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My DetroitBy Larry Lehna QuailBellMagazine.com Detroit has been many things to me over the years. It has been my home, and a mentor. It has been the tough coach who teaches hard lessons. It has been the friend who is a bad influence and it has been the siren calling me. It has been my vicious pimp and my accommodating whore. It has at times been an affirmation and at times my downfall. It has been my life. Few people know this city as well as I do. When I showed classmates my portfolio of Detroit night scenes, they were in awe that I walked around a city at night with a camera.You have to know how to walk. You walk as if you are surveying your own estate. I am one with the city. As a child I remember the Christmas toy display in the window of Hudson’s on Woodward. We always stopped to look when we came for Hudson’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Both of those wonders are now history. We rode horses and rented canoes on Belle Isle during picnics. We also visited the aquarium, the beautiful gardens and the Great Lakes Museum. I believe only the museum is still operational. When I was in high school we began to explore the city. We attended hockey games at Olympia Stadium, baseball and football at Briggs Stadium. We went to Edgewater Amusement Park at Seven Mile and Lahser. We began hanging out at the corner of Vernor and Junction. There is a great little coney island called Duly’s on that corner. It is kitty-corner from Holy Redeemer Church. In the sixties the juke-box was a nickel, or three songs for a dime, or nine songs for a quarter. There was a place on Bagley between 22nd and 23rd called Evie’s Tamales. All they sold was tamales in lots of six or twelve. When I say only tamales I mean it literally. There was not even anything to drink. It was the only business as far as the eye could see.
That block is now considered Mexican-town and is full of higher priced Mexican restaurants. Evie’s is still there. The place is bigger now and serves a full menu, yet is cheaper than the big name joints. That is where the Mexicans in the neighborhood eat. There is another place frequented by mostly Mexicans on Vernor across from Clark Park called Armando’s. You can have an alcoholic beverage at Armando’s, but not at Evie’s. There are also several taquerias on Vernor. These are little open-air BBQ huts. They are run by Mexicans. I guess they are not worried about the strict definition of the word taqueria. Grab a whole BBQ chicken and take it home. There is something satisfying when you do that during a snowstorm. It also seems to make the chicken taste even better. We used to shop on The Avenue of Fashion, which was Livernois, between Curtis (six and a half mile) and Eight Mile. Urban blight took over, but now they are attempting to rejuvenate the area. On the corner of Livernois and Eight Mile was (it could still be there) Baker’s Keyboard Lounge. Baker’s was the leading jazz club of the city. I have seen performances from some of the people who defined the genre. We attended Motown Revues at the Fox Theater long before it was refurbished. The area adjoining the Fox theater had been taken over by pimps and whores. We found that they did not check ID’s at the two burlesque houses, the Stone and the Empress. I saw my first nude woman at the Stone. The burlesque houses are long gone. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
In Your Mother's ImageBy Christine Stoddard QuailBellMagazine.com I'm an avid reader of XOJane.com, as much for the comments as for the actual articles. (No, that was not an intentional riff off the old joke, “I read Playboy for the articles.”) I especially enjoy watching the conversations about personal identity and feminism unfold. The community that forms over essays like “It Happened to Me: I'm 34 Years Old, and I Just Found Out I'm Not a Woman, But I'm Actually a Man” and “The Myth of the Teenage Temptress: Or Why a Young Girl Can Not Consent to Sex with an Adult Man” gets the ol' gears turning and usually leaves me feeling empowered. It's because of this community that I have yet one more reason to count my lucky stars that I was born in the Age of the Internet. In devouring as many XOJane comments sections as I have, I cannot help but notice some reoccurring ideas. One thought that has been echoed over and over again is the belief that a mother projects her feelings about her physical appearance onto her daughter—whether that means positive or negative body acceptance. Many XOJane commenters have agreed that this rings especially true if a daughter closely resembles her mother. The mother's feelings will influence her daughter and her self-esteem. If she likes her hips and her daughter has inherited the same hips, the daughter will like her hips. If she hates her hips and her daughter has inherited the same hips, the daughter will hate her hips. Time after time, XOJane commenters have mourned over how their mothers' negative body perception has forced a lifetime of self-loathing upon them. While some have directly blamed their mothers, others have acknowledged that their mothers are just as much victims of societal expectations as they are.
