May 01, 2007
Bow Tie Twenty Eight
The Bow Tie #28 April 30th 2007
Being there is more than half of the joy and the learning. It was with this in mind that I took another academic leap and put together a course. Its catalog title is “Los Angeles Museums: Public Memory and the Urban Narrative.” The rationale is that rather than simply being warehouses for the detritus of antiquity, museums are, instead, vibrant places of yesterday’s treasures and today’s realities. Those responsible for deciding what to exhibit and what not to exhibit are making conscious choices which reflect their own priorities, pleasures and, of course, biases. So curators and others are editors (even censors) of how they want the museum to be seen or perceived in the locale where the museum “lives.” The end result intended or otherwise, is a narrative statement. If that museum is located in an urban setting, that statement adds to other statements [made by other museums and institutions which are not museums] which collectively constitute the urban narrative.
Ironically my early life museum exposure was frequent and scary. To this day I remember trekking though New Haven’s Peabody Museum on Whitney Avenue. For whatever reason(s) I liked being there; but I was scared as hell of those huge dinosaurs. As a child I could only imagine how ferocious they must have been during those times when they roamed the earth without dodging cars or helicopters or serial killers. Being strongly influenced by the fantasy world convincingly fabricated by the movie makers of the day, I pictured myself being chased by one of these monsters, very quickly being overtaken by the behemoths and being consumed alive with dispatch. These long ago fears, however, didn’t stand in the way of putting the course together…unless my not including the Los Angeles Museum of Natural History (where the local dinosaurs are safely housed) is a subtle indication of my avoidance of revisiting yesteryear.
Anyway, twelve adventurous students signed up for the course and the Skirball Culture Center and Museum was first on a list of four. Skirball is one of two major Jewish museums in the city. As with the three other museums the class will visit, I am a member. Since no cameras are allowed inside, the above photo was taken in the front by one of the security guards. The special tour took about two hours and even with that there was much more that could have been included. Sonia, the docent, was knowledgeable and congenial. The “lesson” was a revealing one for me. She emphasized how consistently Jews have both maintained their identity while, at the same time, taken conscious steps to assimilate into the many cultures (places) in which they have found themselves. That’s an intriguing “positioning” for any group that finds itself in the numerical minority…in any country. I was also stuck by something Sonia said about forgiveness. She said Jews ask for forgiveness from the offended party…and not from God.
We saw many artifacts associated with Jewish religious practices which reflected other cultures. Examples which come to mind include the menorah and the encasement for the Torah. Hellenist, Russian, and, very much to my surprise, even Muslim. I was also attracted to the use of modern visual and audio technology harnassed to tell the unfolding story from ancient to modern times. And I am not even scratching the surface here.
Suffice it to say, the museum visitation academic experiment is off to a most promising start. The enrolled students who couldn’t attend will have to do so on their own since there will be something of a comparative overview at the end. As for the other three, they include the Museum of Contemporary Art in the heart of downtown (to the extent that downtown has a heart), the California African American Museum and the Japanese American National Museum conveniently located in Little Tokyo. I’ll hold off comment until the class visits
~
MY SPACE, IN YOUR FACE!
More often than not, I take a look at this phenomenon we call “culture” and find myself both thoroughly appreciative and, at other times, alarmed. I am hopeful enough a person to hold on to the wisdom of the self-fulfilling prophesy. In a nutshell (is that term self-fulfilling??), it says that what we declare to be, is. It gives us the “power” to define or describe something yet to happen; and since we have set up our expectations – or lack thereof – beforehand, that which unfolds does so in a manner consistent with our pre-determined thinking. Whew! So, I found myself having a fabulous time with the 3rd and 5th graders on April 19th during La Salle Elementary School’s Career Day. A positive experience if ever there was one [page 3]. And then there is some other “stuff” that urges me to raise questions.
As a starting point, words are powerful…beyond, in some instances, our own understanding which is interesting since we are the ones who use them. The very concept of My Space says, among other things, it is NOT YOURS. “My Space” is not exactly an invitation to sharing. It is, after all, mine! Nothing overly attention-getting or ominous about this presumably innocuous expression except this: So many of us act as though the space we occupy actually belongs to us. Because I am in it, I own it…and you don’t; further, my very occupation renders you without the power or influence as to how I inhabit my space and what I do therein. This observation comes to mind in the aural bombardment to which we (viz., urban dwellers) are exposed. So, My Space gives me the “freedom” to talk on my cell phone whenever and wherever I choose to do so. And in the My Space reality of my car, I can roll the windows down and (oh so loudly) play my music. I can do my thing in My Space because, well, because it is mine!
