It's the punctuation, stupid.

I just noticed that I'd forgotten to end a sentence with period in my online dating profile. Now that I've corrected that mistake, I expect the suitors to come rolling in.

Solitude I did not chose

I don't think I was meant to live alone. I really don't want to live alone.

I don't see my solitude as the result of conscious decisions, but I suppose it is because as much as I enjoy companionship, I would rather live alone than live with others under crazy circumstances.

For instance, I suppose I could have intentionally gotten pregnant and become a single mother. Perhaps I could still do that. But I know that I am not the kind of woman who could properly raise a child on her own.

I wonder if there's anything more I could do to work towards ending my solitude without changing my values.

Return to Normalcy

I am back in my hometown, so to speak. The place where I grew up is familiar and strange, not just because I've spent so little time here over the past fifteen years. I think it was always sort of strange in a way. It was strange in that so many people in this region, and even in other parts of the country, thought that the place was normal. It was so normal that it was frequently depicted in fiction or invoked in political and cultural discussions as the epitome of the average, the typical, the regular. It specificities had been sanded down, even in the minds of some of its citizens. I met a guy from Chicago who insisted that he didn't have an accent because there was no Chicago accent. He just spoke normally. Sure, groups of people have always said, "Oh, those people over there are weird. Those people talk funny." But the people where I grew up could say these things with a conviction that I have not seen matched by anyone else in this country. And people elsewhere in the country would speak with an equally strong conviction about the blandness of the region surrounding my hometown. Surely, the germ of the place was ground away. It's strip malls are somehow more stripped. The people in the West know we are cultureless because that's what they've seen in the media that they produce. The people in the East know that we are dull because they cannot see our edges. The people in the South know we are passionless because we aren't as demonstrative. Our normalness was both inspiring and terrifying, like a blank page. Or maybe more like a slice of bread, comforting or boring.

I guess the middle is easy to equate with the normal. But it's no more or less normal than anyplace else. This seems so obvious to me that I feels odd to point it out, yet I am compelled to mention it.

If They Weren't Attached

It's getting to the point where my ATM cards are like the drummers for Spinal Tap.

Taxi Crab

Okay, why do they even bother putting those credit/debit card swiping machines in taxi cabs? The drivers make such a stink when passengers want to use them. Just get rid of the damn things.

My experience with these devices puts me in an "I hate everyone" mood. Now I especially hate taxi drivers. Theirs is a dangerous job. But so is trying to get home if you're alone in the wee hours in a town with crappy overnight transit. Too many cab drivers talk to me like I'm a party girl then flip out over trivial things. I just want to get home, mister. Sad to say, fellow black drivers can be the worst. They get angry when I tell them which way to turn. They get angry if I don't have small bills. They tell me I should straighten my hair. Etc. In short, they are way more disrespectful to me than any danger can excuse.

It's as if huge numbers of people have just given up on the whole golden rule. Sometimes others don't want you to do unto them as you would have others do unto you. Still the golden rule is a good start. Late at night, we all just want to get home in one piece. Caution is understandable. Still, automatically treating strangers like whores doesn't make the journey any easier.

Human History written by Sylvester McMonkey McBean?

It appears that human history is being written by Dr. Suess's enterprising character Sylvester McMonkey McBean, the fix it up chappie who said, "You can't teach a sneetch."

I don't expect members of historically oppressed groups to have extraordinary powers of acceptance or even tolerance. Oppression often has the opposite effect on people. Still, imagine what it would be like if everyone who was part of a second class group and everyone who was persecuted or who's ancestors were persecuted actually applied the lessons of their people's suffering to the way they treated other groups. What if they would or could bypass self-loathing and other-loathing? Would pride in one's ancestry be so easily connected with violent tribalism?

What would happen when the next wave of immigrants meets the children of the previous wave?

What vortexes of bloodshed would lose their power to attract fresh meat?