When I look at ads in Vogue, Town & Country, and other national fashion and lifestyle magazines, I sometimes wonder what the models think of themselves. These young, tall, and almost impossibly skinny models are our society's ideal beauties. But do the models look in the mirror and feel pretty? What did their mothers tell them growing up? Did they tell them they were beautiful? Or were their mothers too focused on complaining about their “ugliest” features to remind their daughters that they were beautiful? A couple of years ago, ABC News put out an article called “Fashion Models: By the Numbers.” I was shocked to learn that the average professional model only makes $42,560 a year or $20.46 an hour. That's about the same as the average professional journalist and we're all aware that journalism is one of the poorest paid career paths. But once I considered the fact that fashion is a glamour industry (duh), I realized that most models are so hungry (no pun intended) to be a part of it, that they'll settle for low pay. I remember watching the documentary, “Girl Model,” and being astounded by how desperate these tall, skinny Russian girls were to become models in Japan. Why did these girls crave that lifestyle so badly? Why weren't they aspiring for careers in other fields as a different means for escaping poverty? Was it because they needed to be told they were beautiful? Because their mothers forgot to remind them? Or because they misinterpreted their mother's self-loathing as their mother's low opinion of their looks? The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
A Modern Day Hamlet?By Misty Thomas QuailBellMagazine.com When “Sons of Anarchy” first premiered, I had yet to give in to becoming addicted to another television show. A friend of mine, Melissa, had told me over and over again just how great it was. When I realized that it was on Netflix, I decided to watch the first episode. About ten hours later on a lazy Sunday, I was hooked. I was hooked on the characters, the dreamy men in leather, and the brilliance of the strong female characters. More than any of these things however, I was hooked on the fact that there were these underlying similarities to Shakespeare’s “Hamlet.” I decided to do a little research of my own. After doing so, I found that the creator and writer, Kurt Sutter, has loosely based the show on “Hamlet.” The similarities are impeccable and this has spawned my love for this show just as my love for “Hamlet” has grown through watching the show and doing some more research of my own. “When sorrows come, they come not single spies. But in battalions!”
The show takes place in a town in California called Charming. It has quite the diverse popular from crooked politicians to Hispanics to African-Americans to good Christian folk to families to crooked cops to Neo-Nazis, to motorcycle gangs—you name it! This town has it! Charming would be the modern day kingdom of Denmark. With any kingdom, however, you need a royal court. Charming’s royal court is led by the newly crowned king, Clay, who is now the president of the motorcycle club, the Sons of Anarchy. His step-son, Jax, is the vice president of the club and the son of the past king, John Teller. Jax is pretty much Hamlet. The great part is, he is actually referred to as the prince quite a few times in the show. He is still in pain from his father’s death and will soon come to find out that his step-father, Clay, had a hand in it. Are you following the references yet? The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Quarter-life CrisisI hear this imaginary conversation take place during the silences that hang between my friends and me these days. It's like we're not really talking about what we're about to order at the drive-thru, even if that's literally the topic at hand. We're not really bitching about rent or car payments or relationships, either. What we're saying in this alternative universe of truth goes more along these lines:
“You're too old to be an ingenue.” “The Manic Pixie Dream Girl act isn't that cute.” “Grown-ups don't spend their Sundays picking Doritos crumbs out of their boxers with 'The Ren & Stimpy Show' blasting in the background.” “Grow the fuck up.” But we're Millennials. And we're hitting our quarter-life crisis. It's time to get married or apply to grad school. The most desperate will probably attempt both at once, but not before (at least) one final weekend of collegiate excess akin to a Roman orgy. Two hundred years ago, this would be my mid-life crisis, if I were lucky enough to die as late as fifty. I would've popped out several children by now, mainly because I'd be fortunate to see one live long enough to produce children of their own. The rest would've died of TB or who knows what. It would take me all day to prepare meals for my family, not only because of the labor involved but because I was a soon-to-be old woman with bad hands and eyes. That was then, this is now. “Nobody on the road/Nobody on the beach/I feel it in the air/The summer's out of reach/Empty lake, empty streets/The sun goes down alone/I'm drivin' by your house/Though I know you're not at home.” Carpe diem and happy Labor Day. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Post Obama's March on Washington SpeechBy Paisley Hibou QuailBellMagazine.com As I prepare to hit Interstate 95 for Labor Day weekend festivities, the best I can hope for is a '90s alternative rock marathon playing on the radio. No matter what driving strategy I employ—leaving in the middle of the night or taking a local route for part of the journey—I will inevitably face some amount of time in bumper-to-bumper traffic. The road to Washington is a long one. If I don't have grunge rock stars bobbing in my head like sugarplum fairies, I'll pull a Kurt Cobaine. I don't mean that literally, of course. I just get so angry when the roads are congested and only the likes of No Doubt can save me from tumbling into the throes of insanity. Maybe because I have this fantasy that I'm actually caught in a '90s teen drama like “My So-Called Life” or “Freaks and Geeks.” I would undoubtedly be a struggling goody-goody like Angela Chase. I'm so frustrated! I want to be bad so badly! Why can't I do something truly horrific to all the other cars on the road! I want to make the 6 o'clock news for the world's worst road rage! That is the kind of perverse, narcissistic internal dialogue that takes over after a long week at the office (#firstworldproblems). There are other drivers who have a much more valid reason to feel angry when they hit the road this weekend. They are the ones leaving D.C. They are the ones who came for the March on Washington and heard President Obama's speech, mainly for the chance to be disappointed.
