The Wiz by Aaryn Belfer

Last Friday night, my husband, my daughter and I gathered around my laptop to choose a movie to watch as a family. The adults in the house narrowed the selection down to three titles and from them, the child chose The Wiz, which was cool, even though I remembered it being long. We were happy to be able to show our black daughter an all-black cast.

Months prior to this, during the holidays, I had been flipping through the channels one night when I came across White Christmas with Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye. I’m a huge fan of old movies, but somehow I’d never seen that one, and so I lingered on it just long enough to hook my kid. 

Two of the great disappointments of my Life as a Parent have been that my child was never into a) Sesame Street, or b) going to the movies. I really should go to therapy about it. It’s been a struggle for me, the fact that I can’t get my kid into a theater even with the promise of bottomless M&Ms, a Coke and popcorn with real butter flavoring. That’s right: Real butter flavoring. My treat! Still: Nuh-uh. It’s home viewing or bust. 

And so I was particularly and quietly thrilled out of my mind when my daughter begged, “No, mama! Don’t turn it off!” Which is how White Christmas launched the 2012 holiday season in Belferland, where alongside the usual fare of A Charlie Brown Christmas and other animated shorts, The Wizard of Oz, Funny Face, and my hands’ down all-time favorite, Auntie Mame (with Rosalind Russell, not Lucille Ball. Make note) were in heavy rotation. Big Bird and any future therapist could stuff it for all I cared. Once my kid asked to see Auntie Mame for a fourth time, I was already in parenting nirvana, sitting on my cloud, dangling my feet and stuffing my face with a tin of Almond Roca. I had dreamed of sharing these films with Ruby since she was eight days old. Now it would be a matter of time before I showed her the jubilance of Singin’ In The Rain and, someday down the road, the heartbreak of West Side Story. 

“Mama,” Ruby said, bringing me back to earth. “There are no brown people. Where are the brown people?” 

Where indeed? 

To be clear, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t noticed. I noticed. I always notice. I notice how most films play to the normative white-as-default. I notice how pretty much every kid flick ever released has a white protagonist, though often nowadays (especially if you’re Disney) with a POC as a silly sidekick. I notice how every single animated film that comes out today boasts white main characters, something that especially irritates me since animated characters are the product of someone’s imagination and can be anything. I notice how there aren’t many characters in films, animated otherwise, who reflect my child. Clearly, she notices, too.

So. Last weekend and The Wiz. Despite it being unfortunately long; as in long-ass long; as in GOOD GOD SHE’S SINGING AGAIN/STILL/MORE; as in I’m fairly certain there was no extra reel tape on the cutting room floor way back in 1978, but if I’d had the scissors, it would have been a slasher flick; despite this aspect of run time that perhaps played a role in the film’s box office failure, we used it to show our girl a possibility. We explained to her that every single person in the cast is brown like her. She had a hard time believing it and kept pointing to various dancers saying, “She’s not brown,” and “he’s brown?”

“Yup,” we said. “Everyone in this movie is brown.” 

“Everyone?” She said. 

“Everyone.” 

And we went back and forth like that throughout the movie, her understandable skepticism meeting our reassurance that this is happening. So focused we were on convincing her, that we barely had opportunity to point out the film’s running themes of oppression and freedom (Scarecrow, about himself: “This is an experiment and the subject is a hopeless failure.” Dorothy: “No you’re not. You’re just a product of some negative thinking.”) But we’re vigilant and we managed to drop those pebbles, too.

You can read more of Aaryn Belfer at Thematically Fickle.

Good Shit: The Maria Bamford Show

Derf Naomi D. sent this video to Mrs. G. Mrs. G. can only assume Naomi thought she might be able to relate to it. And she can. Mrs. G. has played most of these parts at one time or another.

7 Lies Mrs. G. Is Currently Telling Herself

Lie #1: Mr. and Mrs. G. started the South Beach Diet over three weeks ago and Mrs. G. spends at least an hour a day convincing herself she does not miss sugar, white flour or alcohol. They both have lost weight and feel better, but Mrs. G. still finds herself thinking of Snickers and Chardonnay. The other day she bought a new kind of shampoo simply because it smelled like Fruit Loops.

