The Twilight Zone of Censorship

Imagine if you will, an upscale, suburban school district embroiled in conflict over three books on a middle school suggested reading list. One: Narrative of the Life of Fredrick Douglass, An American Slave by Fredrick Douglass. Two: A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry. Three: Summer of the Mariposas by Guadalupe G. McCall. Oh, and the fourth. A picture book: On the Top of the World–Climbing Mount Everest by not reading sections about harm or death on Mount Everest. According to some members of its school board, these aforementioned selections violate instructional protocols for the prohibition of DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion.)

As a former high school and college English teacher, and as an adjunct professor in American Educational History, I am not a fan of banning books, unless they’re pornographic trash. Allow me to digress and make an analogy. I grew up in an ethnically-diverse city in a WASP (White Anglo Saxon Protestant) family, and by virtue of birth, qualified for membership in the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution.) I was a monolingual, minority in a vast melting pot of Italians, Greeks, Czechoslovakians, Hungarians, and Irish, who could all converse with their grandparents in another language. Of course, there were Blacks and Hispanics too.

Our elementary school had no cafeteria; it was just a lunch room where everyone brought a lunch box and a thermos. And it was there that my eyes and my taste buds were forever changed! I tasted pizza, Mexican wedding cookies, strudel, kolachi, cabbage rolls, and wiener schnitzel. I ate baklava, pierogi, tacos, and chow mein. Foods that my mother certainly couldn’t cook; foods that my grandmothers found objectionable. As a college student, I worked at a resident Camp Fire Girls camp, where the Black cook taught me to barbeque chicken and ribs on a wood fire. I became such an expert my grandmother insisted I take over the Sunday menu when it called for barbeque. Indeed, I would have grown up with a limited, insular palate had it not been for my experience.

For politicians to force the removal of books and other educational materials from schools based on DEI is not only irresponsible, but ludicrous. In this high-tech age of information, do they not realize students can explore the world from their cell phone or laptop? Are they so naive to think they can rewrite history by just removing Douglass’ autobiography or mention of the Navajo Code Talkers from the history books? Since the current leadership is anti-science, do they think they can ignore and simply erase the harsh realities of scaling Mount Everest?

Your attempts to suppress history and ban Mark Twain, Harper Lee, J.D. Salinger, and Dr. Seuss are unconscionable and ignorant. Now, while you may deny and/or justify your motives as “protecting children,” that’s absurd. You know, without a doubt, who openly mocked a disabled American, who makes disparaging remarks to women news reporters, who has turned the White House into a gilded slum, and who’s in the Epstein Files. And it’s not Edmund Hillary. It’s The Twilight Zone!

I Am a Regular!

I recently read an article by Mark Alan Burger, entitled: The Lost Art of Being a Regular: Why You Should Become a Regular Fixture at Your Local Restaurant or Bar. Though, I’d lived in Phoenix for over 25 years, when I got divorced, my group of friends changed. No longer was I invited to couples’ events, Happy Hours, or weekend parties; I was hesitant to walk into a restaurant and say, “Table for one.”

About thirteen years ago, in the midst of July heat, I couldn’t bear the thought of cooking dinner or driving through a fast food joint for a greasy taco with tainted lettuce. Even though my youngest kid had warned me an eon ago to never go into El Mar, I was hungry, and I did. Not only was it not the biker, dive bar she’d described, but it was filled with folk who looked like me all enjoying a leisurely meal in a comfortable, yet festive atmosphere.

The food was good, the staff was excellent, and they offered Trivia Tuesdays. Within weeks, I became a regular. My neighbor and I formed a trivia team, and we became “fixtures” at El Mar! Just as Burger addresses in his article, there are advantages to being a regular:

  1. The owners and the staff not only know my name, but bring my beverage choice to the table before I sit down. We exchange meaningful conversation because we’ve shared our life details, i.e. our dogs, our kids, our vacations, and our occasional dirty jokes!
  2. I’ve met so many interesting people who live in my ‘hood that I would have never encountered elsewhere. Among them include: the head of maintenance at the apartment complex on the corner, an attorney at the State Attorney General’s office, two pediatricians, a talented ceramic artist, and numerous owners of diners and other small businesses. I know the lead singer/guitarist in a cool band, the head of supply chain management for a national sportswear company, a retired police officer, a retired Marine, and a veterinarian technician. All of them have enriched my experience, and some of them ended up as characters in my last novel: Justice for Jeremy.
  3. As a byproduct of engaging with all of these neighborhood folk, I learn a lot of neighborhood news–some gossip, but some valuable info.
  4. El Mar is a place of celebration, too, where we all join in to sing Happy Birthday or Country Roads when the USA soccer team wins.
  5. But what I like best about El Mar, its staff, and its customers is their spirit of community and their commitment to giving back–to the neighborhood public schools, to the animal shelters, to the women’s shelters, to the Christmas toy drives, to Veterans’ organizations, and to summer water drives for the unhoused.

As I reflect on my experience, indeed, it took guts to walk into El Mar alone. Yet, I’m so thankful I did. In this disconnect, insular world of texts, polarization over race and/or economic status, and downright abject hate, it is exhilarating for me to walk into an establishment, where everyone greets one another with a smile or a hug. Yes, I’m a “fixture”–something permanently attached to El Mar, and they will have to scrape me off the wall if they decide to: 8677!

My Scotch Problem

No! It has nothing to do with liquor. It’s about my thrifty behavior. Case in point: Last week Toko, G, and I were going to South Carolina to see my kids. And due to the usual problems of aircraft maintenance, the first leg of our flight was delayed, which caused us to miss our connecting flight. We were stuck in Charlotte, NC, until the next morning.

Since it was already early evening, I needed to find a hotel close to the airport. The Sheraton was $400; the Holiday Inn Express was $255; CIS (you figure it out) was $100 with free shuttle and free breakfast. Now, I’d stayed at this chain in other parts of the country and found it decent, so I booked it.

“Do you need help with your luggage,” the hotel clerk asked.

“No, thank you. It’s on the airplane. But we need some necessaries, like toothbrushes, toothpaste, a hair brush, and we need to get something to eat.”

“Well, there’s a restaurant in this parking lot, an Arby’s down the street, and a 7-11. Or you can walk across the street. There’s a restaurant, a Food Lion, and a Dollar Store.

We dumped our meager belongings in our small, first floor room and went in search of food. Obviously, the desk clerk was a new hire, because the restaurant had been closed for over a year. So we walked toward Arby’s. An old guy ventured across the street (a freaking, six-lane highway), “Where you gals going? You can’t go to Arby’s it’s closed down. You can go to that good Southern Greek one across the street.”

“Across this highway? With all this speeding traffic? No thank you!”

“C’mon. I’ll take y’all. Let’s go.”

Somehow, we miraculously fast-paced it across. He disappeared as we entered the “good” restaurant, where I was overwhelmed by its odor! “I can’t eat here; let’s go to the grocery and scrounge up something edible.” With a pre-packaged appetizer tray, three cans of beer, toothbrushes with tooth paste paid for, we approached the roaring, six-lane nightmare. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, we heard:

“Hey! How’d you like your dinner?” Our safety patrol escort yelled.

“We went to the grocery instead.”

“They’ve got really good food there. I usually get crackers and a drink. See that car over there? That’s where I live. I’m homeless, and I’ve fallen on hard times right now.” No duh. You only have three or four teeth, too.

“So, I was wondering if you could help me out.”

I fumbled through my purse in search of a twenty but instead mistakenly pulled out a US Grant and handed it to him.

“Oh, thank you! No one has ever….”

“You’re welcome.”

“Hey, let me give you a hug.” Thankfully, he neither smelled bad, nor tried to kiss my cheek. And thankfully, the three of us made it back across the street to our hovel. We sat outside around the decrepit, filthy swimming pool after finding three, usable chairs and noshed. We admired the size of the roaring, low-flying planes as they prepared to land every three minutes. In spite of the broken toilets, water-stained ceiling tiles, questionable electric plugs, and a dearth of coffee and food at the “free” breakfast, we laughed a lot.

“Sue, if there’s a next time, let’s stay at The Sheraton.”