I don't think any reasonable person expected that having a black U.S. president would bring us racial and socio-economic Utopia on a silver platter and money raining from the sky (plus unicorns, always unicorns.) Of course Obama has faced too many challenges for any president to fully address in one or even two terms. You can't just erase the ugly effects of slavery and Jim Crow because you really, really want to. Otherwise the unemployment rate would be zero and college would be free for everyone. Plus, yeah, unicorns—we'd all have them because who doesn't want one of those? A lot of progress has been made in the past fifty years because of MLK, Jr. and crew, but that men's club I wrote about on Monday still employs an all-black waitstaff. I had another company breakfast there this very morning. My server was a black woman who mumbled when she spoke and did not make eye contact. She was probably embarrassed to be serving an elaborate breakfast to a huge table of overly educated, rich-as-far-as-she-was-concerned group of white/white-passing people. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Ecuador's comida típicaSince arriving in Ecuador, food has been a struggle for me. The typical diet here consists of beans, rice, cheese, meat, fresh fish, and every kind of starch you can think of- white flour, white rice, yuca, potato, and green plantains. So the first half is automatically ruled out for me, which has left me eating a diet largely composed of starch. This, so different from my normal diet, has left me hungry and wanting for fiber. I have traveled to countries with similar diets, but I am having a much harder time in Equador – though it is not for lack of produce. The area is actually rich in fruits and vegetables, but in the local diet fruit is commonly consumed in the form of highly sweetened juice. Though fresh and delicious, all the sugar can begin to affect you after your fifth glass.
However, thanks to a project that I have been invited to work on, I am getting to see a different side of food-life here in Bahía de Caráquez. Though my principal responsibility with La Poderosa Media Project is to help manage organizational communications such as Youtube videos, Facebook albums, blog posts, etc., I have been invited to be photographer for a documentary project a few people here are working on. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
A Dowry for GuysMost of us have heard of a dowry, the collection of properties and other valuable things which a young lady gives to her husband upon their marriage. It's a word bandied about in period movies all the time. But what is less well known is the groom's version, the corbeille de mariage. An extremely important tradition in 19th century France, the corbeille de mariage was a gift basket given by the groom to the bride upon the signing of the wedding contract. Inside it was a host of lovely things, the objects that would transform the woman from a young daughter to a mature married lady. The corbeille was worth rougly five to ten percent of the dowry, and as the century progressed became an important piece of furniture, taking the form of a little desk or a trunk. While corbeilles varied depending on budget, certain items were simply must-haves. The March 1847 issue of La Mode describes two corbeilles:
The cashmere shawl was an extremely important luxury item in the early to mid-19th century, and no corbeille was complete without one. Fans, gloves, purses, lace for decorating garments, jewels, and handkerchiefs were similarly required.
The corbeille had an important symbolic value as well. Young, unmarried women would generally dress in a demure manner. Light colors, little decoration, overall a not very flashy appearance. This was part of her allure, as a woman who dressed in an extravagant manner signaled an expensive lifestyle. Men didn't want a wife who would drain all their money with her spending. But a plain and modestly dressed woman showed good sense and would not bankrupt her future husband with her spending (supposedly). Married women, on the other hand, reflected their husbands' wealth and subsequently were "allowed" to dress in a more decorative style. Thus the presentation of the corbeille, filled with the luxurious, decorative items of a married woman, signaled the transition to a new status, that of the respectable married woman. It was symbolic of the young lady's entrance into adulthood. But you don't hear about that at bachelorette parties anymore, do you? The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Hoodoo, Voodoo, and Robert JohnsonBy Misty Thomas QuailBellMagazine.com How could you NOT notice the sudden pop culture fascination with the supernatural? First, there were shows on TLC, the Discovery Channel, HBO, you name it. They've been popping up everywhere in the past 5 or so years, much to my delight. I have had a slight infatuation with the supernatural since I was a very young child. Watching horror movies entirely waaay past my bed time after my mom would go to sleep, seeing Michael Jackson's “Thriller” on MTV and thinking about zombies non-stop, and hearing ghost stories from relatives about what they had seen and felt always appealed to me and made me very curious about what else is "out there." I blame being a twin on a lot of things, but especially for my love of the supernatural. As weird as it may sound, I am one of those firm believers that twins do have some sort of psychic and gifted powers or intuition. My sister knows things about me before I do and vice-a-versa. I feel that we are both very open to the supernatural and have been since we were children.
