iBoobTube (or How I Tried to Stop My Baby from Eating My Android)

February 25, 2015

I was a latchkey kid. I know way too much TV trivia. My parents knew that if I was watching Gilligan Island reruns, I probably wasn’t roaming the streets, starting fires or chasing girls up trees. Weekday afternoons, prime-time line-ups, Saturday morning cartoons, Sunday golf tournaments with Dad. It’s a wonder I wasn’t plumper than Honey Boo-Boo. Fortunately, I also liked to ride my bike, run through the woods, and shoot hoops (imagining that I was Pistol Pete Maravich).

During the great radicalization that was college, I read a book called Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television (1978) by Jerry Mander. It compared the process of watching TV to the process of hypnotization. It also discussed how visual media supplants our imagination. (What kid can read Harry Potter without imagining him looking like Daniel Radcliffe?) So I went straight off it.

In the 1960s there was a lot of concern about the “vast wasteland” of television. That people were staying home with the boob tube, instead of engaging in the world, turning their brains into green slime. It felt good to turn the box off for decades, occasionally popping in for a trend or a pop culture update only to find, like Springsteen sang in in 1992, there were 57 channels and nothing on.

Somewhere along the way, TV got better. Show’s like The Wire and Breaking Bad pulled me back in. Then we got pregnant, so instead of going out and “engaging in the world,” it was staying in and binge-watching episodes of The Good Wife (the feminist Perry Mason).

Now that I have a child, I’m worried about it all over again. I see how she reacts when the TV is on, like it’s some cosmic god speaking secret messages to her. And the TV is now the laptop and the phone as well. She’s drawn to all of them in a way that freaks me out. Am I a bad dad for flicking on Kelly Ripa to get a break from the intensive parenting duties?

The conventional wisdom is to turn the TV when the kid is younger than 2 (uh oh). That TV does two things to your kid. First, it takes time away from conversation and playtime that actually stimulates the brain more than the flickering images on the screen. The second thing is that it retards cognitive development, creating lasting effects on language development, reading skills, short-term memory, sleep patterns and attention issues. Great.

Why to Avoid TV Before Age 2

It’s a scary time to be a new parent. Research shows that the average 12-month old baby gets between 1 and 2 hours of screen time each day. Plus there’s all that Baby Einstein crap targeted at young parents that probably turns your child into a babbling imbecile who votes Republican and thinks Kenny G is “jazz.” Fisher-Price-Ipad-Apptivity-Seat-for-babies-537x402 On top of that, the massive push to give kids iPads as pacifiers is horrifying. The research here is even worse. The more screen time a kids gets the less they can emotionally connect with others. And that’s just one of the problems ahead for kids transfixed on their iToys. Have you seen Wall-E?

Kids And Screen Time: What Does The Research Say?

I see this at the university level. I banned laptops in my classes because students zone out on their Facebook pages or download compromising pictures of Nicki Minaj instead of taking notes. University administrators are pushing for more online education, replacing tenured faculty with websites run from Mumbai. The results are in. These students learn significantly less, but the university will tell you it’s the “future of education” (and administrator pay raises).

So I’m gonna turn off the TV and get out a box of blocks. Cozy can entertain herself just fine (Sorry, Ellen). Sure, we will occasionally do some screen time for fun. She loves  to laugh at videos of herself. (I’m worried she’s already headed for Hollywood, the little vixen.) But I have to think I would be a lot smarter with a few less episodes of The Brady Bunch in my brain. Why not give my kid’s brain a better start?

I know it’s easy to be lazy. “Baby’s crying. YouTube an episode of Teletubbies, stat!” But this kid’s brain development is too important. So I’m going to close this laptop and we’re gonna go read some books. I don’t want to turn her into a knuckle-dragging, mouth breathing fan of Jerry Springer who thinks global warming is a lie because it’s kinda cold today. If I can’t entertain an 6-month old, I should just quit now. (This the where I do my James Brown dance and she craps in her pants in approval.)

Here’s a great post on the subject by another blogging dad: Raising Baby in a Digital World

This book was mentioned in the above post and is available at Powell’s.

Why I love Black History Month. An Apology.

Feb. 19, 2015 Sometimes I got complaints from students at PSU who were unhappy with their grades or just wanted to see if they can take me down a few notches. One of my favorites was an annonymous complaint that I made fun of Black History Month, saying there was a sale on cottonballs at Walmart.

