Mary Sisney's Blog - Posts Tagged "metoo-movement"
Roses Versus Blossoms: Real Women II
In "Not a Motherless Child," the chapter in my memoir that focuses on the relationship between my mother and me, I pointed out some of the primary differences between us. She filled our house with hats while I filled it with books. She's a southern belle who depends on the kindness of strange men while I'm an independent woman. I suggested that there were two primary reasons for the differences. First, she was born into the middle class, but, when I was born, she had fallen into the working class with her alcoholic husband. Second, she had both a strong, protective father for the first eleven years of her life and a strong maternal grandfather until she was almost an adult. I had no strong father figures in my early life. I made that second point again in an earlier blog post (6/15/14) called "Daddy's Girls." In that blog, I pointed out that my daddy's girl mother chose to move to a town where she had an older male first cousin when she left Kentucky while I didn't even know my older male first cousin who lived in this area when I moved from Illinois to California. Later, after I had met that male first cousin, he had moved to Florida and was visiting my mother and me in California, he highlighted another difference between his two female relatives. Cousin William walked into our house, looked at us, and said, "My pretty aunt and my smart cousin." I corrected him, "You're supposed to say, 'my smart and pretty aunt,' and 'my pretty and smart cousin.'" But I understood what my tactless cousin was saying. My mother, who will be ninety on Friday, is what I now call a rose (like actress Rose McGowan) and I'm a blossom (like actress and neuroscientist Mayim Bialik).
A rose can be as smart as a blossom, but she doesn't need to use her brain because her beauty is her weapon, her ticket to the top. A blossom isn't necessarily homely or ugly; she's just not pretty enough or doesn't think she's pretty enough to weaponize her beauty. When I was in high school and staying up late studying for an exam, my rose mother told me to put the book under my pillow and go to sleep. Already sarcastic as well as smart, I snorted, "I see why you were married at eighteen and had a child at nineteen." I didn't add because I didn't want my mother to slap me in the mouth, "I see why you're working as a maid and used to work in a factory."
Before the annoying METOO movement that placed Rose McGowan and Mayim Bialik on opposite sides of the sexual harassment issue, I used two fictional characters to contrast the rose and the blossom. The now interestingly named Lily Bart (Daisy Buchanan from GREAT GATSBY is another rose with a flower name), the protagonist in Edith Wharton's 1905 novel THE HOUSE OF MIRTH, is a rose. She was raised to be ornamental, arm candy we would call her now. She must marry a rich man or perish. She perishes because she just can't bring herself to marry a dull rich man, and the interesting man she loves doesn't have enough money. Sara Smolinsky, the protagonist in Anzia Yezierska's BREAD GIVERS, is the blossom. Whereas Lily was raised in upper class New York society, where most people either didn't attend church or treated it like another social engagement, Sara comes from a Jewish immigrant family and lives in a dirty ghetto with a father who is too religious and intellectual to work. She's the youngest of four sisters and clearly the one most likely to succeed. The third youngest sister, Mashah, is the rose, a blonde beauty whom men adore, but her nickname in the family is "Empty-Head." Whereas Mashah, like her two older sisters, marries the wrong man and suffers because of it, Sara goes to college, becomes a teacher, and is rewarded (because the novel was written in the nineteen twenties) with the right man, the principal of her school. I'm self-aware enough to know that I liked comparing the Wharton and Yezierska novels (I usually taught them as a dominant culture/ethnic pair) because the blossom (Sara) survives and thrives while the rose (Lily) dies. Revenge of the Blossoms!
Roses aren't necessarily weak. Lily could be strong as she showed when she faced down a potential rapist, and Rose McGowan seems less intimidated by public criticism than Mayim Bialek, who immediately apologized when she was criticized by the METOO thought police, but blossoms tend to be stronger, not only because they know men are less likely to rescue them, but also because they are often larger. Blossoms come in all sizes, but roses are usually petite. In my second book, THE BRONZE RULE, I pointed out that my second officemate, the whiny white woman mentioned in the 10/15/17 blog, may have needed a posse to help her fight her battles, not only because she was white (and a rose), but also because she was petite. Little women may feel they need men's help. When we were both at our peak heights, I was almost three inches taller than my rose mother.
