Bad, Babar, Bad

You didn’t think I was going to tell readers to go fuck themselves and then move on, did you? I mean, that’s a pretty big matzah ball hanging out there, and not exactly effective blogging technique. Besides, I’m no hypocrite.

So I get ticked off when someone cancels plans with me at the last minute. Is that my ego talking? Very likely. Any negative emotion is the ego talking, because the ego never shuts the hell up. But is it also because I value my time, and don’t like having it squandered?

For sure.

But here’s the thing, and there’s really no way of getting around it:

Just because I’m offended, doesn’t mean I’m right.

Being offended is my choice, my responsibility. I could easily just blow it off. I could forgive that person immediately, chalking her insensitivity up to the fact that she lacks effective time management. Maybe she just doesn’t want to reveal the real reason she has to cancel, and it’s none of my damn business anyway. Maybe if I wasn’t so petty, I would approach my friend and engage in civil and mature discussion about how I feel..

But I choose not to. Rather, I shut down and choose to believe what I want to believe- that this person doesn’t value me, my time or our friendship. I don’t let her speak for herself, I just put up walls. It’s easier than discourse and it makes me feel holier-than-thou. So who is the real problem here?

I am. Because I am Cancel-Culture Cancelling Cancelers.

Bummer.

But can anything or anyone actually ever be cancelled? Just because I get angry and refuse to make active plans with someone who has cancelled on me in the past, does that mean that person stops canceling on others? Does that person shape up and improve, because I have made her see the error of her ways? If I text and email every single person I know and warn them about this canceller, do other people stop making plans with her?

Hell no. You know why? Because no one gives a shit about how I feel about cancellers. Maybe it doesn’t bother them. Maybe they’re cancellers, too. Maybe they don’t think getting cancelled is something to get all riled up about, because life is too short for such nonsense. Maybe they would tell me that it’s not worth ruining my day or a friendship over.

And they’d be right.

I’ll use another example. Let’s look at Babar the Elephant, the series of children’s books written by Jean De Brunhoff in the mid-20th century. Plot line: Babar is a baby elephant whose mother gets killed by a hunter, so he goes to the big city to get civilized, inevitably returning to the jungle to share his superior knowledge. I loved these books growing up, as anything unrelated to pachyderms has always been and will always be, for me, irrelephant.

(Ineffective puns aside),

In October of 2020, an argument was made that Babar books were actually an allegory for French colonialism in Africa. I mean, Babar returns to the jungle walking on two legs- of course the quadrupedal elephants think he should be king- after all, he is a civilized biped, and they are primitives! He is wearing a snazzy green suit, and they are unclothed! He has a personality and language, and they are gray, naked, mindless peasants! The book openly suggests that wouldn’t it be wonderful if every little orphaned elephant had a rich old white benefactress to clothe him and expose him to fine culture?

(This argument gets very complex, so please access the link below if you would like to read into it further. This post is not about implied racism in children’s books, although the subject is worth the conversation. Brunhoff died when he was only 37, so when his son continued to publish his father’s books, he admitted in 1991 that his father’s physical depictions of African Americans, while accurate as far as the people Jean met when he traveled, could be construed as racial caricatures. But it was how the African Americans physically looked when his father met them, and he meant no disrespect. Since then, the book Babar’s Travels has been reissued with a “racially sensitive” version).

Groups formed to enact vengeance on Babar, as groups do. Attempts were made to cancel Babar in the UK. Babar was taken out of libraries, schools and children’s bedrooms, to keep UK youth from seeing that pesky, uppity green-suited elephant. And we all know how effective it is to keep images and words and concepts (deemed “harmful” by thin-skinned intellectuals) away from our children. Works every time.

NOT.

Show me someone that believes in extinguishing ideas and words as a way to govern societal minds and I’ll show you someone who is sniffing elephant-book glue. Cancel Culture is dangerous, but more than that, it is collective stupidity. When easily-influenced people think and gather in groups, the capacity for good judgement can be severely reduced.

Sociological examples are ubiquitous. Read Lord of the Flies. Look up the Stanford Prison Experiment. Read the essay “Thresholds of Violence” by Malcolm Gladwell or his books, Outliers or Tipping Point. Groups “kill.” And as psychologist Solomon Asch said long ago:

If a majority of people embrace a manifestly false and idiotic theory, others will go along with it merely because of the power of conformity.

Take ten people, plop them down in a room with a pile of Babar books, and ask them to work together on the issue of French colonialism in the books. In another room, ask ten people to work on the same project, but ask each member to work alone. When they emerge, gather up the reports.

You will find that the proposals of the second group are richer and more plentiful- the ideas are provocative and varied, offering several different viewpoints. And the report from the first group?

One opinion. One idea. One viewpoint. And in one fell swoop, Babar is elephant toast.

Sometimes the whole is less than the sum of its parts.

Have a great weekend, because guess what? It ain’t cancelled.

https://www.ranker.com/list/dark-symbolism-in-babar/katia-kleyman

Cancel Culture

I’ve been asked my opinion about cancel culture.

