Haters be Hatin' (I'll be Dat)

I offered to cover "I Question America" for the Free Press when it was performed at USM a few weeks back, primarily because I wanted more experience in the Arts and Entertainment section, partially because I knew it would be challenging, but mostly because it's my job and I wanted more hours.

It's a one-woman play written and preformed by E.P. McKnight about Civil Rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer, presented by the Multicultural Student Affairs office in honor of Black History Month.

Here's the article.

And a few days later I received this comment:

"Wow, I can't believe you would be critical of a play about the civil rights movement during black history month, let alone get away with it. "The story took a serious turn..." when it effin started. Now, I love the first amendment as much as anybody- but please stick to blogging about things you know like your relationships and punk rock. you know, shit nobody but you or your friends cares about. Thanks."
  
A policy of the Free Press is that writers can't comment on their own stories, and that's a rightful policy. But there's nothing that says I'm not allowed to respond in another medium.


Yes, I do blog about my relationships, but it's supposed to be entertaining and possibly insightful, but certainly not news. The fact that he neglected to mention that I blog just as much about my cat, my friends, and drinking, means he probably hasn't seen the blog. Which means he is also then assuming that I'm a punk rock expert.

I'm going to venture that this guy probably doesn't know a whole lot about punk rock. It's probably his rudimentary understanding of counter-culture, much like the way some people think that only the music that exists is the music on the radio. Sure, I spent enough time working at the record store to bullshit with anyone about just about any music genre. And although I've written about music from time to time, very little, if any, has been punk rock. In fact, I think the only time I even say the words 'punk' and 'rock' together is when it's preceded by 'wicked,' and I'm trying to be funny. Emphasis on trying.

He must've entered his name wrong in the comments section, because he claims his last name is Benjamin. I looked him up on Facebook anyway. In his Favorite Quotes section, he wrote, "When I walk up in the club bitches be like he ain't shit. I'll be dat- Redman." Whatever his reason for listing this as his favorite quote, his support of the term 'bitches' to refer to women disqualifies him from telling me, a woman writer, that I shouldn't criticize a play written and performed by a woman, about a woman.


There also did not appear to be anyone who fit his description at the play.  Because if he was, he probably would've understood what I was talking about when I said, "The play took a serious turn."

Let me be honest. The play wasn't very good. Some things were edited out for word-count reasons: the play began light-hearted and silly, McKnight portraying humorous versions of Hamer as a curious young girl and a twitterpated young woman, but the play became increasingly tense and serious as Hamer's story unfolded. There was also an extended cut of Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech- which I thought was completely unnecessary. Hamer was actually there for the speech, which makes it a part of her life, but she was also there for many of MLK's other speeches. I think it would've been more effective to use either the last speech he gave before his untimely death, or maybe part of the speech that hasn't been replayed in every classroom across America.  

I was criticizing the play and the presentation of the story, not the story itself, "Hamer’s story is incredible, but between the unintelligible rants, the distracting names and dates, and the extended cut of “I Have a Dream,” this play came short of capturing the intensity of her story in its entirety."

Cleveland also made an insightful point: I would add that the argument that we cannot critique a play just because it is about civil rights and (presumably) written and performed by an African-American is itself a kind of racism. It reduces African Americans to representatives of their race, rather artists in their own right.

The Free Press pays me.

Beer Bellies and Vodka Soda

The Grinch of Valentine's Day

Although I make light of how disinterested in Valentine's Day I happen to be in that column, me 'n Cleve had a really enjoyable time at J's Oyster and he showered me with presents. He'll say that it wasn't a competition, but he totally won Valentine's Day.

Amanda Pleau, Columnist

This is the final column that I wrote for the Free Press, but it didn't quite see the light of day. I think my editor quit, and I was caught up between Dan leaving and Paul arriving. This was also written before the Virginia Woolf letter, though I'm not sure how that could've changed things. Oh, and I would've changed that last part, because well, Cleveland might be sticking around. Unrelated note, I filed my income taxes today- let me know if you need any help (I got an A in my Personal Finance class.)

I’m twenty-six, and I’ve been living in the city my school is in for five years. My college experience wasn’t going to be that of most of my friends, who went away after high school for four years and returned with lifelong friendships and a new purpose in life. I didn’t expect to make those kinds of friendships at USM, since I basically leave after class to go home or to work. I don’t even know the names of most of my classmates. My classes have been alright, but sometimes it feels like I’m just going through the motions. My decision to finish school wasn’t intended to change my life, but to even the playing field on the job market after college, and I’ve never considered myself very career-driven. But this job at the Free Press has been challenging, engaging, inspiring and fun- the experience I’ve always wanted from college. I want to write for a living.

It seems difficult to believe that this semester is almost over, and I suppose the last column of the semester should be used for reflection on the last few months. I skipped the shark dissection in Marine Biology. I barely stifled my annoyance with a classmate for taking up class time to complain about other students driving from the Gorham Campus to the Portland Campus and taking up all the parking- only to find out she drives from Grant Street, which at it’s furthest ends is only a half a mile from campus. I’ll have a lot of memories from this semester. My greatest won’t be my g.p.a.’s reflection on my attendance, or that I’ve actually remembered to turn my phone off in the library every time, it’ll be that this is the semester I decided what I might like to do with my life.

I love the feeling of someone randomly approaching me and telling me that they’ve seen my column. This semester, I received my first piece of negative criticism. This is exciting because it means people other than my friends and editors are reading. Even though my critic was right, I should make an effort to complete my sentences and find time for an additional round of editing (or two), it’s alright because I’m learning. For a few weeks between jobs this November, I was actually supporting myself solely on this work-study gig, which was an extremely exciting feeling. I’d love to follow in the footsteps of Ira Glass or Dave Eggars, even though I have more in common with other female writers like Chelsea Handler, Tina Fey and Candace Bushnell, I wouldn’t be disappointed writing copy for catalogues or obituaries after graduation..

Upon further investigation, it seems like enrolling in the Media Studies program might help me combine my love of public radio, storytelling and writing goofy, self-deprecating blogs about farting on the Champs-Elysse or slapped with certain parts of the male anatomy.  Misadventures in Portland: Chronicling one girl’s quest for a major and a boyfriend. Perhaps this staggering and unexpected realization about my major will free up some mental space for me to focus on finding a boyfriend. Or maybe my column will earn me so much notoriety I’ll start receiving fan mail from cute guys in the economics or business departments. If either of these things happen, you’ll read it here.