I know, it makes absolutely no sense. First of all, I have a better sense of humor than that. And second, I LOVE Black History Month! My joke about it is racists put it in the shortest and coldest month of the year. It should be in May. Give us 31 days, Honky!

But I got called into the “Office of Equity & Complaince” (Kafka reference here) and was interogated. It all blew over but I had to explain to the well-meaning bureaucrat in charge that my whole life has been dedicated to undoing biases like racism and sexism. It’s a feature of each of my classes. I went undercover in some of the most violent white supremacist groups in the world to learn how to do this.

Anyway, my trust in the institutions like that to be partners in that journey, instead of just “management,” died on that day. But it hasn’t taken anything away from my love of Black History Month. My favorite part of it is learning about cool things invented by African-Americans. It’s the nerd in me. One time there was this chubby skinhead chowing down on a bag of Lays Potato Chips. I told him he was a shitty Nazi because potato chips were invented by George Crum, a black guy. He looked sad.

But I wanted to tell another story today. It’s probably the best story the explains why a chose a path dedicated to anti-racism. When I was a freshman at Oxford College (a part of Emory University), winter quarter had a required thing called Oxford Studies. Everybody on campus reads the same book, goes to presentations and lectures and has a general conversation about it. Like an Ivy League Oprah’s Book Club.

DICKEYMe reading in front of Dickey Dorm.

The winter of 1982 it was Why We Can’t Wait, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s important 1964 book about the state of civil rights in America. Since it was a required book assigned to a bunch of young college kids (most from the South) who would rather be drinking hunch punch than reading another “important” book, there was a great celebration when the Oxford Studies term ended.

Someone in my dorm marked the occasion by ripping the book in half and throwing it into the urinal in the bathroom on our hall. I walked into the bathroom and saw our black janitor, who we all loved, standing in front of that urinal in tears. Here is a guy who cleaned the toilets of privileged white kids who go off to college at 18, not off to work. And here were the words of the man who wanted every child to have that chance in a dirty urinal. It was heartbreaking on a massive scale.

I tell this story because the 18-year-old kid who ripped up that book and dumped it in the john was me. It was just an impulse. Not meant to be racist. But I saw the impact that thoughtless act had on another human being and suddenly the whole thing became clear to me. I was a racist, the product of a racist culture that had the privilege of not thinking about the reality of race in America.

I became anti-racist activist in that moment, to make amends to that janitor who I never had the guts to apologize to. It’s 33 years later and I still cannot think about that moment without tears streaming down my face.

When I was a 16-year-old kid living in Stone Mountain, Georgia (the birthplace of the modern KKK), I was given an assignment in my journalism class to write an editorial. Here’s what I wrote. “If there’s a Black History Month, why can’t their be a White History Month?” If the teacher would have just said, “Randy, every month is ‘White History Month’,” I might have started on this path earlier and spared the knife I slowly pushed into our janitor’s back.

My daughter will know about race. She will know about the white privilege and the obstacles her Latino relatives and other people of color still face. Most of all she will know that these issues are very real and matter to people in the deepest ways.

Oxford83DOur janitor, on the left.

And to the janitor of Dickey Dorm at Oxford Collge in 1982, I want to say I am sorry. I will continue to make it up to you. I promise.

This book by Dr. King is available at Powell’s by clicking below. I plan on buying a new copy.

Dad Love, Pt. 2: A Star is Born

Feb. 16, 2015 My daughter Cozette turns 6 months tomorrow. In 30 weeks, I think I’ve gone through every emotion on earth. Part of it is about the things that Cozy has done. (She almost said “Dada” last night, kinda, “Dawah”). Part of it is the anticipation of the things she’s about to do. (She’s so close to being able to sit up on her own). And part of it is the recognition of the the things I am now capable of. (More than once I’ve put my hand in her diaper to see if she’s wet and then run my fingers through my hair. So what!).

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One of the most amazing things is to see her evolve as a person with her own personality. She is incredibly curious. I love when we go to the grocery store. I put her car seat in the grocery cart and see her face light up. She’s going to have lots to look at at our local Fred Meyer. The Valentines Day balloons blew her freaking mind. Watching her eyes focus on the items we pass by as we go down the isles makes me think about how a year ago those eyes were just forming inside mother’s womb.

