Vacation Songs

Current mood: accomplished

I'm past the half-way point of my nearly three-week vacation from August 1—20. This is the longest stretch of time that I've taken off at once, and I wish it would never end. For the most part I've spent it at home with several trips to Laurel Lake or other local swimming holes. The weather has been pretty perfect with mostly sunshine and low humidity, atypically mild for August in Kentucky.

Timi's sister is staying with us right now, so we also re-watched the entire Six Feet Under series with her. It's amazing how much depth it reveals even a second time around. I still swear it's the best television show ever and true to life and death with all of the bliss and mess that go along with it. Of course we all bawled when it was over, not just because everyone literally dies at the end but also because of the sheer beauty and perfection of its last hurrah.

My vacation officially kicked off with the "Ten-Minute Play Festival" on August 1 as part of the annual Quilt Extravaganza. I was in two of the ten plays, and we rehearsed for the entire month before the performance. It was a great experience to work with Kim again and get to know everyone in all of the plays, though it's a little bittersweet now that it's over and Kim has moved back home to North Carolina.

In the opening play, "Vacation" by Gerry Sheridan (Brooklyn, NY), I played one half of a very neurotic couple struggling to have a good time on vacation and not getting very far physically. The quirks of both characters were amusing, and I thought the play was much more charming in action than when I first read it through. Several actors in the other plays as well as people after the performance told me it was a somewhat familiar scene from their own experience on vacation with their spouses! :)

My second role was in the fourth play in the program, "Songs My Brother Sang" by Myra Slotnick (Provincetown, MA). This play was very emotionally intense as I played a depressed stand-up comedian visiting my dead brother's panel at an AIDS Quilt display and getting progressively drunk throughout the play. The role was sometimes more like a monologue in the sense of an extended conversation with my brother, though Denis Burton was amazing as the fastidious quilt monitor that tries to keep me in check. It was challenging to balance the character's ornery sense of humor and antagonism toward the quilt monitor with her sincere grief for her loss.

Afterward, I received the most feedback for "Songs My Brother Sang." I guess I made a lot of people laugh and cry, which the play ideally invoked. The end is especially heart-wrenching because the character finally breaks down, lets her grief rise to the surface, and leans on the one person who she tries to intimidate and distance herself from. Carol O', among others, came up to me at the end and said, "Tambone, you made me cry!" I laughed and said, "I made me cry too!" It's funny because that part wasn't even that difficult; at the end, she sings part of the song "Being Alive," which inevitably and effortlessly choked me up every time I did it in rehearsal and in the final performance.

I had planned to attend the reception and cast party for the plays that weekend, but I ended up not going (it's hard to leave the holler when I don't have to…). I later learned that "Songs" was selected as both the audience favorite and "Best in Show" by a panel of judges! Plus Denis said that he would be thrilled to work with me again, which was a phenomenal compliment from an amazing actor I admire, and Kim told me I did a great job and encouraged me to keep acting.

I've received so much positive feedback that I feel truly inspired and energized to keep doing it; however, short play festivals are few and far between (especially now that Kim is gone), and I'm hesitant about the time commitment that a full-scale production would entail. But I've got the bug again as well as the support and encouragement to continue, so it seems extremely counter-productive to limit myself. I guess I'll just keep my eyes and heart open to the possibility and see what opportunities present themselves.

That said, I'm helping Bob wrap up the details for the Clear Creek Film Festival at the end of the month, which will probably include a version of "Drink of Water," one of my shorts. Also, my Short Term course proposal was approved for January 2009, so I'll be finalizing my lesson plan for teaching "Acting the Part: Filmmaking and Activism."

All in all, I feel very blessed and grateful for, yes, being alive, and hell yes, for vacation!

