Guys and Fashion

For some reason I was subjected to the film "The Devil Wears Prada." For those unfamiliar with the chick flick in question it revolves around an aspiring journalist who takes a job at a fashion magazine (Obviously modeled on Vogue) and is the 2nd personal assistant to it's editor-in-chief (obviously modeled on Anna Wintour). In the film our protagonist has her resolve slowed eroded by a cruel boss who expects her to get her flights out of hurricanes and to locate manuscripts for unpublished novels among her other tasks. She is constantly ridiculed by very catty men and women for her fashion sense or lack thereof and her respect for the fashion industry as a whole. the women are catty and the men are more so. The female characters strike you as women who will die alone and the male characters strike you as guys who couldn't work in an all male environment for more than a week without being beaten to death.
The film paints the fashion industry as a bunch of tall, skinny, shallow, bitter women and the gay men who wish they were tall, skinny, shallow, bitter women and the remarkably small outfits they design.
I will admit I have no fashion sense whatsoever. I think I could give "Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy's" Zaphod Beetlebrod a run for his money as "worst dressed sentient being in the universe." Here's the funny thing. I don't care. Some say our clothes make a statement about us, but I'm sorry I don't see it. Mind you there are occassions when I will dress to impress, but ultimately I don't really see the point . Clothes to be serve a utilitarian purpose. Pants cover my legs, a shirt covers my torso and a jacket keeps me warm. I'm wearing sneakers for comfort and boots if I'm going to be in the great outdoors. Wearing one color because it's a given season makes no sense to me, and neither does blowing an entire paycheck on shoes.
I imagine "Fashion week" has to be the "fashionistas" equivilent of the superbowl, but it still does nothing for me.
Do there exist men who care about clothes and shoes? Yes. It's been my experience that three types of men care about fashion:

a. The insecure
b. The incredibly shallow
c. Really gay guys.

By saying that I'm not attacking gay men for their taste in clothes, I am however attacking the shallow and insecure guys. In sofar as fashion is concerned the rest of us could care less.

Must be a Commie Plot!

I've always been fascinated by history. The written record of mankind's triumphs and transgressions enthralls me. We can learn from how someone succeeded or failed. In the midst of the great health care debate I've heard lots of angry men and women shouting down anyone siding with the president or the Democratic party in this instance and they all seem to be unified in their cries of "socialized medicine." The bulk of the men and women tend to be largely conservative and white.
Being conservative and white aren't bad things. Consider that conservatives as a group by definition simply aren't big fans of radical change and as change can be daunting concepts I can respect this on some level, but I have to analyze what's going on now and compare it to a few other instances in American history.

When in the 20's organized labor lobbied for a shorter work week, a minimum wage and benefits they were called "Communist." They were opposed by big business and such noteworthy conservative organizations such as the Ku Klux Klan. Ironically the bulk of the Klan's membership were blue collar types who benefitted MOST from labor laws. Big companies who shall remain nameless hired thugs to beat up Union reps and The Klan was KNOWN for beating, lynching and running union reps out of town.
When Franklin Roosevelt suggested the New Deal, conservatives and big business called it socialism to the highest degree.
When the civil rights movement hit it's stride in the mid 50's Conservatives were calling it a "Commie Plot" and went so far as to call Martin Luther King a Communist as a means of discrediting him. Along with the conservatives (Who were the Democrats at the time) were the conservative "Citizen's Councils" (who saw integration as evil) and the rank and file of the Ku Klux Klan.
Flash foward to present day. America has a biracial president who is trying to push healthcare reform. Who opposes him? The Insurance companies who deny men and women coverage, give them ridiculous deductables, and just flat out won't pay some claims and the Pharmaceutical Industry who rakes in huge profits for drugs which they sell for a 1/3 their American price in Canada.
Is President Obama's overhaul of the healthcare system a good idea? I haven't read all 1100 pages of the document which lays out his provisions so I won't agree or disagree. Will his plan cost us a fortune? Again, haven't read the proposal so I won't say. Uninformed opinions make one appear short sighted. What I find odd however, is that there are many people who are running with half truths on this potential legislation and calling it both "Socialism" and "communism." What can I say when threatened, play the commie card. Worked for Joe McCarthy. Didn't it?