She already has mad social skills. She loves being around new people. But you can see her size them up. Trust, but verify. She knows she’ll get a reaction with her smile. I think Cozy will know how much happiness she can bring the people around her.

Cozy is also really strong. She can stand up when she leans against something and even do a little dance, kind of a boot scootin’ boogie. And then she falls over like a drunkard. This week she started using my hands to pull herself up and it’s impressive. She’s got a seriously strong core. My bet is she will be sculling in the 2036 Olympics. (Google it, you layabout.)

I think her best quality is her empathy. It’s the one thing I want to give her but she’s already got it, when so many adults are devoid of any empathy whatsoever. Anyone who has read my first novel, The Mission of the Sacred Heart, can guess that I have struggled with intense depression at different points in my life. Anyone who understands this knows that it can get the better of you when you least expect it. In many ways, Cozy knows exactly what I need in those moments.

One of those moments was last week. I was just laying on the floor of the nursery wrapped up in the uncertainty of life right now. For the first time in decades, I have no idea what my future looks like. I’m scared shitless. Maybe I should’t have quit PSU. Maybe I should’ve gone one more round with the administration and perhaps (finally) won, winning the financial security my young family deserves. On one hand I’m excited by what I think is going to be a thrilling and successful new chapter. On the other hand I feel like we’re going to be living in a trailer down by the river, undone by people who could care less about the well-being of my child.

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Cozy was laying on the floor next to me. I just couldn’t move, stuck in a black cloud. Instead rolling around (like she usually does), she just stuck close to me. She put her little hand on my cheek and stared right into my eyes, like she was saying the thing I’ve told so many others who are sunk in the trench of depression, that at some point the bad stuff is in the rear view mirror and you’ll feel so good for getting through it. It was such emotional moment. I was having a deep conversation with a little baby who needed me to be there for her but also for me. I was about to cry and then she farted so loud her diaper fell off.

I’m super glad Andrea and I are Cozy’s parents. I think we’ve got a strong set of values rooted in love, justice and creativity.  But I think Cozy would turn out fine if she was raised by Kim Jong Un and Mama June. This baby has soul. And she saves me every day.

Dad Love, Pt. 1 (Here)

And you can get my book at Powell’s by clicking below:

50 Shades of F’ed Up

February 11, 2015

I’m so torn on this Fifty Shades of Grey phenomenon (Not really, but for the sake of debate I’m going to pretend that I am). No, I haven’t read the book. I heard its poorly written and there are about 300,000 good books ahead of it on my “To Read” list. I still have to get to Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex. (I’m currently reading the fast-paced novel, The Residue Years by Portland’s Mitchell Jackson.) But God knows, I’ve read enough about 50 Shades to have an opinion.

On the “pop” hand, there’s a long tradition of women (including old-fashioned horny housewives) getting their rocks off with some randy literature, reading a few pages of D.H. Lawrence, and making a date with Hitachi’s Magic Wand. More power to ya. You deserve a break today.

But on the feminist hand, there is mounting concern that the book and film glamorize abuse of women. That Ana is not an “empowered woman,” but the archetype of a victim of abuse. A 2013 study published in the Journal of Women’s Health asked abuse professionals to rank the interactions between Ana and Christian in the book series and (Surprise!) they found nearly every interaction abusive. Besides the intimidation, stalking, and isolation, Christian uses booze to undermine Ana’s consent.

 “Double Crap!” Abuse and Harmed Identity in Fifty Shades of Grey

A 2014 study found women who read the book were more likely to have abusive partners (and eating disorders). Thankfully, all this has helped spark a backlash against the book and film, encouraging people to explore the normalization of sexual abuse and rape culture. #FiftyShadesIsAbuse has been trending on Twitter. Additionally, #50DollarsNot50Shades is encouraging people to give their money to women’s shelters (where women like Anastasia end up), instead of the filmmakers at Universal Pictures.

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Now, on the kinky hand, people have every right to have a “playroom,” and tie each other up and whip each other with wet noodles if they want. The whole BDSM thing can be hot among consenting adults, “consenting” being the operative word. When I was teaching in London in the 1990s, a story came out about powerful British politicians who enjoyed being spanked. It’s not really my thing. I’m more of a role-player (I like to play the an out-of-work writer and my wife plays a big publisher, repeatedly slamming the door in my face. So hot.) Out of curiosity, I once visited a dominatrix on 82nd and just couldn’t stop laughing through the whole experience. (Maybe it was the “dungeon” wallpaper.) But word is Christian disregards Ana’s safe-words, which is a violation of the prime directive in the BDSM community. Not cool.

