Showing posts with label lessons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lessons. Show all posts

Saturday, September 29, 2007

In response to S. Renee Mitchell

I may be joining this discussion a little late but...

I have read and re-read both the original article and the subsequent blog post and comments and I have a few things that I'd like to point out, Ms. Mitchell.

I too can look at the drawing on the Starbuck's board and acknowledge that it has the potential to be offensive to some and not to others. I also recognize that we are far from completely obliterating racism and bigotry in our country. However, despite the claim you make in your article that your purpose is "confronting insensitivity to stop it," there are several times when your own insensitivity is grossly displayed.

First, your quest to identify the artist appears to exclude the possibility that the artist may, in fact, have been an African American. Though you don't say it outright, your scavenger hunt to eradicate this display of insensitivity seems to be founded on the premise that the artist is white. I can only assume that you reached this conclusion because the artwork in question appeared in a Starbucks. What does this say about your own prejudices?

You acknowledge in your article "that public art is interpreted through the cultural lens of the beholder" and never once stop to consider that perhaps your lens might be set to hyper-sensitive.

You again wantonly wield your own insensitivity in your description of "Starbucks' front-line staffers -- who assemble specialty lattes as if they're creating a culinary art form." This statement reveals your prejudice that Starbuck's employees are nothing more than assembly line workers with pretensions. Furthermore, it never enters into your mind that anyone with this type of job could possibly take pride in their work, their product, or their company.

However, these are minor offenses when compared with the way in which you chose to handle this matter from the outset. You don't reveal, until the very end of your article, the identity of the person who gave you the picture in the first place. I can only assume this was to lend to the sense of mystery, the feeling of being on a scavenger hunt. Instead it seems more like a witch-hunt when one realizes that all you really needed to do was ask your source to identify which Starbuck's had the artwork. At that point you could have called or gone into that store alone to speak to the manager about the potential for offense and the necessity of sensitivity. Instead you proceeded to march yourself into every Starbuck's location in the immediate vicinity. I'm not sure what this accomplished aside from increasing your ire over the piece of work, as well as deliberately and erroneously implying to your readers that there was some big mystery to be solved.

You have completely overblown this situation. As a journalist you have a responsibility to carry out your investigations, even those that concern racism and bigotry, with the utmost of integrity. You say in your article that "evidence of our insensitivity to each other's context is inevitable. But we have a choice: We can confront the offense with anger or we can experience these awkward encounters as teachable moments." If your goal truly was to "confront insensitivity to stop it," you failed miserably. You stomped off on a crusade without first doing any of the research that is normally associated with quality journalism and then, despite the fact that the offending artwork had been removed and the manager apologetically explained that no offense had been intended, you still proceeded to write a highly inflammatory article regarding your personal crusade. In sum, you let your indignation and anger cloud your judgment and lost any opportunity for a "teachable moment".

No, your goal was not merely to confront and stop insensitivity. It seems much more likely that your goal was to publicly denounce an entire company and it's workers as insensitive without first stopping to consider your own insensitivity.


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Monday, August 20, 2007

Spain: the aftermath

My husband has been after me to update my blog which is suffering a new post drought thanks to my recent return to the real world. What he really wants is for me to recount my time in Spain in full, no easy task.

You see, despite my smiling face in many of my photos, my two and a half months in Spain were not the mostly-easy adventure I had been anticipating. In fact, just about everything about my study abroad experience in Spain was surprising, often rather unpleasantly so.

Rather than rehash all of the dirty [and believe me they are] details of my ten weeks in Spain, I though I'd just share a few of the things I learned while I was there.

1) If your flight is longer than 6 hours, pay the extra money and fly business class. You'll regret it if you don't.

2) No matter how you say it--two and a half months, ten weeks, 71 days--it's still a long, long time to be away from home, especially if you're married.

3) There is absolutely no way to pack light for ten weeks away from home.

4) However much you pack (90 pounds or 900) you will never have everything you want from home, never mind the things you need.