Lie #2: "You will not fall!" Mrs. G. tells herself before she goes out walk/jogging each day. She has only fallen once (on grass) and that doesn't count, right?

Lie #3: For at least the last four years, Mrs. G's son has expressed a desire to write for television. He spent most of high school taking every opportunity to act, write or do both simultaneously. Thursday, he received an acceptance letter from New York University's Tisch School of Dramatic Writing, his dream school, his dream period. Mr. and Mrs. G. are pretending they can afford it, because denial and loans have fulfilled many a longing. Retirement who? In the meantime, when they are alone, Mr. and Mrs. G. sing songs from Les Misérables to prepare themselves for debtor's prison.

Lie #4: Mrs. G. likes to spend her time figuring out what state doesn't have an E in it on Facebook.

Lie #5: Mrs. G. is willing to read any novel that has a high heel, beach bag or an Amish woman on the cover.

Lie #6: Laura Linney is going to play the role of Mrs. G. in the A&E movie, not Heather Locklear.

Lie #7: This is not a subpar post.

The Answer Broad: My Dad is a Disaster

If there is a problem, yo, I’ll solve it. Or at least write thoughtfully about it.

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Good Shit: Life

Pictures you aren't soon likely to forget...

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Tea Lights And Letting Go by Aaryn Belfer

I don’t know if you can segue before you’ve even begun a thing, but I’m going to go ahead and start this post off with a detour. Rule breaking is in my DNA. And, too, I have a pressing question.

Yesterday, I answered the siren call of yet another yellow journo headline on the Huffington Post. Maybe it’s the endless reports of continuing gun violence that forced me toward something of a different kind of unbearable. Whatever the reason, I clicked on—and then gave three minutes and 25 seconds of my life over to— “Kim Kardashian Gives Clues About Her Baby's Name.” And I’m here to tell you that the girl? Her not so bright. Also: I think she is gaining baby weight in her lips (Ode to Lisa Rinna). As a woman who’s never given birth, I have to know: Is that even possible?

Okay. Glad to have gotten that out of the way. The real lede of this post has to do with another piece I stumbled across last week that’s stayed with me. It was basically filler comprised of a gathering of stock photos each with a description of the 10 Habits of Highly Organized People. And all I could do while looking at it was roll my eyes as I re-wrote my own version:

10 Habits of Highly Disorganized People Who Think Organized People Have It All Wrong And Need To Stop Acting All Superior And Whatnot

1. Walk Away From Bargains- Just because Ikea carries cheap tea lights in bulk, doesn’t mean you need to stock up on them for the holidays 9 months from now. If you must, grab four stacks and put them in your cart, knowing you’ll ditch them before you get to checkout because you’ll be over-saturated by looking at all the crap you don’t need. Wheel them around the store with you, enjoying how smoothly the cart glides across the treated concrete floors. Load up with a bright orange colander, a cheese grater, four coffee mugs you have no room for in your cupboards, a throw pillow, curtain rods you’ll return when you realize they don’t have complete hardware set, and an overpriced threadbare area rug that seems like a good deal at the time. Stop and enjoy a meatball lunch; play a few rounds of Words With Friends on your iPhone. Make your way to checkout, but pick up a plant and two lampshades first since you can’t decide which one you like better (you’ll deal with that later in the year at the garage sale your husband insists on having). Forget that you’re supposed to ditch the tea lights until the very end, when you will rationalize their purchase. It’s just easier at this point. Buy an Ikea bag since you left yours in the car and no way are you walking back to get it. Answer the incoming call while interacting with the checker—a big no-no even in your disorganized-person’s handbook—because it’s coming from your child’s school. Realize it was minimum day at school (parent/teacher conference week!) and you forgot to pick up your child an hour ago.