[Backposted from MySpace 4/24/07] 

Aqualachian Thespianism

Current mood: relieved

Shortly after participating in the V-Day monologues on campus, I was approached by three different people to consider participating in the plays at the first Rain Barrel Festival on April 26. Yeah I know, 5-minute plays about water conservation don't sound especially glamorous, but I was really psyched that yet another opportunity had fallen in my lap so quickly after resuming my theatrical aspirations.

Ultimately, I ended up being in three of the five plays written by local (women) playwrights and directed by Kim Stinson-Hawn as part of her inaugural unveiling of her Theatre Appalachia group. They were all quite engaging and entertaining, and I had the good fortune to play three different parts that are distinctly different from my personality.  In Kim's "Water Depression," I played "Water" that was flaked out and hopped up on prescription drugs to a "Tree" who was seriously annoyed by my loopy, spacey behavior. (Internally, Beck's song "Nightmare Hippy Girl" kept coming to mind... and believe me, I've encountered plenty of real-life versions to somewhat model this character on...)

In Toby Wilcher's "Matter of Perception," I played one of two snooty society women obsessed with pools, spas, Derby Day, and protecting their neighborhood from radical hippies with solar panels, rain barrels, and organic gardens. Toby's granddaughter Lenore played a contrasting role of a young African woman wandering through our superficial banter in search of a clean river to sustain her family. (Again, I had plenty of working models for this role as well...)

Finally, in Mary Owens' "Leaky Logic," I was one of four caricatured consumers with varying degrees of sustainability savvy: "We Need," "No Problem," "I Need," and "Maybe."  This one was really fun but tough because the banter was so quick and repetitive in a spiraling kind of way. My character, "No Problem" was the quintessential naysayer who doesn't believe that a water crisis exists or requires attention.

I had a great time getting to know some new folks and hanging out with some old faves; but I must admit.... I'm so relieved that Earth Month is finally over!  A month-long marathon of (mostly) successful events on campus has been rewarding, but enough is enough.  I truly love the fact that I got to wear a completely different hat at the Rain Barrel Festival that didn't include MERJ or the College!

So what will be the next dramaturgical endeavor that reveals itself?! There are auditions for the Quilt Extravaganza plays soon, but I heard that the rehearsals for this are pretty arduous even though the plays are only 10 minutes long. Then there's also the Rosebarn Theatre (between Berea and Richmond) and the new Berea Arena Theater to consider, but at this point I don't think I can commit to a serious rehearsal schedule that a full-length production would entail. Last night, C'OB also mentioned something about a play that Mitch is trying to recruit people to audition for, so we'll see what happens. I actually like the way in which the V-Day and RBF opportunities serendipitously presented themselves, so I might just wait for the next act to come to me...

p.s. Actually, now that I think of it, the newest opportunity has perhaps already presented itself in the recent invitation to co-produce the new film festival as part of the annual Clear Creek Music Festival. Much more on this to come in the near future.... Awwwww yeeaahhhh!

 

[Backposted from MySpace 4/29/08] 

Drama Queen Reigns Again!

Current mood: excited

It's been a very long time. I've been yearning for a theatrical outlet since high school (yes, that's over 15 years ago). It's amazing how something that was such a huge and omnipresent part of the first half of my life (performing writ large: singing, dancing, storytelling, acting, etc.), has largely been absent in the latter half of my life. Not entirely absent, but mostly absent of formal opportunities for public performance.

When I was a college freshman, I tried out for several campus productions, and even though I was part of the "alternative" crowd (hippy, artsy-fartsy, drama, queer, et al), it was impossible to break through the impenetrable insularity of the theatre clique. Apparently it discouraged and extinguished any further targeted efforts to participate in the performing arts for well over a decade.

To my credit, my life has never been devoid of creative outlets or artistic expression. Where performance plugs into a public platform for play, I've continued to cultivate more contemplative activities like writing, lettering, and crafts. Our house is also a substantial work of art, and I'd go so far as to say that my activism and community organizing efforts are also a form of public/collective art. Most recently, I have developed an interest and expertise in filmmaking, a medium I find especially enticing.

