My Mother and I stood on Bourbon Street taking that last longing look.
Bourbon was nearly deserted-the tourists long gone.
Only we, the disparate & hungry children of this place, remained. We had either no place to go or those places were long abandoned.
It was late November, family crisis called-and like Tilden in The Buried Child-we were pulled inexorably back to the very place we had run away from, driven as it were, by haunted love, loneliness and a need for closure.
We went to a corner bar-name unimportant-to say good-bye to a friend, Bob.
He asked me why we were leaving New Orleans.I told him that I was made an offer “I could refuse” which basically came down to bellying up to the powers that be & start paying for protection.
Meaning well…offering the “girlfriend experience” for job security.
Bob dished out a couple plates of red beans & rice for us. Reaching into a loaf of white bread he asked if he could help.
He leaned over and looking into my Mother’s eyes he said he can talk to his boss and see if he could get me a job there where I’d be safe.
I looked his eyes and asked:”what do you think I should do?”
Bob peered from under his hat & looked right into my eyes and said:”Run along, little señorita, before you get hurt.”
Was he talking about the Quarter or him that I should be so warned.
He walked over to the juke box and put some money in.
He turned to me and said:”Let’s have that dance we talked about.”
I began to cry when I heard the first notes of “Teacher.”
George Michael.
I have nothing more to add right now.
And yes, this is a true story.
All posts by sharonrose0110
Demographic Co-horts
In his memoir A Movable Feast, Hemingway wrote: “I thought of Miss Stein and Sherwood Anderson and egotism and mental laziness versus discipline and I thought ‘who is calling who a lost generation?’
Put the quote to the side a minute. You’ll make your own conclusions of relevance later.
Years ago, I self-published a book of poems called: Another Lost Generation.
In my innocence, I was inspired by Ernest Hemingway. I read his work and was especially galvanized by A Movable Feast. That youthful desire to seek a new language, a new country resonated with me.
I knew ennui…I felt directionless…as if I too were tossed out into the world after a war.
Generation X has been ascribed to starting somewhere between the early-to-mid-sixties.
But I wasn’t alive when Kennedy was assassinated.
Though I appreciate Camelot and its mythos-it’s not my mythos. And I don’t feel as it is a mythos that belongs to my peers.
However, as much as I do recognize the Kennedy Assassination as a historical turning point, it seems to me more of a dividing line.
Not so much as the “Have and Have Nots” but the “Whens and When Nots.”
While I was still struggling with Hemingway, Donald Coupland was finding the language that would elucidate our collective experience.
I imagine him fumbling to find that new language that could best describe this strange and wonderous landscape that we were born to.
We were the first generation of Latch-key Children.
We were the inheritors of Altamont, Patty Hearst, The Manson Family, Vietnam and Watergate.
Daisies, beads and bell-bottoms were not part of our truer inheritance.
Though many of us co-opted the 60s-it left us bereft. We were truly “Rebels Without a Cause.”
Our ideologies were not as easily put into the back of a closet like thrift store maxi-dresses.
We had no where to take our ideals. No exchange or co-op for our ideas.
It was inertia that caused us to be “slackers”-not laziness.
And it was in this environment that fomented our desire to not be assholes.
We were the first generation to come out of the closets and basements of America.
We were the first generation to explore alternative lifestyles on a mass scale.
We were televised across thirty-five channels, coast to coast and in living color.
By the time MTV and HBO rolled around, Camelot was but a dream, dreamnt by another, and lost in a fog.
Our generation couldn’t see our way out of the utter meaninglessness of a society that gained its strength by subjugating those who were different. Or weaker. We questioned that cultural rhetoric.
That’s why I don’t get this media battle between Generation X and the Millennials.
A contrivance that is perpetuated by the media.
It was the collusion between the Baby Boomers and Generation X that created the dialogue of understanding. We were the co-parents of films like Heathers and The Breakfast Club.
Because the 80s were about trying to slough off those skins that didn’t feel right.
That belonged to another time and place…trying to reconcile our desire to be our authentic selves against what was comfortable, safe and and suffocating.
We were two generations that wanted to celebrate our innocence while trashing cultural norms.
That’s why this hate directed at “Millennials” is mind-blowing at best.
Across the internet, people are divided by so much but nothing more heinous then by our own desire for idealogical blood-lust.
Someone, put in the hands of many, the tools to destroy, humiliate and criticize.
And thus to divide.
