Microphone Check: On NPR, Race, and Code-Switching

When my husband emailed the link to an NPR news story last week, I rolled my eyes, as I usually do when he shares all things NPR with me. I'm not a fan of NPR. And it's not because I worked on commercial radio in a market where the local NPR station was competition for us. OK, it's not just because of that. No, NPR has always irritated me because of the vocal delivery of the on-air hosts and reporters. Their measured, vibrato-less speech, the vocal equivalent of wrapping oneself in a warm, but not too warm, blanket for a nap in your perfectly shabby-chic fixer Craftsman house with the assurance that everything is alright. The NPR voice has always been, for me, the voice of smugness. And so, I've rejected the NPR worldview as they report from war-torn ports of call around the globe while putting a reassuring hand on your tummy, rubbing gently and cooing, "There, there. It's OK."

So, back to the link forwarded to me by my husband. Well, the title sounded promising - "Challenging the Whiteness of Public Radio".  The author, Chenjerai Kumanyika, an African American man who is an assistant professor at Clemson University, had been putting the finishing touches on the script for a piece he'd done about fishermen, but as he was doing a final review of the piece before he recorded it, the only voice he could hear internally was what he considered to be the kind of white voice typically heard on public radio: "Without being directly told, people like me learn that our way of speaking isn't professional. And you start to imitate the standard or even hide the distinctive features of your own voice."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Throughout my life, I've been ridiculed by other African Americans for "talking white." My mom had always "talked proper", which I think was code back in the day for "talking white." Mom had been a studious child, and a voracious reader at one of the top schools in the area during segregation. Mom had occupied the hours of her childhood taking piano lessons, and watching great Hollywood movies, or visiting with her school teacher aunt who loved reading out loud. By second grade, I had transferred to a predominately white school and was also spending my free time at the piano, reading, and watching old movies with my grandmother. And so like other children, my vocal patterns mimicked my environment. 

So I wasn't aware that there was a problem until high school. My high school was about 70 percent African American. This was the first time since first grade that I was in an environment where most of the people looked like me. But, not everybody sounded like me, and so I learned that this could be a problem. I became socially isolated. It was a small school so you knew everybody, but friendships were rare for me. Mom was still over-protective and I wasn't allowed to socialize with anyone beyond the school day. So no parties, no Friday nights at the movies with my girlfriends, and definitely no sleepovers. I was missing out on first-person interactions with black culture. I relied on cable TV to educate me, with shows like "Rap City" and "Yo!MTV Raps." There were the trips to the beauty parlor and the ready supply of Ebony, Jet, Essence and Black Enterprise magazines. But even among the black women gathered for our relaxers and press and curls, my manner of speaking was either cause for laughter or alarm, though they all seemed to excuse me when they saw one of my textbooks tucked under my plastic cape, and then they'd all cluck that I was getting my education and so "talking white" was just a way of getting by and getting ahead. 

By the time I'd made it to undergrad, at another predominately white school where I was a super-minority, my fluidity in "talking white" was more muscle memory and no one made mention of it, not even the ladies at the hairdresser. All was well until just a few years after grad school when I took a job at a classical music radio station and listened to my voice on my first aircheck tape. In my head, my voice sounded deep and assertive but on-tape, it sounded leaden and overly formal. My boss coached me to smile more, get conversational and more friendly, to sound like the other women DJs on my station. Did I mention that those other women were white? What he failed to understand was that part of my on-air problem was a continual inner dialogue on race that I was having every time I opened the mic: Did I sound too black? Would the white listeners reject me for sounding black? And so I dug in, trying to hone my voice into a listener-friendly level of whiteness. This, in the days before we talked about things like code-switching. 

In the end, I failed. Anonymous listeners posted nasty comments about me, wondering if I was black and, if I was, what I was doing on a classical music station. The constant anxiety of trying to keep my black from showing distracted me from loving my job. Scrubbing every script so that my cultural references weren't too...exotic. Carefully crafting on-air smalltalk that embodied the smug familiarity of public radio. I had enough!
I remember one conversation with my former boss before we called it a day, where he was critiquing my on-air performance. He wanted me to get more comfortable, more relatable, to share my authentic self with the listeners. I didn't have an answer for him that day, but I do now. It's hard to give your authentic self when you've been suppressing so much of it for so long. I don't actually know what I really sound like. Writing this makes me so sad because that part of me - my voice - is gone and I can never reclaim it. Maybe that's why I don't listen to NPR. Maybe it's the realization that one of those highly-educated people of color reporting across the airwaves had to black-check themselves before they did their job. Maybe it's knowing that there is a cost to that behavior. 