In the world of fiction, we can enjoy the abuse of others. Look how many popular movies about serial killers there are. Why? I argue in my criminology class that most people have at least three people they’d like to knock off. (In my case, they all work in the same building.) So virgin Anastasia Steele is abused, so what? She doesn’t exist. No harm, no foul. Most people can separate fiction from reality.

The harm is the promotion of this fiction without the discussion about the reality of sexual abuse. Just listen to what abuse survivors have to say about 50 Shades. It’s soul crushing. Is this really what we want to spend our energy promoting? It’s been so sad to see Ellen DeGeneres, who puts out such positive energy into the universe, promote the shit out of this movie without any acknowledgement of the harm her endorsement may cause.

As the father of a young daughter, I don’t want to be a sexual prude. I know she’s going to grow up in a highly sexualized world and if she wants to embrace BDSM when she’s an adult, that’s her right. (Right now I’m looking at her wrapped in a pink blanket so I don’t have to think of her wrapped in ropes.) Feminists need to let women reclaim their sexual selves. Part of the appeal of 50 Shades must be an unflinching look at one woman’s sexual exploration, rare in pop culture. But what I don’t want is some bullshit romanticization of sexual abuse. I certainly understand the power of the rape fantasy. I read Nancy Friday’s My Secret Garden, after all. But that book discussed where the fantasy originates. 50 Shades doesn’t and neither does Ellen DeGeneres or the rest of the massive hype machine.

If you want something hot but actually well-written, read Anaïs Nin instead of E. L. James (Erika Mitchell) or check out Bitch Magazine’s suggestions for feminist erotica:

50 Shades of “Meh.” Here’s Some Erotica to Read Instead!

And if you’re gonna get all “50 Shades” for Valentines, make your safe-word, 800-799-7233. That’s the number for the National Domestic Violence Hotline.

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The following books were mentioned in this post and are available at Powell’s by clicking below.

Gender Notes: A Short Note About China

February 8, 2015

It’s always hard to figure out what the hell is going on in China. It was clear at the 2008 Olympics there was a China the government wanted the world to see and then there was whatever existed behind the curtain. Even with the rush of western money (not only are Walmart products made in China there are over 100 Walmart stores in China), it’s still hard to get a clear picture here.

This is especially true of gender roles in China.

There’s been several stories about how great the new Chinese economy is for women, smashing the glass ceiling. A 2013 survey of over 6000 Chinese companies found that 51% of senior management was female. Stories about China having more female billionaires than anyplace on Earth. I doubt that was what communist leader Mao meant when he said, “Women hold up half of the sky.” But then again, China is a long way from Marx’s vision of a communist utopia.

When westerners visit big cities, they do report seeing large numbers of women in the workforce. (According to Chinese government data, about 74% of women work, the same as the United States). The problem is China is still mostly an agrarian society and women working on a farm are probably not as “empowered” as woman working at a Walmart. (That’s such a sad statement.)

Chinese culture is one of the oldest continuous cultures on earth (after India, if I remember my freshman World History class accurately), so you could say gender roles are heavily entrenched. There is is still favoritism of boys over girls and husbands over wives, but despite Conservative claims about Chinese-Americans aborting female babies there is evidence that Chinese female fetuses are not aborted at a higher rate here or in China. Chinese maternal health law prohibits ultrasounds being used to establish the sex of the fetus to prevent female infanticide. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.

The emerging issue seems to be how those ancient gender roles are re-emerging in the growing cities. There is a new shaming of single women who have not gotten married. They are referred to as sheng nü, or “leftover women.” There is a new book out by a young researcher named Leta Hong Fincher called Leftover Women: The Resurgence of Gender Inequality in China that explores this trend.

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The themes remind me of the work of Susan Faludi in her works Backlash and The Terror Dream. We can can’t assume we are on a straight path to gender equality. It’s more like a pendulum, that women’s advancement brings with it a push back to the “good old days” of oppression. Just check out the latest propaganda from ISIS or the 700 Club.

