Author: Roger

I'm a librarian. I hear music, even when it's not being played. I used to work at a comic book store, and it still informs my life. I won once on JEOPARDY! - ditto.

Vanilla ice cream

Was it a pacifier? Was it a message to us that, as long as we obeyed the rules, we could still be occasionally rewarded with just enough to keep us patriotic and loyal?

Things remind me of other things, all but forgotten.

One of the most peculiar items I came across recently was this: Black people were denied vanilla ice cream in the Jim Crow south – except on Independence Day.

The memory of that all-but-unspoken rule seems to be unique to the generation born between World War I and World War II.
But if Maya Angelou hadn’t said it in her classic autobiography I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, I doubt anybody would believe it today.
“People in Stamps used to say that the whites in our town were so prejudiced that a Negro couldn’t buy vanilla ice cream. Except on July Fourth. Other days he had to be satisfied with chocolate.”

I’m told that Thomas Jefferson, writer of the document associated with that day, was so addicted to vanilla ice cream that he arranged for vanilla beans to be transported in diplomatic pouches while he was serving in France and their revolution was going on.

Why then this ODD rule? The writer Michael W Twitty wonders:

Was it a pacifier? Was it a message to us that, as long as we obeyed the rules, we could still be occasionally rewarded with just enough to keep us patriotic and loyal?

But perhaps it is pointless to ask for more than context.

That article reminded me of a totally unrelated story, except that it did involve ice cream. Growing up in Binghamton in upstate New York, I was usually the only black kid in my class.
icecreamcup
One day in fifth or sixth grade, we were going to get ice cream that came in these little paper cups. We used wooden spoons to eat it. I was out of the room when the voting on the decision on flavors – vanilla or chocolate, was being made.

When I came back to the classroom, I was asked what I wanted, and I said “Vanilla.” The whole class moaned; EVERYBODY else, probably 15 white kids, had picked chocolate. They were disappointed that it had not been a unanimous choice. But I didn’t particularly LIKE that brand of chocolate, as I thought it tasted chalky.

I wondered if chocolate had been a consensus choice, with the kids who thought “I don’t care” going along with the majority. In any case, this made me feel really uncomfortable because it made me feel different when, for the most part, I felt like one of the group. Don’t think it was specifically racial, probably not in their minds, though it may have rattled a bit in mine.

But the earlier story above made my choice of 50 years ago, somehow, a little more OK.

Passwords: is my email leaked?

I’ve changed the passwords on my blogs.

From Yahoo:

You can use a site called, appropriately enough, “Is my email leaked?” if you’d like to check the status of your Gmail, Yandex, or Mail.ru account. The site itself is safe, and you can even give a shortened version of your email address with asterisks if you’re concerned.

So I checked out my Gmail address.  The password was one I used to have on that account, though I had changed it after some previous widespread security breach. But it still was the password for both my primary blog and my TU blog.

I’m afraid of being THIS guy:

Permanent link to this comic: http://xkcd.com/936/ This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
Permalink to this comic: http://xkcd.com/936/ Work licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Yeah, yeah, I know the poor password mantras; bad on me, though the current advice is more nuanced. In any case, I’ve changed the passwords.
***
Just this week, we got a form from the Daughter’s school asking if she wanted to participate in some dental program, which we declined because we have dental insurance. The form asked for her Social Security Number, which we declined to provide. since it is in violation of the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA) Privacy Rule.

The yard sale

Another thing I hate about yard sales: dealers, who come an hour before the stated time, then harrumph when the stuff you have doesn’t meet their needs.

yardsaleLet me state that I generally hate yard sales, garage sales, and the like. Specifically:
*I don’t like going to other people’s sales, especially when they put out things that are, to quote Oscar the Grouch, everything “ragged and rotten and rusty.”
*I don’t like having our own sale, because it involved going through lots of our own stuff. It’s time-consuming and enervating.
And most of all:
*I HATE bringing back into the house the stuff we decided to sell, but it didn’t.

Yet we (OK, the Wife and the Daughter) agreed (and I accepted the decision) to have a yard sale on September 6. The logic of that date was that it would be after school began, but before the fall got going in earnest. Soccer began the following week, as were her tryout for the Nutcracker and rehearsal for the church play about the Beatles.

To make it better, we thought we’d get our neighbors to do the same, and two of them agreed. But we didn’t do much advertising, since we were busy with prep. In fact no ads or posters, until three days before the sale, when I placed a free ad on timesunion.com.

The Daughter was particularly motivated. Her room was not as tidy as it could be, because she had so much stuff she had never gotten rid of. Tantalized by making money, she suddenly found books and stuffed animals she no longer wanted; indeed, a few of the books I kept myself. She also sorted out clothes that no longer fit her.

That Saturday morning, one of the neighbors pulled out. They looked at the forecast, which suggested that it would rain in the middle of our 9-3 sale, and that wasn’t going to be viable. Sigh.

