Photo Friday

Mom voting, November 4, 2008

Wicked Manors 2008

Last Friday was the second annual Wilton Manors Halloween party on the 'Drive'. I of course never dress up in a costume, although I think I could pull off this 'Robin' costume.

But I probably would look more like this sloppy looking 'Robin' if I did. Oh and I would have a gut.

This year the party didn't seem as crowded as last year, but everyone was having a good time. Mostly because you could get your cocktail at any bar and take it out on to the street just like in New Orleans. Just about everybody you see in the photos are a bit tipsy, except for the kids. They were just high on sugar.

It was nice to see that the Hulk had brought his family, but he doesn't look very happy about it.Maybe because this was the rest of the Hulk's family.

Brother Boy from Sordid Lives.

I don't know what this guy was supposed to be, but I just liked his expression. Maybe he's supposed to be the late Marcel Marceau. I don't know, he wouldn't talk to me.

Here is Mark as Barack Obama, and I think that is 'William Ayers' with him, or it could be the 'First Dude'.And finally, here is the reason I didn't let Mark dress Chandler up in a costume. This little dog was not happy. It just isn't natural for a dog to have to unzip his fly to take a leak. The worst part about it is that the dogs owner was also wearing ass-less pants.

It's Over

Thirty six years ago I voted in my first presidential election. The guy I voted for was named George, George McGovern. George McGovern didn't win, in fact out of the ten presidential elections I have voted in, only four of my candidates have won. Thank goodness for guys named George. It took a guy named George to get the first black man elected president of the United States. George W. Bush did such a horrendous job, and so many Republicans rejected him that any white man could have easily beat the Republican candidate. As it is, he did such a bad job that even white Americans who didn't necessarily like black men, voted in Barack Obama as the forty forth president of the United States.

I knew Obama would win when I was standing in line to vote yesterday. In line with me was 'Republican Mike', one of my neighbors. Republican Mike, is a dyed in the wool Republican. When I have been to his house I saw photo's of him with Gerald Ford, and other old high ranking Republicans. He comes from a military and political family. When I saw Mike in line I greeted him, and joked, "You are voting for Obama, right?". Mike, who has never voted for anyone who didn't have a 'R' in front of their name, shocked me. "Yes I am", he replied, and he was serious.

So today I am happy. I almost never write political crap on my blog. I really mean it to be a story of my life and my history. The fact is that yesterday's election is a huge piece of history, and I think it will turn out to be a good thing. Good luck Mr. President Elect Obama. By the way, can you get Mark a job as one of your doubles?

Mark and the Magic Suit

I quit putting on a costume for Halloween many years ago, real life is scary enough. Not so for Mark, he still gets dressed up every year, and he likes to do his costume based upon current events. In 2001 he dressed up as Osama Bin Laden, with a plane flying up his butt (obviously it wasn't really up his butt, it just looked like it). Unfortunately most people didn't see the plane stuck up his butt, and thought he was just Bin Laden. It wasn't pretty. People were cursing him, and threatening him. I think he should have used a 747 or a DC10, something large and noticeable.

This year he did the obvious, he dressed up as Barack Obama. This is what Mark’s costume consisted of. A dark business suit, a red tie, a white shirt, and Mark. He didn’t even add the mole on the side of his nose. It basically looked like a tall skinny black guy going for a job interview.

His costume couldn’t have been more perfect. As we stepped out on to the street, people immediately started yelling “Obama! Obama!”, and everyone wanted to take their picture with him. Remember, this is just a tall skinny black guy in a dark suit. No mask, no makeup, nothing. The adulation continued as we made our way up Wilton Drive. It wasn’t long before ‘Obama’ ran into ‘Hillary Clinton‘. It was like the paparazzi were following us, as cameras flashed and ‘Hillary’ and ‘Obama’ posed for photos. The evening wouldn’t be complete until we ran into ‘Joe the Plumber’ and ‘Sarah Palin‘, and we weren’t let down. In fact there were at least three ‘Sarah’s’ and a couple of ‘Joe’s’.

