You know, I can easily get sucked into celebrity drama/news (and I really used to get into it when I was younger), but now I just don't care as much or I make a conscious effort not to. And if somebody does something personal like commit adultery, divorce their spouse, or whatever, then FINE. It doesn't affect me, nor does it affect their talents or why I liked them to begin with. It can be hard to separate our inane infatuation with celebrities and why we REALLY liked them to begin with, but I think it's silly when someone has to make a public apology for something that does not affect the public at all and should be dealt privately within their home.
About 2 days after everyone found out that Tiger Woods had been cheating on his wife, I was so sick of hearing about it. WHO CARES?! What he did is nothing new. He didn't kill anyone. Leave him alone, and stop interrupting pressing worldly news with this useless garbage! And why are there always some people who have high moral expectations from others? ESPECIALLY celebrities (except if they're famous for not being moral lol). I mean, did Tiger Woods tell people that he was going to be moral? Did he become famous and wealthy for being a family guy with impeccable moral values? No! It was thanks to his golf abilities that everyone knew him. He is arguably the best golf player ever. Period. Whatever other expectations people had of him that he did not meet is their fault. Not his.
Despite all this drama he's going through (and me being sick of hearing about it lol), I still have lots of respect for what he's done for the sport of golf.
Yesterday afternoon/night was an interesting scenario. Both of my parents and I had our laptops at the kitchen table and were working on our resumes and filling out job applications, helping each other out, and chatting. What a great way to spend our 'family time' on Valentine's day, huh? lol I could care less that it was Valentine's Day (in fact, I even forgot it was yesterday), but I honestly enjoyed that time we had...although my brother was missing in the mix. :(
I guess it's not really how you spend time with your family, but the fact that you even do is what's more important. :)
We are now in February. What does that mean? Lots of things: Groundhog Day predicted we'd have a short winter (I hope so! lol), we've been inundated with endless Valentine's Day theme shows, specials, ads, and products said to be love-related, Presidents Day is right around the corner (what date is that again? lol I think the third Monday of the month, if I remember correctly), Carnival season and Mardi Gras is soon approaching (and will be bigger than ever this year...Go Saints! lol) and finally this is the 82nd anniversary of Black History Month.
Now, I have never been one to go around touting that it's Black History Month, and most people including myself forget about it since I am no longer in school. I'm on the fence on whether BHM is useful, and have always been. I believe it is important, as many and most people including African-Americans, wouldn't even have heard about the important people and events in the history of the African diaspora in what used to be and sometimes still is a Euro-centric curriculum. (It was conceived in 1926 by historian Carter G. Woodson as a corrective to the traditional teaching of American history.) In many schools it has become an important part of multicultural and anti racism programs and approaches, which is great. At the same time though, why separate it from the rest of American history? I may be being a bit cynical when I say this, but I think it undermines the fact that Black history is an important part of American history, and it seems like it has become something like a false token for Black ownership and is also subject to a lot of commercial hype. And some may even ask, is it necessary to have it now that we are in the 21st century?
People forget that a little over 50 years ago, blacks and whites could not even learn in the same classrooms. It's still fresh in our history. However, we as a nation thankfully have come SO far in those 50 years, which is why we (especially people around my age and younger) tend to forget about the struggles African-Americans suffered in the past. This past weekend I was reminded of one such struggle when a former Colorado state representative suggested that civics literacy tests, as a requirement for voting, might have prevented Barack Obama from being elected. Great idea, Mister. Instead of moving forward and bettering ourselves, let's go back in time and oppress people. Because of his statements, I decided to look up the process of voter registration and voting during the time when literacy tests were implemented. I've always known that literacy tests were difficult and not actually LITERACY tests, and were used to disenfranchise African-Americans, but I never really knew what the whole process consisted of until now. Here's what I found.
Up until 1965, there was an entire complex system in the South (and some Western states) devoted to denying African-Americans (and in some regions Latinos) the right to vote. Let's say you were an African-American living in Alabama and you wanted to vote, you would have to go on down to the courthouse to register. If you were lucky enough to withstand intimidation and harassment, avoid arrests on false charges, and not fear retaliation such as evictions, firings and boycotts, then you'd be granted the registration process. At that time you'd fill out a state-wide implemented 4-page application and recite an oath, which was designed to intimidate and threaten. You had to swear that every single question you answered was true under penalty of perjury, and you'd be told that everything you put on the form would be passed onto the White Citizens' Council and the KKK. And in many counties you also had to have a previously registered voter to "vouch" for you. THEN, about 10 days later, you'd have to come back and take a "literacy test" where you had to score 90% or better in 25 minutes. A typical test had three parts. In Part A, you had to read out loud part of the Constitution, pronounce everything correctly, orally interpret it, and then write it down from dictation as the registrar spoke (mumbled) it. In Parts B and C, you would have to answer two different sets of four written questions each. Part "B" was 4 questions based on the excerpt you had read. Part "C" consisted of 4 "general knowledge" questions about state and national government. (In some documented cases, people have also been asked to guess how many beans were in a jar.) After all of that, even if you were to pass everything with flying colors, the Board of Registrars would have to decide if you were "qualified" enough to vote. How discouraging is that? If only people were more aware of what African-Americans, women and other minorities had to go through in order to vote, there would be larger turnouts during elections. Here is a compilation of questions used for literacy tests in Alabama in 1965. Would you have passed?
