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Honestly, there are days when the tsunami of news is so overwhelming that I can't but do other than reflect on the words of the late Mr. She's Aunt Sophie, who served as a real-life Rosie the Riveter in one of Pittsburgh's munitions factories during World War II, and who was well known in the family for her very blunt and colorful phraseology. The particular quote I have in mind is so vulgar I can't repeat it here, but it has to do with an unpalatable choice between two equally unpleasant bodily functions.
One story that greeted me on my Twitter feed this morning was that of Serena Williams, a millionaire about 300 times over, who was apparently so discombobulated by the artistic display in the lobby of a New York City hotel that she had to "speak out." The display? A seemingly modest vase containing a few sprigs from a cotton plant.
"Personally, for me, it doesn't feel great," said Williams, a 44-year old tennis megastar who was born in Michigan (never a slave-owning state), raised in California (never a slave-owning state), and who moved—at the age of nine—with her family to Florida (once a slave-owning state) so she could enjoy the great benefit of attending Rick Macci's "tennis academy."
Her concern about the cotton boll display (she's been an ambassador for any number of fashion choices made from cotton over the past few decades, and she's also been the face of a number of sports-inspired wearables known for being put together in third-world countries by what is essentially slave labor), boiled over onto Twitter, where I think this was the winning response:
Runner-up award went to the person who claimed to be Irish, and who said that—on behalf of her ancestors—she weeps with pain every time she sees a potato.
Hardly had I emerged from this crisis of conscience, when I discovered that Greta's latest flotilla had run into trouble. Not from the guy aboard who set off a flare and started a fire which Greta announced was a bombing from Israel. Not from whoever it is (and whoever it is, I admire you!) who's been ABBA-bombing the flotilla's communications with (as it turns out the prophetic) "Dancing Queen," and (one hopes) "Money, Money, Money" (after all, someone is paying for this obscenity, and it would be nice to find out who it is), but that it has been sabotaged from within.
The Daily Mail (what else) reports on the pro-Palestinian activists who have quit the latest convoy after they learned that LGBTQ(etc) campaigners were on board the boats. If we are to believe the report, Khaled Boujemaa, Tunisian coordinator aboard the convoy, has bailed out (so to speak) after discovering:
We were lied to about the identity of some participants in the vanguard of the flotilla, I accuse the organisers of having hidden this aspect from us,' he said, according to a translation by Le Courrier de l’Atlas.
The cause of his frustration was allegedly the participation of activist Saif Ayadi on the flotilla, a 'communist queer militant' who boarded the convoy when it stopped off in Tunisia.
Another prominent activist from the flotilla, Mariem Meftah, took to social media to voice her opposition to LGBTQ+ activists 'taking advantage' of the pro-Palestine cause, one that is 'sacred to us as Muslims'.
'Everyone’s sexual orientation is a private matter... But being a “queer” activist means touching on society’s values and taking a path that risks placing my children and loved ones in a situation we reject,' she wrote, according to a translation.
Imagine my surprise.
As Oscar Wilde is alleged to have said, over Dickens's portrayal of the death of Little Nell: "One must have a heart of stone to read [it] without laughing."
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Photo at top of post is from Wikimedia, was taken at a protest in Cardiff, Wales, and is in the public domain.
PS: Before anyone asks, I'm not tagging this post as humor or satire. This is real.
Discussion (21)
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Being real never precludes being humorous or satirical.
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Well, I've always thought the beauty of satire is that "wait, what?!" moment when the reader or the viewer may be momentarily confused, because it's so almost real that it could be true. And real-life aspects of life certainly can be funny, and should be appreciated as such, even if it's just via a sense of the ridiculous as it applies to each one of us, including ourselves.
Over the last couple of decades, though, I've grown mistrustful of my fellow man's ability to enjoy those distinctions, as we seem to have become more and more literal-minded, and as the imagination--and flights of fancy--seem to be deprecated in favor of a less joyful and far more colorless interpretation of events.
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Well, now I know that Ms. Williams should never visit me at my home, as we (who live in Texas, a major cotton-producing state) have a display of a sprigs of cotton in the entrance to our home.
Maybe I should avoid having any black Americans in my home? Will that help race relations?
The more trivial the "offense," the more I see progress.
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I had a parent with a tin ear and no sense of humor beyond slapstick and another who would stay up late on a work night if there would be Gilbert & Sullivan on PBS. My home was a completely different place in tone depending on who was there. Organizations follow their most influential personalities for the most part. Not everyone can participate fully in viewing Gilbert & Sullivan and others are immune to the charms Moe, Larry, and Curly. I have had to learn to curb the humor and cultural references to keep the Muscovites and Beijing emigres on board, while the Hong Kongers and I have always had a grand time. I found the full spectrum at the Pentagon, with strong personalities everywhere. Not a great surprise, but quite the experience.
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Nonetheless, I am all in favor of "proud" sexual deviants (such as homosexual individuals and "transgender" individuals) proudly displaying their "proud" sexuality in Muslim countries and Muslim neighborhoods.
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