5) Roommates are best when they're heavily screened for undesirable behaviors such as filthiness, thievery, and general lack of consideration for others.

6) Despite what everyone in Spain may tell you to the contrary, ham is NOT the perfect accompaniment to every meal.

7) Coffee, wine, beer, and food all taste better when you can eat them at a table outside in the sunshine. Especially if the street has been closed to automobile traffic to make way for said table.

8) Life without a car is possible. Enjoyable even.

All joking aside, the ten weeks I spent living in Úbeda were, at times, nightmarish. I had to deal with things I never imagined possible. Granted, most of the problems I encountered had to do with my fellow classmates and not with Abadat Escuela or the city of Úbeda and its inhabitants, but there were problems nonetheless and they served to make my stay in Spain [during the first five weeks] very nearly unbearable.

Imagine my surprise, then, when upon driving out of the city for the last time (very fittingly to the musical accompaniment of "It ain't over 'til it's over") I found that I was sad to go. Overcoming homesickness and horrid roommates, I was shocked to discover that I was coming away with a few more good friends and lots of experiences to laugh about in the years to come. More than anything, I realized that despite the drama and frustration and bad food, this small Spanish city had managed to steal a place in my heart.


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Tuesday, November 29, 2005

an open letter to friends and family

Late last night my husband popped his head into our bedroom, "Babe?"

"Yes..."

"Are you still awake?"

"I am."

He then quietly asked if he could read me something. To which, thinking he was going to supply the latest clever commentary from his blog, I replied, "You're lucky I love you."

His solemn answer was a barely audible, "I know." This is what he read to me:

We drove in snow tonight. The wipers batted feebly at snowflakes glowing in halogen beams. I hunched over the wheel, staring at diminishing ruts in the slush, distracted by sopping whiteness that kept coming and coming and drawing my gaze from the road, nursing the accelerator, trying to stay ahead of approaching headlights and behind nearing taillights. Branches laden with early snow jutted out of the darkness. My wife sang along with the CD over the noise of the road and the sound of splashing tires.

This morning, fifteen minutes before the first bell, the staff met in the library to hear bad news. Usually I stand on the margin unaffected, unaware of the loss, but not this morning. This morning they said Brittany's name. Car accident, life support, brain dead, words that swirled in a snowy blur, dazzling, blinding.

In my memory: a persistent smile. A wicked grin, sometimes. A hello in the hall, a chat every week or so. Laughing about last year's class. Trying to predict the future. Fidgeting, shaky confidence, typical for a junior. Slight hesitation. Looking for approval. Tossing out big plans of school overseas, community college first, though. Running Start. Maybe soon, maybe later.

What should I do, Mr. Anderson? Don't wait, Brittany--sign up now. You never know how life could change, what'll happen in days or months. Yeah, she says, unsure but sympathetic. I dunno. A goofy grin. Take your chance while you've got it. Circumstances change. You'll change. You never know.

I said that. A day before the crash, I said that.

We drive in snow, searching the darkness for the road ahead, looking for the friendly glow of taillights, spurred on by the headlights behind us. We take our chances, we guess, we stray. We smile and press on until our moment comes and the snow and the darkness swallow us up and we are but shadows of ourselves in the memories of those who drive in snow.


On Sunday November 20th, my sister was shopping at JC Penney in the Tacoma Mall when gun fire erupted less than fifty yards away. My brother was hit by a car while riding his bike on the streets of Bellingham. On Monday the 21st my mom got the unofficial word that she had gotten a long-awaited new job with her employer. That same night while she was driving home she nearly ran over a woman lying in the road who had already been hit, and left, by another car.

On November 24th my family had every reason to give thanks--we were all okay.

Our lives can change forever in the blink of an eye and we often have no control over it. My husband sometimes teases me because I sing all of the time, but recently I think he got it when he said "You always have a song in your heart." And I do--because I love my life, my family, my friends, and I know that at any given second they may not be around any more.

