So, with those fabulous National Counting Project adventures and the roadtrip to Ithaca behind me, I am now settling into the autumn routine, which basically consists of chores and moneymaking.
Since this is bor-r-r-r-ing stuff, my mind has to devise ways to keep myself entertained!
It does that by fretting about shit that is not in the least bit consequential.
Like the graphics on the newly upgraded Sims 4, which are awful, and the the beach vending machine in Island Living, which will not allow me to buy anything. (Glitch? But there are no other complaints about it in any of the forums. Am I just doing something stupid?)
And how I’m gonna get the National Counting Project’s gear back to them now that my National Counting Project phone has locked me out again so that I can no longer receive any communiqués from National Counting Project Central.
And why Lois Lane is such a flake that I’m now having to forage around for places to meet with Nafisa.
And why that long-ago objet du desir and founding member of Susan’s volleyball clique blocked me on FB. (Well. That one is actually pretty easy. He began lecturing me for a facetious post I made when Trump was first diagnosed: Can we actually believe anything out of that jerk’s mouth? The objet du desir emeritus replied with a cutting remark about how Area 51 doesn’t exist and vaccines don’t cause autism. And I responded, Lighten the fuck up.)
I have problems.
Lots and lots of problems.
I have been working my way through The Real Housewives of Potomac, which may be the best Housewives yet! The cast is entirely composed of Black women. So, in addition to the usual Housewives shenanigans—petty feuds, mommy issues, man issues, badly glued false eyelashes, women who can’t stand each other asking, What can we do to repair our friendship? in high-pitched voices while reaching for that third glass of chardonnay—The Real Housewives of Potomac talks about race. Very openly about race.
Several of the cast members are extremely light-skinned, and the big deal in Season 1 is whether or not “biracial” actually exists as a demographic category.
Subsequent seasons delve deeply into what I can only call “respectability politics.” One cast member is always screeching, “Guys! The white people are watching!”
Anyway, I would say an hour of The Real Housewives of Potomac is worth 10 books by Robin DiAngelo. Crossposted from Dreamwidth.