The End of April

Today is day 2 of the last week in April, 2006. So far, it has been anything but cruel. It hasn't been extraordinary, or fantastic, but it hasn't been cruel either.

Highlights of April, 2006 are as follows:

1. Sunshine, warm temperatures, flower buds and greenery. Spring is really here, and it's great to be outside enjoying nice weather.

2. I was notified that I received a National Endowment of the Humanities Fellowship entitled: "Regional Study and the Liberal Arts: An Appalachian Exemplar" which I will do in June in Virginia.

3. Another school year is drawing to a close, and we really need the break. Goodbye students, goodbye papers, goodbye excuses and hello extended vacation.

4. My car was finally repaired and now runs like it did 6 months ago. This means A. and I no longer have to share a car. That was difficult. I'll admit, I'm a spoiled American and I enjoy the 1 car to 1 person ratio we have going in this country.

5. Speaking of cars, the price of gasoline is frightening. A. and I have been walking more, and have cut out all non-essential trips. I loathe having to pay almost 30 bucks to fill up a chevy cavalier. And I realize we are now experiencing what the rest of the world has been enduring for quite some time now. Still, being gouged is not pleasant.

6. I had a real physical by a real doctor for the first time in twenty years. And it looks like my health is good.

7. I've lost about 5 pounds -primarily because I have been walking Smith all over creation every single day.

8. I have almost completed a new writing project, which I hope to send out to journals by the beginning of May. Yay for productivity.

9. Attended my first President's dinner at Hamilton College. It was nice, and just so damned civilized. I still can't believe how well faculty and partners are treated here. A. and I are simply not used to being treated like gold. What a different world. As we stood in that house last night, watching people take glasses of wine from waiters walking through the crowd serving guests we looked at each other and said "we are a long way from the CSU ballroom, and a long way from Mankato." Also, we are a long way from potlucks, and shitty food. Every year all departments are invited to the President's house for dinner, and each department chair says something about the graduating seniors. Standing in that beautiful house yesterday, listening to the speeches, I felt like I was on a movie set on a college campus. The scene was the stereotypical scene that you normally get when you see movies based on college experiences. So civilized.

10. This weekend (Saturday)I get to enjoy an outdoor concert on campus by The New Pornographers. I love this band, with or without Neko Case. The NP's are part of an all day music festival hosted by the college.

11. Also, on Sunday, I get to see the art of Shirin Neshat, and best of all, she will be on campus talking about her art. She's da bomb and I can't wait to see her.

other things happened, but right now, these are the things on my mind.

jb

Obedience

Well, today Smith is going to see a dog trainer. Overall he's a good dog, but still has a lot to learn. He needs to walk on a leash properly, without dragging his owners all over the neighborhood. But his main problem is that he is "dog-aggressive." This means that every time we encounter another dog on our walks Smith goes crazy, tugs until our arms virtually rip out of socket, jumps up in the air like a gymnast, and barks until all of Clinton takes notice. And he won't stop this behavior until the other dog is out of sight. We can sit on him, grab his snout, yell until our lungs are shot but he persists. He's a tenacious fucker - stubborn as hell.

So, we have an appointment with Larry today - a guy in Utica that trains police dogs. Let's see what he can do with Mr. Smith.

jb

PRESENCE

last month, when visiting my family in west virginia, i had a strange experience the first night i arrived at my mother's house. as i got into my bed, preparing for sleep, i felt a heavy, undeniable presence in my room. it was eerie, gave me chills, but didn't frighten me. i quickly realized that it was the presence of my father. i was immobilized, but also feeling a bit unerved and hyper. i jumped out of bed to go into the living room to make sure i had locked the door. i felt the presence in there too - following me through the house and then back into my bedroom. it wouldn't go away. but i knew it was my dad, and i said hello to him. he didn't hang around too long, but he was definitely there.

i am a believer in spirits, and i do not fear them. what was unusual about this experience is that my father died august 12, 1990 in our front yard, from a heart attack. i felt his presence in our house a few days after his death, but in all the years i've been going back home to visit my mom, to stay in my childhood home, i have never felt my father's presence. this experience made me question why he was suddenly visiting me, or my mom in our house. was it because he knew my mother had been very ill, near death, prior to our visit, and wanted to make sure she was okay? did he know i could use a visit from him right about now? did he want to meet a.?

i have no idea why he appeared after all these years. his presence ultimately comforted me, and i hope i can feel him again the next time i'm home.

Hillbilly Part III

Speaking of offensive terms, is it fair to equate classist language such as "hillbilly," "redneck" or "white trash" with racially offensive terms such as "chink," "twinkie," "spic," "wetback," "nigger" etc?

Most of us know the corrosive power of racial slurs, and are shocked when we still hear people use them.