But now, I finally come back to this love of the formal stage. After pining for it, after actively daydreaming for the past couple of years about various ways I might create this reality, it fell in my lap. And interestingly, it is an amalgamation of my past and present talents and interests... a playful yet serious role-play on behalf of women and their struggle for human rights and bodily integrity.

I suddenly find myself giddy with anticipation, and I can almost taste what I've been missing. I am remembering how it felt to be a kid; how fun it is to wear a different character; how every time I open up my heart, my voice, my gifts, I am pole-vaulting into a cosmic eclipse where vulnerability and invincibility become one and the same.

When I was growing up, my Mamaw was one of my biggest encouragers and mentors. If I was singing in church, performing in a play, telling stories, clogging, she was there. She was my agent, my producer, my role model. I remember watching soap operas with her after school, and she would longingly gaze at the screen and confess that she wished she could've played a part in that daytime drama. It seemed silly to me at the time... a soap opera star, of all things to dream about.

But as I got older, I realized that she was not only serious, but that she was a little sad that she had a dream that she didn't pursue. She found other outlets: playing piano at church and for local civic organizations, writing well over 1,000 songs, painting, writing poetry, gardening; all of which she continues to capitalize on today. She chose to raise a family and serve her community. These were not bad choices, and I certainly benefited from them. She was able to live life on a stage of her own making, but I think she still harbors some sadness at somewhat "settling," not stepping out and soaping the opera.

I'm fortunate to still have my Mamaw in my life; she's still one of my biggest fans and supporters. I'm also fortunate to live in a place like Berea where so many inspiring examples of multiple media and artistic endeavor reside. I'm blessed and grateful to be who and where I am.

And... I'm absolutely thrilled to be included in Berea College's V-Day Campaign events and performances. (Infinite thanks for the opportunity, Courtney... you had no idea, did you?!) I'll be performing the closing monologue "Welcome to the Wetlands" for all of the events (documentary viewings on March 4 & 5, and both performances below), as well as another monologue called "Fur Is Back" by Eve Ensler on March 7. So I ain't wasting no time dipping my toes in the water; I'm diving in heart first.

[Backposted from MySpace 2/5/08]

 

Don't Fear the Feminist

Last week I received a MySpace friend request from "Women's Studies." While I typically don't accept friend requests from people I don't know personally or from non-human profiles (like mags, groups, etc.), I do like to check out who's checking me out and asking for my virtual friendship. And as a Women's Studies major, I thought perhaps this was someone I knew or maybe a group of BC WS alumni.

So I clicked on the icon:



... and lo and behold, it was nothing as comforting as a fellow feminist, but a "feature length horror film currently in post-production ... the story of a pregnant grad student and her friends who are held captive at a women's academy that's actually a cult of feminists bent on the enslavement of men."

I was horrified (clearly the point of a horror movie, but not this film's intended inducement of horror, I'm afraid); but I still mustered enough objectivity to watch the trailer. My horror certainly grew in intensity, but now it was the result of über-cheesiness that actually takes itself way too seriously: "Rather than a typical 'hack & slash' horror movie, it's an intelligent look at groupthink, women's issues, and how blind belief in any one-sided dogma can create a terrorist." Oh, riiiight.....

Then I wondered, who is actually making this film? My suspicion that it was not written or directed by a woman proved correct. Why is the fact that this film was conceived and created by a man so predictable, you may ask? It's a phenomenon I sometimes refer to as "It's still all about men." The short summary is it's a common assumption about feminism that essentially equates it with man-hating (and in this extreme fictional case: enslavement, torture, and murder). I find this premise not so much offensive as simply insulting. I'm a feminist because I hate men? Sorry to break anyone's heart, but men shouldn't flatter themselves. To think that men (even the hatred or abuse of men) is at the center of feminism is still self-congratulatory and egocentric.