So I’m having lunch with a close friend today. It was simple to set up. Last week she suggested lunch out. I said yes. I asked her to pick the day, so I could keep my schedule clear. She did. I agreed. She told me she would pick me up at noon, and asked me to pick the place. I did. I wrote it in my calendar. In Sharpie. Then we didn’t talk for a week until yesterday when we both confirmed.

I thought about the simplicity of the exchange, and about how neither of us felt the need to communicate throughout the week. And it occurred to me that my closest friends have one very special thing in common:

They rarely cancel on me. Once plans are made, that’s it. And if they have to reschedule, I know it’s for a good reason. Hell, I don’t even care if they give me a reason. If a friend has earned my trust through reliability, I don’t even need a reason. I can’t overstate the importance of this quality of friendship to me. It could be the most important quality I look for in a friend.

It’s not even about reliability. It’s more the implication that when you make plans with someone, you have made the conscious decision to put that person first, whether it’s for an hour or two or a long weekend. No one needs to be someone’s first or even second priority 24-hours a day, seven days a week. Not even in a marriage. It even sounds horrible, and exhausting.

What I require, however, is that if someone has gone out of her way to make plans with me on Sunday at 3:00 p.m., she has decided that I will be her first priority on Sunday at 3:00 p.m. When someone cancels on me at the last minute, this is the message I hear:

Sorry, something better came up at the last minute for 3:00 p.m. on Sunday. Unfortunately, you’re disposable. Maybe next week I won’t have such important plans, and I can fit you in. But who knows, maybe something better will come up again, and I’ll do it to you twice. So, want to reschedule?

No. Go fuck yourself. I don’t want to reschedule.

I despise getting cancelled on at the last minute. To me, it is the highest insult. I think my company is worth a few hours of someone’s day. Besides that, I probably said no to a lot of other things to keep that appointment, so now I have missed out on other fun opportunities. So when cancelled on, I’ll give someone a second chance, but rarely a third. Because I interpret being flung aside as meaning I am not a priority on that person’s social calendar. I’m not first. I’m not second. I’m barely third. Hell, maybe I’m not even in the top ten. How could I ever be sure?

(Notice I keep saying “at the last minute.” Someone calling you a week before and asking if she can reschedule dinner because of a conflict with her son’s soccer schedule is a lot different than a phone call two hours before. I’m not an unreasonable bitch. Well, maybe sometimes I am).

Some people even see it as a game. They go out of their way to make plans with you, purposely cancel them, and don’t make the slightest effort to hide their inconsideration. They’re barely remorseful. That’s because they see cancelling as a power move. They could have worked with whatever came up and kept to their original plan, but doing so would imply vulnerability and weakness. An acquiescence, if you will, to one relationship over another. Sending me a text two hours before we are supposed to meet, saying, “I’m such an idiot, I forgot I’m having other friends down, so I can’t make it,” or “I’m so sorry, my brother and his daughter just paid me a surprise visit, can we do it another time?” or “I don’t much feel like going out, I’m just going to hang out by my pool, we’ll do it another time,” lend themselves to a number of observations:

  • So these friends are more important to you than I am? Fine, message heard, loud and clear. And tell me, is there any reason why you can’t invite these other friends along to our lunch? Or tell them you’ll be back in a couple of hours?
  • You can’t tell your brother you have plans, and that you will meet them on the beach afterward in an hour? Tell them to take a walk on the boardwalk until you’re done? Let them hang out in your house while we’re eating lunch? Bring them along?
  • So I’m not invited to your stupid pool? Great, don’t ever think you’re getting on my boat now.

Fine, I’m immature.

Maybe the reason I get so insulted is because I’m so personally rigid when it comes to cancelling. When I make plans with someone, those plans are set in stone from my end, and only a family emergency would cause me to cancel. Once I make a promise or an appointment, it gets written in my day calendar in Sharpie, and THAT IS FREAKING IT. I mean, I just promised a trainer at my gym that I would attend his class. I hate organized workout sessions. But I promised to go. And I will go. That’s just how I am.

If I agree to work an extra shift, I work it.

If I agree to “stop by” a gathering, I stop by.

If I promise a friend to go golfing, I go golfing.

If I promise to have lunch with you, I will have lunch with you.

If I tell the sickly old woman who used to always visit my dog but who misses him now that he is passed that I will be standing in my yard at 11:30 a.m. on Friday so I can walk up to her car and talk to her before she leaves for a doctor’s appointment, then I am on my fucking lawn at 11:30 a.m. on Friday to talk to her.

Come hell or high water, if you will excuse the cliché.

Because that five-minute interaction with that wonderful woman is, to me, the most important thing to happen in my entire life at 11:30 a.m. on Friday, March 26th,  2021. I wouldn’t give it up for anything, because I promised her. She means a lot to me. She loved my dog, my dog loved her, and she misses him. She wants to talk about him, and what she will do without his hugs. I will guard that five minutes from other commitments with ferocious protectiveness. I won’t miss it. Because I promised.