We greedily sup on false news and click-and-bait sites that are a recipe for disaster.
We know we have been told not to trust these things but we are addicted to the copypasta of guilt trips and shaming. We don’t grasp that our addiction to clicking is inherently connected to that part of our brain that likes to party.
And because of our ignorance, my generation is trapped in a malevolent game of Simon Says.
Sit down. Stand up. Kneel. Stand. Hand on heart. Fist in air. Call to action. Tear it down. Build it up. Share it. A conflagration of misused memes and jumbled GIFS.
We confuse terms like “snowflakes” and “Millennials” because we forgot their context. We let our fingers to do our thinking for us as they click-click away.
It’s not enough that we have Antifa and Neo-Nazis to deal with-we have to fear the Millennials as well.
Perhaps, we were being trolled by The Rebels without a Cause. The In-between Generation. Not quite a part of the Greatest Generation but not really a Baby Boomer.
I have long harbored a fantasy that the self-identified Gen Xers I talk with are actually embittered old men that have somehow learned to use the internet. Those children who just missed World War Two but were too old to really turn on, tune in and drop out
Everybody forgot about those guys and boy, are they pissed.
Maybe, the Silent Generation isn’t so silent anymore?
It would explain a lot wouldn’t it?
Gen Xers have told me how they had to fight against the older generation’s narrow-minded ideologies. How their hopes and dreams of success were bitch-slapped by the ghosts of Patton and Westmoreland. And how Baby Boomers used them as stepping stones on the way to the top.
They see Millennials as expecting to be treated like superstars.
They tell me how they are a privileged and pampered generation that just doesn’t understand what it takes to “make it.”
One person told me that the kids have to learn to “pull themselves up by their own bootstraps.”
They have to learn to take “take their licks” just like their generation had to.
They also told me that Millennials expected to be handed promotions, decent pay and “pats on their backs without “paying their dues” first?
I hear their argument but at the same time, I wonder to myself who procreated these monsters?
From whence did they come from? What alien species spewed them from unknown wombs?
Are they indeed the “rough beasts slouching their way to Bethlehem?”
We are on the precipice of a Renaissance of sorts. Or Revolution. Your choice.
The consensus is challenging old ideas. Our workplaces are becoming more diverse. Our homes redefining gender and social norms. We are more technologically advanced then we have ever been.
As a collective we were embracing-not just “how things are done” but “who does them.”
I don’t want to argue about dwindling resources. How our generation is being squeezed out by old people who won’t retire and a younger generation that is getting too hungry.
How our aging parents and aging children both sucked at the dried-out tit of our meager savings.
Because those things shouldn’t define our worldview or control our dialogue.
We have the power to hijack the story of our lives-and we should.
We have the power to say no to any internet rhetoric that is sexist, ageist, homophobic and racist.
We really don’t have to be that person… that person who is paternalistic and smacking of Colonialism.
We can take back-not our streets-but our internet. By doing this we get to be the authors of our own story once again.
I have no problem with having been a “slacker.” Whatever that entailed and still entails.
I’ll own it. I may not have ended up on the New York Times Best Seller List but I value my career now and I love what I’ve accomplished.
I deeply value my friends, family and my commitment to my community.
But more than that I find deeper consolation in the fact that I am not as asshole.
Renaissance or revolution? Your choice. Or we can all just blend into The Collective and let others inform our decisions.
Because that’s what’s happening, people. The old Divide and Rule.
So, Generation X, shut the f*ck up and grow a pair.
Here’s a goddamn daisy.
Share this:
Rittenhouse Park Wall Police
I admit fully to having issue with getting link to work. But after I read this great article by Jeff Chirico I had to share it.
I won’t embarrass myself by paraphrasing Jeff’s articulate words but suffice it to say that he voiced what some of us have noted recently.
There seemed to be an up-tick in police presence in Rittenhouse Square.
Now many of you will be saying to yourself that there has been an increase in violence in the park this past year and that is why the park security has increased.
But is it the park that is the real issue?
Hasn’t violence been increasing city-wide?
“Historic walls” aside young and old have been have been sitting on these walls and hanging out for generations-and the walls have held up fine.
There seems to be a contingent of minority students that come from local schools there and according to a friend there has been sanctions against the kids breakdancing.
But magic tricks are ok?
Am I reading into this?
