_388444443_n

Beadwork from Mardi Gras Indian suits

The Mardi Gras Indians have been masking in New Orleans for over a century. The origins are rather hazy, but the oral history passed down suggests that the first masking tribes were honoring the Native Americans who resisted the European infiltration of New Orleans and assisted escaping slaves. Every year, hundreds of black New Orleans men and boys spend 11 months sewing by hand phenomenally elaborate beaded and feathered suits. On Mardi Gras, they parade through the city in tribes, battling each other with song and dance and prettiness.

I spent this past weekend in New Orleans and between all the fried things I ate (including a truly outstanding crawfish beignet) we visited the House of Dance and Feathers, a museum created by Ronald Lewis (featured in Dan Baum’s Nine Liveswhich you should read) to preserve the Mardi Gras Indian tradition. 

In the small trailer in the Lower Ninth that Lewis has packed with beadwork, photos, newspaper clippings, and feathered pieces, I was struck by how easy it would have been to go about my entire life and never be aware of the Mardi Gras Indians. What a fascinating and important subculture I would have missed learning about! What beautiful artwork I would have missed seeing! What stories I would have missed hearing!

Holding up a piece of beadwork in the House of Dance and Feathers

Holding up a piece of beadwork in the House of Dance and Feathers

From there, I started wondering about all of the other little hidden pockets of history and culture that I will likely never encounter. It seems safe to assume that New Orleans, though unique in oh-so-many ways is not the only city to house bands or tribes or communities of people doing surprising and surprisingly delightful art and work.

There must be dozens of subcultures and cultural institutions in Chicago that in seven years I’ve never even heard of. There are huge swaths of this city that I’ve never set foot in. I left the House of Dance and Feathers wondering how to go about exploring my own city better. What do you think? How do you find, learn about, and appreciate unique and little-known cultures in your city?

P.S. Want more on Ronald Lewis, Mardi Gras Indians, and The House of Dance and Feathers? Read Kim Green’s post over at The Greenery

Related Post: Many of the untold stories in history of ladies. I know, you’re shocked!

Related Post: How have I never seen Thelma and Louise? 

1 Comment

Filed under Art

S(Tuesday) Scraps 109


Screenshot_8_13_13_1_25_PM-2

1. HOOPS: Bill Simmons, who I generally love, gets rightfully reamed by college basketball player Wayne Washington when Simmons refers to his dreads as “stinky.”

2. AUTHORS: Curtis Sittenfeld (Prep, American Wife) gets interviewed by The Rumpus about her new book, Sisterland.

3. NEW MEXICO: The New Yorker‘s Rachel Syme, writes eloquently about the hometown she shares with Walter White.

4. CELEB: I really dig this advice from Olivie Wilde in Glamour, or rather, this advice from her ghostwriter. Regardless, I’m into it.

5. MOMS: My favorite, Roxane Gay, interviews her mother for The Hairpin about how she feels about her mothering decisions, 30 years later. Should we all be so lucky as to have these conversations.

6. SPORTS: What does it say about you as a parent when you push your daughter down the path of soccer, dance, or chess? Apparently a lot?

Related Post: Sunday 108: George Saunders, OITNB, Ill-Doctrine, etc.

Related Post: Sunday 107: Amanda Palmer = awesome, millennials worry, email mapping!

Leave a comment

Filed under Books, Family, Gender, Hollywood, Media, Really Good Writing by Other People, Sports