George and George: I miss you both

Comedian George Carlin died yesterday, and while it’s been years since I watched one of his shows, I feel an emptiness. Carlin was, as many have pointed out, a rare genius whose comedy never got stale. His observations of human behavior cut to the quick and made us laugh at ourselves. The Houston Chronicle’s Andrew Dansby pays tribute to Carlin, and his most famous routine “The Seven Words You Can’t Say On Television.” Dansby points out that Carlin’s jokes have cross-generational appeal: “the fact that the routine hasn’t been time-stamped as a period piece speaks to Carlin’s meticulous writing style.”

I started watching Carlin with my father, and I introduced him to my students, although, the latter wasn’t my idea.

My friend George and I were teaching assistants together in 1994. The reader we used with our composition students focused on language, and George discovered that Carlin’s “The Seven Words…” connected perfectly with the lanuage concepts in the text.

Collaborating with George was thrilling. He was the kind of teacher who pushed his students to stretch and grow without them realizing he was doing it. In some ways, George was a real prick in the classroom. He referred to his comp classes as “dictatorships.” Students knew to arrive on time or not at all; George would both lock the door and place a trash can in front of it. A student would only show up late once, and then the spectacle that was created deterred further tardiness. But he also asked his students to call him Mr. C., and he allowed students to swear but only if they did so with clear intent (but they weren’t allowed to swear at each other).

George could take a group of disinterested students and engage them by bringing in unconventional material like the memoirs of gay men. He challenged his students’ ideas about sexuality, gender, race, and class. Carlin was an important part of this curriculum. George always saved Carlin for the end of the semester–one last writing assignment to finish things up.  He didn’t care that students in the neighboring classrooms could hear all of the “seven words” through the walls. Imagine their envy as they sat there writing in-class essays on something far less exciting like “Once More to the Lake.”

George made me braver in my teaching, and I started using Carlin in the classroom too. I’ll never forget how, back then, my students and I connected through laughter and through recognition of ourselves in Carlin’s cutting observations.

George has since given up teaching and moved to Cleveland. It’s a little painful that as I’m writing this, I realize that I was probably in some ways a much better teacher 14 years ago when I was younger and less serious and more willing to experiment.

George and George emboldened my classroom, and I miss them both.

 

The Suburban Lawn

Living in the suburbs in the summer reminds me of that David Byrne/John Goodman film, True Stories, from the 80s. In the film, all of the houses look alike; they have the same driveways, the same cars, the same lawns. Every Saturday, the men/husbands mow their lawns with the same lawnmowers. The women/wives compete in a beauty pageant at the local mall, and they’re actually wearing dresses made from their lawns.

Yard competition is big in the suburbs. The first lawnmower starts about 9:00 Saturday morning, and then, sure enough, one by one, there’s a tractor in every yard. Then there’s the planting, edging, weeding, etc. Everyone knows which families don’t maintain their yards, and the lack of yard maintaining is often a topic of conversation, along with taxes, the schools, and the price of gasoline.

It’s so predictable. Jim and I have developed this knack for blending with the neighbors, and I actually enjoy some gardening, so we manage. It’s funny, though, to observe how human behavior spreads like a virus. One home gets a pool and then the next and so on. I buy a tree, my neighbor buys a tree, the neighbor two doors down gets a new spirea bush, and before you know it, every house on the block has added to the landscaping. All of the backyards look the same: pool, swingset, umbrella table.

There have been times that I’ve actually felt nervous about the length of our grass or the amount of clover in our yard. This year though, Jim and I have decided to embrace our artsier side. Right now, we’re planning a piece for the backyard. We’re putting up a couple of sections of stockade fence on which we plan to paint or have someone paint a mural. This is kind of a bold move for us, but fitting in and convention matter less and less to me with each passing year.

My first stop in the planning process was Boardman Township’s website so that I could make sure that our plans didn’t violate any township regulations. Boardman is more liberal that many of the suburbs, and most of what the township recommends is in the interest of being neighbor-friendly and considerate and safe. There weren’t any restrictions on the kind of fencing, the color of house, etc. I was surprised to discover that all of the lawn conformity is self, rather than municipally, imposed. If we’re not being governed, why are all of our choices so similar? I’m sure trends account for some of the sameness, but certainly there is room for more difference even within the trends.

Just a thought on a Sunday morning.

 

I told you I was from the fringe…

Well, the hate-mongers are a blogging away on Vindy.com about the Unitarian Universalists’ decision to becoming a “welcoming congregation” to the LGBTQ community (click here and here).

Commenter Truth went on the usual and expected hellfire and brimstone rant and then declared that my church isn’t a real church: “Unitarian Universalism isn’t a real religion, and so their place of “worship” isn’t a Church.”

This bit of loveliness was posted by Anita: “The Unitarians aren’t a church! The’re just a collection of ultra-liberals, acamedians, tree huggers and other leftist fringe…”

I guess I’m an “acamedian”, moreso than a “tree-hugger” anyway (but I do recycle).  However, I’m particularly fond of “leftist fringe.” Dibs on the bumper sticker! Or perhaps I’ll have it tattooed on one of my ultra-liberal body parts.

