Those Who Save Us - Jenna Blum

Watching Portugal play Germany in the UEFA EURO tournament last week, I admit I was disappointed. Not only that Portugal lost. (I am never allowed to mock the fiancé’s yelling at sporting events again) But because half way through the game when German fans erupted into a repeated chant of “Clap Clap Clapclapcalp Clap Clap Clap Clap Deutschland!” my first thought was, “well that’s not something you want to see.”  

See, the sight and sound of thousands of Germans whelping with national pride sent a shiver down my spine. And it took me longer than I like to admit to remind myself that just like I was sitting in my living room rooting for my home country (or at least my family’s) , so these German fans had every right to stand and cheer for theirs.

It’s a sign of a good book when you find yourself thinking about it later. Just a few days before the Portugal/Germany game, I had finished reading Those Who Save Us by Jenna Blum. And when I realized I was being a sore loser and completely irrational, I started thinking about the questions Blum deals with in her book.  

I can’t even put together the words to describe how horrific and disgusting the holocaust was. Anyone with a heart knows that what happened across Germany during WWII was terrible. When I hear survivor stories I am heartbroken at the thought of all the lives lost for no understandable reason.

What I haven’t often thought about, and what Blum addresses so beautifully, is what it must have been like to be a German during the war. And after. Her story focuses on mother and daughter Anna and Trudy. Trudy, a professor of German studies has spent most of her life trying to understand the war in an attempt to understand her mother. Anna on the other hand, has refused to discuss her experiences, preferring to leave the past in its place –tucked away and hopefully forgotten.

The novel transitions between Anna’s story, spanning 1939-1944, and Trudy’s mid-1990’s research into the lives of German women during the war. It’s easy from our comfortable modern point of view to admonish women like Anna. But when you really think about it, what were average German’s supposed to do in the face of the massive machine that was the Nazi party? At what point does the individual become responsible for the actions of their government? And how accountable is one person for the actions of others? Are we expected as citizens to blindly follow our leaders, or is it our duty to stand and fight when we don’t agree with their policies? Do we really expect people to sacrifice themselves and their families in the name of ideals? To put themselves in front of a loaded gun and say, “Stop” when they see injustice?

It is these questions that Blum asks through Anna’s story. The choices she, and millions of real women like her, made in order to keep themselves alive were difficult ones. Knowing the risks, knowing you would be put to death, would you hide a Jewish family? Give them food? Or would you turn away, swallow your guilt in order to save yourself and your children? Would you allow yourself to become the lover of a high ranking Nazi if it meant food on the table? Or would you keep your pride but starve?

I pass no judgment here. Thankfully I haven’t had to make those choices in my own life. And while it’s nice to assume you would be brave enough to stand up and fight, the reality is you never know what you are, or are not, capable of.

Its complicated stuff Jenna Blum deals with in Those Who Save Us. There are no clear right or wrong answers to the questions she brings up. What she does is make us think, make us put ourselves in Anna’s shoes and realize that judging another’s choices is easier than making our own.

Jeneration X - Jen Lancaster

I’ve never really been sure what generation I am a part of. I grew up hearing about “Generation X” but always felt too young to be a part of it. And now, when people talk about “Generation Y”, I feel way too old. According to most descriptions, I was born right on the edge, smack dab in the middle. I see parts of myself in both, but really don’t belong to either one. Story of my life, really.

None of this really matters in the grand scheme of things. I mean, it’s not like I am filling out job applications and selecting my generation along with my gender and ethnic background. But when you look at the world, it’s hard to ignore that there is a definite shift in how Gen X and Gen Y think. I mean, this girl? Obviously a Millennial.

You all know my now that I have an undying love for Jennifer Lancaster. So I’ve been anxiously watching out for her latest book, Jeneration X. I was a little scared going in though. See, as much as I love her funny and irreverent outlook, she’s also way more conservative, and a tab bit older, than I am. So when it comes to telling people how to be an adult, I was afraid we might have some major disagreements. I was afraid that I would go all Gen Y and tell her Gen X ass to get off her high horse and cut us some slack.

What I found out though, is that my friend who always tells me that I am not as liberal as I like to 

think I am, might have a point. Wrapped up in hilarious essays about the dangers of the skirted swimsuit, the terrifying reality of estate planning, the harsh mockery of the Wii Fit,  and one gross pool filled with dead tadpoles, Jeneration X is basically a call for all us 20-30somethings to get it together and grow the hell up.