I’ve told my students to keep an eye on China. The American Century is over. World Systems Theory predicts that China will be the next global top dog. The culture (including ideas about gender) that we’ve been exporting to the world for the last 100 years could be replaced by the Chinese culture we import.

This is the world my daughter will grow up in. Will concern over leftover women replace concern over thigh gaps here? And how are the women and girls of China advancing (or not) in this global economy? I think Fincher’s book will be a good place to start.

I’m interested on what people who know more than I about contemporary gender roles in China. Please feel free to comment.

The following books were mentioned in this post. You can buy them from Powell’s through this blog. Just click on the covers below to go to the site.

Feminist Herstory Pt. 2 – Here comes the FIRST WAVE

This is part of a book I’m writing on men and Western feminism. I’ll be occasionally posting a little bit of history of feminist theory in a way I hope you like. Part 1 is here:

FEMINIST HERSTORY PT. 1 – IT IS DISCOVERED THAT WOMEN ARE PEOPLE!!!

All people are created equal

Feminist thought did not die like Dr. Frankenstein. In fact it ramped up in 19th Century America. People forget that the leading voices for the abolition of slavery were female. It shouldn’t be that surprising that the abolition movement gave birth to the first modern feminist movement. There are important names that came out of this era that you might know from a picture on a coin or an Amy Ray song, but they are important as the Founding Fathers because they helped to liberate not only the enslaved populace, but also half of the “free” citizens.

One of the key voices of the abolitionist movement, Lucretia Mott, is also viewed as the first American feminist by many. Mott was a Quaker from Nantuckett and founder of the Philadelphia Female Anti-Slavery Society. In 1840 she headed off to London to speak at the International Anti-Slavery Convention. But the male abolitionists turned out to be just as sexist as the general population and wouldn’t let the women speak. Mott rallied her supporters and became known as the “Lioness of the Convention.”

Another American abolitionist was in the audience, watching Mott get the short end of the stick; Elizabeth Cady-Stanton. Cady-Stanton was the daughter of a prominent New York attorney who introduced her to the law and her husband was an anti-slavery activist. She met with Mott in London and the two decided to combine forces to speak against the oppression of women and slaves.

For those that think that line in the Declaration of Independence about “all men a created equal” negates the need for any feminist agitation need a little historical footnote. Not only were slaves denied full citizenship, so were women. At no point in the 18th or 19th century did female Americans have a Constitutional right to vote. The belief was that women had the vote through their husbands. Widows, spinsters, and hussies were screwed, but oh well. Women couldn’t inherit wealth or sign contracts or sit on juries or divorce their husbands or wear designer jeans. In reality that “all men are created equal” stuff only referred to white men who owned property. So when Lott and Cady-Stanton got back from London, they were ready to stir some shit up.

Throughout the 1840s female abolitionists, like Mott, Cady-Stanton, and Lucy Stone from Massachusetts, began lobbying for legal rights for women. With the help of male politicians (including Cady-Stanton’s cousin, presidential candidate Gerrit Smith) small changes were made, mostly in Northeastern states. The women wanted to build a larger movement and built towards a convention that would focus on women’s rights and kick the cause into high gear.

The Seneca Falls Convention in July 1848 was really the birthplace of modern feminism. For two days in Seneca Falls, New York, men and women debated the various issues (white) women faced in their struggle to be full citizens. Speakers included Frederick Douglas, the famous abolitionist, who gave an impassioned speech urging the convention to make women’s suffrage a priority. The end result was the Declaration of Sentiments. Modeled after the Declaration of Independence and utilizing the language of the Enlightenment, the Declaration outlined the structural imbalance women suffered at the hands of free men. Sixty-eight women and 32 men signed the Declaration and launched it into the world. The opening paragraphs read:

When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one portion of the family of man to assume among the people of the earth a position different from that which they have hitherto occupied, but one to which the laws of nature and of nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes that impel them to such a course.

We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men and women are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that to secure these rights governments are instituted, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. Whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of those who suffer from it to refuse allegiance to it, and to insist upon the institution of a new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.

