Syllabus #82

It's December 6th, do you know where your holiday packages are?

You bet your sweet bippy* that I do.  I have a daily neurotic routine where I open every shipping confirmation email and check the tracking on every package.  Especially the ones coming to my house, because mail is getting stolen out here in these streets.  I watched someone steal my outgoing mail the other day.  Afterwards, I had the distinct pleasure of filing a police report and getting a new checking account, because if you're brazen enough to steal a Christmas card right outta my mail box in broad daylight, you're probably not above trying to do some pretty fucked up shit with my checks.

*If you, like me, realized you had no earthly idea what a bippy is, rest assured, it just means ass.  I dunno about you, but every time a weird old catch phrase comes to mind, my first thought is to make sure it's not actually racist or otherwise super problematic.  Because 7 times out of 10, it is, in fact, something terrible.

Stare into the void

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Last night we watched Solaris and when George Clooney arrives at the spaceship he's just wandering around it in a space suit but no helmet.  It occurred to me that I'm as horrified by the thought of bopping around outer space without your astronaut helmet as I am by the thought of entering a public space with other humans and not having my face covered.   

Yea, a real oversight if there ever was one.  This bish has been werkin' 9 to 5 for humanity. 

How do we feel about this?   I'm a shameful lightweight so if I'm filling my wine glass to the brim with anything, cake is probably the safest option, but I still have concerns about this.  

I don't think I ever got the laser background, but damn did I want it.  Also the one where there's a vignette profile view of your face in the upper right corner.  That was legit.  You know what was not legit?  The photographer always whipping out a comb and trying to smooth out my hair.  First of all, lady, put your lice-filled communal comb back in the pocket of your corduroy Lands End jumper where it belongs, and second of all, I know my hair is a hot frizzy mess - this is the 90s and self-esteem is overrated.

Analog Reading:

Finished So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo.  This is me being totally aware of my privilege and I know how this comparison is going to sound, but this book is like yin yoga for social justice conversations.  It presents some uncomfortable truths and asks you to sit with that discomfort and stretch your understanding, but never in a punishing way.  Sure, it might hurt a little, you might get a little sweaty at times, but it gets easier the longer you stick with it.

Started How to Be An Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi.  This isn't me just loading up on the virtue signaling.  I placed a bunch of books on hold a while ago and these two just happened to come in at the same time.  That being said, it's interesting reading these two books back to back.  This one feels like it's taking a more academic approach, whereas Oluo's book was, by design, more conversational.