I’m sure neither of these individuals has ever attended a Unitarian Universalist service. I, on the other hand, have attended the service of every Christian sect, and I enjoyed many of these services and was inspired to varying degrees. I chose Unitarian Universalism because of the focus on living ethically and on the pursuit of equal rights and social justice versus the focus on dogma and what consitutes a sin. It was a personal choice, and one with which I’m both content and proud.

Both of these commenters seem to think that labeling Unitarian Universalism as a “fake” religion will render it impotent. I can only imagine the fear underlying their hatred.

However, there were supportive comments too, like this one from award-winning local author Chris Barzak: “Ignorant people are always the first ones to say things like ‘The Unitarians aren’t a church!’” But Chris is an “acamedian” too (and perhaps also a “tree hugger.” I know he likes to work in the yard). And Bob Hogue said, “Kudos to the Unitarian Universalist Church for their courageous decision.” See, Bob thinks we’re a church!

Hey, Anita and Truth, notice which commenters weren’t afraid to use their real, full names… Just saying.

 

Drag Queens and Skyscrapers

The Queens

This Saturday at 7:00, the Oakland Center for the Arts is holding its annual Next Top Drag Queen competition and Chinese Auction fundraiser. I just helped Brooke put together the baskets for the auction (she did much, much more work than I did), and there are some fabulous items up for grabs including original sculpture, jewelry, pottery and glassware from local artists. You might also pick up a couple of massages, some great food baskets, YSU goodies, and if you’re into it, a whole lotta scrunchies. Tickets are fifteen bucks. Call the O for reservations. The wine and cheese reception and auction begin at 7:00, and the show starts at 8:00. Visit the O’s myspace page for more information.

The Skyscraper

Also, downtown’s historic Stambaugh building needs some TLC. Read Tyler Clark’s thoughtful and informative Vindy blog. YO recovery begins with respecting our history, and the Stambaugh building is an important part of that history. Please, if you’re a believer (and you should be) sign the online petition (linked at the end of Tyler’s blog); it only takes a minute, and many people are doing a lot more. It takes a village, people!

 

“Kris, you’re on the front page of the paper. It’s about your church becoming gay.”

This is how I found out about today’s Vindicator coverage of my church’s, the First Unitarian Universalist Church of Youngstown (UUYO), vote to becoming a welcoming congregation to people in the LBGTQ community. The UUYO has always been known in the community for its progressiveness, but now we’ve made it official.

The Vindicator article lists me as a co-chairwoman of the welcoming congregation committee, and although I wasn’t aware I was chairing this committee, I’m flattered. Or it could be that someone decided to chair me when I wasn’t paying attention. Regardless, it’s a good thing, but we couldn’t have done it without the candid leadership of our bisexual, gay, and lesbian friends in the church or without the support of my favorite Pride guys, Brian Wells and Louis Gastelum.

My hope is that all churches who claim to lead congregants on some kind of spiritual journey will realize that exclusion from this journey based on sexual orientation or gender identity is just plain hateful. As a culture, we need to just stop being so damned sophomoric about sexuality. I call for a collective get over it.

 

Calling all localvores

The Northside and Downtown Farmers’ Market, Outdoor Arts, and Community Yard Sale (yep, it’s a helluva long name), which is heading into its 6th year, is looking for sponsors. For as little as 25 bucks (but more is always, of course, better) you can be a part of a truly wonderful and healthful growing YO summertime institution. Sponsors will of course be appropriately credited and recognized.

The market happens on Saturdays from 9:00-12:00 near Wick Park and the Unitarian Universalist Church from mid-July through mid-September. New this year is the Tuesday afternoon/evening time slot, 3:00-6:00, downtown. I’m especially excited about the Tuesdays because, well, Saturday mornings are Saturday mornings.

And it’s not just about the veggies. The market also welcomes flowers, arts, baked goods, yard saley items (I bought some great CDs last year). If you’re a grower or an artist, think about securing a table and selling some goods.  

Questions?  Contact Jim Converse at JWCPHD@AOL.COM 

 

 

You know you want to see…

the FULL MONTY!

From the Oakland’s Brooke Slanina: “Due to popular demand and extremely awesome response to the show, we’ve decided to tack on this special “extended ending” of the show. All tickets for the midnight show are only 10 bucks, and groups of 10 or more are $5 apiece. Don’t miss out on this unique opportunity to see the show and celebrate the fun and spontenaity that is the Oakland !”

 

Equality Buzzkill

On Wednesday, my sister-in-law, Crissy, and I loaded our two oldest, Miranda and Max, into the car and drove to Columbus to participate in Equality Ohio’s Lobby Day. The main topic was House Bill 305, legislation that (if passed) will protect LGBTQ people from being fired from a job or being refused housing or even being tossed from a restaurant without recourse.

It was, to us, an important enough social justice issue to drive six hours, spend $60 on gas, and keep our kids out of school so that we could teach them about activism. It was also an important social justice issue to the other three people at our local table, our team leader Jeff, and Brian and Louis from Pride. When I commented to Brian on the low turnout, he said, “last year it was Jeff and Louis and me.”