A conversation that I recently had with a former neighbor, who is exactly one month and one day older than I am, illustrates the differences between a rose and a blossom. The petite rose, who is mixed race (part white, part Latino) and from a higher class, and I teamed to take on the corrupt HOA board. She helped me lead the fight briefly before deciding to move to a new neighborhood. She had told me how disrespectfully she was treated by the property manager, but I initially bought her story that she just wanted to live where she didn't have to obey silly rules. When I continued the battle alone and was bullied by a lawyer, I realized that my former neighbor had probably been intimidated and bullied out of the neighborhood. My response to the bullying was to become more defiant and louder. Of course, in one way, the petite rose was smarter because I'm still battling the HOA while she apparently lives peacefully in her new neighborhood. During a recent telephone conversation about my battle, the following exchange took place:
Rose: You should probably get a lawyer.
Blossom: I don't usually need a lawyer. I got my land back from the plumber without a lawyer. And when we first moved in here, we were told that the post office wouldn't deliver our mail until this community was 50% occupied, which would have taken almost a year. I called that Republican Representative's office and got our mail when there were only three families living here.
Rose: Do you mean David Dreier?
Blossom: Yes.
Rose: I dated his chief of staff. He probably got your mail.
Blossom: No. I talked to a woman.
Rose: X (the chief of staff's name, which I have forgotten) and I dated for around seven years.
Blossom: Oh, really.
So there's the difference. The almost 69-year-old rose was bragging about dating a man who was power adjacent while the almost 69-year-old blossom was bragging about her power, her ability (to paraphrase Trump) alone to fix it. Roses are pretty and often smell sweet, but I'm happy I'm a blossom, a powerful woman, not dependent on men.
A rose can be as smart as a blossom, but she doesn't need to use her brain because her beauty is her weapon, her ticket to the top. A blossom isn't necessarily homely or ugly; she's just not pretty enough or doesn't think she's pretty enough to weaponize her beauty. When I was in high school and staying up late studying for an exam, my rose mother told me to put the book under my pillow and go to sleep. Already sarcastic as well as smart, I snorted, "I see why you were married at eighteen and had a child at nineteen." I didn't add because I didn't want my mother to slap me in the mouth, "I see why you're working as a maid and used to work in a factory."
Before the annoying METOO movement that placed Rose McGowan and Mayim Bialik on opposite sides of the sexual harassment issue, I used two fictional characters to contrast the rose and the blossom. The now interestingly named Lily Bart (Daisy Buchanan from GREAT GATSBY is another rose with a flower name), the protagonist in Edith Wharton's 1905 novel THE HOUSE OF MIRTH, is a rose. She was raised to be ornamental, arm candy we would call her now. She must marry a rich man or perish. She perishes because she just can't bring herself to marry a dull rich man, and the interesting man she loves doesn't have enough money. Sara Smolinsky, the protagonist in Anzia Yezierska's BREAD GIVERS, is the blossom. Whereas Lily was raised in upper class New York society, where most people either didn't attend church or treated it like another social engagement, Sara comes from a Jewish immigrant family and lives in a dirty ghetto with a father who is too religious and intellectual to work. She's the youngest of four sisters and clearly the one most likely to succeed. The third youngest sister, Mashah, is the rose, a blonde beauty whom men adore, but her nickname in the family is "Empty-Head." Whereas Mashah, like her two older sisters, marries the wrong man and suffers because of it, Sara goes to college, becomes a teacher, and is rewarded (because the novel was written in the nineteen twenties) with the right man, the principal of her school. I'm self-aware enough to know that I liked comparing the Wharton and Yezierska novels (I usually taught them as a dominant culture/ethnic pair) because the blossom (Sara) survives and thrives while the rose (Lily) dies. Revenge of the Blossoms!