Tears for Lola

My 3rd grade teacher Mrs Stokes was a master of child psychology. In the year which I spent in her class she convinced me that I was possibly the dumbest child to have ever drawn breath. She attempted to place in me "special needs" classes and HISD subjecteded me to not one but two IQ tests at her bequest.  I was tested twice, because Mrs Stokes successfully convinced the principal that the person who administered the first test OBVIOUSLY made a mistake. The second test showed precisely what the first had shown. I was far from intellectually challenged.

            While I wasn't the "special needs" case that Mrs Stokes had painted me to be I needed a teacher who could have undone the damage that she had obviously done to my psyche. 

Every school has that one teacher whom the kids (and some of the teachers) both respect and fear. At Alcott Elementary in Houston, Texas that teacher was Mrs. Lola Blackmon. Mrs Blackmon taught 4th grade and was known for not taking any attitude from any student or parent and swinging a mean paddle.  As I and Mrs Stokes' outgoing students stood in the hallway outside her door we watched as the fourth grade teachers walked up to class after class and read the names of their new students off the clip boards they carried.

          I can't speak for my classmates, but I stood there praying the way that only an 8  year old boy could for my name NOT to have been on Mrs Blackmon's list.  She was a short, stout woman with skin the color of a freshly poured cup of black coffee. She walked up to my group without expression and peered though her big bi-focals and read four names:

"Davis, Johnny. Garner Frank, HANDY, JESSE. Spiller Willie. Come with me boys." We were in shock. We were too scared to move, but her reputation with a paddle made us more frightened of staying put. From day one Mrs Blackmon let it be known that she would expect nothing less than our best at all times. We would respect, ourselves, one another and her at all times and if we didn't there were consequences. The first time she was out we gave a substitute teacher hell on earth. On her return, EVERY student (except those who were absent) got a paddling for disrespecting a sub. Needless to say every sub we had after that told her how "Well behaved" we were.

          For reasons I didn't understand she was particularly hard on me personally. She always gave me extra assignments. I didn't complain, I was too afraid of her to have said anything. There were times when my classmates would be at recess and she would give me lengthy vocabulary lists or reading assignments.  At the end of the school year Mrs Blackmon pulled me aside when my classmates were playing dodgeball and said "Jesse you're probably wondering why I gave you so much extra work this year aren't you." I was too afraid of her to answer. "Tell the truth."

"Yes ma'am." I replied sheepishly. She then told me about how Mrs Stokes had initially tried to retain me in the 3rd grade and when that failed how she had attempted to have me placed in special needs classes. After hearing about how Mrs Stokes had convinced the principal to test me a 2nd time Mrs Blackmon told the principal that she would gladly take me into her class and prove that Mrs. Jane Stokes had simply given up on me far too soon. 

        I was fortunate to have had my own personal Henry Higgins in the form of Mrs Lola Blackmon. The following year I and several of Mrs. Blackmon's former students were placed in the gifted and talented program. I didn't realize it at the time, but I actually enjoyed the things she made me read. I enjoyed being able to do vocabulary exercises without a dictionary and I enjoyed writing. 

         In high school and later in college I would occasionally venture by Alcott Elementary to see how my teacher was doing.   Whenever I did, I got Mrs. Blackmon's trademark smile and a huge hug. One day while talking to a concierge in Houston Center I mentioned Mrs Blackmon and the impact she had had on me early on. As luck would have it, the concierge was in her very first class when she taught at Sunnyside Elementary. 

        We laughed and joked about her for a moment then he hit me with a devastating blow. He'd informed me that the greatest teacher I had ever known, had passed away a few months earlier. There were hundreds at the funeral, most in attendance had been former students. I'm not ashamed to admit that I stood there and openly wept for Mrs Lola Blackmon. 

        Today I work for HISD and whenever I can I try to rise to the incredible standard which she set.  There are times when I will ask myself 'How WOULD Mrs Blackmon handle this?' when faced with a perplexing issue. 

       

         We encounter many people in the course of our lives. Some we forget instantaneously, some we find memorable, others make a profound impact.  I'm happy and proud to say that Lola Blackmon made an impact. Who knows, maybe one day years from now, someone may say the same of a kid who sat in the front of Mrs Lola Blackmon's 4th grade class in 1979.