I Made my Choices- Where do I go from here?

An Amazing Film!

I've picked my critical approach (shame theory) and my film (Black Panther), but I'm not sure how to get going with this.  
From what the Critical Model Packet says about shame theory, it seems that it could work pretty good.  In the movie, once T'challa learns what happened to his uncle, he feels shame because of what his father did to him.  Also, it looks like Killmonger is totally motivated by shame from many sources (father's death, history of slavery, Wakanda's failure to help end racism), but his anger makes him want to rule the world.  I can see already that this is going to take a lot of thought, once I know what to do next.

A few relevant articles:

‘Black Panther’ is on the hunt for a best picture Oscar, no matter what happens with the ‘popular film’ prize

https://www.postbulletin.com/entertainment/black-panther-is-on-the-hunt-for-a-best-picture/article_e607bdfc-543f-5eb7-8348-df1de330877f.html

Black Men: Stigma, Status and Expectations   https://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2012/03/12/young-black-and-male-in-america/black-men-stigma-status-and-expectations

Slaves of History

https://aeon.co/essays/how-descendants-of-african-slaves-are-stigmatised-for-life

  

What am I trying to do here?

I'm trying to meet the English 102 requirement this semester, and this is my research blog.  The instructor says that if I follow the prompts for the blog, it will help me with all of the projects for the class.  I sure hope so.  I think that I write okay, but at my high school we didn't have to write any long papers, so I don't know if I should be worried about that.  Anyway, I'm going to be writing my research paper on a film.

The Monster of His Childhood

The reading I picked this week is an excerpt from Rick Bragg's book "All Over But the Shoutin'."  I've been trying to avoid reading or watching depressing stuff for a while now, really ever since my mom died, but the title seemed to jump out at me, so I went with it.  It was sad.  There's something awful about true stories that center on a terrible parent.  Bragg's father is dying, and he's just the same to his son as he ever was.  Bragg wants to resolve all the hurts from his childhood, but, as he's trying to come up with a way to do that, he gradually realizes that it's not going to happen.  
When my mom was dying, she was in hospice care at home.  We were all taking care of her, which was beautiful (I know that sounds strange, but it was beautiful in a lot of ways, mainly because she was a very good parent, definitely NOT the monster of our childhoods, and we felt as though we were doing something almost . . . holy with her--I can't think of a better way to put it) and horrible at the same time.  After three or four days, she stopped talking because of the pain meds, but she was still pretty alert and reacted to what we said to her.  I think we all managed to say everything we needed to say before she reached the point where she couldn't take it in.  But, like Rick Bragg, I have issues that I know I will never get rid of unless I let it go, and again like him, I'm reluctant to let go, but in my case, it's because what I'd be letting go is valuable to me but so complicated and messed up that it would kind of be like trying to cut it out of myself.  If that makes any sense. 
Maybe you can see why I've been avoiding these stories. 

Related articles

• Woman misses death of mother after being removed from United flight (telegraph.co.uk)

The First Thing I Remember

Catharina as a child, by Frans Hals.
 In her hand she holds a silver rattle
 with bells, a precious status
 symbol. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For my narrative paper, I decided to write about the first thing I remember (at least, I think it's the first thing).  I could have picked a lot of other memories, but this one has stuck with me, and I thought it was about time I figured out why it has.  Here goes.
I am about 4 years old.  I am waking up on the old sofa in my grandmother's living room at her old house in Joliet.  My grandmother comes in and helps me put on my socks.  And that's it, the whole thing.  
When I started thinking about it this time, I realized I had some questions.  First of all, why was I alone?  Usually, when I stayed at Grandma's house, at least my sister Rebbie was there, too, if not one of my brothers or our oldest sister, Marie.  I'm guessing that my mother was in the hospital again (she had kidney disease), and my dad took me to Joliet because it was summer and he didn't want Marie, who is 10 years older than I am, to have to deal with all 4 younger kids.  I also guess that my brother Peter, who is the second oldest went to our other grandparents in Chicago, because he and Marie were fighting all the time.
My other questions had to do with my grandmother, and after I spent some time brainstorming about her, I realized that she is the reason I still remember this.  I haven't quite gotten to a thesis yet, but I will.