The very expression, My Space, says a great deal about contemporary culture (popular or otherwise) but says little about civility…and, by extension, civilization.
Yet, it would be a short-changing of the sensibilities of countless people were I not to acknowledge the wisdom of the lyric, “”A smile is just a frown turned upside down.” So, there are those who, while consciously or unconsciously do not get locked into the sad fact of widespread ownership do, on the other hand, take rather seriously a sense of responsibility for those who are close by. This includes everything from a smile extended to a passing stranger to giving money to a homeless person who just happens to get close enough (“invasion of my space!”) to notice that she/he could use a long, leisurely bath. In a way it is a variation on the Good Samaritan theme except that the current version does not require that another person be totally down and out or close to that before a kind act is prompted. Multiplying this idea results in nothing more spectacular than a simple consideration for others. Perhaps it is the simplicity, however, that makes this notion so daunting.
~
LAUGHING AND LANGUISHING AND LOVING IT AT LA SALLE
Yep. It was “all that” as the expression goes. For perhaps the fifth time, I participated in another (oh me, oh my) career day! But, hold up…I found myself translating the meaning of the label and took another approach. That choice was a wise one and set the stage for me having a grand old time with some grand young children. I suppose I could do the laborious and professional thing and find out where LaSalle “sits” in comparison with other South Los Angeles public schools. Without that boring research, I already know that the schools are serving the children pretty shabbily, if that! But LaSalle is a real delight. The new principal has not allowed any slippage from the standards set by her predecessor. The children are treated with firmness and respect. On one occasion, during my visit to the 3rd grade, a youngster was told that her mother would be called (via the teacher’s handy cell phone). That warning alone resulted in an immediate change of attitude and behavior.
Even the escorts are serious and focused. The youngster who accompanied me (Dejeanae, front right in the photo) told me without hesitation that her plans are to be a doctor, a judge and a lawyer. The only decision she had not yet made is which one she will become first. Her sense of conviction made it all but impossible not to believe her! Both the 3rd and 5th grade classes had their respective codes which they recited in unison. I was not impressed with that recitative drill until I asked a student to explain one of the words she and her classmates had just said in lock step unison. It took a little prompting, but she did it…with a triumphant smile and a wordless expression that I interpreted to say, “Gotcha!” Indeed she had done exactly that.
And then there was the (I have to capitalize it) Lunch. Yes, I most intentionally did capitalize this treat because it was anything but a mid-day snack. It was a veritable feast. But I must say it did not come as a surprise. The Ladies of La Salle had done the exact same thing in years past. So it was more of a tradition. And this was one of those instances in which a tradition was anything but ho hum. It was like “Can I get seconds? And, yes, reader, you got it right. That is a picture of my delicious plate; but no, I didn’t go for seconds! As a rule I have not placed much credence in the ritualistic aspects of food preparation, serving and, lastly, consumption. But, as a lifelong learner, I am slowly coming to a greater appreciation of this art and the immense pride which those who “put their foot in it” as we used to say, do what they do and why they do it so very well. It is anything but a simple biological necessity, a daily bland function. It is an expression of love, appreciation and friendship. And since I just happened to be hungry at the time, Lunch was “all that” and then some.
The close-of-the-day gathering in the auditorium was mostly a talking heads feature. In the past three or four classes of younger students would come on stage to either recite (usually poetry), sing, or dance. That added a lighter, entertaining touch; but it didn’t happen this year. The presentation by a retired engineer (with hair) and the Assistant Principal (without same) were informative and surprisingly relevant for the adult professionals who came to share with the children. They get high marks for their “speeches”.
There are so many negative stories about young people these days, to see them doing something positive and creative/artistic is, quite honestly, therapeutic and reassuring. So for me, the time spent at La Salle was more of a needed boost than chore. So much so that I promised to return, not having at the time I pledged to extend myself, any idea what I will do with the two classes. Since then I have decided to offer the students a slide presentation on my five treks to Mount Whitney …with an interactive component that will invite them help me put a list together of “Things to Take Along.” Even though those high altitude adventures have long since passed, I am optimistic that these hot shots will come up with something I overlooked. We shall see. Film at 11….
And…Happy Birthday, Kit!