That being said, a few years ago, my sister and I were introduced to the television show, "Supernatural." The show immediately caught our attention because it is about a pair of brothers who are ghost- and demon-hunters PLUS there's a stellar soundtrack of classic rock. We were hooked right away! "Supernatural" combines many topics in every single episode. It was originally supposed to be based solely on urban legends, but the writers then began to write in cult rituals, hauntings, and possessions. There are so many of these topics that I wanted to research and share that they all cannot fit into one article, so I dedicate this mini-series, "Crossroad Blues," to the world of the supernatural. Hoodoo and Voodoo: Hoodoo and Voodoo are two very different types of rituals with a long history. Southern and Haitian folklore have made Voodoo and Hoodoo common in Mississippi and Louisiana. However, they are not one in the same. Hoodoo is a combination of pagan traditions, ancient worship, and some elements of European religions, whereas Voodoo is considered an actual religion that worships and prays to African gods and goddesses, with influence from New World Catholicism. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
A Friend in Need is a Friend IndeedA good friend is priceless: this sentiment has been echoed again and again throughout the pages of some of the greatest literature we know. As we draw toward the end of the month where National Friends Day falls (it was August 4th!), it seems appropriate to focus on some of the close friendships in our favorite novels. So let’s give friendship one last ‘Hurrah!’ with this countdown of a few phenomenal literary bonds:
Sherlock Holmes –> Dr. Watson (The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes) Seriously, where would Sherlock Holmes be without his beloved Watson? The man puts up with near death experiences, Holmes’ weird living habits, and is possibly the only human being who Sherlock actually cares about. Sherlock Holmes just wouldn’t be the same without his trusty sidekick. Frodo –> Samwise (The Lord of the Rings) I know a lot of people willing to give these two a hard time for their ‘weirdly’ close relationship. But, come on, when a guy travels with you through the most barren and destitute of places just to help you save Middle-earth, you can’t help but form a special connection…like the kind that makes you best friends for life. Mole –> Ratty (The Wind in the Willows) Ratty is the selfless type of friend you’ll always wish you had. He’s patient enough to not only let Mole come live with him, but he teaches him to row a boat, and introduces Mole to his own circle of fun friends! Suffice to say that many pleasant times were had by these two in their adventures by the river. What about you? Which are some of your favorite friendships from your favorite books? We’d love to hear what you have to say. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Loan Officers are the new boogeymen.By Starling Root QuailBellMagazine.com Chances are if you're reading this post, you're a college-educated woman, or at least plan to become one. Why? Because that's the demographic that reads actual essays and articles online, aware that BuzzFeed.com publishes something other than hilarious lists. Now, if you're a college-educated woman in the United States, chances are pretty good that you also carry student loans. According to Sallie Mae's “How America Pays for College 2012” report, 18% of college students and 9% of students' parents take out loans to pay for college. If you have any interest in higher education (and your personal future), you've probably heard that President Obama has proposed a college-rating system that evaluates colleges based on their tuition policies. The idea is to give families a full financial picture. The story doesn't end there. The Washington Post Wonkblog is now running a 10-part series over the next two weeks “exploring the causes and consequences of—and potential fixes for—the skyrocketing costs of higher education.” The series is called “The Tuition is Too Damn High.” In part one, writer Dylan Matthews opens the post with this statement:
Does that sound like a dream? It's not. It's the truth. If your parents and grandparents were fortunate enough to go to college, ask them how much their tuition was. You might feel tempted to cry. Their tuition was much lower than yours. Sure, Grandma might've been forced into declaring a Home Ec major even if her heart and mind should've put her in a STEM field, but, hey, at least she didn't have to worry about those monthly post-grad payments! There are some things that still make the good ol' days the good ol' days.
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Happy Dumpling Week!By QB Curator QuailBellMagazine.com It's Dumpling Week on NPR*, so why not tease you with dumplings here on Quail Bell? Enjoy these vintage dumpling images: * You know our editor's an NPR junkie, right?
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Rapunzel probably never had an orgasm.By Christine Stoddard QuailBellMagazine.com How many works of classic literature would be ruined if more heroines' fathers had been like Ferrett Steinmetz, author of the now viral essay, “Dear Daughter: I Hope You Have Some Fucking Awesome Sex”? One thing even a nostalgic gal like me can't romanticize is sexism. If I could imagine an old-timey era without institutionalized -isms, modern plumbing and refrigeration, efficient transportation, and the Internet, I'd be left with the inventories of today's antique and vintage shops. Sexism thrived in Medieval Europe and Antebellum America and Victorian England and all those other time periods I so adore as much as it does today, and more. I cannot deny that. That's the problem with nostalgia—you're trapped in this mental state of yearning for something that never truly existed. Sure, in some ways the Middle Ages were easier. As a woman, I would have had very few life choices and thus, the angst that comes with weighing all of my options as a modern woman wouldn't have overwhelmed me as it does today. I would've worked in the fields, cooked, tended to animals, birthed children, and raised those children if I lived past childbirth. Today I have a whole menu of choices, whether personal, academic, or professional. I have to think and over-think until I've decided which choices make the most sense for me as an individual. Yet even with that angst, I would much rather have choice. In fact, I am lucky to enjoy such freedom of choice and I appreciate the feminists of generations past who fought for my rights. That is not to say that my menu is as diverse as it should be. Our world is obviously not an egalitarian one, and all of us should continue to fight for a fairer society. But it cannot be argued that I have fewer choices than my medieval peasant self in an alternate universe would have had. I have more choices. Objectively.