Funny. The park authorities don’t seem to have an issue with the homeless napping on the benches for hours, people begging for food, foraging in the trash and defecating in the pristine landscape. But breakdancers?
And they have an issue with office workers eating lunch, hipsters playing guitars, and students relaxing because they sit on the “hallowed walls.”
Yes, there has been violence increase but thats just endemic of a larger issue.
Think New Orleans in the nineties. I was there.
I see the park as a microcosm of gentrification issues throughout the city.
The walls are the first step. What’s next?
This isn’t going to get better unless we seek solutions that embrace inclusion.
And just not for Nannies.
What are your thought?
Share this:
Being Gentri-fried
My dilemma…being part and parcel of gentrifying a neighborhood or allowing an economic turn take place and improve my personal life. Why can’t we do both?
Without going into any great detail-right now-I grew up in a neighborhood that got gentryfied later as I grew up. I have seen the good and the bad of the issue.
I like small craft breweries, coffee houses and small eclectic shops. I like small businesses and I like everyone being on the same page as to what kind of community we want to live in. But I also work for a large corporation. I love that we can offer employment opportunities and a greater variety of products and services.
And I lived in a neighborhood that offered a variety of businesses.
It was called Mt. Airy. And though we didn’t have craft beer and wi-fi we did have local bars that served local beer and where you could find small thriving businesses and still have access to Sears and K-Marts.
Here you could find poor welfare blacks, middle-class blacks, irish catholics, italaian-americans, college professors and musicians.
We all had access to had access to nice shops, art galleries and restaurants.
And a good education.
So why can’t we do this nowadays? Here is North Philadelphia.
My family has owned property in the Harrowgate and Fishtown area for nearly a century.
I would like to see to see an economically and culturally diverse community thrive in this area.
When I think that the city uses tax abatement and voting district manipulations to push out poor or disenfranchised voters, it get me a little fired up.
How about we take opportunities to build a more secure financial future for all of us.
Any ideas?
Share this:
The Locker Room
It is a sound business philosophy to allow that one’s successes are a team effort. The old “I couldn’t have done this without…”
You fill in the blanks.
After all, there is no ‘I’ in TEAM.
But…there is a “ME.” And the ME is the one that gets the blame when there is a mistake.
But from my experience~as a manager and an associate~one’s successes are a team effort but so often are one’s failures.
I’m all for taking ownership of errors and part of owning errors is fixing them and seeing the project through to completion.
But one shouldn’t need a spanking, verbal abuse or demoralizing treatment to check a behavior. Behaviors are not people.
And sometimes, stuff just happens.
It’s a waste of valuable resources to demoralize someone especially, when time can be put to better use actually fixing the issue.
As we used to ask when a mistake was made:
Was the error done in good faith?
Did the person who made the mistake have the client-customer-team’s best interest at heart and it was “just a mistake?”
If a mistake is made~then we should see this as an opportunity to find out why.
Is management effectively communicating expectations? Is there training needed? Are there conflicting directives that might be interfering with getting the projects done?
Are all parties providing the correct information at the most effective time?
Success is a collaborative venture. It has to be if you have created and managed your team well.
In the past, I have seen a locker room mentality~primarily cultivated by some management teams~that earnestly believe that it’s a helpful and successful model.
It’s even espoused on some LinkedIn blogs by really successful, really winning people.
But it’s a philosophy that can create a culture in a retail environment that can have serious pitfalls.
I’m fine with the slapping of backs and rough language~I’m a big girl. I cut my teeth on a construction crew working as a Sheetrock Woman.
(Notice there are no ironic quotation marks here.)
But not all women~or men for that matter~are okay with it. It’s exclusive. But in a bad way.
So the guys shouldn’t get frustrated when a woman gets a little teary or worse~noticeably upset~if you call her out in front of her peers.
She~and sometimes even he~is not a football player~despite the fact that management wants to make them to “feel” as if they are.
Hey, I get the Tony Dungy references & the hardline on expectations. I understand the goal & I understand what’s at stake but your average retail sales associate didn’t expect to be joining a football team when they signed onto their company.
Hopefully, they are being paid well as an incentive but that company also, expects the employee to be able to gracefully withstand verbal abuse from strangers while talking about a myriad of subjects.
It’s akin to asking a football player to let fans stand 3 ft from them while yelling & raising their hands while he explains to them how to embroider, throw a curve ball & clean a carburetor~at the same time.