Is this film supposed to be scary because "it could really happen"?! The likelihood of this scenario is not outside possibility but definitely probability. A more likely, and perhaps scarier scenario (for most men, anyway) would be a film about women that didn't include men at all: didn't mention, show, or long for one. A really frightening film about feminism might be one in which there was no longer a need for the word or concept because the world it depicted was so much more advanced than our society that real equality were a given and not a question mark.

The ideal that feminism promotes is actually one of inclusion; if it's excluding or harming anyone, it's not feminism. A pithy statement from one of my favorite bumper stickers is: "Feminism is the radical notion that women are people." To take this sentiment further, one of bell hooks' book titles says, and I agree, Feminism Is For Everybody. Thus the goal of feminism is fairness and "free-to-be-you-and-me," regardless of who the "you" or "me" is.
Truth be told, I think "Women's Studies" (the horror film) is more accurately a form of projection, a depiction of one man's sado-masochistic fantasy. So all you gals who fancy yourself a dominatrix looking for a guy who likes to be whipped into shape by a strong woman, Lonnie Martin may be your dreamboat

[Backposted from MySpace 12/19/07]

The Book of Gossipel: Good News Gets Zits

"If you want unverified gossip passed on as truth, it is there. If you want a person's private fault reported as public fact, it is there, too. If you want the most inconsequential nonsense blown up into an earthshaking event, you will find no shortage of it." —Francisco S. Tatad

If you live in a small town like Berea, there is absolutely no shortage of gossip. In fact, whether or not you actively condone or participate in the gossip grapevine, you will likely find yourself knowing way more about other people's business than you even want to know. Perhaps it's unfair to condemn the small town as the only hotbed of rumorous ruin or the most fertile soil for salacious social swindles. I admit that it can exist and proliferate in any tight-knit community, cohort, or collective bound by closeness of proximity and/or endeavor; however, there's a special sort of gossip that germinates in a small town where everyone knows everyone over an extended period of time.

"In a town this size, there's no place to hide/Everywhere you go you meet someone you know/You can't steal a kiss in a place like this/How the rumors do fly in a town this size." —Kieran Kane

Throughout my life, I've been constantly surprised and saddened to learn (again and again) that most people are not as honest and forthright as I am or expect others to be. It's a long-standing naiveté that, in spite of my perennial pessimism about most things, I keep hoping will manifest in consistently open, respectful dialogue about reality rather than rumors. Granted, I cannot claim to be a perfect example of honesty and integrity in every action or aspect of my imperfect human life. But over and over, I am shocked and appalled (not to mention flabbergasted and bumfuzzled) to have my most heinous fear about humanity realized in the overtly obnoxious display of disrespect for the first-person narrative.

"Gossip is a sort of smoke that comes from the dirty tobacco-pipes of those who diffuse it: it proves nothing but the bad taste of the smoker." —George Eliot

Not only do most people talk about things they have no first-hand knowledge about, but they also relish the opportunity to embellish on someone else's uninformed speculations and/or lies. And no one is exempt from being the center of this negative attention. At some point, each of us is a walking "wanted poster" on exhibition like a notice in the local post office for everyone to see and write graffiti upon. As people turn their gaze upon the "representation of you," some are inspired (or possessed?) to write some personal perception or overheard utterance. Somebody else comes along, reads it, and then writes their own opinion about the image (and the cumulative commentary) portrayed. In short order, you have become nothing but a tall-tale written by bored social insomniacs who are far more interested in defaming their neighbors than living their own lives and setting an example of what it means to be a good one (neighbor, that is).