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Change wasn’t immediate. A lot of men were scared shitless about giving women the right to vote, let alone any legal equality. As the suffrage movement heated up, a lot of powerful men went into a panic. Turns out there were (and are) more women in the U.S. population and the “majority rules” democracy could be turned upside down. Major newspapers, like the New York Times, began running editorials about the White House becoming the Pink House and wars being replaced with quilting bees if women had voting rights. But Suffragettes, like Susan B. Anthony, the Quaker founder of The Revolution, kept the heat up. Finally, in 1920, the 19th Amendment was passed, and 57 years after the slaves were freed by Lincoln and 124 years after the Declaration of Independence, women were granted full citizenship. The “first wave” feminists had achieved their greatest goal.

A range of other views moved to the front burner. These included birth control for women, the legalization of abortion, equality within marriage, sexual freedom, and the ability of women to escape drunken, abusive husbands. While some women found liberation in the Flapper fad of the 1920s, personified by actors like Clara Bow, once the Depression hit in 1929, the focus moved back towards basic survival. It wouldn’t be until fifteen years after WWII that the Second Wave would appear.

Coming soon:

Feminist Herstory, Pt. 3 – Rosie the Riveter and WW2

You can learn a lot from a rock star.

January 28, 2015

As a guy with a massive love of music but minimal musical talent, I’ve been lucky enough to get to hang around  musicians for most of my life. From local jammers to superheroes, like the guys in U2 and REM, I’ve had friends who know how to take a thought and turn it into a song that people want to sing. It’s a beautiful process. I’ve been working on a book called Mirror Star about some of these people and the excitement they’ve brought my life. But for now, I’ll just post this picture of me and Carrie Brownstein, of Sleater-Kinney, at the 2008 Obama rally in Portland.

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I’m on this topic because Cozy had her first backstage experience yesterday. We were at the KINK Bing Lounge show of Trigger Hippy, Joan Osborne’s great band with Black Crowes drummer Steve Gorman. Steve is a very old friend of mine and a former roommate. In fact, I played a role getting him into the Crowes when I was Drivin’ N’ Cryin’s manager in 1987. It’s always great to catch up with Steve and the new group is really, really great, like a band I would have wanted to see in 1970.

Joan just fell in love with Cozy and my baby girl has the same birthdate as Steve (so we’re convinced she’s going to be a drummer). I was excited for him to meet her as he’s known my ups and downs for the last 27 years and gave me a lot of great father advice when we were still expecting (before he ran off to hang out with Dave Grohl and Ringo Starr).

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So what does a baby get from being backstage at rock gig besides the above picture to brag about when she’s older? Not that much and I don’t want to foster mindless idle worship or encourage some version of groupiedom. (I want you to REALLY listen to the lyrics of “Superstar” by The Carpenters.) However, there is something of value of having friends who are successful musicians.

Most of those people got to do what they love for a living for one reason, a lot of hard work. When I was in high school, I took a folk guitar class and was frustrated that I couldn’t already play like Jimmy Page. I’d think, “I should have started at 10. It’s too late!” And I sort of just quit. If I had just practiced my ass off from 16 to 20, I would have been able to play all those licks for the last 30 years. My friends didn’t quit. I learned a lot from my long conversations with Bono and Susanna Hoffs. I learned about the creative process and what it takes to do it right.

I love the chapter in Malcolm Gladwell’s 2008 book, Outliers, where he compares The Beatles and Bill Gates. Both practiced obsessively at the the thing they loved. He calls it the “10,000 Rule.” You need 10,000 hours of practice before you can really get good at anything. Macklemore wrote a song about it called “10,000 Hours.” I’d like to think I have 10,000 hours of teaching in and I’m working on 10,000 hours of writing now. I know my friends who have put in their time drumming or songwriting can now enjoy the fruits of their labor.

I want Cozy to know that to do the thing you love well takes a lot of commitment. If she wants to play the violin or write speeches or fix refrigerators she needs to go all in. People aren’t born rock stars, they pay their dues. (I will save the required discussion on the evils of American Idol for another time.) And it’s often not very glamorous. You are alone in a room or playing in a tiny club to 4 people who are ignoring you. But you are working your craft. So yes, she will have piano lessons and, unlike me, she won’t quit.

Well, I guess some people are born to be rock stars. Steve Gorman wasn’t the first star she met at a show. Before she was born she met Beatle son Sean Lennon after a great Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger show. I’m sure she’ll meet more in the future. (Does Bono baby sit?) And I hope they tell her how you get to Carnegie Hall. Practice.