Branding Your Brand New Year

Around this time, several years ago, as we were hauling the Christmas tree out to the curb and enjoying the last of the pumpkin pies, my husband and I got to talking about resolutions for the New Year. He shared with me a resolution that he and his sister had made some years before in order to jump start their fitness and exercise plans for the New Year. It was simple, yet effective: "Put the sneakers on." Those words fueled their actions. Had a tough day at work and don't feel like going to the gym for the day's workout? Well, just put the sneakers on. These were words that went beyond the vagary of most resolutions, and went into a direct action. Put the sneakers on. It was, and it is, still, pure genius.

Over the years, we've continued this tradition of branding the brand New Year. One year it was "clear the clutter," and that issued in a top to bottom effort to organize our household stuff. Another year it was "purge the circle" - ridding ourselves of toxic relationships that were dragging us down and not lifting us up. This was a hard one to execute, but the results were tremendously freeing and soul-satisfying. So what's on tap for 2015? Maybe "read more books," although Facebook's Mark Zuckerberg has already claimed that with his New Year's promise to read a new book every other week, and Arianna Huffington has also pledged to read more good books. I like soup, so maybe our 2015 brand could be EAT MORE SOUP. Although that sounds more like a Campbell's Soup advertisement. "Just do it" has been done to death.

There were some years where the theme just presented itself, but this year, it's a bit of a jumble. We're being pushed and pulled into so many different directions with aging parents, our own aging bodies, and work, work, work. Never have we needed spiritual, mental and physical rejuvenation more, and never have we had so little time to achieve it. For now, though, I'll be content to stop, take a slow and deep breath, and hold onto the brief stillness of this brand new, unbranded New Year, like freshly fallen snow.  

Just Keep It To Yourself: Enough with the Public Marriage Proposals!

Well, it's the holiday season - a time when red and green can be worn at the same time on the same person, a time when fat-shaming is traded in for adoration of a chubby man bearing gifts on his long-haul flight around the world, and a time when jewelry is purchased and someone gets down on bended knee and says the two scariest words ever, "Marry me." The engagement ring - the ultimate stocking stuffer - is often the unexpected guest during the holiday season.  The period between Thanksgiving and the New Year is the busiest time of year for marriage proposals, and why not? After all, this is the usual time of year when couples travel to the hometowns of their significant others. And there, in the glow of the family hearth and home, surrounded by loving strangers in questionable yet kitschy Christmas togs, reeking of holiday cheer and nostalgia, things happen and soon you're watching the guy you've fallen in love with making his ugly cry-face while fumbling with an expensive ring while your nana and pop-pop watch in silent horror as their turkey breast gets cold.

As you may have guessed, I'm not a fan of the public marriage proposal, but, in this social media age, I've been outvoted. Instead of a quiet moment between two people, marriage proposals must go big, bigger, biggest, with stories abounding of elaborate proposals involving flash mobs and choreography that's more involved and twistier than a "Scandal" plot line. But, as anyone knows, the bigger the production, the more likely that things will go wrong, which is why a whole sub-category called marriage proposal fails now exists. This past week, a marriage proposal ended in a man dangling from a crane and a hole in the roof of his girlfriend's house. And the pitfalls of the over-the-top marriage proposal are not limited to property damage. Asking someone to commit to spending the rest of their life with you requires that they consider the question carefully, and that consideration might take longer than the few seconds of space after you say the words and spring the ring. Imagine the unbelievable pressure it puts on a person when this proposal of marriage is delivered in front of a roomful of family members and close friends, or on a jumbo screen in a stadium or other large, public event. Is this public proposal a hint of things to come? Will you tell my family at the Thanksgiving table that we're going to try to have children, in fact, we'll be "trying" in the guest bedroom after you serve the pumpkin pie! ?? Will you be live-Tweeting from the delivery room with pithy hash tags like  #cervix or #AhPushIt? 

So just keep it to yourself, please! It will be great practice for the rest of your married life:)

These Little Boys: On Life and Death and Race

This past Saturday a 13 year boy became a Bar Mitzvah, an occasion marked by the gathering of his family members and cherished friends, from camp, preschool, Sunday school, and junior high. Dressed in their finest, guests ate well and danced to everything from that old classic "Shout" to "YMCA" and the latest hits by Nicki Minaj. There were ice cream dessert bars for adults and kids alike, and amped up versions of childhood games like musical chairs and Coke and Pepsi. There were glow sticks, blinking plastic novelty rings, and plenty of smiles and laughter, all celebrating the greatest accomplishment, so far, in a boy's life. Maybe this doesn't mean anything to you, this religious ceremony that welcomes teenage Jewish boys into assuming responsibility for their actions and for their Jewish faith. But for these boys, and the girls who become Bat Mitzvahs, these occasions will help to prepare the ground for their future accomplishments as adults. 