According to Lancaster, being an adult is about knowing when to say screw it to your shit-tastic apartment to buy a house in the suburbs. About realizing that you can’t party like a 21 year old anymore, no matter how cool you still think you are. About being responsible for yourself and your actions, even if those actions include spying on your neighbors and seeing way more than you bargained for. And most importantly, about getting off your lazy ass and realizing that if you want something in this world – you have to actually work for it, not just pout and frown and wait for mommy and daddy or someone else to tell you you are special and hand you what you want.

Reading about Lancaster’s journey into adulthood, you can’t help but reflect on your own. At least I did. Watching her face her own milestones of adulthood, I couldn’t help but think of the ones I’ve hit so far, and the ones yet to come.  I might have not laughed as hard this time around – I mean, I love Jen and she cracks me up, but somehow this time I was a little less moved to uncontrollable laughter -  but I walked away feeling a little better about my own emerging adulthood.

The Satanic Verses - Salman Rushdie

There is a part of me that has a very very hard time not finishing a book. It’s the same part that also has a hard time throwing things away. You should see the big ‘ol tub of high school memorabilia I have sitting in the garage, not to mention the stack of clothes in the upper reaches of my closet that might fit again someday. Point is, I try to stick with books and see them through to the end, no matter how painful.

Except this time. According to the receipt/bookmark I found about 100 pages into The Satanic Verses By Salman Rushdie, I started reading it back in December of 2009. If my math is correct, that means right after my first semester of grad school. So I can get away with saying I didn’t finish it then because I already had a hectic reading schedule and could not fit in “just because” books.

The fact is though that then, just like now, I got bored.  This is the highbrow, super dense, thought provoking stuff I am supposed to love. This is what English classrooms are made for and made of. All sorts of parallel story lines, complex characters, symbolism, complicated imagery, dreams, questions about what’s true, what’s pretend and what’s the difference.  It’s English major catnip.

And while I do love a book that deals with life’s big questions, I can only take so much. And Rushdie packs his books with a lot. Too much for me.Too many shifts in perspective. Too many shifts in character. Too many dreams within dreams to the point where you have no idea who is where or what.

Problem is, I’m not an existentialist.  I don’t spend my days struggling to define good and evil. I don’t spend nights lying away wondering about who god is or if he’s out there at all.  I have more practical things to think about, like paying rent, figuring out how to save for retirement, and how to stop my nail polish from chipping. So when it comes to my reading material; it’s not that I am vapid, I just don’t want a book to make my head spin in an attempt to get me to think. I do that on my own just fine.  

So as guilty as I feel admitting it, I am giving up. Tapping out. Waving the white flag. Quitting. Throwing in the towel. I just can’t do it.

Miss Representation - A Scary Reality Check Everyone Needs to See

A while back I heard about this documentary Miss Representation  written and directed by Jennifer Siebel Newsom. Her husband, Gavin Newsom (yeah, thatGavin), was on the radio and talked about this project that his wife was working on. It sounded interesting, so I set my DVR to find and record it. It’s been sitting there for months, and I finally got around to watching it today. Actually, I am watching it right now. Half way through and I am already fired up enough to grab my laptop and start ranting.

I know I’ve probably turned you off by using the word documentary, which usually makes people run screaming. But believe me, this is no stuffy boring academic tome. It’s a vivid look at the way women in our society have been treated by the news, movies, television, advertising, and our government. So essentially, how we treat ourselves and each other.

It should be pretty obvious from the things I read and talk about on this blog that I have some strong opinions about the way women are treated in our culture. As much as we say that things are “getting better” for women, anyone with a TV, internet connection, video game console, or movie ticket can see that women are still treated differently - sexualized, objectified, ridiculed –by the media.

Actually, hold on. I’ve always hated that term. Blanketly blaming “the media” always seemed like a cop out. I never thought of the media as some independent entity out there creating magazines and newspapers. We, the people that write and consume these stories make up the media. So when we blame the media for the way it treats women, really we are blaming ourselves as a culture and society for allowing it to happen. But after watching Miss Representation I am inclined to change my mind.

Using interviews with some of our culture’s most influential and powerful women; Katie Couric, Nancy Pelosi, Condoleezza Rice, Dianne Feinstein, to name a few, it gives us a look at the way women have had to overcome sexism in all facets of their lives. There are also some terrifying statistics that paint a picture of how the media sees and treats women.   Of how the men we elect to represent us often ignore the things that matter to woman. How advertisers cater to male tastes and desires, using women’s bodies to sell beer and cars. How news outlets focus more on female politician’s fashion than their politics.  And how young girls are growing up and learning that the most they should aspire to be is a pretty face on a reality show.