Posted by mbowen at 06:24 AM | Comments (0)
April 13, 2007
Bow Tie Twenty Seven
“IGNORANCE AS (SAD) IMPETUS”
Oh… Lemme tell ya right from the jump. This is gonna be a hard sell. Let’s make that a VERY HARD SELL. But if the agenda of The Bow Tie were to assume reader agreement, there would be no Bow Tie, mind you. That said, let’s move on. I taped Oprah’s show on Monday, April 16th. I’ve not yet listened to the it so I may be way off base with what is shared here. But I think I picked up the flavor of what her distinguished guests were saying and I sincerely applaud that. All the same, I remain perhaps irretrievably STUCK in the linguistic battle cry about or for Self Determination so widely touted and accepted during the 1960s and early 1970s. Whatever else the term meant or intended, the fact was a seriousness among Black people to define and live what Black people considered to be beneficial for Black people. The conversation (i.e., words and concepts used) and the attendant behavior were circular, i.e., they wrapped around each other seamlessly. No rocket science or mysterious message in that. These two powerful words spelled out a strategy for the evolution of a life (as opposed to or at least distinct from a lifestyle) that was “good” and was free from fear, oppression and misuse…from inside or outside. At the time I thought that was pretty hip. I still think so. Which brings me to a strange and possibly gritty (meaning potentially uncomfortable) “take” on the Imus Issue. To my knowledge, this observation has not been made by anyone else; but if so, that’s fine.
It goes like this: An interesting “dimension” of the Black-White Connection in this country goes well beyond those matters we normally discuss or maybe even avoid discussing. It has a reach that fuses thinking, perceptions, interaction and avoidance in sometimes peculiar (even downright bizarre) ways. Cases in point: The Michael Richards Thang and the (still hot) Don Imus Thang. Even while not forgetting the inherent danger of oversimplifying some of life’s complexities, I say offer this “formula: IGNORANT WHITE BEHAVIOR>>INTELLIGENT BEHAVIOR. The “>>” means “yields, prompts or gives rise to…” Before proceeding, let me say without reservation that this observation is not an underhanded attempt on my part to universally characterize white behavior as ignorant any more than it is my way of “universally” conferring intelligent behavior to Blacks. Not only would that be stupid (or ignorant!), it would likewise be patently untrue. Hoping and trusting I have made that point, I plod along.
That which Michaels said/did was totally unacceptable. We know the story of what happened that night at the Comedy Club; and we know about what an L.A. Times writer labeled the subsequent “apology tour.” What we also know is that his faux pas singularly prompted intelligent conversation and action (i.e., a reexamination of and change in behavior) among many Black people. I’m not through with this but let’s fast forward to Imus. Pretty much the same thing a la Imus at least to the extent that offensive language was used. Drum roll and at least one head roll, i.e., he lost his job—which by the way cannot be equated with Imus becoming unemployed. Anyway, more collective, far-reaching outrage; and more intelligent Black Behavior. So…I perhaps naively ask, “Whusup with that?” Seriously. How does it happen that it is only when insult is leveled from “without” that the action from within becomes so determined, so intense, so impassioned, so immediate, so focused? One would think there is or was an symbiotic linguistic underpinning! Lions and tigers and insults…oh my! What we have is a litany of explanations, excuses and apologies. Yet before (White) Richards and (White) Imus did their deeds, we heard nothing like the orchestrations of the good reverends on the same level or of the same magnitude as we now witness. Why? Because we have been conditioned or better yet, programmed to storm the Bastille of Unacceptability (only) when it is inter-racial…”inter” here meaning between. The intra (internal or inside) protestations go without serious consideration. There is no across-the-board behavior change over what is “joked about.” That’s real, that’s sad. That’s past and present history.
A fair question might be, “Is this a good thing or a bad thing?” Even though I posed the question, I am the first to say it is the wrong question. We start with the harsh reality that people insult/offend people all too often, accidentally or with malice aforethought. Stuff happens all the time. Stuff will always happen all the time. The challenge for all of us is not to look for the day when there is no more stuff (of the earthly kind anyway) but to take responsibility for self-inflicted wounds (putting us back in tune with the civilizing aspects of self determination) and put the lid on ignorant proclamations from whatever source which are guaranteed to cause hurt or harm. So, perhaps the best formula for this recent spate of inter-action is one that puts both Black folks and White folks on notice to…chill. We are constantly being reminded that the globe is warming. Chilled human behavior might prove to be an effective palliative.