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Hanging out with Beatle baby Sean Lennon and Charlotte Kemp Muhl of the GOASTT, Mississippi Studios, May 24, 2014.

The following book was mentioned in this blog and you can buy it from Powell’s by clicking the cover below.

Why I chose to no longer wear bicycle shorts

January 26, 2015

For the past several months, I have been having a conviction weighing heavy on my heart. I tried ignoring it for as long as I could until one day a conversation came up amongst myself and a few others (both men and women). The conversation was about bicycle shorts and how when men wear them it creates a stronger attraction for a woman to look at a man’s body and may cause them to think lustful thoughts.

God really changed my heart in the midst of that conversation and instead of ignoring my convictions, I figured it was time I start listening to them and take action. I went home later that day and shared the convictions I was having with my wife. Was it possible my wearing bicycle shorts could cause a woman, other than my wife, to think lustfully about my body? I asked my wife her thoughts on the matter when she got home. I appreciated her honesty when she told me, “yeah, when I walk into a place and there are men wearing bicycle shorts everywhere, it’s hard to not look. I try not to, but it’s not easy.”

So, because it is up to me to control women’s lustful ways, I pledge to no longer wear bicycle shorts, bathing suits, or yoga pants. Also, I will refrain from wearing my Spiderman costume in public, because I know that women are staring at my junk and my buttocks and having perverted thoughts about sex with America’s favorite webslinger. I made a vow to my wife and will only wear the Spiderman outfit when I am alone with her.

Because this is a covenant with God and my wife, when in public I will only wear a burka. I know when I am outside, even in a business suit, women see me as a sexual object and are undressing me with their lustful eyes. So I vow to wear as many layers as possible so undressing me with their eyes will just take too much effort. Women will look, but why entice them? I also plan to put on 200 pounds, stop brushing my teeth, and cut my hair into a mullet. My body belongs to God and my wife so I must do what I can to inspire revulsion in women who would look at my twigs and berries in my tight jeans and become aroused.

If Eve had had a burka, I’m sure she would have worn it to keep all the animals in the Garden of Eden from thinking she was “easy.” I am more than my body and by hiding my body under a burka I am protecting women from falling into a pit of overwhelming lust for me and also making God happy.

Obviously, I’m just clowning on fellow Oregonian Veronica Partridge’s viral blog post, Why I Chose to Not Wear Leggings. Her reason is the exact same reason women who live under the religious regime of the Taliban are forced to be covered from head to toe, so as not to illicit lust in men. And look at how that turned out. Those sexually repressed men in Afghanistan are not known for their respect for women. Veronica, it is not women’s job to prevent men from having lustful thoughts, just like it’s not women’s job to stop men from raping women. In the Victorian era there would be riots just over the sight of a woman’s ankle and I’m sure there are men in Afghanistan who get a stiffy from a tiny bit of jiggle under a hijab. If you want to stop enticing men from having lustful thoughts about you, why not get Jesus tattooed on your face? Shit, I bet there some guys who are really into that! Men are going to have lustful thoughts yoga pants or no yoga pants. In this patriarchal culture, men can pretty much find any way to sexualize women. That’s the problem. It’s not leggings that make you a “sexual object.”

I have no doubt your husband appreciates you trying to reduce men jonesing for you. I’m also sure he’s glad other women are NOT doing the same thing. (The male gaze goes unchecked.) And I appreciate you not telling other women to burn their leggings at the stake. Ain’t America great? We’re all free to blog whatever!

As a feminist, I support Ms. Partridge’s right to wear whatever she wants without facing judgement. But it also important to point out that what she is doing is a version of “slut-shaming.” That somehow women are at fault, just by virtue of their clothing choices, in causing bad thoughts (or behavior) in men. I’m sure she is secretly aware that women can be just as lustful as men, but men in biker shorts aren’t seen as creating problems in her Christian marriage. As far as we know.

I want my daughter to live in a world where her clothing choices reflect her sense of self, not a fear of what men might think of her. She will have a right to wear leggings or a hijab or a Brooks Brothers’ suit or a very tight Spiderman costume. She (and Veronica) will be better served by respecting men who can keep their “lustful ways” in check. People (men and women) look. So what? But if you don’t feel safe in your yoga pants, it’s not your fault. And not wearing those things isn’t going to make you any more safe. So let’s deal with that. But I still promise not to wear bicycling shorts again. So 1990s.