Sex is one sphere where women have a wider range of socially acceptable choices than they once did. Today I can pursue nearly whatever sexual lifestyle I wish. Though some lifestyles are judged harsher than others, I can pretty much guarantee that nobody's going to stone me, regardless of what I choose to do in the bedroom and with whom. Contrast that to my medieval self. I probably would've been forced to wear an iron-clad chastity belt until I entered an arranged marriage with a man twenty years my senior. Since this was a time when lust was highly discouraged and female sexuality was deemed suspicious at best, it's likely I would not have had my needs met. My medieval husband would've done his business and called it a night. There's not much wiggle room in that scenario, right? The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Because you asked about twerking.By The Sparrow Goddess QuailBellMagazine.com Seriously, is writing about Miley Cyrus the only way to get readers this week? So far my favorite “coverage” of the former Hannah Montana's performance at the VMAs came from The Onion—or, er, should I say from Meredith Artley, Managing Editor of CNN.com? My second favorite came from Jezebel.com. Their “This Is What We Talk About When We Talk About Miley Cyrus” is a must-read for anyone who loves discussions about white pop stars re-appropriating “the styles and dance moves of black people.” After all this chitter-chatter of twerking, I was tempted to write a history of the dance move à la Quail Bell. But then I saw that, darn it, HLNtv.com had already done that, minus the à la Quail Bell part. And, obviously, there's a Wikipedia page on twerking. Surprisingly, given the online explosion this topic has seen, that Wikipedia page does not mention Miley Cyrus in so much as a footnote (though that's likely to change).
What, then, can I really add to this conversation? Absolutely nothing, except that this topic has unfortunately arrested my attention. So much so that when I watched this YouTube video, Button Quail Mating, today, I immediately saw twerking. Thank you, Miley. You have made all the quails in the universe twerk—and that cannot be unseen. You made history. Are you happy? The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
"You just got a letter, you just got a letter..."By QB Camera Eye QuailBellMagazine.com Before Facebook, there was AOL Instant Messenger. Before AIM, there was email. Before email, there were—gasp!—physical letters. Don't you miss the days of holding your breath, waiting for the perfect, heartfelt letter handwritten on Lisa Frank stationery to arrive? The Quail Bell Crew does. We also miss that "Blue's Clues" "Mailtime" song. Our kids won't know what the heck those lyrics mean. Unless, of course, we tell them all about the olden days, which of course, we will.
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'Til the Sound of My Voice will Haunt YouEveryone loves a good love story, right? Boy meets girl, girl falls head over heels for boy who is a musician and drop dead gorgeous. Then they join a band, write songs for one another, and slowly all of their relationships come undone. During my teenage years, I became obsessed with a story much like this one, the story of Fleetwood Mac, rather, the story of Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham. I would eat, sleep, and drink this story. They wrote songs and entire albums for one another. Lindsey all but worshiped the ground that Stevie walked on. The way their voices sound together, the way they looked at each other while they were on stage together. I wanted so much to be the Stevie Nick’s to my teenage crush. I suppose it was the hunch that if a musician wrote a song for you, it would change your life forever. That's the kind of hope Fleetwood Mac gave me. My obsession with the band Fleetwood Mac began at a very early age. As a small child, I remember my grandmother quoting and singing the lyrics to “Don’t Stop." For those of you that may not quite be old enough to have a firm grasp on the classic rock band, they were a very popular band that came out in the late 60’s. For those of you unfamiliar with the song, there lyrics push the ultimate positivity of tomorrow and what the new day holds: “If you wake up and don't want to smile/if it takes just a little while, open your eyes and look at the day/you'll see things in a different way./Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow,/don't stop, it'll soon be here,/it'll be better than before,/yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone.” Any time that I would have a terrible day (and back in middle school, a terrible day consisted of not getting selected for the kickball team or blowing a solo in chorus class), my grandmother would quote these lyrics and in all of my years, any bad day is always an excuse to use them. And then she and VH1's "Behind the Music" taught me more about the band. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Scavenging for that Culture CredBy Starling Root QuailBellMagazine.com You must be a culture vulture if...