~
“SATCHMO, WHY I HARDLY KNEW YOU”
Brother Ray will readily recall the youthful joke that went something like this: “I don’t like ____ (I can’t recall the name) cereal because my brother likes it and I don’t like my brother!” Of course, that had nothin’ to do with Ray and me! All the same, we said it and laughed at it without fully understanding what that indirect slam was all about. It hardly mattered. In this many years later instance, I’m shifting the context a bit to say this: “I don’t like Louis Armstrong because my father didn’t like Louis Armstrong; and I loved my father!” There, now you have the long and short of the explanation…not really. What you do have, however, is an earlier Bow Tie in which I wrote about the pride which characterized Chico. He was never “preachy” about issues having to do with race; but it was always clear that being a Black man meant something to him…at as well as below or beyond his dark-skinned surface. In this connection, he had real distain for Black men whose “antics” he found distasteful. His label for these characters was a far cry from the label so freely bandied about these days. But he was not at all reluctant to show his distinct dissatisfaction. For Chico, Louis Armstrong did entirely too much “skinnin’ and grinnin’.” And catching Chico’s drift early on, I became more attuned to Armstrong’s sight than I was to his sound. The same holds fast even to this day; and I am the first to admit the unfairness of it all. I am more than casually aware of the many jazz musicians who, in telling of their own growth and development freely and even joyfully acknowledge their debt to Armstrong. It is not an overstatement, in fact, to say that his impact is legendary. So be it. When I visualize him, I see a “Hello Dolly” character with a white hankie and shiny white teeth. A legendary clown!
Ken Burns’ extensive albeit uneven jazz history project makes a big splash over Louis Armstrong’s role in the history of jazz in and beyond this country. And it would not be fitting to discount that role. At the same time, the distance I put between myself has less to do with his musical talent or innate ability than his persona. Even in the jazz workshops I have done at Antioch, I readily admit my bias. So, students came to understand that they would have to check out other sources to gain an appreciation for the man. In one workshop an avid and outspoken student gave high praise to Armstrong. And, quite frankly, I was glad he spoke up with so much information, so much passion because I knew the students were not going to gain that valuable insight from me!
Quite often I have inwardly played around with the differences between the fool and the clown. There are times when I am not sure that there is a difference or that it matters that much. For my own purposes, I complicate the otherwise trivial matter and consider the wider picture, the context in which the fool/clown does his or her thing. Sadly, I have yet to find it within me to place Louis Armstrong in a context that allows me to take Chico out of the picture and simply enjoy the music. That’s my problem, not his. Drum roll and curtain down.
~
“FREEDOM TO CHOOSE, FREEDOM TO LOSE”
Treks to two commercial enterprises, hardware stores and book stores, are frustrating experiences for me. I am faced with a mountain of very difficult choices. Too many. As a child, I would go into Sosensky’s Hardware Store on Dixwell Avenue in New Haven and imagine myself buying all the tools I could carry, then taking them home and building or fixing something, anything. Even without the envied skills of a carpenter, somehow the very possession of hammers and screwdrivers, saws and pliers would magically confer upon me the skills to be some kind of craftsman. That never happened. As a substitute, I used Chico’s tools. That was fun. I broke or lost Chico’s tools. The consequence wasn’t fun.
The bookstores I now frequent are more of a challenge because I can purchase what I see and want. If I don’t have the cash, my substitute means of exchange are a checkbook or credit card. So, all that holds me back these days is some semblance of real world sanity that whispers to me, “Hey, dude, you already own that book!” Or, more fitting, “Hey, dude, if you spent 20 hours a day, every day for the rest of you life, you still couldn’t finish reading what you now have in the Elbow Room. But man (and presumably woman) does not live by logic or sensibility or whispering voices alone. So, I am less inclined to close the gap between the oh so attractively arranged bookshelf and I trembling hand. At the very least, I pick up the book quite innocently with nothing more in mind that to do a quick scan. That usually works; but not always.
Tied to this public bad habit is a terribly convenient private one which allows, no make that entices me to jump to Amazon.com and do the dirty deed that way. On those (more infrequent than before) occasions, when I do Amazon surfing, the plot of choice-making and its accompanying anxiety are even greater. On screen, I am made aware of not only the specific book I am looking for but a very wide variety of other books on the same subject or one closely allied. Then there is the benefit not offered by places like Borders and Barnes and Noble. On line I can get a new book, one in almost new, one that’s like new, virtually new or in just plain used condition. The more battered and worn, the lower the cost. That might seem like an easy choice to make but I do remember having purchased a bottom of the used list book and, when it arrived, found just about every line…underlined. Ya make ya choices, ya pay the price.