I am not Jewish, but as a photographer, present for these important life events, I have often wondered about the lives of these little boys compared to the lives of my three African-American nephews and their friends of color.  Two of my nephews, ages 14 and 12 and attending struggling public schools, are already experiencing the frustrations of being left behind academically. And we're trying, my family and I, we're trying and praying with all of our might to right this ship, to protect these boys in their boyhood and, yet, prepare them for an adult world that is forced on them all too soon. Try as we do to give them ice cream filled Saturdays, and happy family times, on a night like this, I feel powerless, but not hopeless. My nephews, these 3 little boys, are my little boys, and your little boys. So for tonight, before I feel discouraged, I'm going to look at a photo of my little boys, and I'll keep on, we'll keep on, loving you and protecting you, and all of these little boys.

My beautiful three nephews

Lena Dunham Needs a Hug

Since I'm much too lazy to join the Netflix cult, my down times usually involve a marathon viewing session of whatever's on cable, which often means reruns of Sex & The City. And while I loved this show so much in my twenties when the episodes first aired, now, in my 40s and married for almost 13 years, I can honestly call out Carrie & Company for being drama-seeking jerks. You make yourself available sexually for a man who refuses to commit to you? Guess what? You've lost the right to be angry at him. You want to agonize over every little detail of your boyfriend, then guess what? You're definitely going to find something wrong with him. At a certain point you have to wonder if the original working title for Sex & The City was I Love Drama! 

So why bash a show that's been dead and buried for a decade? Because in the wake of Carrie Bradshaw, another over-sharing young woman hitting the sheets and the streets of NYC has emerged and is in the process of enraging, or engaging depending on your point of view, a new generation of viewers. Her name is Lena Dunham - and if simply seeing her name in print here is making you see red, then you've heard of her, and you might also hate her. People have been trash-talking Miss Lena for the past few years as her HBO series, Girls has become the media's poster child for the privileged, majority white, millennials who currently hold the title for Most Vilified. Poor Lena! Sure, she undresses, a lot, on her show, and in a way that can make viewers squeamish, but it's her body and it's her thing. I don't think she does it to titillate, in fact the act is more like that of a toddler innocently shedding their clothes and streaking through the house, you know, because toddlers are craycray that way. 

Lena's latest controversy is unfolding now while she's on tour promoting her book, "Not That Kind of Girl." One passage, in particular, has set off red flags as it seems to describe an act of pedophilia possibly performed by Miss Lena on her baby sister. Reading the passage, I wondered several things, including: did this really happen, where were their parents, why write about this, and WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS GIRL?  Seriously, what's wrong with this child? As it happens, I wasn't the only one curious about her motivation - both to do this miserable thing and to write about it. A Twitter war was declared, leading Miss Lena to take a break from her book tour and her nearly 2 million Twitter followers. 

It's the oddest thing, until you realize that this child grew up in the afterglow of Sex & The City and in the emergence of reality TV and celebrity culture. Somehow, Miss Lena, became confused. Look, I never, ever thought that Sarah Jessica Parker the actress was the character Carrie Bradshaw, but clearly, the fashion designers and stylists working with the actress encouraged her to embody the Carrie mystique every time she graced a red carpet. Soon, Sarah Jessica Parker BECAME Carrie, I mean she even has her own trendy shoe line, something that's so Carrie! So is Lena Dunham really her Girls character, Hannah Horvath? Or is Hannah actually Lena hiding in plain sight? Who knows, who will ever know? At some point, though, who will care? Let's not disparage Miss Lena, instead, hug her because, like those who've gone before her on those NYC streets, her genius and promise will air on a basic cable channel on a weekday afternoon.

On Race: Coming to Terms with My Kelsey Problem

Hi, my name is Kelsey! We haven't met, yet, or maybe we have. Maybe you've seen me at Starbucks ahead of you and ordering three skinny pumpkin spice lattes and two iced mocha decafs while pulling my wet hair into a messy low-pony on that day you were running late for your 8:00am conference call. Sorry about that, but I had to grab some caffeine courage for my office biotches, you know! Hey, and super sorry about the maj coffee spillage that happened when my friend texted me about her bangs emergency and I attempted to hold my iPhone to read the text and then tried to reply to the text while balancing those two coffee trays. I felt to Lena Dunham that day, you know? Oh, you don't know! Really?? She's on "Girls" on HBO! I can't believe you haven't seen it!! Well, gotta run - BYYYYYYYEEEEE!

