From the sublime to the ridiculous

(Hi Betsy! I’ll call you tomorrow…)

Okay, so it took the worst film ever to pull me out of my writer’s block.

The sublime was this speech– many words describe it but I found it liberating. I left home at sixteen and worked full-time taking electrocardiograms on burn patients while attending college full-time. By the time I was ready for graduate school I was burned out on that, no pun intended. I applied for PhD programs in clinical psychology (so did 50% of the over-achievers in America in 1972; the rest applied in anthropology) and while I was accepted at some of the best, none gave me a full free ride. So I fell back to the best social work program in the country and went for a master’s degree and a career. The September that I started at U of M’s School of Social Work, I was informed by the financial aid administrator that there was no financial aid for me. Every single bit of it was designated for affirmative action. Now, my mother had reared me in a totally prejudice-free environment and I did not grow up hearing racial anger or innuendos. Unlike many mothers, she believed in and practiced equal rights and differences and respect. And there I was, 21 years of age and totally enraged at Black Americans. By then I had already witnessed the Detroit riots, I had marched with BAM for welfare mother’s rights (black fathers were still incognito in welfare families at that time) and I cheered on the rise of the Black Panthers on campus.

But at this fork in the road I seethed and churned internally as I continued to work nights at the hospital while attending my first year of graduate school. The second year I received a bit of merit-based aid but by then I was in a permanent state of pissed. I was watching some of my fellow students cruise through with tuition and money for books and rent and even food and tutors because they were black- and I couldn’t get out from under a hundred hour week that included classes, internship and a fulltime night job that ended at midnight. Before I ever cracked a book. All these years I’ve carried this resentment, unable to shake the feeling that I got screwed because of affirmative action. Through my time as a social worker, a clinician, a champion of the underdog, a volunteer educating inner-city children- I’ve still been pissed that I had to struggle so damn hard because of affirmative action. But I never talked about it. Today, I feel as though this speech helped set me free. At last. (Thank you.)

Right after the speech I had a doctor’s appointment. I would not have gone if Rich hadn’t taken me, held my hand, cheered me on, comforted me. It’s that Mo-Fo basal cell carcinoma. Pardon my language, but dammit, I HATE this cursed stuff. (And now that someone has put that liberating racial card on the table, I’ll go ahead and say Mo-Fo) I live in stark terror that it will show up on my face. I’ve gotten used to the slice and dice on other body parts but last week, fuck! (You haven’t seen that word here for over three years but I just don’t have any other): there was a spot, granted microscopic, but still a spot, on the side of my nose. You have to understand that I am so hyper-alert to this stuff that all it takes is four cells out of place and I’m twitching frantically. So I did my research and called the best of the best Mohs surgeons in this part of Florida, he had a cancellation and off we went.

I’m not vain so it’s not about appearances exactly. It’s about having chunks cut out of my face. My face. It’s the notion that this type of cancer has the nerve to set down so many deep roots before it ever shows itself. And the pain and the itch and looking in the mirror and the itch and the ooze and the stitches and the scabbing and the itch and the scars. I don’t sun-bathe and I slather 50 SPF all over myself before I brush my teeth and I wear my Tilley hat consistently. This stuff is not my fault. It’s because I have white skin that doesn’t tan, green eyes and parents who baked their red-headed toddler to a crisp every Sunday afternoon at Detroit Metropolitan Beach through the 1950s. And a basal cell cancer gene. Mo-Fo basal cell.

So off we went and I had the spot on my nose scrutinized and another one on my forehead and one on my toe (my toe, for Pete’s sake!) burned away (this is a form of torture in foreign prisons, burning holes in people) and I go back in 2 weeks for the nose. I’m flying back to Chicago to give a private tour to a high end donor the first of April and I’m not getting whacked up prior to that, but right after…the last thing I did before coming down here for the winter was go to the dermatologist and now this. Darn. (I have the swearing out of my system now.)

Anyway, we got home and I was whining about the burn on my toe so Rich suggested a movie. This was the ridiculous thing. The only movie showing at the time ended up being, I kid you not, the rock bottom worst film I have ever seen. We went to see Jumper. It’s some nonsense about a kid who teletransports himself all over the place while being chased by the bad guys as portrayed by Samuel L. Jackson. And he doesn’t do it well. Every time he “jumps”, even after he has perfected where and with whom and doing it with cars, even then he crashes. He doesn’t jump into a room with dignity; he crashes in and furniture breaks, dishes fly, glass shatters. That was the first clue that this film was aimed at 9 year old boys who will love it because there is no sex, no violence, just crashing into home furnishings. But before we figured out how really bad the film was, we figured out this: a lot of it was filmed in Ann Arbor. In the opening sequence there was a high school and I thought, wow, that looks just like…”Hey! It’s Huron High! It’s the Huron River!” So Rich and I were all excited about that until it turned out to be the worst film ever. It’s really really bad. But we sat through it because we kept wanting to see more scenes of Ann Arbor. And then it ended (badly) and we were getting up when I glanced at the credits and saw that a bit part (really bit) was played by Tom Hulce. Who? Tom Hulce. Tom Hulce went to school in Ann Arbor years ago and was nominated for an Academy Award for his role as Mozart in Amadeus. What???? Who knew you could fall so far?

Now I don’t feel so badly about being a former top-notch clinician who has retired to a life of zoo tours, has divots all over the place and posts so intermittently.