"Whoever gossips to you will gossip about you." —Spanish Proverb

Then, new people come to town thinking that they've found their respite in an "alternative" community that is undoubtedly "enlightened" and above all that pretension and gossip found in other small towns. So depending on who they first meet up or interact with, what invisible faction they enter into, the newbies are quickly indoctrinated into a particular book of the Berea Bible that is built on gossip of the past, some singular Gospel According to Gossip [Insert Name Here]. Oh, and I could insert names; I could wield that power with a heavy hand (or torrential tongue as the metaphor were). And sadly, I have. For a brief period of time when I first came to Berea as a freshman (ahem—teenager), I actively and zealously promoted and participated in the willful manipulation of people's reputations and relationships simply because, for the first time in my life, I actually embodied the social power to influence people's perceptions. But I quickly terminated this hateful hobby upon seeing how devastating, demeaning, and destructive it was to both the victims as well as my own sense of well-being and integrity.

"Gossip is the art of saying nothing in a way that leaves practically nothing unsaid." —Walter Winchell

Of course, I've also been the victim of good-for-nothing gossip, the object of too much talk about naught. In fact, I've even high-tailed it the hell out of this small town (more than once) to escape the scrutiny, speculation, and not-so-savoir-faire of its "all-seeing" eye and loose lips. Small towns are supposedly the epitome of tight-knit community and support, an extended family poised to catch its relatives with open arms should they lose their balance, stumble, or fall. But too often, it's the opposite. At its best, it's a dysfunctional family with all the judgment, guilt, resentment, and jealousy that is commonly referred to as "love." At its worst, it's a pit of vipers (disguised as a safety net) ready to surround and consume the clumsy passerby who trips into the trap. A community, your family is supposedly there to watch your back, but instead it's usually too busy stabbing you in the back to protect it.

"No one gossips about other people's secret virtues." —Bertrand Russell

This interest in or obsession with others' misfortune (or the active manifestation of others' misfortune) unfortunately is not matched with an equal enthusiasm to spread the positive news or praise that some people actually bestow upon others. Given my distaste for ruthlessly relentless gossip-mongering, I now try to embody the compensatory role of what I call "Glenda the Good Gossip." I hear people say plenty about other people, and like I said, it's usually more than what I want to know. I tend to tuck most of it away, give people the benefit of the doubt, and only refer back to some unsolicited forewarning if my own experience finally corroborates it. But on the rare occasion that I hear someone mention what a good friend someone is, how thoughtful someone is, or how proud they are of someone's accomplishments, I make a special point to relay the good news directly to the recipient who might not hear it otherwise.

"Good gossip is just what's going on. Bad gossip is stuff that is salacious, mean and bitchy–the kind most people really enjoy." —Liz Smith

Needless to say, I'm very tired of this seemingly inevitable small-town bullshit and so invite (no, beg) my colleagues, cohorts, companions, and other colorful community characters to call it into question. I also offer a few words to the wise (or the wise guys that think they wise already…):

1. First and foremost, be careful what you say and who you say it to. I've learned through trial and error who I can trust with my innermost world (and they are few) as well as who can't be trusted with even the most innocuous of passing comments unless I'm prepared to have it broadcast throughout Berea. Sadly, you might find that your most willing and compassionate of confidantes is your biggest liability, so pay attention when someone is uber-eager to hear tragic news about anyone or anything.
2. Take anything someone says with a grain of salt—they might be having a hard day and acting a little more negative than usual; they could be acting out vengeance for a personal grudge; or they might be genuinely concerned about someone but basing it on a long conga-line of he-said/she-said as primary evidence.
3. It's okay to say you'd rather not hear it; you have a right to nip it in the bud if you suspect someone's sources or motives are not worthy of your attention. Likewise, consider your own motives and audience when choosing whether or not to pass on some juicy and/or questionable tidbit that has made its way through your auditory canals. Gossip is really hard to undo once it's done, and trust can be destroyed with even a casual statement dispensed with good intentions.
4. Finally, if you have a question or concern about someone, ask them instead of relying on faulty second-hand (or third- or fourth- or otherwise dubiously disremoved) information or seeking stats from someone else behind their back. From a personal standpoint, I'm a big girl, and I'm damnright honest enough to either tell you what's up or tell you that it's none of your business. And if I tell you it's none of your bees-wax, respect me enough to let it be rather than seeking another source to satisfy your insatiable curiosity. Because, you know, it will make its way back to me. 