OK, that never happened. This was a fictional conversation between a fictional character named "Kelsey" and, an unwitting player in her life's drama, a fictional character that I'll call "Shandra." It's kind've funny, but, like a "Law & Order" episode, this scene was ripped from the headlines of my life, and, perhaps the lives of others. My fictional "Kelsey" is based on the flesh and blood Kelseys I meet everyday. She is buoyant, forever smiling, chirpy, and full of pluck. She is well-coiffed, though she spends countless hours with her hands in her hair - whether pulling it back with the elastic band that she always wears on her wrist, tucking it behind her ear, or maniacally running her fingers through it and furiously scooping it all to one side or the other or straight back if she really wants to get nuts. Her nails are always buffed and polished, and when they're not, she calls attention to the fact and tells a ripping yarn about why they're not done that usually involves a weird weekend DIY project with her roommates or baking brownies. Yes, brownies - Kelseys love to bake brownies and eat brownies, though not too many. And when they are seen eating their homemade confections, the Kelsey will, undoubtedly, call attention to how massive her gut/butt is, though she's usually south of a US size 8. 

Are you rolling your eyes yet? Or, are you nodding in agreement? Maybe you're doing both, like me!

Kelseys in the workplace are especially difficult to navigate. They are hardcore people-pleasers. Need someone to manage the office birthday party celebrations? Kelsey's there, with her well worn Rachel Ray cookbook and its perfect birthday brownie recipe! Need someone to work late every night for a year without asking for overtime, a raise, or a promotion? Kesley will do it, and she'll do it with a smile. She'll even come in on weekends, wearing her favorite Ann Taylor jewel tone cardi, skinny jeans, ballet flat, and plain white JCrew t-shirt, along with her faux, oversized pearl stud earrings. And don't worry, she'll stop by Starbucks on her way in for coffees for the whole team. I mean, they have to have something decent to drink with the 4 dozen brownies she managed to bake in the hours between working until 10pm on Friday night and arriving at 9am on Saturday morning. 

Kelseys function best in groups where they can stand out, although they hate to call attention to themselves. After work, packs of Kelseys (or is it gaggles, or a murder, no, that's crows) go to the nearest watering hole where they drink shots and call their fellow Kelseys "biotches" at the top of their lungs while precariously balancing an overflowing pilsner glass as they navigate through the throngs of other Kelseys looking to get their drink on! Oh, and here's another note, Kelseys always like to get something "on" - get my laundry on, get my drink on, get my tan on, get my party on - maybe it's because a Kelsey is always "on", which is why after stopping at the bar, the Kelsey then heads to the gym for SoulCycle or some sort of fitness bootcamp. Kelseys like the camaraderie of group classes or team sports, although she'll run a half-marathon for a cause, so for all you trying desperately to recruit for the company kickball team look no further than the Kelsey in your own backyard.

So, what's my beef with the Kelseys? I guess I have to go back to my childhood and my first Kelsey. At the start of second grade, the parents made my sister and I switch to a school closer to home, which meant goodbye to the 35-minute morning commute and hello to a school down the street from us. The change of venue, though, also meant goodbye to the black teachers and classmates I'd grown to love and hello to a predominately white elementary school. All at once, I was a little, fat black girl with unreasonable hair (read: nappy), a shiny face (Grandma liked to Spackle Vaseline on my face EVERY morning), a strange smile (a gap between my front teeth which I proudly display now), and no fashion sense (c'mon, I was a fat kid in the 1970s!). And there were the Kelseys - with their cool Barbie dolls, strawberry lip gloss, perfect penmanship (complete with hearts over their "i"s), and Hello Kitty pencil cases. In the presence of the Kelseys, I felt lacking.

By undergrad, I knew how to deal in the Kelsey-rich environment of my small, southern, nearly 100% white college and I seemed to thrive. But, I could see some cracks beginning to form and the Kelsey-tolerance I thought I'd built up was starting to wane. The Kelseys were the ones going on dates, getting boyfriends and fraternity pins and engagement rings from the white boys on my campus. And me - well, when I wasn't being overlooked or mistaken for one of the dining hall or cleaning staff, I was the friend or the one those white boys wanted to take to bed, but not wed. I felt shame and anger,

After school, though, I learned that I was not alone. That there were others of us who've suffered the Kelsey Curse of feeling less than. In my first job after grad school, I tried to out-Kelsey the Kelseys, striving for perky and upbeat and positive. My white supervisors applauded me, but the black women in my office were divided with some giving me a lot of side-eye and others loving my can-do attitude, and hoping that we finally had a contender to fight the Kelsey scourge!! I was doing alright, and soon, I left for my dream job in radio, but, in a stunning twist, I found that what my new boss wanted me to BE a Kelsey. You see, somewhere I'd become confused, and had taken so much Kelsey into my bloodstream that people thought that I was a Kelsey. But, I'm not, and that's when I began to understand that my Kelsey problem was defining my life. I remember, at that time, going to a vocal coach who said that everyone who hosts their own radio or TV show has to find their voice - who they are, their point of view - and communicate that over the airwaves. It sounded so simple, unless you don't know who you are, and I didn't have a clue. 