Roses aren't necessarily weak. Lily could be strong as she showed when she faced down a potential rapist, and Rose McGowan seems less intimidated by public criticism than Mayim Bialek, who immediately apologized when she was criticized by the METOO thought police, but blossoms tend to be stronger, not only because they know men are less likely to rescue them, but also because they are often larger. Blossoms come in all sizes, but roses are usually petite. In my second book, THE BRONZE RULE, I pointed out that my second officemate, the whiny white woman mentioned in the 10/15/17 blog, may have needed a posse to help her fight her battles, not only because she was white (and a rose), but also because she was petite. Little women may feel they need men's help. When we were both at our peak heights, I was almost three inches taller than my rose mother.
A conversation that I recently had with a former neighbor, who is exactly one month and one day older than I am, illustrates the differences between a rose and a blossom. The petite rose, who is mixed race (part white, part Latino) and from a higher class, and I teamed to take on the corrupt HOA board. She helped me lead the fight briefly before deciding to move to a new neighborhood. She had told me how disrespectfully she was treated by the property manager, but I initially bought her story that she just wanted to live where she didn't have to obey silly rules. When I continued the battle alone and was bullied by a lawyer, I realized that my former neighbor had probably been intimidated and bullied out of the neighborhood. My response to the bullying was to become more defiant and louder. Of course, in one way, the petite rose was smarter because I'm still battling the HOA while she apparently lives peacefully in her new neighborhood. During a recent telephone conversation about my battle, the following exchange took place:
Rose: You should probably get a lawyer.
Blossom: I don't usually need a lawyer. I got my land back from the plumber without a lawyer. And when we first moved in here, we were told that the post office wouldn't deliver our mail until this community was 50% occupied, which would have taken almost a year. I called that Republican Representative's office and got our mail when there were only three families living here.
Rose: Do you mean David Dreier?
Blossom: Yes.
Rose: I dated his chief of staff. He probably got your mail.
Blossom: No. I talked to a woman.
Rose: X (the chief of staff's name, which I have forgotten) and I dated for around seven years.
Blossom: Oh, really.
So there's the difference. The almost 69-year-old rose was bragging about dating a man who was power adjacent while the almost 69-year-old blossom was bragging about her power, her ability (to paraphrase Trump) alone to fix it. Roses are pretty and often smell sweet, but I'm happy I'm a blossom, a powerful woman, not dependent on men.
The Old B-Boy With The Good Heart: Why I Voted For Jovial Joe
Before the interminable 2020 campaign began, I made three points: 1) We need a candidate who is as young (or younger) as Obama was when he left office. We don’t need any more baby boomers, and the so-called silent generation (McCain, Kerry) has missed its chance to have a President. 2) Silent Generation Senator Bernie Sanders, who had the nerve to run for the Democratic nomination despite being an Independent, who initially complained about the superdelegates having so much power, then tried to convince them to select him over the actual Democrat (a woman) who had won the popular vote in the primaries and caucuses, and who used the leaked by the Russians e-mails to attack the DNC and its female chair, despite her allowing him to run (talk about biting the hand that feeds you) for the party’s nomination, should not be allowed to run again (even if he opportunistically registers as a Democrat). 3) Silent Generation former Vice President Joe Biden cannot run for President in the Age of METOO because he’s a politically incorrect, too warm and friendly space invader. Obviously, the Democrats do not care what I think. After four contests, it’s clear that one of those two old as dirt white men who have outlasted the most diverse field in history (to my dismay) as well as all of the other b-boys (Booker, Beto, Bullock, Bennet), except Buttigieg, who is on his way out, will be our nominee. But at least it won’t be Silent Generation billionaire and former Republican Mayor, b-boy Mike Bloomberg.