But the book adventure is always an exciting and eye-opening journey with or without making a purchase. It’s amazing how much literature is out there to explore in depth or simply by checking out the appealing cover. Which brings me to an almost-overlooked weakness. I just love attractive covers be they hand drawn or done with computer graphics or (a real winner for me) consisting of a dynamite photograph. Sheer visual pleasure. The trap, of course, can easily be to find beauty on the outside and real crap within…just like people. I just gotta get back to this whole book thing in the future. In the meantime, I’ll continue to work on my hardware store softness which, I must say, is decidedly easier to “handle.” The reasons: I am less emboldened to any form of physical building and fixing than before. I have more than enough tools and they aren’t as pretty as they used to be. They haven’t really changed over the years, but I have. After all, something’s gotta give. #
Posted by mbowen at 06:30 AM | Comments (0)
Bow Tie Twenty Five
The Bow Tie #25 April 13th 2007
“DON, WHY WE HARDLY KNEW YOU”
Just when I thought it was “safe to re-direct my Bow Tie efforts, something seemingly just up and happened. It’s like one can never safely let down one’s relaxation guard…try as one might. Enter idiot of this past week, Don Imus. Before coming at this latest radiophonic shock jock’s pronouncement, I humbly query, From whom or whence did Imus first hear reference to Black women as “hos”? Was it from some right wing think tank? A subterranean cadre of urban Klansmen? Some hotbed or cold bed [whatever that is] of racially/genderly [whatever that is] insensitive robots? Or, did Imus just happen upon a rapper either live or on a disk casually flinging about that and other insults…with upbeat, top-of-the-charts, bling-generating impunity? Of course, even after we answer that to some degree of satisfaction, there is a lingering problem.
Thinking back, I am reminded of a pattern of old, which means growing up in New Haven. When a child unwittingly and/or innocently uttered a “bad word”, well before any punitive action was taken, the flabbergasted mom or pop would demand, “Where did you hear that?” And it was a reasonable question simply because in his or her heart of hearts, that same parent knew (without fear of contradiction) that the offending child certainly “Didn’t ‘get’ it from me.” And then…came the “whuppin.’” The latter was both a harsh response to the child’s “dirty mouth” as well as assurance that the infraction would not reoccur…most certainly in the presence of the parent(s). So, although the child’s honest explanation cleared the air of origin or source, it did not buy impunity.
So, Imus may well have gotten his bad news oratory from some weakened mentality Black source – as sad and inexcusable a reality though that be – repeating the offense only demonstrates his poor choice of verbal role models.
Because I am putting this together after his firing, my earlier thought that he should be suspended and subsequently restored is somewhat moot. All the same, I want to share my “logic” if such a word can be folded into this latest example of cultural and media mania. As for a suspension itself, 2 weeks (especially 2 weeks with pay) would have been less than a wrist slap. Two check-less months would have been more fitting. But then the question might be, why let him come back? I felt that he should return because if nothing else, he would serve as a continuing reminder of a chastened ass bucket. It’s like he can’t twist in the wind if he isn’t left hanging in the figurative wind.
My non-shock jock/talk show, rambling mouths radio-listening self suggests that Imus will be infinitely more selective in whatever future lies ahead of him. His presumed Teflon self has been unveiled or publicly stripped. He is either a deeply changed person or at least different one. Saying this does not excuse his asininity, but merely looks at it from another perspective. On the other hand, if Imus were to clean up his act, he would no longer have the same appeal; and this would translate into a dwindling listener base, a reexamination of his commercial value to sponsors and he would again be radio history. This, interestingly, is exactly what has happened. Imus will now take a soul-searching respite (ha!) and wait for another outlet to come his way. He may take the Howard “Nasty Man” Stern route and find an electronic home in the world of satellite radio. As for an audience? Blood diamonds and animal fur will find always find willing consumers as will meth labs and shock radio.
I am less certain that any discussion of hard/gangsta rappers should be folded into this one except if we were to continue an exploration of the MRS (Michael Richards Syndrome). Richards did in fact prompt some conversation about the unacceptability of the you know what word. And I still very much appreciate the renunciation of his own usage by shock comedian Paul Mooney…even though some hustling so-called educated Black authors and mouths persist in defending the offense. As a more than laughable parallel, no less a “spooksperson” than Snoop Doggy Dogg [the name itself should warn us beforehand] has declared that there is a difference between college-enrolled, future-oriented Back women and those money-seeking, hands in some dude’s pocket “hos” in the ‘hood! Now how’s that for making a sophisticated cultural/racial distinction?
The beauty of it all is that intelligence, insight is as universal as indifference and invective. Men and women are as infinitely alike as can be imagined. The parallels are so groovy as to be almost scary. As I have said repeatedly to students, human beings are the same. Human beings are different. There are times when the difference makes a difference. There are times when it both doesn’t and shouldn’t. for our recent examples, Snoop and Don are strange brothers. The same can be said for Richards and Mooney. How the rest of the chapter plays out and the words that are used to tell the story is up to the rest of us.
To be sure, knowing when to speak up is foundational(?) to the human experience. So too, is knowing when to shut up!
Posted by mbowen at 06:26 AM | Comments (0)