[Backposted from 6/13/07]

On Ornery

I'm an ornery person, and proudly so. The word "ornery" typically has negative connotations, so lest you judge me for simply being a grumpy-ass bitch, let me explain why I actually bear it as a positive and even honorable descriptor.

I playfully referred to a much-loved waitress in a local restaurant as "ornery" recently, which resulted in a conversation with some friends about the true meaning of orneriness. I stated my understanding of "good ornery" and "bad ornery," and one friend in particular disagreed that there even is such a thing as "good ornery." So I looked it up on my handy-dandy Blackjack in the car, and sadly the Dictionary.com definition supported her mostly negative rendition of the word with a prolific list of unpleasant qualities:

or·ner·y / [awr-nuh-ree]
–adjective, -ner·i·er, -ner·i·est. Dialect.
1. ugly and unpleasant in disposition or temper: No one can get along with my ornery cousin.
2. stubborn: I can't do a thing with that ornery mule.
3. low or vile.
4. inferior or common; ordinary.
[Origin: 1790–1800; contr. of ordinary]
—Synonyms 1. mean, ill-tempered, ill-natured, surly, testy.
Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1)
Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2006
or·ner·y (ôr'n?-re) adj. or·ner·i·er, or·ner·i·est Mean-spirited, disagreeable, and contrary in disposition; cantankerous. [Alteration of ordinary.]
or'ner·i·ness' n.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition Copyright © 2006 by Houghton Mifflin Company.Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

ornery
1816, Amer.Eng. dialectal contraction of ordinary. "Commonplace," hence "of poor quality, coarse, ugly." By c.1860 the sense had evolved to "mean, cantankerous."
Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2001 Douglas Harper

ornery
adjective
having a difficult and contrary disposition; "a cantankerous and venomous-tongued old lady"- Dorothy Sayers [syn: cantankerous]
WordNet® 3.0, © 2006 by Princeton University.

I had just convinced the waitress, a non-native English speaker, that orneriness was an admirable quality, so after reading these various disturbing definitions, I cringed to imagine her looking it up in a dictionary and thinking that I was some sick, self-righteous sadist.

In spite of this negative propaganda against orneriness, I still contend that it can be a positive attribute and argue that the dictionary definition should be revised to include this broader understanding and recognition of alternative cultural uses of the term. Rather than dichotomize it into a dualistic opposition of "good ornery" and "bad ornery" however, I would frame it more in terms of "good-natured" orneriness and "ill-tempered" orneriness.

When I was growing up, ornery was mostly used in the negative sense. If my parents said I was being ornery, they usually meant that I was being stubbornly disobedient. "Ornery" was also frequently used as a synonym for "lazy," which is not documented in a dictionary and ironically supports my own argument that the word has connotations beyond the standard definition. "Ornery" as disagreeable or lazy was also typically applied to support the stereotype of certain classes of people such as "white-trash" or racial minorities.

My understanding of this quality in myself and others has evolved over time to the point that I use the term mostly in the positive sense to indicate my admiration of one's unapologetic self-awareness and tongue-in-cheek critique of taking oneself or others too seriously. I'm not sure when exactly I began to understand that the word "ornery" actually alluded to positive qualities that society classifies negatively in order to suppress individual expression, creativity, and assertiveness; but I believe that it is directly related to its use as a derogatory term to describe individuals and groups that are socially, economically, or otherwise oppressed, underprivileged, and/or deprived of equal access to status and capital. As such, I see orneriness as an almost essential quality for healthy rebellion, activism, and solidarity across seemingly divergent identities.
As an ornery person, I admire this quality in myself and others, and I tend to get along with ornery people. In my search for supporting cultural evidence that good-natured orneriness exists, I stumbled upon a the Ornery American website, which includes a weekly "World Watch" column by Orson Scott Card (an amazing sci-fi author) as well as a detailed explanation of "Who is the Ornery American?" Following are some persuasive excerpts in support of my ornery premise:

The word "ornery" began as "ordinary." In the days when you were either of the"gentle" class or merely "ordinary," parents would say to their stubborn children when they refused to do as they were told, "Don't be so ordin'ry."

