I straighten my hair because I want to. It's the winter time and it's easier to take my scarf off comb through my hair with my hands and be done with my hair. During the summer it is easier to wet it a little, put some leave in conditioner in it and make sure it looks right in its curly state. I don't chemically straighten my hair (which is also not an issue) and I understand the connection to the ideal aesthetic of beauty - straight "european" hair. Pardon my less than PC phrasing, but I don't want "white girl hair." I like MY hair when straight - the volume, its black color, its flow. I don't think anyone would assume its naturally straight. Does anyone get at white women for dying their hair blonde, or older women for dying their hair to hide the white ones that inevitably come with age? There is an aesthetic of beauty that dictates "good" and "bad" hair and I hate those phrases - you have "good" hair if you take care of it, don't let it die, treat it etc. I am completely aware of the racial and gendered undertones of hair politics. I get that women tend to perm or straighten their hair when going to interviews. That's ridiculous. It's stupid to think how women's bodies are policed even through our hair. With that said, I (as an individual) have no issue straightening my hair. I get that I have hair "that's easy to manage" to some. Easy to manage for whom? Have you combed my hair out? Have you spent three hours straightening it? I don't know. I get the institutional reasons for there to be a negative connotation around straight hair that isn't naturally that way but I don't know how productive it is to attack individuals for an institutional problem. Sure talk about whatever you want but sometimes people really need to examine ways they "subscribe to societal norms" - we all wear certain clothes or name brands, all have cell phones, all like nice computers, all wear makeup at times, all buy overpriced coffee, and the list goes on. Of course EVERYONE doesn't do the things I've mentioned but EVERYONE does something that makes them a slave to some governing power.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Phrasing is So Important
So I've always understood that my words can be misconstrued. All of our words can right? Have you ever been in an argument and the person uses your words against you completely out of context? Then your response is "that's not what I meant." I open with this because as I give more lectures and read my students essays, I realized how everything I say has to be specifically crafted for them. Everything I say can be misconstrued and when you're talking about race, gender, class, inequalities, history and anything that has anything to do with people (fyi: everything).
You may disagree but I do think that if you are a person of color in a position of power (whether teacher, politician, principal, activist etc), your words instantly implicate whatever marginalized community you seemingly represent even if that was never your intention. For this person, I think that thinking before speaking takes on a whole new meaning especially when you are responsible to teach 23 students. With that said, I'm continuously challenged to talk about things I particularly care about with a group of students that know little on the topic. You have to unravel stereotypes, misconceptions, "knowledge" etc. I'm not saying my students are ignorant. A lot of them are really smart but I can see where "fact" collides with other versions of truth in American History. I guess you can say I'm in the same boat as they are for different reasons. I will always be a student and will continuously be challenged by my students and professors.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
X-Mas List
Speaking it into existence ...
Aside from these three I want a couple DVDs - A different world series sans season 1, A pretty woman, Dirty dancing, american gangster. Of course I LOVE cards. Nice heartfelt, thoughtful cards. I read them whenever I'm low or need some motivation. I save all of my cards - no matter how old or not that great looking lol.
Grey Uggs (I think I'd be a 7.5) not sure though. This is probably number one since I have no winter shoes.

An Ihome (this is probably last)

A kindle ( I really want this but its completely superfluous)

Monday, November 8, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Lift Every Voice
Sang this along with the star spangled banner at every assembly in junior high-school. (we only sung the first stanza but the whole song is beautiful.)
Lift every voice and sing,
'Til earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on 'til victory is won.
Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chast'ning rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered,
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
'Til now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.
God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who has brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who has by Thy might
Led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
Lest, our hearts drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee;
Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
May we forever stand,
True to our God,
True to our native land.
Lift every voice and sing,
'Til earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on 'til victory is won.
Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chast'ning rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered,
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
'Til now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.
God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who has brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who has by Thy might
Led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
Lest, our hearts drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee;
Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
May we forever stand,
True to our God,
True to our native land.
To Live in the Borderlands Means You
To live in the borderlands means you
are neither hispana india negra espanola
ni gabacha, eres mestiza, mulata, half-breed
caught in the crossfire between camps
while carrying all five races on your back
not knowing which side to turn to, run from;
To live in the Borderlands means
knowing that the india in you, betrayed for 500 years,
is no longer speaking to you,
that mexicanas call you rajetas,
that denying the Anglo inside you
is as bad as having denied the Indian or Black;
Cuando vives en la frontera
people walk through you, the wind steals your voice,
you’re a burra, buey, scapegoat,
forerunner of a new race,
half and half–both woman and man, neither–
a new gender;
To live in the Borderlands means to
put chile in the borscht,
eat whole wheat tortillas,
speak Tex-Mex with a Brooklyn accent;
be stopped by la migra at the border checkpoints;
Living in the Borderlands means you fight hard to
resist the gold elixir beckoning from the bottle,
the pull of the gun barrel,
the rope crushing the hollow of your throat;
In the Borderlands
you are the battleground
where enemies are kin to each other;
you are at home, a stranger,
the border disputes have been settled
the volley of shots have shattered the truce
you are wounded, lost in action
dead, fighting back;
To live in the Borderlands means
the mill with the razor white teeth wants to shred off
your olive-red skin, crush out the kernel, your heart
pound you pinch you roll you out
smelling like white bread but dead;
To survive the Borderlands
you must live sin fronteras
be a crossroads.
© Gloria AnzaldĂșa, Frontiers Publishing, Inc. 1996
are neither hispana india negra espanola
ni gabacha, eres mestiza, mulata, half-breed
caught in the crossfire between camps
while carrying all five races on your back
not knowing which side to turn to, run from;
To live in the Borderlands means
knowing that the india in you, betrayed for 500 years,
is no longer speaking to you,
that mexicanas call you rajetas,
that denying the Anglo inside you
is as bad as having denied the Indian or Black;
Cuando vives en la frontera
people walk through you, the wind steals your voice,
you’re a burra, buey, scapegoat,
forerunner of a new race,
half and half–both woman and man, neither–
a new gender;
To live in the Borderlands means to
put chile in the borscht,
eat whole wheat tortillas,
speak Tex-Mex with a Brooklyn accent;
be stopped by la migra at the border checkpoints;
Living in the Borderlands means you fight hard to
resist the gold elixir beckoning from the bottle,
the pull of the gun barrel,
the rope crushing the hollow of your throat;
In the Borderlands
you are the battleground
where enemies are kin to each other;
you are at home, a stranger,
the border disputes have been settled
the volley of shots have shattered the truce
you are wounded, lost in action
dead, fighting back;
To live in the Borderlands means
the mill with the razor white teeth wants to shred off
your olive-red skin, crush out the kernel, your heart
pound you pinch you roll you out
smelling like white bread but dead;
To survive the Borderlands
you must live sin fronteras
be a crossroads.
© Gloria AnzaldĂșa, Frontiers Publishing, Inc. 1996
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Grad School Life :(
If you are thinking about grad school or are in it listen to this. It will provide a very good laugh.
http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/7451115/
http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/7451115/
Grading Isn't Fun - Public Service Announcement
For all of us who complain that we have to write essays remember that your professor/instructor has to sit there and read through all of them (not just yours). Make sure you stick to the basics - thesis, topic sentences, clear transitions. Makes life easier for the students because there is a blueprint and ten times easier for the person grading. Imagine reading something over and spending 20 - 30 minutes on a 3 page essay because its difficult to understand. This people is why teachers become bitter. This is especially important when the person grading has their own work to do (ie: reading, writing paper, writing article, creating lesson plans).
You've been warned.
You've been warned.
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