• you take pride in paying full price for opera and ballet tickets. • you read events listings with a discerning eye and your nose in the air. • you wouldn't touch a light beer with the longest martini stirrer known to mankind. • you have more museum membership cards than debit, credit, and gym cards combined. • you watch “films,” not “movies,” and not the kind you can watch in mainstream theaters, either. • your local librarian knows you on a first name basis—whether you owe late fees or not. • you go to art galleries, read artist statements from top to bottom, and even buy art. (But, yeah, you drink the free wine like the rest us, too.) • you watch several plays a season, and not just for the gay dating scene. • you pronounce foreign words damn close to the real thing and know, really and truly, where the accent marks go. • you know people call you a pretentious prick and actually think it's a compliment. What's the difference between a culture vulture and a hipster? Nothing, except a culture vulture is twenty years older and not trying to play poor. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
When All the Waitstaff is BlackBy Paisley Hibou QuailBellMagazine.com NPR is my aural crack. If it's not yours, then you're missing out on some fascinating March on Washington coverage, from interviews to reflections to book discussions. This morning, in the wee hours when the highway was virtually free of commuters, I heard a Q&A with two men who were rookie cops back in 1963—one black, one white. Those were the days when Washington, D.C.'s police force was stills segregated, making their crowd control during the peaceful protests a ironic reminder of the social crisis ravaging America at the time. On almost a daily basis, I'm reminded of how that social crisis isn't over. Here's one episode that illustrates just what I mean: Over a year ago, I worked for a magazine that hosted a company event at a men's club. I stepped through the majestic columned entrance donning my best daywear. Even in this age, it is rare for women to come inside the building. They are only invited for special occasions and expected to look their finest. Growing up, I remember hearing my father sometimes remark on the strangeness of men's clubs. What a sexist remnant from the past. His voice played in my head as a man offered to hang up my coat. I politely declined and headed up to the company breakfast. That's when I noticed that the coat check attendant was not the only black member of the waitstaff. All of the employees were black. The man filling my glass with ice water was black. The man placing food trays on the buffet table was black. The man replenishing the juice carton supply was black. Everyone sitting at the table—with the exception of two interns, the only black ones I'd ever seen in my two years at the company—was white.
I immediately felt awkward, not just because I was a woman in a men's club but a white woman. Now I think to #solidarityisforwhitewomen and #blackpowerisforblackmen on Twitter. How did these black men feel serving white men all day? How did these black men's wives, girlfriends, sisters, and mothers feel about them serving white men all day? I didn't have much of an appetite after noting the situation, despite being a college student seated ten feet away from tables overflowing with free, fancy food. Even though I was groggy, I tried extra hard to enunciate 'thank you' each time a server poured me water or offered to take something out of my way. But I felt—and feel—horrible that that's the best I could imagine doing at that point. Had only black men applied for these jobs? Did this club have any black members? Why didn't my company employ more black people? Why were these racial dynamics still a reality in 2012? It would take too long to answer these questions in this essay and I probably couldn't without getting angry, anyway. For brevity's sake, I'd probably be better off pointing at a map of triangular trade and calling it a day. What I can do, perhaps a little more successfully, is wish everyone going to Washington, D.C. in honor of the March on Washington and current voting concerns my deepest appreciation and best wishes. Thank you for revering and making history. Please treat the event as an opportunity to respect a generation's sacrifices and not just as, in the words of my former AmeriCorps buddy, Daniel Stokes, an opportunity to “Facebook or Instagram a picture to look trendy.” The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Dirty 30's Weren't So Dirty After AllWomen's fashion in the '30s became a little more form-fitting and longer in length than it had been during the comparatively outrageous Roaring Twenties. In order to make clothes that hugged the body, designers had to use very lightweight fabrics such, as crêpes and lighter satins—both very elegant fabrics. Here are some examples of what designers did way back when: For our first dress, I am bringing you the famous Jeanne Lanvin. This dress is made of off white-wool crêpe decorated throughout with silver sequins; the design is mostly abstract geometric shapes, but there are a few stylized fish. Also note the low neckline, straight-topped bodice, and 1" thick straps, as well as the natural waistline accentuated by a thin, sequin-covered belt. The skirt falls straight to the floor. Chicago History Museum Next up we have a House of Worth evening gown, c.1932. It's sleeveless and a pale sea-foam green with a V-neck, decorated with large seashells of various types all over the fabric. The straps are decorated with sequins and rhinestones. Attached to the dress is a sea-foam crêpe de chine slip with slide closure. More on the House of Worth Next, take a look at a dress from Coco Chanel. This dress is made of dark purple blue silk net and crochet, and is completely covered with tiny iridescent paillettes, which are sewn onto the yarn strands. The V-shaped neckline with fold-over collar trails down the back of the dress and can be tied like a scarf. The dress also has a proper left-side zipper and flared, ankle-length skirt. More on House of Chanel Last but not least, we have another stunner. This little beauty is from Mainbocher, c. 1938. It is floor-length and an evening style, pink and gold jacquard weave with silk brocading. It has a high neckline with attached trompe l'oeil (illusion of depth) necklace of sequins, glass beads, and orange pink beading. The cap sleeves have similar trim at edge, and the bodice attaches to the straight skirt at the natural waist.