I shouldn’t complain about Biden being in the race since I told him to run when the METOO jerks came for him. I defended him on Facebook and Twitter, using the hashtag RUNJOERUN. I clapped back at Anita Hill, pointing out that she was a Bork-supporting conservative in 1991, a prude who should have shut down the bully Thomas with a witty jab—“Did your mama lose a pubic hair?” But I wanted Joe to play the same role that Hillary played in 2008. He could take all the conservative (and Russian) fire while Kamala or another younger, hopefully female and/or person of color would quietly pile up the delegates. Soon after the debates began, when I saw that the two oldest b-boys on the stage were still at the top of the polls, I said that if they were the only two candidates left in the race when the campaign reached California in March, I would vote for the old white man who was friendly and warm, not angry old Bernie. We already have an angry old white man in the White House, I said, so I would pick jovial Joe over bellicose Bernie. When billionaire b-boy Bloomberg joined the race and started bombarding us with commercials, I was briefly tempted to switch to him because I was worried about Joe’s inability to slay in the debates (caused by his childhood stutter and fear of the pc culture) the way he did in 2008 and 12. Then I learned that the billionaire was trying to convince the moderate candidates who had been raising money (because they’re not billionaires who can self-finance), debating, and campaigning for months to get out of the race so that he could take on Bernie. Forget his racism and sexism. His arrogance was too much for me; Mike made Bernie look humble. I started saying I would vote for jovial Joe instead of bellicose Bernie or megalomaniacal Mike. But Joe has other traits that make him a better candidate for the Democratic nomination than the other two old white b-boys. First, he’s been a Democrat throughout his long political career. He was always blue. Second, he’s the candidate that Trump and his puppet master Putin fear the most, which is why Trump was impeached. We know for sure that if Joe wins it won’t be because the Russians helped him. Third, he can unite the party because he’s an actual Democrat, and he and his followers have not mistreated other Democrats and their followers the way Bernie and his bullying followers and surrogates have. He’s also not a billionaire who will make the progressives who are not Bernie cultists and so are willing to vote blue, no matter who, see green and behave the way the usually calm and polite Elizabeth Warren behaved during the last two debates. Arrogant billionaires (the other candidates didn’t seem to mind the humbler Steyer) have the same effect on progressive whites that white supremacists have on me. They become enraged and slightly deranged when they see and/or hear one. Fourth, the Republicans who will vote for jovial Joe in the primaries are Never Trump Republicans (some of them are no longer Republicans) and will vote for him in the general election. Conservatives like Clint Eastwood will vote for megalomaniacal Mike because they see him as more Republican than Democrat. The Republicans who will vote for bellicose Bernie in the primaries are Forever Trump MAGA Republicans who will vote for their “dear leader” in November (assuming he’s not institutionalized by then). Fifth, and perhaps most important, unlike the other two old white b-boys, Joe has a good heart (pun intended). I’m not sure how healthy Joe’s heart is, but he’s certainly warmer and less arrogant and selfish than the other two old b-boys. His warm heart is one of the primary reasons I voted for jovial Joe on Friday.
I was outraged when a (reported) Bernie follower tried to use the METOO movement to take down a man who had lost two children and a wife, not to mention suffering an aneurysm. I said that a woman had to be really privileged and entitled to smear an elderly man who had suffered so much because he supposedly made her “uncomfortable.” I suggested that anyone who is made uncomfortable by space invaders should stay out of politics and away from politicians. I was disgusted that people tried to turn Joe’s greatest political asset into something creepy. I know how politics works, how dirty it is, but calling a man who likes to hug and kiss people and is an equal opportunity invader of personal space “creepy” is cruel and very harmful to our culture. Joe’s brand of politics is needed in this age of intolerance, disrespect, and hatred. While I like throwing shade and would probably throw an elbow into Joe’s thorax or his throat if he tried to touch foreheads with me as he did with one woman he may or may not have known, I recognize that I’d be the cold creep in that scene, and I’m not running (nor would I ever run) for President. One of the many reasons I couldn’t be a politician is I don’t like hugging or being hugged by random people or even most friends. I’m not as warm as Joe or as many people not in politics, although I’m warmer than the other two old b-boys—angry, arrogant Bernie and cold, arrogant Mike.
