Which came first, the chicken or the egg? After watching the documentary series called OJ : Made in America, not the TV series starring Cuba Gooding, but the extremely well done doc with original footage and interviews, I contend it was the chicken.
The chicken came first and out of fear that the egg would grow up to surpass it, or not knowing that the chicken and the egg are indeed one and the same, beat the shit out of the egg. The chicken kept beating the shit out of the egg until the egg struck backing a way that made no rational sense.
It was emotional. But isn’t it always emotional when one’s had the shit beat out of them.
Why this documentary is such a must see is because it shows in detail the climate OJ was born into. Going back several decades showing footage of racial tensions between African Americans and the LA Police force it sets the stage for the tragedy that was OJ.
Showing how the gifted athlete was embraced at USC in 1967, just two years after the famed explosive Watts Riots, embraced and seduced by the grandeur of being treated like he was above color distinction, helped to shape who he became.
Showing, not telling, we see for ourselves how his pathology and narcissism and need for adoration grew. How something we all posses to varying degrees, the need for love, took over and infested the boy from the San Francisco projects who grew up with little.
It’s been ages since I sat through a TV series feeling my temperature rise, shouting back at the set. At times tears streamed down my cheeks as I sat mesmerized by what we human beings do to each other in the name of justice or for personal gain, or worst of them all, to be in the orbit of celebrity.
This series is an exercise in connecting the dots.
A did to B so B does to C and then D, E, and F happened.
The question comes down to what if that chicken had never beaten the crap out of that egg in the first place?
What if, instead, it had welcomed it, loved it, and said “here share some of my barnyard scraps?”
Dare I say we might all be singing “What a Wonderful World This Would Be”
OJ Made In America…. http://espn.go.com/30for30/ojsimpsonmadeinamerica/
Next is a rant;
There’s a comedian out there who needs to shut the F up .Personally, I think he should be put over his grandma’s knee and spanked but good.( To use an expression from my childhood)
My husband was channel surfing the other night after he, our older daughter, and I had just watched the documentary on J.D. Salinger…that troubled genius. He stopped on a guy doing stand up that he thought he’d heard of. We sat watching this guy, who doesn’t deserve, in my book, to be named, for about two minutes. It was one minute and fifty –nine seconds longer than we should have.
The guys routine; rape jokes.
Riffing on Bill Crosby and how his hobby is raping the way golf is other guys hobby. As the seconds stretched into those two minutes, I watched this guy pace the stage working his audience. The cameras panned the audience; men and women howling with laughter.
Sitting on the edge of the couch I could feel the guilt rising up from my stomach, past my heart, into my throat, then into my mouth which opened and said loudly, “Enough! Turn this off right now!”
Taking my guilt from spending two minutes watching and listening to this guy up and off the couch and into the kitchen, I drank a glass of water. Then I took a piece of paper towel soaked it in cold water and washed the invisible slime off of my face.
Walking back into the living room the best I could come up with was, “no one ever makes jokes about war. That kind of violence is off limits. Rape should be too.”
Then I marched my guilt and leftover invisible slime into the bedroom to try to read. But I couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t escape the dark grey that covered me . Pulsating, slapping me with shame for having given two minutes of my life over to an asshole with the gall to joke about rape.
Self analysis on this can be done privately and not on this page.
But the next day I spoke with my twenty-seven year old daughter about it. She, by the way, left the living room the moment the “comedian” uttered the word rape. She’ll never be one to go against her gut for a second to please anyone. Thank God.
She, of course, got it totally right, saying that no one has the right to joke about a pain that they haven’t experienced or know personally. No one should joke about a physical or emotional violation that’s never been perpetrated on them. Thinking back to Richard Pryor and Eddie Murphy, both raw, both brilliant, their jokes came from their experiences. If not theirs personally, their parent’s, grandparent’s, or their shared cultural pains.
It’s not that rape is a women’s thing. Men have been and are victims of rape. Watch Amy Ziering’s brave documentary, The Invisible War about rape in the military. Read thousands of articles on line about priests raping alter boys. Or watch the movie, Spotlight.
I can not think of anyone, woman or man, who has turned their own personal experience of being raped into a comedy routine.
Rape isn’t, nor will it ever be, a laughing matter. In the U.S. a rape is reported every five minutes. Do that math.
So please, learn from my shame. Don’t give two minutes of your precious time to anyone unconscious enough to think there is any humor to be gained from rape.
Sorry folks, this blog started out , lo these many, many months ago , as good news and views. But what can I say except life got in my way.
But! Still sharing and caring:
Very informative important read; Better by Atul Gawande http://atulgawande.com/book/better/
And, for online shopping lovers;
The Real Real. https://www.therealreal.com. It’s for men too. You may never shop retail again!
As usual sent with love