It is becoming obvious to me as I find these gowns that I will have to revisit this time period again and again—I just can't do it justice in only 4 photos! The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Facebook might kill your kid's love for nature.By Christine Stoddard QuailBellMagazine.com Psst...Misty Thomas recently wrote, "Facebook might kill your relationship," and I couldn't resist piggybacking on that. The scene of pine and lavender. The chittering of chipmunks and squirrels. The sight of a golden orb spider's web glistening with the sunrise. These things of beauty remind you that nature isn't “icky.” It is in fact precious, especially as sterile buildings mushroom overnight, infesting America's landscape. But if you grow up with your face glued to a screen, groomed to compete for Facebook likes and Tumblr reposts as soon as you can learn to read, will you recognize these things of beauty? I grew up with fantasy and fairy tales. I grew up with books like Dragon's Milk and movies like The Never-ending Story. I grew up learning how magic and nature are entwined, perhaps even one in the same. Apart from the occasional jaunt with Myst trilogy and an intense Neopets phase, I steered away from computer games. I preferred to sit under a tree with a book or cuddle up with my stuffed animals for a movie or TV show. Books, movies, and TV shows were the media I consumed.
These media, whether shows like “The Smurfs” or “Adventures of the Gummi Bears,” usually encouraged me to go outside and play. After all, how can a kid watch a move like “Fern Gully” and not want to go swing from a tree or dig a hole in the dirt? Social media did not yet exist. I wasn't obsessed with how many of my classmates had liked a cell phone pic of me eating breakfast. While I use social media today and appreciate that it has merits, I worry that it doesn't prompt kids to respect nature and play outdoors the way traditional children's media, whether The Wind in the Willows or “Yogi Bear,” often does. Does this mean launching a Facebook/Instagram/Pinterest campaign for the munchkins? Maybe. If properly executed, it might really get them excited. Or they might just roll their eyes and go back to taking selfies for Facebook. I'm pretty sure the next big thing won't involve earth fairies, much to my chagrin. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
SandboxBy Kristine Conroy QuailBellMagazine.com “No. You must get out of the sandbox.” I stared at him blankly. It wasn’t his thick French accent that was confusing. I just wasn’t expecting this as a response to asking him if he would write me a letter of recommendation. “What?” “Why won’t you apply anywhere else? Don’t tell me it’s for a boy.” “No, um, no boy. I just, I dunno, I like it here, I have a job…an apartment…I dunno.” “I will write you the letter.” “Oh, okay, thank—“ “If you apply somewhere else in addition to our department. Look at Binghamton’s program, Stoneybrook…but Buffalo. Yes. Look at Buffalo.” “Buffalo?” Don’t they have cables running between all the buildings on campus so you can pull yourself to class through the blizzards? I didn’t ask. I just agreed meekly and left his office. I had not expected anyone to tell me that day that I should walk away from everything I knew and had built here so far for the city of Buffalo. It is a city, right? After doing some research that mostly consisted of one Wikipedia page, I could not substantiate my snow cable rumor but I did have some new bits of information about this suggested new home. President McKinley was shot there. Rick James was buried there. That asshole that did the Cross-Bronx Expressway destroyed a neighborhood or something there. High crime rate, one of the highest poverty rates, good art scene…whatever. I’ll get through the application, he’ll write me that letter and then I’ll submit it to the school in the city that I was actually living in. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The History of PinkThe color pink has come to represent all that is quintessentially girly. Barbie, the most famous of girls' dolls, frequently wears pink, drives a pink convertible, and lives in a pink house. In the movie "Legally Blonde" (2001), Elle Woods, the stereotypical ditzy sorority girl, is often dressed in her signature color—pink. Disney princesses, including Cinderella, Ariel, and Aurora, all appear in pink gowns at some point in their movies. The logo for breast cancer awareness, a disease associated with women (although men can get breast cancer as well), is a pink ribbon. I know some women who love pink because it's girly, and some who hate it for the same reason. For some, pink represents the negative gender stereotype of a shallow and stupid girl. For others, pink represents a vibrant celebration of femininity. I myself like the color pink, not for any gender connotations, but because I think it is a pretty color. However, I know my fondness for pink clothes, accessories, and objects to decorate my house with sends a certain message to people, be it positive or negative. I have sometimes been criticized for my fondness of pink, and told that it makes me seem immature, unintelligent, and "girly" (that is, I'm like a little girl, not an adult woman). Strong Independent Modern Women don't wear pink! I think Strong Independent Modern Women can wear whatever they like but that is besides the point. Pink is a highly politicized color. But it hasn't always been that way. The designations of pink and blue as gendered colors that we know today did not come about until the twentieth century, when children's clothing became gender specific. In previous centuries, young boys and girls wore dresses and skirts (because it was easier to change diapers that way) for the first years of their life. But this began to change in the twentieth century, and with gendered clothing came gendered colors. It may surprise you to know that pink has traditionally been a masculine color. Pink, as a lighter version of red, had associations with blood and fighting, symbols of masculinity. Blue, today the color designated as masculine, has traditionally been the feminine color. In Christian tradition, blue is the iconographic color code of the Virgin Mary, and what is more feminine than the symbol of purity herself, the virgin mother of the son of God? In June 1918, the Infants' Department wrote:
So when did the colors switch, with pink becoming feminine? It was during the 1950's that pink became strongly feminized. This was not a sudden change, but the result of a gradual evolution. The designation of pink as feminine was the result of several factors, one of which was due to changes in the clothing industry. By the 1950's, most families bought clothing from stores, and clothing manufacturers helped to shape the idea of gendered clothing. In her book about the history of gendered childrens clothing, Pink and Blue, Jo Paoletti writes:
In recent years, men have somewhat reclaimed the color pink. In conjunction with the release of Baz Luhrmann's new adaptation of The Great Gatsby, Brooks Brothers sold a design based on Jay Gatsby's famous pink suit. Famous hip hop artists such as Jay Z and Kanye West have been pictured wearing pink. And preppy polo shirts and shorts for men come in a variety of shades of pink. So is the pink stigma being lifted? Only time will tell.