Another thing I hate about yard sales: dealers, who come an hour before the stated time, then harrumph when the stuff you have doesn’t meet their needs; we had three of them, one especially rude.

In the first half-hour, we had no one. In the first hour, we made about $1.50. But as the day went on, we did better. This was improved by the addition of my brother-in-law’s family driving nearly an hour to add their stuff to ours. Separate accounting, but still: more stuff makes it better.

I got rid of both of my old CD holders, which I never liked; they opened like accordions and took up too much floor space.

At the end of it all, we made close to $100. More importantly, we got rid of stuff, and the Daughter’s room is far cleaner. And while the Daughter was disappointed that almost none of her clothes sold, we’ll be giving them to someone who can use them, so it’s all good.

Still, it will be a LONG time before we have another one unless I can hire Eddie Mitchell to run it.

The 9/11 Memorial

The waterfalls, the memorial pools in the footprints of the Twin Towers, are quite beautiful, especially at night

Memorial-PoolAfter 9/11/2001, I had only been in Manhattan once that wasn’t in passing (train station to Charlotte, e.g.) and that was seeing a musical in 2003. I had never been particularly close geographically to Ground Zero, despite living less than 160 miles away.

When Rebecca (niece #1), her husband Rico, and a couple of their friends came out from California to NYC around Thanksgiving 2013, one of them items on the Californians’ agenda was to see the 9/11 memorial.

The museum exterior was at the site, but not yet open. There was no charge to get to the plaza at the time, but one had to order tickets ahead of time. We were booked for 4:30 p.m., the last grouping, and we had to pick up tickets beforehand.

At least at that point, the key to the enterprise was patience, for we spent over a half-hour waiting in line on an unseasonably cold November afternoon-to-evening. Then we had to go through screening, not unlike what happens when one goes to the airport.

I will say that the waterfalls, the memorial pools in the footprints of the Twin Towers, are quite beautiful, especially at night; wish I could find the pictures I took.

At the end, you end up, as all good museums do, in the gift shop. There was a constant barrage of videos about what happened “that day” and in the weeks thereafter. It was a bit numbing, actually, but not especially moving, oddly.

Only one of these pieces got me emotionally involved, and it was a cartoon – this cartoon from StoryCorps – that actually made me cry.

Now that the 9/11 Tribute Center is complete, I can’t imagine wanting to go back and relive the experience. The State Museum in Albany has some artifacts that I’ve seen, fairly often, and that’s enough for me, for now.

10 books that affected me

It’d be pretty easy to come up with ten more books…

ispyLike the other lists, these do not necessarily represent my FAVORITE books, which might be reference books such as Top Pop Singles or The Complete Directory to Prime Time Network and Cable TV Shows, or the World Almanac. Pretty much off the top of my head:

The Complete Grimm’s Fairy Tales. They weren’t called the brothers grim for nothing.

Growing Up by Russell Baker (1982). I used to love to read Baker’s columns in the New York Times, and this book, which I have signed by the author, captures this wonderfully. Funny, though, I don’t remember WHERE I was when I got it signed.

I Spy: Message from Moscow novelization I read as a tween several times, and learned the phrase, “Hoist by his own petard.” Alas, do not have this book anymore. I Spy was a TV show in the mid-1960s starring Robert Culp and Bill Cosby.

In Critical Condition: The Crisis in America’s Health Care by Edward M. Kennedy (1972). Those who think that Obamacare is the best or worst thing to happen to health care seem to have short memories about inadequate insurance policies, selective availability, and the pain of pre-existing conditions. I mentioned that it was my near-death experience in 1979 that defined my feeling about the American way of health, but even earlier, it was more likely this book.

The Methodist Hymnal (1935). This was the black book that I grew up with, which a former girlfriend of mine still refers to as the “real” Methodist hymnal. Holy, Holy, Holy is the first hymn.

O Albany! by William Kennedy (1983). While I never really got into his novels, Kennedy’s non-fiction treatise on New York’s capital city is marvelously insightful, and a great read.

Play the Game: the Book of Sport, edited by Mitchell V. Charnley (1931). This was an anthology of sports stories from American Boy magazine from 1923 to 1931, stories which I read over and over. STILL have the book.

The Sweeter The Juice by Shirlee Taylor Haizlip (1994). I wrote about this HERE.

The Wolf Shall Dwell with the Lamb by Eric H. F. Law (1993). This book is about multiculturalism, written shortly after the Los Angeles riots. My future wife and I attended a conference in Maryland to learn more about the author’s techniques. I think mutual invitation in meetings is definitely the way to go. The mutual invitation explained at length or in brief.

Your Erroneous Zones by Wayne Dyer (1977). I read this in 1978. REALLY helped me in dealing with a particular individual, maybe a bit heavy-handedly, but the book definitely made an impact on me at the time.

It’d be pretty easy to come up with ten more…

Ramblin' with Roger
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