Bud. I need to tell you about Bud. Who we’re trying to get hooked up on the world wide web in a corner of the woods where wi-fi that moves at the speed of paste (64 k costs more than 50.00 per month.). Bud, who had such a good time here in Florida that he bought me approximately 1000 tulip bulbs by mail order. Yes, people. Think about where I live and then think about that. I see a new donor garden in the zoo’s future. Bud, who loves the manatee so much that I made this to send up in a little Easter basket. Speaking of Easter, have you started hardening off your Peeps yet? It’s time, you know…

manatee.jpeg

Advertisements

11 responses to “From the sublime to the ridiculous

  1. Well, yay for hearing from you. And, the basal cell stuff just suckedy-sucks-sucks. I keep watching for it myself. Summers on Long Island where I’d burn beyond burns. Winters skiing with blisters on top of blisters on my nose. I am careful now and am SO careful with my kids but I know someday my nose will fall off — and it’s pretty scary just thinking about it. I feel for you. I had a mole removed from the very tip of my nose when I was in college. It’s not a fun thing — but it is survivable. Hang in.

  2. So good to hear from you, even if the news isn’t stellar. I hope those bcc cells will leave your face (and the rest of you) alone in the future.

    Love the manatee!

  3. Well, Vicki, you are top notch in my book.

    Sorry about the basel cell junk. So scary. I have such fair, white, white skin and hazel eyes. Nothing but sunburns. I use a 50+ spf sunscreen, too. My dermatologist has me using some kind of expensive Italian cream to help the Rosecea I’ve developed during this romp thru peri-menopause, now I think menopause. Who knows.

    Obama’s speech? Still pondering that one. Raised in the Deep South, reared partially by wonderful black women working in our home who were definately like family members, my father paid their social security taxes and doctor bills way before it was the thing to do, because he knew it was the thing to do even in the days the dinos roamed, I find the current discussions interesting.

    Be well.

  4. So sorry to hear about your skin cancer issues. Shit shit shit (this is a post with cursing permission, right?). With your white skin, Portland Oregon wouldn’t be such a bad choice. It’s a bad choice for me because I am a genetically programmed desert-dweller with brown skin and brown eyes. I need way more sun to get through. Roger doesn’t mind the weather in the northwest at all. I just look at his light skin and blue eyes, and I laugh.

    Obama’s speech was perfectly eloquent, compelling, and coherent. I have become a staunch supporter. I believe we need him to be our next President, and I hope our country seizes this amazing opportunity.

  5. I know all about basal cell; mr .kenju has had several and I have some things that have to be removed, too. I sure hope that thing on your nose isn’t that. Oddly enough, I went to the dermatologist for something beside my nose near the eye last month. He said it was nothing. I hope he’s right.

    Bud ought to move to FL and get out of that shivery cold and snow, dontcha think? Might give him a new lease on life and the fast-access web can’t be beat!

    Good to hear from you, Vicki. When you don’t post I worry. (believe it or not)

  6. Only 4 mentions of U of M/Ann Arbor? You’re slipping, Vicki! No mention of the Wolverines and March Madness? Oh, wait…

    Michigan State University/East Lansing music history scholars will never forgive Tom Hulce’s slanderous portrayal of Mozart in AMADEUS, in spite of its fine soundtrack.

    A sublime movie is STOLEN, a documentary about art theft (in particular, the theft of a Vermeer from the Gardiner Museum in Boston) which features, at its heart, a renowned art detective bravely battling skin cancer.

    While our brave soldiers commit to defending our freedom for a 5th year, the Seattle Times gave citizens with more time on their hands a chance to create art out of Peeps. You will be proud to know that your power-to-the-peeps-prospective-presidential peep won this meaningful and auspicious election: http://www.intuitionkitchenproductions.com/gallery/paintings/APeepOfOurNextPresident.jpg

    It gave me great pleasure to cast my vote for the first black president in Washington’s primary election: Alan Keyes.

    Your adorable manatee
    Surely struggles with vanity.
    But, why the profanity?!
    Practice yoga for sanity!
    Shouldn’t posts pre-Maundy
    Mention Christianity?

    Blessed Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter to you, my friend! God’s Peace!

    xo

  7. My dad suffers too, and so I know how vigilant one must be–and how frightening it is. In Dad’s case, he worked in the Forest service in the summer, taking mules into the Cascades to built fire breaks and stuff; it wasn’t the era or the environment for sunscreen. My husband thinks Barack is a goner, but I’m still pulling for him with all I’ve got! Your post and life history were very powerful today, my friend. Kudos and best wishes.

  8. That felt manatee is incredibly adorable, you could make a killing selling them on ebay…!! Of course once you factor in your time etc. the price of $120 each may turn some people off!
    Oh, another hardened peeps lover, yea.

    My poor mom had a squared off end to her nose thanks to skin cancer. Rotten stuff that.

    I too voted for Alan Keyes. This current race leaves a lot to be desired in my opinion.

    A Blessed, Holy Easter to all…

  9. I only eat stale peeps. ONLY.
    xo

  10. Hi Vicki! I’m not sure how I got here – I haven’t had breakfast yet- but I see some friendly faces and I’m guessing you are Hoss’s friend. Just to wish you a happy Easter and a good outcome. The film sounds an absolute bummer – final straw!

  11. A painful post, on many levels. It’s never easy, or simple, is it?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s