2. Make Peace With Imperfection- Shit. Shitshitshit. Berate yourself for being so disorganized. Buy some cinnamon rolls on your way out of Ikea and give them to the office staff as an apology for treating them like a babysitting co-op. Take credit for having made them yourself: The very reason you were late for parent pick-up.

3. Never Label Anything ‘Miscellaneous’-Miscellaneous label, wha??? No. No labeling anything, ever. Stuff the paid electric bill in the closest hanging file and forget about it until you need kindling for the fireplace come winter. Then burn the whole thing without looking at it. 

4. Schedule Regular Decluttering Sessions- Yes. Scheduling makes you feel organized. Write it on your wall calendar in easily changeable grease marker. Choose a color you love; this will be motivating. Then blow off your scheduled decluttering session so you can read your book. Wolf Hall is spectacular, but it requires straight-backed, furrowed-brow attention to keep all the Thomases and Marys straight. Since it usually puts you to sleep, get in a bunch of awesome naps. Decluttering can wait. Nobody on her deathbed ever wishes she’d stuck to her decluttering schedule. Am I right?

5. Stick With What Works-Now this is one that the organized and disorganized of the world can agree on. If your Maybelline Great Lash Mascara in the pink and green container is working for you, stop test-driving all that other crap. Stick with what you know. Of course, if you must experiment, try all the different shades: Black, brown/black, brown, teal, purple, blue, green, waterproof, BUY THEM ALL! So what if they clutter your make-up drawer. You can deal with that on your scheduled decluttering day.

6. Create A Dump Zone- Uh, hello? You are a disorganized person. Your whole life is a dump zone. No need to go to an extra effort to cordon off a single “zone.” The drawer in your kitchen with the tinfoil, parchment paper, batteries, rubber bands and take-out menus? Dump Zone. Cupboard above the refrigerator where your 2,000 Ikea tea lights are melting from the heat? Dump zone. Garage? Double-dump zone. Consider yourself an overachiever in this arena, pat yourself on the back and move on. If you’re struggling with too many dump zones, make peace with your imperfections (see item #2). 

7. Ask For Help- Nah. You’re too proud for this. You are fine just the way you are!

8. Separate Emotions From Possessions- Let go of those things that clutter your world. They are just things. You know, like the curtain rods, area rug, coffee mugs, and lampshade you bought at Ikea. Get real: You’re never going to return them. Sell them at the yard sale husband insists on organizing. Clearing out the junk will make room for more junk you get on sale.

9. Foresee And Avoid Problems- Hahahaha. Yeah, right. Okay. Like the fact that you completely forgot about your parent/teacher conference that was supposed to have taken place 45 minutes ago, because you fell asleep while reading your book? If you were an organized person, you might have foreseen and avoided missing this appointment. But you’re not, and you didn’t. Also: You purchased the new 85-piece Tupperware set to replace the 65-piece Tupperware set (bought last year in an attempt to get organized), the lids of which are now lost at various potlucks. Foresee and avoid problem: check! According to the organized person’s list, this is helpful. But…doesn’t it also mean more clutter…and more possessions? This is getting so confusing…

10. Know Where To Donate- You know damn well where to donate. The Goodwill is seven blocks east of your home. But you still drive around with bags of items—unsorted!—stacked in your car for three monthswithout dropping them off. Girl, you’re a mess. But you’re not a Kardashian mess. And that is something to be proud of. 

You can read more of Aaryn Belfer at Thematically Fickle.

The Answer Broad: I Recommended a Pal – Huge Mistake!

If there is a problem, yo, I’ll solve it. Or at least write thoughtfully about it.

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Full Confessional Friday!

Be it Venial or Mortal (there's no escaping Original), we've all got secrets -- light, dark, funny, sad -- worth bringing to light. The act of confession can be liberating, mollifying and entertaining. Contrition? Repentance? A shot of Tequila? That's your call, sister. 

Photograph of the McLinlock triplets sitting at table having a tea party. One of them is reading a magazine titled "Parents".