We had two representative appointments, both scheduled at 11:30, so the team split up. Crissy and I walked with the kids over to meet Rep. Ron Gerberry (D). When we arrived at the office, we watched all of the other advocates get led by staff to the offices of their elected officials. We waited 40 minutes. Rep. Gerberry wasn’t familiar with either Equality Ohio or HB 305, but he listened to us, assured us he supported the bill, and told us that he considered himself a social liberal. He also apologized for not immediately remembering the bill. He was genuinely kind to us and to our children and asked them about school.

All in all, the meeting went as well as it could have, but it had what Crissy described as a “typically Youngstown” flavor. After we reminded Rep. Gerberry of the particulars of HB 305 and after he assured us that he supports it (and I believe him), he then delivered the ”straight talk” about HB 305’s chances, about what we could expect. He referred to the election, to the controversial nature of the bill, to the timing. 

I truly believe that this kind of predicting and warning is what Rep. Gerberry thought that a couple of gals from the Yo wanted to hear. The man knows his local audience. For me, it was a little bit of a buzzkill.  

Yet, I do notice this regional sort of conversational trend toward naysaying. I do it, so I know it when I see it. Many of us have grown (through years and hardship and poverty) accustomed to so little that we often shrink our expectations. This smallness sometimes reveals itself in our communications and in our choices and in our inertia. This smallness is also cyclical…inertia leading to inertia.

That day, I was sad to be one of five adults at our table. I was further saddened when our representative wasn’t prepared for our prearranged meeting. I thought, “I set the alarm for 5:00am for this?” But it was that moment of resignation that made me realize how contagious this acceptance of smallness can be. In that moment, I resisted the resignation. I hope it sticks.

 

Ashtrays the size of hubcaps

I always say that I was born too late. I wish I had been parenting when my parents were parenting. I long for the poker-for-pennies parties when the Strohs flowed freely, and we kids used to swirl our hands in the blue haze coming from an ashtray the size of a hubcap.

It was the seventies on the Southside of Youngstown. My dad worked as a mechanic at the Himrod company on South Ave; my mom stayed home with us (me and my two sisters). My parents had one car, a burgandyish chevy my mom called Suzybell. We’d walk with the wagon to Fisher Fazio’s on Youngstown-Poland road for groceries and ride our bikes to the Brownlee Woods library.

We lived at the dead end of Chattanooga, and I remember “the woods” before I-680 went in. (This event not only destroyed our wild playground, but it also eventually changed our lives. My family became a “white-flight” statistic, moving to the overpriced suburb of Canfield, but that’s another post).

As the summer nears every year, I desperately miss the city neighborhood of my childhood. Everything in the burbs is so anesthetized. No one has impromptu all night backyard parties like when we were kids. Our parents drank and smoked and talked and laughed, oftentimes dragging the black and white portable television out into the yard using four or five extension cords.

We kids ran the block, playing “ghost in the graveyard” and catching fireflies until we were so tired that we collapsed in piles onto woven plastic lounge chairs. We fell asleep to the sound of our parents’ laughter and the smells of citronella candles and Camel cigarettes.

These days in the burbs, we still have the citronella candles and the beer, but everything is too calm and polite and refined and careful. It always feels to me like we’re stopping just short of really getting to know each other. Just short of genuine and unrestrained interaction.

Maybe it was the time. Maybe it was the place. All I know is that I miss those city summers.

 

The Full Monty

Jim and I went to see the Oakland’s The Full Monty this weekend, and my recommendation is to get your tickets while you can! From what I’ve seen, they’re going fast. I believe four out of five shows (Mother’s Day being the only exception) sold out.

For me, there are many reasons to see a show at the Oakland. I don’t expect Broadway; I do expect fun local theater that is in turns profound and profaine, and I’m never disappointed. Now, perhaps I’m a little biased because I’ve met a couple of guys in the cast, and because I know, through other friends, how much work went into the show, but I wasn’t bothered by the flaws that The Vindicator reviewer pointed out.

I know that I laughed a lot and so did the people around me. It was a packed house, and from an audience member’s perspective, the energy level remained consistent throughout the show. Everyone was having a good time.

There were some really memorable moments in The Full Monty, in addition to the ending (wink, wink). The musical number, “Big Ass Rock,” was a high point, as were the “audition” scenes. Unlike The Vindicator reviewer, I enjoyed the creative use of the urinal (at one point it was filled with a fern and in another scene it held a funeral wreath); it was a distinctly Oakland flair.

My purpose here isn’t to write a review or to review the reviewer, but rather, I’d simply like to point out that sometimes a traditional viewing of a non-traditional venue doesn’t serve the community or the audience well.

In a community that has a playhouse, a symphony, a Powers Auditorium, and a university theater program, the Oakland provides something a little different: left of center, off the beaten path, the road not taken (to be all Robert Frost about it). It is this distinct personality that makes the Oakland the Oakland. Perhaps it isn’t for everyone, but the the up-and-comingness and radicalism of the Oakland are its unique characteristics.