On this website, we look for the voices of those Ornery Americans -- the common folk who don't pretend to be intellectuals or elite in any other way, but who are just stubborn enough to think that we ordinary folk are the ones to whom this nation was entrusted from the start.

1. We aren't impressed by your credentials, Dr. This or Senator That. We aren't going to take your word for it, we're going to think it through for ourselves.
2. We don't like being spun. That doesn't mean we aren't sometimes fooled by the way reporters slant their stories, but when we find out how we've been manipulated, we get a little mad and we refuse to trust that writer, commentator, that magazine, that newspaper, that news network, or that politician again.
3. We think America is larger and more important than our self-interest. You can't buy our integrity with a boomtown economy, and we won't let you shame our country just to avoid risking American lives. We Americans have never been afraid to make sacrifices for a worthy cause.
4. We believe that character matters -- our own character, the character of our leaders, and the character of our nation as a whole. We don't like bullies and cowards, liars and hypocrites, and we don't appreciate it when our leaders make our nation behave as if that were what Americans are.
5. We'll forgive your misdeeds, but only if you apologize sincerely and never do it again. Our trust, once betrayed, is not lightly restored.

The Ornery American seems particularly focused on a sort of ornery political sensibility, which I referred to in my own pontification and reconception of the word. But what about the more playful aspects that are essential for well-rounded orneriness? That's where the
Ornery Librarian (whose blog tagline is "…because I am grumpy, like to read, and have too much time on my hands") illuminates the way. For example, the following blog review:

Blog, Entertaining and Witty
Librarian's Guide to Etiquette
Oh, I'll admit it, I loves me some librarian humor. And not even in that ironic way of the hipster. No, I've been known to bust a gut over a good Dewey joke. So, this blog of etiquette tips for librarians is naturally right up my alley. Caustic and clever, the entries have a generous dose of sarcasm. An example:"After interviewing for a library job, it
is customary to send thank you notes to the individual search committee members.
If you suspect that there's a chance you won't get the job and you plan to send
a follow-up voodoo death curse, be sure to collect a strand of hair from each of
the committee members during the interview." (Librarian's Guide to
Etiquette, 12/12/06)
My only complaint is that updates are sporadic. But, its usually worth the wait.bottom line: alarmingly clever librarian humor

If that's not convincing enough, there is also an Ornery Woman blog, whose tagline is: "Women bloggers extending the middle finger to the majority of the world." Ornery Woman is not an individual person but a collective "group of female bloggers whose backgrounds are both in fiction and expository writing. Although we all have varied interests, ethnicities, sexual orientations, and writing styles, we all share something in common: a desire to get a little something off our chests."

Why have I gone so long without realizing that there is clearly a good-natured ornery community of naysayers in response to the naysayers? There are many more good and ornery examples that can be discovered by a simple Google search, many of which are personal musings and manifestos purporting orneriness as a positive attribute. So again I assert, in my good-natured ornery way, that there is ample evidence that the traditional conception of orneriness is worthy of revision.

Therefore, I offer the following definition, which also reflects my primary personal use of the term, as an alternative cultural vision of orneriness in service of the greater good:

ornery adj.
1. irreverent, witty
2. blunt, honest, forthright
3. playful, mischievous, teasing
4. crafty, wily, sneaky

While none of these individual descriptors stand alone as a complete synonym for "ornery," the totality of this vision represents the existence of an ornery disposition that questions authority, acknowledges personal power, and employs prankster (rather than gangster) methods of vigilante justice. So I encourage you to evaluate your own orneriness and whether you use it with good-natured or ill-tempered intentions; observe good-natured orneriness in others and respect it as a viable and valuable social skill; and educate your community about the vast network of ornery do-gooders who epitomize the only real hope for positive change in an ill-tempered world.