In the end, 28 days of Black History is better than none. And instead of just boring us with a litany of names and dates like most students experience, I hope the celebration of this month continues to bring appreciation of what black history has meant for our nation in the past and what it continues to mean today.
Below is a collection of some random words. What makes them slightly less random is that they weren't just pulled out of a hat - they were pulled out of my brain. These are some words that have crossed my mind, I've had conversations about, or I've read about in the past 3 or 4 days.
Today I spent some time with my father helping him translate my grandfather's (my mom's dad) autobiography. While doing this he told me lots and lots of stories about the family, which I absolutely love. While doing so, I got to asking him about the birth of me and my brother. I've asked my mother several times to tell me about those times, and although she does tell me things, it's never really as thorough or detailed as when my father tells stories. My father told me about her pregnancies and the births. I found out I was an average weight and came pretty much on time, but my brother was late and she had to be induced...and he was almost 10 pounds when born. Wowzers! I also asked him if she had any quirky cravings while pregnant. She didn't have the weird cravings that you hear of women always having (like ice cream with pickles, lol), but apparently she ate enough pizzas and watermelons to feed a small country. No wonder I love eating those things! lol jk, I don't love them THAT much.
After learning of more tidbits of that nature, I asked him why he and my mother decided to give me my name: Mehetabel. I was wondering this because no one (except for my friend, Alicia) calls me by that name. NO ONE. And I'd say 85% of my family doesn't even know that's my first name. Everyone in my family just knows me by my nickname, Metty. And then my friends call me by my middle name, Rahel. No one in my family (except for grandfather) calls me by that name either. But at least people call me by that name. With Mehetabel, only one person calls me by that.
A little history of the origin of the name. My name, Mehetabel and it's several variations, comes from the Bible (Genesis 36:39) and means 'God makes happy' or 'God does good' in Hebrew. It is basically mentioned in passing in a genealogy. Apparently it was a name that was fairly popular among Puritans during the 17th century, but by the 19th century it was very rarely a name given.
Growing up, I absolutely hated my name and would constantly be upset at my parents for giving me that name. I didn't like my name because:
1. It was really uncommon.
2. No one could ever pronounce it right, although it's not hard.
3. Kids would make fun of my name.
4. NO ONE ever called me by that name, so I had no connection to it.
Numbers 1-3 is what bothered me the most when I was younger, but I just realized today when I was talking to my father, another reason (and probably the biggest reason) why I didn't like it...and that's number 4. I really did not OWN my name. The only time I heard my first name out loud was either during roll call in class, when I went to the doctor's office, or when a telemarketer would call and ask for me all while completely butchering the pronunciation. Because of this, my name felt like a burden to me - like I was cursed with it. My dad did tell me that at the time of my mother's pregnancy, they liked the uniqueness of the name and what it meant, and had it set in their minds that if I was a girl I would get that name. (My father initially wanted to name me Amrote, meaning my beauty, but my mom opposed as there was already someone in the family with that name.) Apparently though, soon after I was born, my mom realized that she was tired of explaining the pronunciation and meaning of my name, that she started calling me Metty and it caught on with the rest of my family. I honestly can't recall a time when my parents addressed me by my first name.
Fast-forward about 18 years later, and I started to embrace my name and it's uniqueness. As I met people in college, I told some my first name and many loved it. This helped me appreciate the beauty of the name. Fast-forward a couple more years later, and I really started to love it and would have no problem telling people my name. And now, I feel like I own the name. It's mine and I love the fact that very few people on this earth have it. The funny thing is I never ever wanted to legally change my name, as my parents told me I could if I wanted to. I just felt like it would be a slap in my parents' face, and ironically I loved the fact that they took the time out to give me a meaningful name, and not just name me Ashley or something. No offense to all the Ashleys out there in the world! lol If I have children in the future, I would like to give them unique names, too...but of course, nothing TOO unique. lol
Odd story: In 6th grade, a substitute teacher asked me if I was named after a cat. I had NO IDEA what the heck she was talking about (she was a weird lady, lol). A few years ago, I randomly remembered that incident and decided to look it up. She wasn't as crazy as I thought...there IS a cat with that name. In 1916, a newspaper columnist named Don Marquis would write a fictional social commentary piece six days a week, which was originally intended as a space filler. It was called archy and mehitabel. Archy was a cockroach and his best friend was Mehitabel, a cat. The two of them would share their daily adventures in a 'satiric commentary on daily life in the city during the 1910s and 1920s.' In 1957, there was even a short-lived Broadway musical based on them. WHODATHUNK?? lol