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• A woman went into labour at a grocery store - and the butcher helped deliver it (nationalpost.com)

Could I live in a dumpster?

Yes, this is inside a dumpster.
Dumpsterproject.org

Well, maybe, if I had to do that, but I sure wouldn't choose to:  I'm claustrophobic, badly enough that being in even a medium-sized room without an openable window makes my heart start to pound.  "Living Simply in a Dumpster" was published in the Atlantic some time ago, and it surprised me, just by not being about poverty.  By James Hamber, it's a profile of Jeff Wilson, a university professor who had been living in a dumpster by choice for some time when the piece was written.  More power to him, I say.  He teaches environmental science, and he puts his money where his mouth is.  I'm sort of wondering how much money he saved when he was living in the dumpster.  I'm imagining it--you can't have much, because there's no place to keep it.  So, clothing, just as one example.  If you could only have, say, four outfits, what would they be?  And pajamas count as one.  Ouch. 

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"A Man and His Cat"

This is Tony, at 3 months old

I just read "A Man and His Cat," by Tim Krieder.  I have some trouble relating to anybody owning a cat--because I AM TERRIFIED OF CATS.  I admit it.  I'm not ashamed of this phobia.  I've always had it, I think, but everyone else seems to think that something must have happened to me that involved a cat.  According to my parents, nothing like that happened, and the first time I saw an actual cat was when I (age 2) went with my mom and Tony, our dog, to the vet.  It seems that I screamed, hid behind my mom, and kept crying until they took the cat in an exam room.  
So, a man and his cat aren't something I even want to imagine.  But I did, of course, when I read this essay.  He tells us that his cat is dead now, and talks about how goofy he was about his cat.  Now, this is something I can identify with.  I always thought that Tony was my dog.  He came into the family a week before my mother found out that she was pregnant (with me, but she didn't know that then).  She always said that if she had known, she would have said no to getting a puppy, no matter how much the four kids she already had carried on.  I'm glad that didn't happen, because Tony and I were pretty close.  He was a Pomeranian, a little guy with a big-dog attitude.  We never put him in a purse or dressed him up (well, one time I did, but I never told anyone before), but he did have his own car seat with a seat belt.  
I miss my mom almost every day, but I also miss Tony at least once a week.  The great thing about a dog is that when you come home, he will be so happy to see you that no matter how bad your day was, you will be happy, too.  When I have one of those days, I can't help looking for him when I open the door, even though it makes me feel worse.

Related articles

• 'My phobia of kittens is ruining my life': Mother-of-two says she sobs in terror if she sees a cat and even a photo can trigger a panic attack (thisismoney.co.uk)
• Who's Afraid of Cats? (Fearless February Day 3) (catherineausten.wordpress.com)
• Scared Stiff: Ailurophobia, Fear of Cats (gegallas.wordpress.com)
• Zach Randolph Has A Crippling Phobia Of Cats, Terrified They Will (*Gasp*) Scratch Him (sportsgrid.com)

Welcome to my Blog!

English: Tonga College students performing a Kailao dance; photo James Foster 1988.jpg (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Yesterday I had my first English 101 class, and the first assignment was to start a blog.  We're supposed to read an essay in our textbook each week and post our reaction, and we have to write another post about our writing each week, too.  I think my writing's okay (I'm actually good at grammar, thanks to my mom-- she went over everything I wrote from the very first time I wrote anything, right up until two years ago, when she died), but I'm kind of nervous about blogging, since everyone says that anything you put on the Internet never goes away.  I don't want to put something on here that makes me look like an idiot for the rest of my life.
Anyway, if you want to know more about me, check my profile.

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