I wish I had been able to vote for Kamala, Julian, or Cory on Friday. As recently as last Wednesday, I was still considering voting for Pete or Elizabeth, but when I saw that Biden was surging in South Carolina, and the stock market started dropping, I viewed a vote for him as a way not only to stop the socialist and the billionaire but also to put the insane white supremacist in a strait jacket. I’ve always said our best solution for the mess that racism, the Russians, the rigged electoral college, voter suppression in key states, Comey, and Bernie’s angry followers got us into was the strait jacket. Unstable, idiotic Trump’s fragile mind might not be able to handle a double dose of very bad news. It was reported that he was gleeful last weekend when Bernie beat Joe so convincingly in Nevada. I wonder how he’s feeling this morning. I hope he’s in the fetal position. Thanks, South Carolina voters, especially my tribe—older black folks.
I will vote blue no matter who in November, but I hope the candidate I’ll be voting for is a “real” Democrat, who hugs instead of harangues, loves instead of hates, a warm man with a strong, good heart who feels our pain because he’s had so much pain himself, a candidate who will unite our party, bringing in some sensible Republicans like Ana Navarro, Nicolle Wallace, Steve Schmidt, and Rick Wilson, a politician who has more experience getting things done in Washington than the former Mayor of New York and the stunningly unproductive Senator from Vermont, a decent white man who values and knows how to connect with the party’s base—black folks—not only because of his relationships with his former boss—the first (half)-black President—and Majority Whip Clyburn, but also because he’s lived in a state with a sizable (21%) black population, and finally a tough, “hard knocks,” middle-class man who will put the unstable, foolish, born-rich puppet and his master Putin in their places. I hope I will be voting for jovial Joe.
I shouldn’t complain about Biden being in the race since I told him to run when the METOO jerks came for him. I defended him on Facebook and Twitter, using the hashtag RUNJOERUN. I clapped back at Anita Hill, pointing out that she was a Bork-supporting conservative in 1991, a prude who should have shut down the bully Thomas with a witty jab—“Did your mama lose a pubic hair?” But I wanted Joe to play the same role that Hillary played in 2008. He could take all the conservative (and Russian) fire while Kamala or another younger, hopefully female and/or person of color would quietly pile up the delegates. Soon after the debates began, when I saw that the two oldest b-boys on the stage were still at the top of the polls, I said that if they were the only two candidates left in the race when the campaign reached California in March, I would vote for the old white man who was friendly and warm, not angry old Bernie. We already have an angry old white man in the White House, I said, so I would pick jovial Joe over bellicose Bernie. When billionaire b-boy Bloomberg joined the race and started bombarding us with commercials, I was briefly tempted to switch to him because I was worried about Joe’s inability to slay in the debates (caused by his childhood stutter and fear of the pc culture) the way he did in 2008 and 12. Then I learned that the billionaire was trying to convince the moderate candidates who had been raising money (because they’re not billionaires who can self-finance), debating, and campaigning for months to get out of the race so that he could take on Bernie. Forget his racism and sexism. His arrogance was too much for me; Mike made Bernie look humble. I started saying I would vote for jovial Joe instead of bellicose Bernie or megalomaniacal Mike. But Joe has other traits that make him a better candidate for the Democratic nomination than the other two old white b-boys. First, he’s been a Democrat throughout his long political career. He was always blue. Second, he’s the candidate that Trump and his puppet master Putin fear the most, which is why Trump was impeached. We know for sure that if Joe wins it won’t be because the Russians helped him. Third, he can unite the party because he’s an actual Democrat, and he and his followers have not mistreated other Democrats and their followers the way Bernie and his bullying followers and surrogates have. He’s also not a billionaire who will make the progressives who are not Bernie cultists and so are willing to vote blue, no matter who, see green and behave the way the usually calm and polite Elizabeth Warren behaved during the last two debates. Arrogant billionaires (the other candidates didn’t seem to mind the humbler Steyer) have the same effect on progressive whites that white supremacists have on me. They become enraged and slightly deranged when they see and/or hear one. Fourth, the Republicans who will vote for jovial Joe in the primaries are Never Trump Republicans (some of them are no longer Republicans) and will vote for him in the general election. Conservatives like Clint Eastwood will vote for megalomaniacal Mike because they see him as more Republican than Democrat. The Republicans who will vote for bellicose Bernie in the primaries are Forever Trump MAGA Republicans who will vote for their “dear leader” in November (assuming he’s not institutionalized by then). Fifth, and perhaps most important, unlike the other two old white b-boys, Joe has a good heart (pun intended). I’m not sure how healthy Joe’s heart is, but he’s certainly warmer and less arrogant and selfish than the other two old b-boys. His warm heart is one of the primary reasons I voted for jovial Joe on Friday.