We're all driving through this snow storm of life together; When you're leading my headlights will be shining behind you to encourage you to go on, when you're following my taillights will be there to guide you; I know you'll do the same for me.

I love you all very much and wish you a wonderful holiday season this year. Please remember this as you're going through life. Live each day of life as if it is a holiday, joyous and worthy of celebration.


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Thursday, October 27, 2005

The bottom line

Wal-Mart has just offered it's employees a new low-cost health insurance package. It's being lauded as a step in the right direction...and I am immediately suspicious.

It probably seems like a more than generous offer to the "humanitarian" millionaires who own Wal-Mart, but cheap is all a matter of perspective. Sure the monthly premiums are low, but if you read the whole article you see that the plan has high patient contributions toward prescription costs, high emergency room co-pays, and higher deductibles. If you're at all familiar with insurance plans then you know that patient co-payments including those for prescriptions, office visits, and emergency room visits do not count toward your annual deductible. Still cheap? Consider also that most Wal-Mart employees make under $19K per year.

Wal-Mart has always done everything in it's power to thwart efforts at unionization and this seems to be a conciliatory attempt on the company's behalf; one that wasn't designed with the employee's quality of life in mind.

I really want to believe that I am just being cynical; perhaps Wal-Mart is truly taking a step in the right direction. However, in light of the article this week in the times regarding yet another infamous Wal-Mart memo, I am led to believe that Wal-Mart's motives are not altruistic.

The bottom line is that Wal-Mart is only concerned with their bottom line.


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Sunday, October 09, 2005

"Over the Shoulder, And Over the Top"

"A bag is sort of like a portable house. It represents you."

"For some women, finding the right bag is as important as oxygen."

These two quotes, ripped from the Thursday Styles section of the Times (NY that is) put the whole thing into perspective for me now. And if you're wondering exactly what I'm talking about when I say the "whole thing", feel free to read about my own personal dilemma. It's amazing to me that we live in such a vacuous and superficial society that we would let a fashion accessory define who we are to others. I thought our biggest concern was with encouraging conspicuous consumption in teens, but when an otherwise highly intelligent adult person would choose to spend upwards of $3000.00 on an accessory item that will be outdated faster than their laptop, I have to wonder at the scope of the problem. I think we're setting a bad example for the younger generation. And to those who would spend that much just to look cool to others I would offer this bit of advice: if you want to invest in something that will really make you feel good about yourself, try taking that three grand and slapping it down on tuition for someone who can't afford a college education, let alone such frivolity.


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Tuesday, September 20, 2005

dilemma

I hawk handbags for a living. You know which ones I'm talking about; they have vivid colors and high visibility logos, they have trendy sounding names and cost more than my husband and I spend on groceries in a month.

Many of you may know these accessories simply as purses, (things that most women find vital for the transport of every day personal items) but at the unnamed upscale retail store where I'm employed the entire department I work in is officially called Better Handbags. Why better you might ask? Well certainly because they're "better" than other handbags, or at least that is what the prices on said handbags would lead you to believe.

The quandry that I find myself in is that I'm often forced to sell overpriced handbags--clutches, satchels, wristlets, shoulder bags, crossbodies, totes, hobos, etc.-- to underage girls, against my better judgment. Now I know that there is no legal age at which one can purchase a handbag, but should a 15 year old girl really be buying a $250.00 Dooney & Bourke to use as a book-bag? Certainly, I've met very few teens whose behavior would warrant such extravagant rewards (I know my own never did and I was a good kid).

So, what do I do? I have to sling handbags to help out with the expense of being a full-time college student, and to give my husband and myself a little financial breathing room. What do I do when I faced with the very real possibility that I am promoting conspicuous consumption among the youth of America?

I smile and nod encouragingly...

"Your friends are all going to be so jealous when they see you at school with a Coach. I'm sure you'll be so happy with your new handbag."

I'm certainly going to be happy with my 7 percent commission; at the very least it will help me to silence my conscience.


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