And that football team metaphor doesn’t cut it when the safety has called out, the running back is boning for bucks in the break room, and the second team is light due to cutbacks in payroll.
Welcome to Retail.
It’s a challenging and rewarding career…
But it’s still not a football team.
Paying employees well doesn’t give you the right to use football metaphors to demoralize or instill an atmosphere of fear:
“Ah, jeez, you don’t want to be cut from the team do you?”
“For what we pay you…”
And before you say it…just because someone (male or female) might not tolerate a locker room culture that doesn’t mean that person shouldn’t be given a spot on your Winning Team.
Because they are a retail associate~not a football player.
And sometimes, this valued employee, is a woman. And though there are women who aren’t fazed by the “hardline” there are some who are.
I was actually one of the woman who, in the past, wasn’t fazed by sport metaphors…But then I learned something.
You know what that was?
It had to do with the expectation of professional respect.
If I didn’t get it…
I learned that when I pushed back~I got hit harder than my male peers.
And when I got back up & “took it like (a man)” I was deemed “condescending” & perceived as “someone with an attitude.”
And my male peers? All they would get was a snort of admiration & a slap on the back.
So no…I am not a football player because the rules…are not applied equally or fairly.
And so next time when you see a woman’s face turn pink or they get a little teary when they are being called out remember this:
You are not playing fair.
You have essentially told that woman that
The Locker Room has a sign on it and it says:
“No Girls Allowed!”
And she knows it.
Share this:
Brock Turner
And yes, I wanted to say: The Transcendental Cowgirl Takes on Brock Turner but I backed out…because I can’t. I am yet another woman reading about~yet~another incident involving the victimization of yet another woman. I almost want to say “girl” because I see young woman as “girls” because I understand how long the journey is~up that long and arduous road towards self-becoming.
And my heartache is that it doesn’t seem to be getting better. Why are woman still suffering globally. Why are we still battling against stereotyping, degradation and violence. I don’t even want to use question marks~because they seem to invite discussion and debate~where there should be none.
I put off reading the Brock Turner Victim’s letter. I’d rather fight my own dragons and demons(of which there are many.) My resources are getting thin. I have to be well-equipped for the next leg of my journey.
But then~I think~I need to throw up flares and flags~something~ to warn my sisters of what is to come around the next turn in the road. It doesn’t get any easier. Whatever.
I am what my Mother used to call a Feminarian. She didn’t embrace the Feminist term~she wanted something new. Then I heard the phrase Feminista. I pictured in my head camp-followers and woman soldiers during various revolutions. Yeah, complete with the bandolier. Ready for Action Janet Jackson. But it’s not reality. I am not that strong~most of the time. I destroy my self daily with self-recrimination, self-doubt and guilt for not standing up when I really want to. Even in my most personal relationships. And this is the tricky part.
In work situations in the past, I have found myself dumbfounded when approached in an inappropriate way by clients or managers. I was cowed while being coached regarding an error or concern. I was fearful that I would lose my job when I spoke my mind or offered polite resistance. I tried different techniques~I have a bag of tricks~this man wants me to be feisty and to take control. This man wants me to degrade me~wants me off the forklift and back in the kitchen. This man wants me to not be “emotional” and more like him. This is unending. I have lost myself in all the tricks~the survival strategies and coping mechanisms.
Currently, I work with amazing men and woman. I feel respected and appreciated. But I also know that the tide can change. In the proverbial heartbeat.
I have not even brought how this Wonder Woman dichotomy materializes in our intimate and personal lives. This is the scary part. Even the strongest of woman can be vulnerable. We make wrong decisions~or choose the wrong choice based on incorrect or too little information. We think people have our back or we can be strong and intelligent enough to avoid a danger. But it’s not the reality. The truth is~it doesn’t matter. At thirteen I had a really scary thing happen to me. I thought I knew better because I had watched those movies and shows that clearly showed what was going to happen. But I felt powerless to stop it from occurring. And the powerful thing here is that~the onus is not on the woman~or let’s be honest here~on anyone who is violated~man or woman. The onus is on a society that allows, perpetuates and reinforces the victimization of vulnerable people.
Now, we have monsters roaming the malls, museums and supermarkets grabbing unsuspecting woman and girls and dragging them off like a cartoon caveman.
I don’t know what to say. I read the Brock Turner Victim’s Letter and am blown away by her eloquence. Next, I will steel myself to watch Vice-President Biden’s reading of it. That’s all.