Before I get a barrage of “hey what about the guys?!” let me say that Miss Representation does address how the media affects our young men. The flip side of the message is that boys should be strong, should be masculine, should be successful and see themselves as failures if they do not live up to the stereotype. But, as much as I agree that they have it rough too, I would much rather grow up with the pressure of being the hero than the damsel in distress.

Miss Representation is a fascinating, if not somewhat depressing, reality check. I think anyone with daughters, nieces, sisters, students, should watch it. Should share it with the young girls and women they know. The only way we as a society can start working to make changes, is to understand what’s happening. So go find a screening –look here for info – or host one if you can. Buy the DVD and show it to every young girl, and boy, you know. Teachers, use it in your classrooms if you can.(And no, I don't work there, don't have a horse in this race, just think it's worth the time and money.)

Seriously, find a way to watch it. You’ll walk away with a whole new perspective of the world we live in.

Everyone's got an opinion... here's mine on Obama's big announcement

Ok. So, believe it or not, I do try to not be very political here. I’m fully aware of the fact that opinions are like assholes, everyone has one and thinks theirs is the prettiest shiniest most special one. Usually when something in the news strikes a nerve, I get all in a tizzy and gear up for what my sister calls a rant. I eventually calm myself down though, and remember that with the crazy state of our world, adding my voice to the fray won’t help the cause. But sometimes it’s hard to keep my mouth shut. Especially when it comes to things I’m passionate about.

Things like gay marriage. Of course, you’re all aware by now that our president, Barack Obama,
made a pretty historic announcement this week. And while I am not naïve enough to ignore the timing of his announcement considering the recent vote in North Carolina, and the super convenient timing of the “discovery” that Mitt Romeny was apparently a teenage bully, I still think it’s a pretty ballsy move.

So it’s not really things like this and this and this that have me fired up. I expect reactions like that from a segment of the population. Again – opinions and assholes.

What has me fired up is that gay marriage is an issue at all.

I’ve talked about this with a lot of people over the years, and I am constantly astonished by how some people don’t see their own ignorance and bigotry when they try to defend their anti-gay marriage stance. They say things like “Can’t they be happy with domestic partnerships?” and don’t realized that that’s the same as saying “Can’t women be happy with being paid a fraction of what a man makes?” or “Why can’t black people be happy with their own bathrooms?” Funny, I thought we all agreed that separate is not equal a while ago.

Let me illustrate my point with a little story.

A few years ago I was at a friend’s wedding, sitting at a table with my parents and some of their friends. Conversation turned to my parents, who back in the 70’s bucked tradition and pissed off their parents by foregoing a church ceremony and simply getting married in court. One lady at the table, in her old school way of thinking, asserted that since they didn’t have a church wedding, my parents weren’t really married. My mother, bless her patience, tried to make things clear to her by pointing to the couple we were celebrating.

 “Look at Jack and Jill” she said. “Before they had their church wedding today, they had to go to court and get a marriage license, right?”

“yeah…” confused lady admitted.

“Ok, so if they had to go to court to get a marriage license, that is what makes their marriage legal and valid. This church wedding is a religious ceremony, but it does not make their marriage valid to the government.”

“Oh, so you’re saying Jack and Jill are married twice?” Confused lady did not get it.

Listen, I’m not trying to bash anyone’s religious beliefs here. I fully respect your right to believe and worship however you want as long as you are not shoving your religion down my throat or hurting anyone else.I even sort of respect a church's right to not perform a marriage ceremony for a gay couple, as icky as that is.

But the facts are that as a country, we have decided that marriage is regulated by the government. And our government does not discriminate. Therefore, basic logic dictates that if marriage is something regulated by the government, the government can’t discriminate by deciding who can and can’t get married.

I don’t understand why that is such a hard concept for people to grasp.

Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet - Jamie Ford

I’d be surprised if anyone who grew up in California (like I did) isn’t at least somewhat familiar with the (crazy bigoted racist horribly stupid) Japanese American internment camps the U.S. government established during WWII. I assume it’s part of history classes across the country (at least I hope it is), but here in California, with our multi-ethnic pride and proximity to Japan,  not to mention that most of this happened here, I have a feeling we spend more time on the subject than most.