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10 things I know from having a 5 month old daughter

January 22, 2015

The 5 months have flown by, but I’ve learned a few things about myself and the known universe. Here are 10 random lessons.

  1. Just let me do the laundry, because everything is going to be pink anyway.
  2. That moment when a screaming baby gets her bottle of milk must be the same as a junkie getting a hit of heroin. For both of us.
  3. Girls fart without shame.
  4. When my daughter wears the brown hat my mom saved from my babyhood and people think she is a boy, I get a thrill from her first gender transgression.
  5. Her saying “Mama” first is not a fair contest because that’s the sound of the mouth coming off the breast. The baby’s mouth, not mine.
  6. If a baby doesn’t poop for a day, get ready for a California mud slide.
  7. When we dance to Van Morrison songs in the living room, I already picture dancing with her at her wedding.
  8. She knows how to use her eyes to get what she wants. 5 months old.
  9. I regularly imagine that I’m inside a burning car trying to get her out of the Graco car seat.
  10. I could just listen to her for hours, my little Yoko Ono.

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Bonus: #11 – I can drink a LOT of coffee now.

My little MLK story: Skinheads and feminists

January 19, 2015

Being from Atlanta I get to claim Martin Luther King, Jr. as my homeboy. I’ve spent a lot of time on Auburn Avenue, and not going to Ebenezer Baptist Church. The Royal Peacock Club was there, where the Supremes and James Brown performed. And the band I managed, Drivin’ N’ Cryin’ too! I was hit by a car on Auburn in front to the Sweet Auburn Rib Shack. I was on my Vespa scooter and sent flying. I ended up at Grady Hospital, now a Walking Dead location.

But before Atlanta, I was from Stone Mountain, Georgia. Our little town was mentioned by Dr. King in his famous 1963 “I Have A Dream” speech, but not because it was awesome. When I was a kid, I thought it was because it was awesome. (Stone Mountain has a giant granite mountain with a lazar show the ends with “Dixie” that I doubt MLK ever saw.) He mentioned my town because it was the birthplace of the modern Ku Klux Klan in 1915. Sad trombone.

Growing up around the Klan was the beginning of my interest in extremism and oppression. As a grad student at Emory University, I chose to go undercover in the late 1980s to study a new racist group, Nazi skinheads. My first study was a 13-month observation of a racist skinhead gang in Orlando, Florida called the O-Town Skins.

Much to my surprise, these rabid bigots were not morons, or bullies (although a few were sociopaths). They were reasonably intelligent kids who just had been given the wrong explanation for why their world was changing. (“It’s the Jews!”) The right explanation had something to do with Ronald Reagan. I would listen to them gripe about The Cosby Show and how this black family had so much more than their own.

I bonded with these guys, drank beer with them, and talked to them about their girl problems. I began to get too close to them and lose my objectivity. So, while I was home on a break from the study, I rode my scooter over to Martin’s tomb on Auburn and sat with him for a while. I wanted to reflect with the man by the cool reflecting pool and remember why I started the project. He once said, “I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.” I wanted to understand these skinheads so I could liberate them from their burden of hate. We sat together in the hot Atlanta night and I felt ready to go back into the field.

It was this study that turned me into a feminist. It became clear, as the research progressed, that the racism was just a vehicle for them to perform their masculinity. They saw black men, lesbians and feminists taking “their” white women. And Jews outsourcing “their” manufacturing jobs. And gay men threatening “their” sexual propriety. As the 80s became the 90s, they became obsessed with that “bitch” Hilary Clinton, who signified, to them, the end of the divine right of men. Hateful violence was their defense of their fragile masculinity, not far removed from the rhetoric of the conservative right. Much of this research ended up in my 2001 book with Wayne Wooden, Renegade Kids, Suburban Outlaws.

Martin Luther King’s love ethic is all around. It’s in the philosophies of bell hooks and Cornell West. It’s in the actions of youth outreach workers and gay rights advocates. And it’s in the work I’ve been doing since I interviewed that very first skinhead. Love undoes hate. If you try to understand the hater, including the misogynist, through love, you can turn them toward the light. As Dr. King told us long ago, “Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into a friend.”

The following book was mentioned in this blog. You can buy it from Powell’s by clicking the cover image below.