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Vintage Photos for KeepsYoung women run splashing into the water in their swimsuits at Lake George in New York, 1945.
This photo and others from the National Geographic archives were put up for auction by Christie’s in an exclusive, online-only sale from July 19-29. (See here for details.) Photograph by B. Anthony Stewart, National Geographic. Source and copyright: National Geographic Found The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Gin Blossoms--Making a Lukewarm ComebackRemember in the 90′s when going to a Sugar Ray, Gin Blossoms or Smash Mouth concert would cost an arm and a leg? If you waited patiently, and crossed your fingers that none of these band members overdosed on heroin in the last 20 years, then you would've had the chance to see all three, plus Vertical Horizon and Fastball, for a low fee.
Why? Because Under the Sun tour tickets only cost $28-100 bucks. What a steal! So hate me for having gone if you didn't have the chance. Each band was smart enough to only pay their greatest hits since no one really cares about their new stuff. This is funny to note but before this concert, I didn’t even know that the Gin Blossoms were a prolific band. Apparently, they are famous for the following hits—that are in a continuous loop on DC101, the rock station of Washington, D.C., where I live and many Quail Bellers are from. Gin Blossoms Greatest Hits
In addition to McGrath having a thing for hand play, Smash Mouth played oldies but goodies! In fact, I saw some graying baby boomers rock out hard, until they misplaced a hip? Vertical Horizon tugged at my heart strings a bit since they played Best I Ever Had in a melodious but real way. Lastly, Fastball was never one of my favorites but it’s important to note that it was the only band on the lineup that was ever nominated for a Grammy. Wolf Trap, as a whole, was teeming with Gen Xers, baby boomers and millenials. It’s a good thing I left halfway through Smash Mouth to fight imminent traffic. During the walk up to the car I was getting hungry, so I stopped by 7-11 to get a slurpee. Much to my surprise, I found fake hostess snacks branded by 7-11. I didn’t know what to think except that I hope Mark Mcgrath eats a fake 7-11 twinkie while he hits on the elderly. What a nostalgia trip. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The No-go RehearsalIf you read the first part of what I thought would be a series entitled “My Magic Carpet Ride as Jasmine,” I apologize in advance for any disappointment I may cause. I am not, after all, going to be playing the Disney Princess Jasmine this summer. I chose not to return for the following rehearsal after the drama that went down at the first one. Life is stressful enough and I don't need the added stress of trying to please a client whose ego-trips don't come with a return flight. That's the end of that tale then. But because I am a woman of my word and a storyteller at heart, I couldn't resist spinning you another yarn. While this one has nothing to do with what would've been a frustrating Disney Princess gig, it has everything to do with my other life as a children's party entertainer. This other life involves making balloon animals and painting faces at little kids' birthday parties. Two weekends ago, I took many a winding road to Kinsdale, Virginia. Kinsdale is a tiny town in Westmoreland County up in the Northern Neck. The Northern Neck is a peninsula along the Chesapeake Bay and a mostly rural area. Poverty in this region is noticeably higher than in other parts of the state. For generations, people there lived off of profits from tobacco plantations, grain farming, and the bay—sources that have become less economically viable now that employers care more about your knowledge of widgets than your knowledge of crabbing.
Most of the houses I noticed on my way to the party were modest ramblers, often surrounded by cornfields. But when I pulled onto the road where the party would take place, I quickly realized that I'd be doing my first-ever trailer park birthday party. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Your Chubs are BeautifulBy The Picture Pharmacist QuailBellMagazine.com Dear fledglings, I hope you're as sick with all the fat-shaming memes as I am! There's definitely more than one definition of beauty and, hey, it's not just the kind you find printed on a Barbie box. Why don't you download this fairy, pop her into Photoshop and put a little meat on her bones? Just chunk her up a bit. Maybe she's had a bad month and gained some weight. Maybe she was recently diagnosed with a disease that makes it difficult for her to exercise and she's adjusting to a new lifestyle. Maybe it's in her genes. Whatever, you don't know and it ain't any of your business. Accept that she's beautiful and move on. That's all I got. Feathery hugs, The Quail Bell Crew
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