I had only defined myself in relation to the Kelseys of the world, and now I am able to see that I am more than I thought. All of the shame and the anger and the longing to belong had become tiresome. I hate thinking about all of the time I lost in the clutches of the Kelsey haze, and even though I have some minor twinges, like when I'm watching "Top Chef" or "Food Network Star" and see another black woman contestant knocked off of her game by some fresh-faced Kelsey, I'm aware of how good life is. Not perfect, but so very good. Too good to be consumed with the cult of Kelsey. So play with your hair, drink your pumpkin-spice beverage, bake your brownies, Zumba your little heart out - I'm over it, Kelsey! 

A Reality TV Vocabulary Primer

Well, the Fall 2014 television season has begun, which means lots of new shows vying for our attention. Among these shows are new reality TV shows, and while the premises for these shows may have upped the OMG-quotient ("Dating Naked" comes to mind), they all include a very basic vocabulary that lets you, the viewer, know that yes, you have stumbled onto a reality show. So, for those of you who took a break over the summer from reality TV, or those of you who are (shocking!) reality TV virgins, here is the quick and dirty, definitive reality TV vocab primer - also known as Reality TV as a Second Language.

Castmate:  
This is reality TV's name for a friend or a frenemy who appears in your same reality TV universe.

Crazypants:
Used as an adjective or as a noun to describe a castmate or a castmate's activities which are particularly irksome, illegal, or that could potentially cause a danger to other castmates. Used in a sentence: Kim went all crazypants shotgunning quarts of milk at Phaedra's Black Cleopatra Costume Party.

Disrespect:
Often used as a verb (NeNe disrespected Phaedra by not inviting her to her Superhero Drag Party) to describe actions by castmates that hurt the feelings of other castmates.

Drama:
The consequences from the thoughtless actions of a crazypants castmate. Drama can be caused by anyone at anytime and should be avoided AT ALL COSTS. One's ability to avoid drama is viewed as a virtue by other castmates.

Epic: 
Not to be confused with the epic "Beowulf" that you read in high school, this use of the term "epic" can describe a plethora of activities or items. An example: Reza's Cold Mountain theme party was epic. Or this: Reza drank an epic amount of espressos.

Girls:
Used most frequently by female castmates to describe other female castmates who may no longer technically qualify for the "girl" designation. An example: This group of girls have so much drama.


Got your back:
Used as a term of endearment for one, or more, of one's castmates who consistently demonstrate loyalty. An example: I thought Tamra had my back, by I was wrong.

Loving someone to death:
A turn of phrase used by castmates to describe their love of a fellow castmate, usually declared when the castmates are inebriated on a party bus or on one of the many forced group vacations castmates must go on with cameras rolling. Usually ending with a sloppy, weird hug.

Team [Insert Name]:
Groups of girls typically subdivide into teams when drama has arisen in the group. The team name denotes the principle parties involved in the altercation. An example: In the matter of Jill vs. Bethanny, I'm Team Jill. 

That just happened:
Often, reality TV castmates must take on the role of narrator for their filmed realities in soliloquies spoken to their camera confessionals. In order, then, to express surprise/outrage/horror, they have developed a verbal shorthand, the phrase, "that just happened", though, spoken with a dramatic pause BETWEEN. EACH. WORD. 

Throwing anyone under the bus:
The term, used to describe an act of betrayal, is in the Top Ten Reality TV Vocabulary Pantheon! And there seems to be no shortage of buses in the reality TV universe as castmates throw each other under buses weekly, and, sometimes, multiple times within one episode. It defies the laws of physics as some of these castmates do not appear to possess the requisite physical strength it would take to toss someone underneath a bus. 

Throwing up a little in your mouth:
This turn of phrase, used to describe a person or situation so vile that it elicits nausea and vomiting, is a staple of reality TV. It seems to have its roots in the Valley Girl speak of the 1980s and that era's popular phrase, "gag me with a spoon."