Now all that was fun, but it wasn’t the best part. Later on in the evening, Mark entered a costume contest at one of the bars on the street. On Halloween, 2008, a tall skinny black man in a dark suit, white shirt, and a red tie, won the $250 prize for the best costume at a bar on Wilton Drive. Beating out people who had spent much money and many hours putting together elaborate costumes that were worthy of a prize. I can only hope that this is an omen of what will happen later today.

Brazil Nuts

Some might consider this post political, but I don't consider racism political. I consider it a psychological disorder. The problem is that most people with the disorder don't even know that they have it.

People of my generation, and upbringing, had racism imbedded through the unconscious events of our childhood. There were no 'Negros' in our neighborhood, or within miles of our house. In the early nineteen fifties on television, the only representation of blacks was the 'Amos n' Andy Show', and that program portrayed blacks as conniving, scheming, and stupid. We were brought up calling Brazil nuts, nigger toes. We would play a game in the yard where someone would yell "nigger pile!", and everyone would then pile on top of whoever was designated the nigger, as in 'nigger pile on Alan'. At Rudy's candy shop, behind the display case, were big red wax lips that we always referred to as nigger lips.

It didn't take us long to figure out that being a nigger was a bad thing, and in the fifth grade I got into big trouble for calling the school crossing guard 'nigger lips'. She dragged me back over to the school, and let Sister Lillian take care of me. I was in trouble not for using the word nigger, what I was in trouble for was insulting the crossing guard. It would have been no different if I had called her whore lips, the nun wouldn't have insisted I apologize to the whores, only to the crossing guard.

As I grew older, and entered my hippie/liberal years, I believed that I wasn't racist. The truth is that I was. Sometimes quite purposely blatant and sometimes unconsciously, just through the osmosis of my upbringing. Even after meeting black guys and "dating" them, I still clung to my racist attitudes. Although I found black guys exotic, I never really got to know any one very well. The sight of a black professional always seemed to startle me, and the thought of even going to a black doctor seemed strange. Blacks in positions of authority such as a policeman or judge, truly seemed out of place to me. It was not until I met Mark and he moved in with me that I started to consciously attempt to remove racist thought processes from my mind. Every time I saw a black person, either on television or on the street I would say to myself, "That could be Marks brother, or mother, or father. That could be Mark.", and in doing so it humanized them in a way I couldn't before. Black people were no longer a caricature, but flesh and blood like me.

I am convinced that the best cure for racism is for personal integration. By this I mean you need to get out of your comfort zone, and meet all kinds of people. Invite them into your home, have them over for dinner, and talk about things that all people have in common. We have to realize that we are all family or we will continue to go around in circles and never get beyond race. This is just a personal thing for me. It is how I overcame and continue to overcome my racist attitudes. Others will have to figure it out for themselves.

Photo Friday

Halloween in Tinley Park, Parkside subdivision. Circa early nineteen fifties.

I think I'm the duck, but I'm not real sure. I would have been about 3yrs old.

I am definately the cowboy.

I'm not sure which one is me, or even if I am in this picture.

Cool Cat

The weather here has finally broken, and I have been able to turn off my air-conditioning and open the windows for the first time since April. Last night the temperature plunged down to the lower fifties. It's that time of year when I dig through my dresser drawers looking for all my winter clothes. I don't have too much to look for, my winter clothes consist of two pairs of long pajama bottoms, a couple of long sleeve shirts, and a pair of slacks. That's all I need because if a cold snap were to last longer than a couple of days here, you can be sure the end of the world is near. Besides those clothes, I have a jacket for nippy nights, and a heavy coat for the one day a year the temperature drops below forty.

Around four o'clock this morning I woke up freezing, with Fat Kitty laying on my chest trying to suck the heat from my body. She has tried Mark before, but you don't get much heat out of guy who weighs less than one of my legs. One thing I do hate about the cold weather is that my allergies are exacerbated, and my sinuses swell up while simultaneously producing gallons of mucus. The sound of me drowning in my own snot doesn't bother Fat Kitty at all, she just snuggles in closer.

I hope this cool spell lasts a while. It's really refreshing. One good thing about the cooler weather is that the lizards go dormant, and Chandler isn't distracted by them when I send him out to do his thing. It's a pain in the ass when he comes to me in a panic to go potty, and when I take him out he just chases lizards for fifteen minutes instead of taking a leak.