I was outraged when a (reported) Bernie follower tried to use the METOO movement to take down a man who had lost two children and a wife, not to mention suffering an aneurysm. I said that a woman had to be really privileged and entitled to smear an elderly man who had suffered so much because he supposedly made her “uncomfortable.” I suggested that anyone who is made uncomfortable by space invaders should stay out of politics and away from politicians. I was disgusted that people tried to turn Joe’s greatest political asset into something creepy. I know how politics works, how dirty it is, but calling a man who likes to hug and kiss people and is an equal opportunity invader of personal space “creepy” is cruel and very harmful to our culture. Joe’s brand of politics is needed in this age of intolerance, disrespect, and hatred. While I like throwing shade and would probably throw an elbow into Joe’s thorax or his throat if he tried to touch foreheads with me as he did with one woman he may or may not have known, I recognize that I’d be the cold creep in that scene, and I’m not running (nor would I ever run) for President. One of the many reasons I couldn’t be a politician is I don’t like hugging or being hugged by random people or even most friends. I’m not as warm as Joe or as many people not in politics, although I’m warmer than the other two old b-boys—angry, arrogant Bernie and cold, arrogant Mike.
I wish I had been able to vote for Kamala, Julian, or Cory on Friday. As recently as last Wednesday, I was still considering voting for Pete or Elizabeth, but when I saw that Biden was surging in South Carolina, and the stock market started dropping, I viewed a vote for him as a way not only to stop the socialist and the billionaire but also to put the insane white supremacist in a strait jacket. I’ve always said our best solution for the mess that racism, the Russians, the rigged electoral college, voter suppression in key states, Comey, and Bernie’s angry followers got us into was the strait jacket. Unstable, idiotic Trump’s fragile mind might not be able to handle a double dose of very bad news. It was reported that he was gleeful last weekend when Bernie beat Joe so convincingly in Nevada. I wonder how he’s feeling this morning. I hope he’s in the fetal position. Thanks, South Carolina voters, especially my tribe—older black folks.
I will vote blue no matter who in November, but I hope the candidate I’ll be voting for is a “real” Democrat, who hugs instead of harangues, loves instead of hates, a warm man with a strong, good heart who feels our pain because he’s had so much pain himself, a candidate who will unite our party, bringing in some sensible Republicans like Ana Navarro, Nicolle Wallace, Steve Schmidt, and Rick Wilson, a politician who has more experience getting things done in Washington than the former Mayor of New York and the stunningly unproductive Senator from Vermont, a decent white man who values and knows how to connect with the party’s base—black folks—not only because of his relationships with his former boss—the first (half)-black President—and Majority Whip Clyburn, but also because he’s lived in a state with a sizable (21%) black population, and finally a tough, “hard knocks,” middle-class man who will put the unstable, foolish, born-rich puppet and his master Putin in their places. I hope I will be voting for jovial Joe.