So there you have it. I know this is not the “cancel culture” you were referring to, but that’s coming. I just have to gather my thoughts, and finish reading the book entitled, The Psychology of Stupidity by Jean-Francois Marmion. No discussion about cancel culture would be complete without full knowledge of the vast cavern of stupidity that encompasses cancel culture people. So please be patient, that post is on the way.

I promise.

Forever Banned

So banning of books hit a raw nerve? I think that’s wonderful. Let me tell you a quick story:

Picture it. 1979. I am thirteen, and all that that implies. I close my eyes now and remember the following scenario like it was yesterday:

In Language Arts class. Friday. Watching an interesting filmstrip about Harriet Tubman. Two of my best friends in seats in front of me, whispering together. They glance back at me with wide eyes, smiling. I knew those smiles. Something good was about to go down. I raised my eyebrows and shrugged my shoulders.

What?

I watched my friend write something down on a piece of paper and then fold it up. She stretched her arms behind her and dropped it on the desk of a boy, who then passed the note to me. Trying to keep from being seen by the teacher, I opened the note labeled “Mary’s Eyes Only” carefully and quietly. I read it.

Sleepover at my house tonight in the basement. I have it!!!!!!!

Oh. My. God. I covered my mouth with my hand, barely able to believe it. My friends looked back at me and nodded.

Any 13-year old girl in my school in 1979 knew what “it” was. The book. The one our parents didn’t want us reading. The book about sex, and birth control, and penises and vaginas. No girl’s parents would buy it or let her read it. But there were a couple of copies floating around, mostly belonging to older, more mature girls. Copies belonging to the older girls who let their little sisters read them. Copies that were treasured, protected and idolized. Copies that moved from girl-to-girl, and no matter how hard parents tried, they could not figure out how all of these girls were reading this book.

The book was Forever by Judy Blume.

(Forever delves into the experience of a teenager losing her virginity, and it was groundbreaking when published in the late 1970’s. Blume wrote it for her teenage daughter, who asked her famous author mom to write a book where sex wasn’t punished. The book focuses on birth control and both the practical and romantic details of teen sexuality. The novel is still frequently banned and was actually shelved in the adult section when first published). 

It was tricky getting your hands on this book in my school in 1979. Our school didn’t even allow us to wear jeans. A girl had to have connections, and those connections had to have connections. And even with all those connections, sometimes girls were still not lucky enough to be in the “privileged” group of girls deemed “cool” enough to be able to handle such a scorchingly and sexually “subversive” book as Forever.

We were lucky.

We had worked hard to get our turn at “The Book.” Furtive whisperings at lockers, notes written and passed almost constantly in lunch and in gym class, phone calls made that had to be disguised from nosy parental ears (before cell phones, we had to conduct private conversations in the middle of our houses in front of our whole family- can you imagine?), and long bike rides taken to older girl’s houses where bribery commenced- we brought them milkshakes, makeup, magazines. We brought them whatever they wanted and whatever we could afford.

Because they had The Book. And we wanted It.

I will never forget that sleepover. Wrapped up in our sleeping bags, snacks and drinks ready and the Bay City Rollers playing on the record player, I watched as my friend slowly and dramatically removed the book from her backpack. The cover has changed since 1979, but I remember vividly the way the cover looked back then- a young girl’s face inside of an opened locket, the thick black font of the word “Forever” blazing aggressively and diagonally across the cover.

This copy was dog-eared and worn, and I remember we stayed up until 3:00 a.m. reading passages to each other. Time was of the essence. When a girl was given the book, she had one evening to read it, because the next day it had to be given back to an older girl who would then pass it to the next girl on the list. If it was a weekend, the older girl would show up in front of your house to retrieve it. If it was a school day, she would find you as you were walking into school. The most important thing was to never, ever, ever let a parent or teacher know what was going down. The exchange was always surreptitious and quick, and involved absolutely no discussion whatsoever.

It was our own Underground Railroad.

On that night we read the whole book out loud. We took turns with passages, sometimes reading them over and over, and then discussing the parts that confused us. We laughed, we cried, we nodded our heads. We finally understood.

So this is what it is like to be a girl!

Afterward, coming face-to-face with grownups, especially parents and teachers, was always awkward. We were in their world now. They seemed like our contemporaries, not our adversaries. We knew what they knew. We understood sex. They no longer held anything over us. Male teachers became interesting to us, no longer reminding us of our fathers. Boys became annoying- whereas the day before their chasing and hitting and farting might have seemed charming, now their antics just seemed dull and immature.

The book had opened doors for us.

We now knew what boys had. We now knew what boys were capable of. We now knew what men and women did together in the dark without clothes on. We would roll our eyes at their pathetic little attempts to charm us, and just wished they would grow up and become men, like the men in the book.

The book was published in 1975, so ten years later, when we were juniors in high school, the book seemed silly and precocious. We laughed when we thought of what we had gone through to read it. But at thirteen, that book was the hottest thing going. We would have done anything to get our hands on it. Anything. Because that book held knowledge and power. That book held answers to questions that burned in our brains while we slept, answers that we couldn’t get anywhere else.

I think that’s a pretty good illustration of how well book banning goes.