“Sure, G. If you’re paying!” By the way, there is no substantial evidence to verify this Scottish stereotype. My kinfolk may be frugal, but they’re just saving for good whisky! Cheers.

How One Town Rallied: A Story of Hope

With both our nation and our world in such disarray this week and with all the personal struggles and uncertainties our family and friends are experiencing, I offer this true story of hope.

Lakeview, Oregon is the Lake County seat, with a population of 2,418 (2020 Census.) It dubbed itself as the “Tallest Town in Oregon,” for its elevation of over 4,700 feet above sea level, and its residents are primarily loggers, ranchers, or government employees. This past spring, the town officials informed the community, there were no funds to open the public swimming pool, due to a hefty loss in tax revenues. Realizing the importance of providing that recreation, the folks came together and donated enough money to open the pool.

Then as summer edged toward fall, town officials delivered worse news: there were no funds to plow snow this winter in a town that typically gets 44+ inches of snow! Why? After all, Lake County is nearly the size of New Jersey, yet inhabited by less than 9,000 people. Most of the land is under the Bureau of Land Management or Forest Service control, and thus it is not taxable, which further contributes to the town’s financial woes.

Faced with this potentially critical dilemma, the community had to do something. How would their children get safely to and from school? How would mail be delivered? How would stores and offices be able to open? Thanks to the ingenuity and creativity of several community members, they decided to print and sell a 2026 calendar–not just any calendar–but an Outback Naked calendar, and dedicate 100% of the sales for snowplowing. Using volunteers from senior citizens to those in their mid-forties as the monthly models in scanty clothing, they published a most hilarious calendar, which went viral. Even The New York Times published this article: One Town’s Plan to Address a Financial Crisis: Nude Calendars by R. Fernandez. (Don’t be alarmed, the models don’t let it all hang out; it’s no more skin than you’d see at the swimming pool.) The Drew Barrymore Show is also scheduled to feature Lakeview’s project.

I would urge you to join me in supporting Lakeview’s endeavor. Check out: Outback Naked Calendar’s Shop on zeffy.com Trust me, you’ll get a kick out of each month and applaud the resilience of a town who refused to accept the unacceptable.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Dr. Suze

(Photo courtesy of: Tiffany Paull. Model: Kenda Fuhriman)

Chasing Dolly

Neither the clone sheep, nor Dolly Levi, but the Dolly…Parton. On Monday, I learned that the Dolly was going to perform in Las Vegas in December, and tickets for her six shows would go on sale Wednesday morning. Some of you probably are wondering why I would care, but it’s a family thing. My maternal grandparents were from a small holler, Kodak, in east Tennessee, where my great grandfather was the Sevier County sheriff. The county seat is Sevierville and home to the Parton family. Given the size of the community my relatives knew the Partons, and until my grandmother’s death she was an avid follower of Dolly’s rising success. (My youngest kid somehow inherited my grandmother’s admiration for Dolly and exclusively uses her cake and brownie mixes.) Given this quasi-familial relationship, I set out on a mission to get concert tickets. Just 8 tickets, which according to the website would cost $600 at the high end, and $25 at the low.

Wednesday morning, 9:00 AM: I entered the queue. WTF? 54,569 folk in front of me! My kid was in the queue with 13,000 ahead. Thank God. We’d score tickets for sure. 10:00 AM the sale began. 10:30 AM all six concerts were sold out! By 11:00AM, the alleged $600 seats were being sold by brokers for $13,929!

Talk about shock and awe for this old broad. My dreams of spectacular Christmas presents shattered, I schlepped away with a determination to figure out what happened. After too many hours of research, I’m still not an authority on what happened. My simplistic explanation is: ticket scalping in the digital age due to (ro)bots. If you want to further understand, consider reading Ticket Masters: The Rise of the Concert Industry and How the Public Got Scalped by Budnick and Baron. Supposedly, His Highness, at the urging of Kid Rock, issued an Executive Order in March to curtail this practice, but obviously that’s yet to come to fruition.

When a nation is run by billionaires, the rest of us don’t matter. Sorry. I’ve got to go. I’m late for the Bezos’s wedding!