Why do we not express the same shock and outrage when people use classist language to refer to individuals and groups of people? Why does the use of "hillbilly," "redneck" and "white trash" fail to receive censorship and condemnation? I'm hesitant to equate intent and effect of the use of a word like "nigger" with "hillbilly," primarily because white people, regardless of their class standing, still receive privileges based on the color of their skin. They are simply not as marked or as judged as people of color.

However, I question why we don't condemn or censor classist language in the U.S., ultimately realizing that we lack knowledge about class differences. We still try to deny, ignore or downplay the significance of social class when the realities of its significance are all around us. We are not a classless society. We are not a country of equal opportunity. People do not achieve based on merit. And people are not poor because of some intellectual or moral failing. These are all the great American myths. As a result of this load of crap we are force fed from infancy, we exist in a world where we cringe and censure (rightfully so) when we hear someone being called a "spic" or a "chink," but we grin or laugh when we hear someone called a "hillbilly," or a "redneck," - the idea being that someone is a "hillbilly" or "redneck" by choice or deficiency.

Isn't it all bigoted language that dehumanizes?

jb

Hillbilly Part II

When I was 9 years old I traveled with some relatives to Baltimore MD. I don't know how long I was in Baltimore at this time, or what I did there. There is only one incident, one memory from that trip.

The people we were visiting lived in a working-class section of Baltimore, in what I would consider row housing. I was out playing on the street one day when a neighborhood kid greeted me. We played hopscotch. The kid, who I assume was my age, knew that I wasn't from the neighborhood and asked where I was from. When I told him I was visiting from West Virginia, he scowled his face and said in a disgusted, angry tone, "you are a hillbilly." I was crestfallen. I didn't know what the word meant, but I knew it wasn't good. For the first time in my young life I realized that I was different from other people. Instantly I felt inadequate, othered and inferior. I was so traumatized by his remark that I fled back into the house and never played with him again.

That's all I remember about that trip to Baltimore in 1974.

This was a pivotal moment in my life. Unfortunately, I internalized a lot of those feelings because this wasn't the last time I was called a hillbilly or made to feel inferior because I come from Appalachia. Each and every time it hurts just like it did in 1974.

When I returned home to West Virginia I asked my parents what this word meant, and why it pertained to me. My mother informed me that people outside of the state have this view of Appalachians as "poor, barefooted, toothless, backwards hillbillies." I was perplexed as to how people in other states could actually believe that we didn't possess shoes, or teeth. I remember questioning the logic of this, wondering who, in this equation, was truly backward. My mother informed me that I couldn't pay attention to people who said such things, or held such views because they were "ignorant." Yes, supreme ignorance, but it still hurts.

This exeperience calls to mind Countee Cullen's poem "Incident," which I read in an African American lit class in 1990. This poem, centering on an 8 year old kid's first experience with overt racism in Baltimore, called to mind my childhood experience there. The lasting effects of discrimanatory "incidents" of being cast as different and inferior are so skillfully described by Cullen in this poem. His experiences were based on race, of course, while mine were based on class. It's a sweet poem that shatters.

Did I mention that I hate the word "hillbilly?"

Hillbilly Part I

I know I'm living in the northeast again when I hear people throw around the word hillbilly (or hillbillies) with casual frequency to refer to an individual, group of people or just a state of being. Three years living in Minnesota I never encountered the word. There isn't a geographic or cultural context for this word in the upper midwest. Not so in the northeast. Shortly after moving back to New York I was stunned by the number of times this bigoted, class-biased slur was uttered by self-proclaimed politically sensitive people.

What does the word mean? Without getting into a lengthy history (see Hillbilly: A Cultural History of an American Icon, by Anthony Harkins) it has its origins as a designation for people in the mountain south of the U.S, - specifically Appalachia. It is derogatory as hell. Let's review the connotations: a "hillbilly" is someone who is morally and culturally degenerate, backward, poor, violent, uneducated, rural, inbred, stupid, etc etc. In the American imagination the stereotype of the hillbilly was created in order to serve as an "other" for those who considered themselves to be modern, civilized, sophisticated, cultured, educated and urban.

Popular writers, anthropologists, capitalists and others from the northeast were instrumental in constructing this offensive stereotype in the 1800's as they traveled Appalachia exploiting the land and people. They viewed Appalachians as the antithesis of progress, modernity and civilization and came to define themselves against this stereotype. In short, they created a scapegoat, an "other," and this hillbilly "other" serves them well today.

However, like most words, its connotations change over time. Typically, when someone uses the term "hillbilly" today they often mean "redneck" or "white trash." People who resemble or are used as the basis of *Cops* shows. A little different in that it's not as place-specific, but the classist, pejorative nature of the word is still intact.