[Backposted from MySpace 4/24/07]

Talking Tobacco

Current mood: grateful

I had the distinct pleasure and privilege to drive Winona LaDuke to the airport last night. She was tired and low-key, but we enjoyed discussing the local culture and landscape. She kept pointing out tobacco barns with interest, and I addressed some of the issues related to Kentucky's traditionally tobacco-based agriculture, emerging agricultural trends supported by tobacco-settlement money, and the most recent push in Madison County to ban smoking in all public spaces (including privately-owned businesses).

Obviously, tobacco production has been a mixed blessing for Kentucky.  It's really hard with relatively little economic payback for individual farmers, but it's been the state's number one cash-crop for a long time (if you don't count its nefarious equivalent or horses, both of which are troublesome "agricultural" issues). But this particular monoculture has long been a family tradition in many communities. Because it's backbreaking and unrewarding work, fewer and fewer native Kentuckians want to do it, so the influx of Hispanic migrant workers has changed both the cultural and agricultural landscape of tobacco farming. 

Kentucky also has the highest per capita rate of smokers of any state in the nation. As a smoker, I find this both amusing and disturbing because our narrowly defined agricultural economy has basically enabled what could be viewed as a health epidemic. My personal habit of smoking is not directly related to tobacco farming per se, but I grew up with a smoker and my grandparents leased their tobacco base to other farmers. So it's always been a fixture in my life. My mother also blessed me with an awareness that tobacco is a traditional Native American plant used as a sacred herb for ritual and relationships. While my recent resumption of the smoking habit was stress-related, I am a keen observer of my habit, try to use it in conscious moderation, and view it as an important ritual in my life.

So is tobacco a blessing or a curse for Kentucky? I see so much elitism in the dispersement of tobacco settlement money for projects that will impact so few of the truly rural family farmers. For example, how many people in Eastern Kentucky or other rural communities will actually benefit from vineyards as alternative agriculture? Both the producing and consuming beneficiaries of this trend are predominantly affluent people. I love what "Acres of Land" is doing with their wine and local food production and restaurant, but I'm privileged enough to enjoy the fruits of their privileged labor.

It's also frustrating for me to see tobacco demonized socially when it's roots are so sacred. The fact that the Madison County Board of Health has taken it upon themselves to mandate a smoking ban within 25 feet of any entrance to a public building seems like fascism to me. I don't mind if a business owner wants to create a non-smoking establishment, and I will gladly oblige this restriction. But I think it should be likewise the prerogative of a business-owner to allow smoking if they choose.

During a recent smoke break at work, I was expounding upon the actual health benefits of smoking. First of all, we take the breaks we're given. So few people actually take their legally-sanctioned work breaks, and smoking seems to legitimate it to a certain degree. Ironically, we also get a lot more fresh air and exercise than our non-smoking colleagues during the work day. And perhaps most rewarding for me personally is the ritual that we share and the resulting morale boost we receive from this simple interaction.

Ultimately, tobacco is a topic that is discussed widely on the public front, but this discourse is primarily limited to defining it as a health risk for individuals and an economic liability for the Commonwealth. There is a much more comprehensive and creative conversation to be had, and I was fortunate to share some of my multivalent thoughts with Winona LaDuke.

Our discussion was much more abbreviated than what I've articulated here; however, as a result of our discussion, she pulled out a pouch of American Spirit tobacco and said, "I'm a tobacco user, too; I just don't smoke it." And she took out small handful, cupped it in her palm, and whispered a blessing over it. Then, she rolled down the window and threw the shreds of tobacco into the wind, smiled, and said, "There."

Aho...

[Backposted from MySpace 3/16/07]