I remember the feelings of confusion, shame, anger, and revulsion I felt when the reality of what happened clicked for me. As I sat in class listening to my teacher explain this piece of our national history, I felt sick. A lot of those feelings came rushing back as I read Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford. Years later,  I still don’t understand how our country - one that prides itself on being a “melting pot”, that was founded by immigrants, that claimed to have open arms for all - rounded up thousands of innocent people, took their homes and property and forced them to live like animals. All because of where they came from.

Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet centers on Chinese-American Henry Lee and how his personal history becomes intertwined with the Japanese American internment. Ford tells two stories really; the story of Henry’s childhood in Seattle watching his neighborhood ripped apart by the fear and racism that hit after Perl Harbor, and the story of adult Henry in the late 1980’s dealing with the death of his wife and a sudden reemergence of his past.

Ford gives us a new perspective on this time in our collective past. Henry stands on the outside watching history unfold around him. With the “I am Chinese” pin his father forces him to wear, Henry feels both safe and guilty as he watches his neighbors forced from their homes. Through Henry, we understand what it was like to stand by and watch injustice happen. You want to speak up, but know you’ll only put yourself at risk – and honestly, who among us has the courage to do that? Torn between wanting to protect his family and wanting to right the wrongs he witnesses, we watch Henry come to grips with his role in history. Luckily, Henry is able to capture the pieces of his lost past in the end.  

Reading Ford’s story today, it’s pretty impossible to not think about how easily something like this could happen again. Ten years after 9/11 a lot of Americans are still fearful of anyone who even remotely looks like they are from the middle-east. Fear can make people do a lot of stupid things. I just hope that stories like Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet make their way into the right hands. That reading stories like this one help us learn from our mistakes and prevent injustice from happening again.

You Can't Drink All Day If You Don't Start in the Mornin' ~ Celia Rivenbark

You know those goofy ice breaker questions people ask at corporate events? Things like “If you were stranded on an island, what three items would you want with you?” and “If you could be any ice cream flavor, what would you be?” My favorite though, is always, “If you could have a dinner party with anyone, living or dead, who would you invite?” It’s my favorite because most people try to do the ass-kissy thing and rattle off names like Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Abraham Lincoln, Shakespeare, some long lost great-great-grandparent, or even Jesus. I assume they think this makes them sound intellectual; the equivalent of a beauty queen claiming that her biggest wish is world peace. Typically, this is when I’m rolling my eyes.

As with most things, my answer to this question is usually…askew…from most. My fictional dead-or-alive dinner party would include people like Lucille Ball, Chelsea Handler, Tina Fey, Joan Rivers, Jen Lancaster, Fannie Flagg, Erma Bombeck…basically a rotating list of funny women. I can only imagine the ab workout I’d walk away with after a vodka soaked evening with these ladies.

Well, I’m happy to announce I have found a new additional to my imaginary girl-fest: Celia Rivenbark. She has been popping up as a recommended author on both Amazon and Goodreads lately, and frankly when I saw the title, “You Can’t Drink All Day If You Don’t Start in the Mornin’” I pretty much couldn’t resist.  I mean, who could?

Reading Celia Rivenbark feels a little like sitting on a sunny southern porch with a good friend, sipping cocktails and gossiping about the neighbors as they walk by. Not that I’ve even done that. Or even been to the south, really. But Rivenbark paints such a vivid image of the south, I can see it.

“You Can’t Drink All Day If You Don’t Start in the Mornin’” is a collection of essays covering things like what life much be like for a Jesus action figure sitting on a Walmart shelf, the annoyance of Gwyneth Paltrow’s lifestyle advice, the all too familiar pain of finding pants that fit, and how a southern mamma is supposed to compete with homemade bento boxed lunches popular in Japan.

No matter what she’s talking about though, Rivenbark does it with – I almost said “down-home charm” - but that sounds really cliché and insulting. Her voice is not the over exaggerated folksy southern twang you see on TV (I’m looking at you GCB). This is a real woman with a real voice. One that speaks to the reality of life for the average woman in America. A really funny average woman in America who would rather spy on her new neighbors while half-paying attention as her daughter sets up her Facebook account. A really funny average woman in America who made me laugh my ass off. Out loud. Often.

Apparently I am late to the party once again. “You Can’t Drink All Day If You Don’t Start in the Mornin’” is Rivenbark’s 5^th book. That means I need to get cracking on the other four. That way I’ll have plenty to talk about during our dinner party.