Nevertheless, I'm not comfortable hearing much less using any of these terms. But "hillbilly" deeply impacts me. As someone from Appalchia it's a little too close for comfort.

jb

Resurrection

After much discussion we have decided to give the Chevy Cavalier mouth to mouth resuscitation. We realized that we can't afford a car payment right now, and if I buy another old car for a mad cheap price who is to say that I won't have issues with it as well? So, we have decided to plop down the money to get the transmission fixed on the Cav. It only has 90,000 miles on it - even though it's a '93. I'm hoping that if the transmission is rebuilt I can drive it for another 30,000 miles.

So, the Cavalier will be resurrected on Friday - Easter weekend. Ha!

JB

A Death in the Family

My 1993, maroon Chevy Cavalier has officially died. This old car has been having acceleration troubles for months. When you hit the gas pedal it grinds and stalls and then finally takes off like normal cars should. Well, until recently, when it fails to go over 40 miles per hour regardless of how stenuously you press the pedal. And it sometimes dies when you come to a stop. Despite these lingering, severe problems I took it to one mechanic who said after driving it around several times, " I can't get it to act up." Yeah, right. As soon as I drove the damn thing off his lot the car died. He diagnosed it as having "water in the tank." This was code for "I'm too damn busy and don't want to spend anymore time with you." So, I take the Cav. to another mechanic.

This mechanic has informed me that the transmission is shot and I need to replace it completely, which will cost about 900-1000 bucks. Yeah, right. I'm going to plop down a grand on a car that would barely garner that price (according to the blue book) if I put it up for sale today.

So, it is a death in the family and the end of an era. My mother gave me this car in 1998 after my white, Plymouth Horizon died during a drive from Ohio to West Virginia. It has served me well over the past 8 years, and has covered a lot of the country. I will miss it, especially since this means A. and I will now have to share a car.

R.I.P Chevy Cavalier.

Health Scares Part II

Well, today is the day. A. is, at this moment, at Faxton Hospital in Utica undergoing another mammogram to see what this "spot of density" is on her left breast. I am on campus, in between classes, so I am unable to be with her right now. this is so nerve-wracking. i had trouble sleeping last night because i was worrying about the results. i also had difficulties sleeping because it upsets me to know how worried she is, and how stressful this whole situation is for her. i hate seeing someone i love more than any other human on the planet upset. i want to make everything okay for her. i wish i had the power to make the world perfect for her. this entire week has been clouded by health scares - reminders of mortality, and the ever-present condition of change.

yesterday, i went to the doctor for a physical - my first in about 20 years. i havent' had health insurance for a long, long time so i haven't done preventative care. also, i flat-out don't like doctors, and hate being inspected and prodded. but i'm 40. now is the time do get healthy, and to be concerned about one's health. so, i opened myself up for inspection yesterday at the hands of one thorough, clinical doctor named diane cavellaro. she poked, she prodded, she inspected and examined. she gave me a breast exam that hurt like hell. her bony little fingers digging deeper and deeper into my breasts. ouch, sweetie, ouch. her pelvic exam wasn't bad at all until she started pushing down on my ovaries. again, her bony little fingers are tremendous weapons. because my left ovary was overly painful to the touch i have to have an ultra sound done to make sure everything is okay. i'm not too worried though because i think this is just dr. caverllaro being thorough.

anyway, i left her office feeling really worked over and my breasts and ovaries ached for the rest of the day. now i just hope everything is okay with anne. as i said in my previous post on health, breast cancer is overwhelmingly present in her family, and as a result she is very fearful of getting it. i hope everything will be okay, because i'm simply not prepared for any other alternative.

jb

National Endowment of the Humanities Fellowship

This is a copy of my acceptance letter. I was just notified that I received an NEH fellowship entitled: "Regional Study and the Liberal Arts: An Appalachian Exemplar," and will participate at the NEH instutute at Ferrum College in Virginia. It's a month long fellowship (June, 2006) and I get to study with prominent Appalachian Studies writers and scholars. I will work on my research project - women's activism against mountaintop removal coal mining in West Virginia - interviewing activists involved in these campaigns in the Charleston and Boone county areas of the state. And I will get paid $3,000 for doing it.

They have quite a schedule planned for us: lectures everyday, films at night, and weekend recreational excursions. And we have to produce and present our project by the end of the month. So, I will work diligently during the week and then spend my weekends traveling through West Virginia interviewing anti-mtr activists, and participating in the "Mountain Justice Summer" campaign (see mountainjusticesummer.org) with protests and other events scheduled in West Virginia during the month of June.

Ferrum College is a private liberal arts college in southwestern Virginia, right in the Appalachian mountains. It is about 30 minutes south of Roanoke, Virginia, and 2 1/2 hours from my hometown in West Virginia so I will be able to visit the peeps as well.

jb