Pitts Think.

I used to call people faggots.

I used to call things gay.

Interestingly, these terms were rarely, if ever, directed at actual gay people. Was I susceptible to the acceptable language of the environment? Yup. I really was one of those people who existed under the "well, you know I don't mean it that way" umbrella, though I can't say that the spirit of the terms used was exactly friendly. It was language used among friends in a joking manner of course but, when you call your buddy a half a fag, you're not speaking in a complimentary way about homosexuality.

I wish I could say I stopped using such terminology because I had an awakening on my own. But I didn't; at least, I didn't at the point at which I stopped using such language. I stopped speaking like that because my girlfriend in college didn't like it. Since I wanted her to like me, I stopped using it. And when I stopped using it, I stopped liking it. That's when the light bulb came on and I heard it with her ears. And wow--it really is ugly. In fact, I heard someone call someone else a fag the other day and it was like a splash of cold water in the face. It had been so long since it had been acceptable for me and as my circle of friends don't really speak in that way, I'd kinda forgotten people still used it with the vigor of my seventeen-year-old self.

Whoa. We're still saying stuff like that? That's gross and I'm not really sure how to respond in this moment of jocularity because I'm still stuck on your use of fag.

Why do I bring any of this up? Because this Mitt Romney article in the Washington Post has me asking a lot of hard questions:

- Is everything we did at 17relevant at 27? At 57?

- Do we believe people can change or don't we?

- Is change only accepted by others if we acknowledge the things we change about?

- Do we only acknowledge change and growth in people that we like?

Having navigated the waters of prep school, I'm more appalled that Mitt Romney claims to not remember being a ringleader of young boy shit than I am the incident. Don't get it twisted: The incident is absolutely appalling, but the apparent side-stepping concerns me more. Now, it's possible he really doesn't remember, but assuming the haircutting incident is true, he comes off badly. He either:

A. Really doesn't remember, as such an incident isn't even a blip on his moral radar OR

B. He totally remembers and would rather try acknowledging without admitting.

Politics aside, A and B are just crappy. Politics not aside, I'm not sure that saying you don't remember an ugly incident that five other people recall does anything to helpl with your voter connection.

Questions, questions, questions...

Here's what I wrote first for Ebony:

DEAR SWEDEN: STICK TO FISH

Dear  Swedish Ministry of Culture,
 
Who thought a genital mutilation cake was a good idea?

In light of the growing outrage over a stunt that might be more thoughtless than it is racist--which is really saying a lot--I figured I’d fall back and ask a fundamental question: Who said, “I think this exhibit could use a body cake”?

Personally, I appreciate that you’re using your resources to shed more light on the horrors of female circumcision in Africa. It’s a subject that is as terrifying as it is culturally fascinating and is absolutely something that should not be swept under the rug of current events. The more exhibits like this, the better and more informed people will be.

And while I know seeing a project come to fruition can be exciting for all involved, that excitement needs to be tempered by the subject at hand. If you were opening a new soccer stadium and had a scale model of the stadium in cake form, people would likely be into it. Heck, you could probably fly out the guy from Cake Boss and he’d have some quirky misadventures before presenting you a masterpiece.

When you’re dealing with the forced circumcision of girls and women, levity is not your friend. A black body with red velvet innards and a performance artist in Blackface is not your friend. Who on the planning committee thought eating Black body cake while a performance artist cried in agony was square biz anyway? Forget poor taste; cake in that context doesn’t sound especially appetizing.

There are stories attached to genital mutilation; these girls and women and human beings; they are not merely objects to be carved away at with little regard. Yet, in attempting to honor these individuals by telling the truth of their stories, you carved away at them again, smiling and laughing as you passed around a piece of them in confection form. For that, you should be ashamed.

Pro tip: When unveiling an exhibit that deals with a serious subject, forget cake. Treat those in attendance to a tasteful slideshow or video accompanied by appropriate music and a quality voice-over.

Do not let them eat cake.

Then, challenged to do a bit more homework on situation, I wrote this:

On impulse, I’m inclined to feel that genital mutilation cakes made for the unveiling of a exhibit on female circumcision in Africa is a confection created in poor taste. I’m certainly not alone in feeling this way. In the wake of this controversy involving the Swedish Ministry of Culture, there has been many a rebuke. Indeed, the museum housing the exhibit had to be evacuated due to a bomb threat. To see a dark Black body--replete with a red velvet center and a performance artist head--displayed in this way, being carved up and offered up to ravenous spectators makes the blood boil quickly.

Upon first sight, I reacted quickly and angrily, dashing off an open letter to the Swedish culture ministry, wondering who thought such a cake was a good idea, and immediately passed it along to my editor here. I was confident she would approve of the approach and quick turn-around.

She told me to dig deeper, to explore the elements of the storm further, especially the motivations of the cake’s creator, artist Makode Aj Linde (who is a person of color, if that makes a difference to you). The directive forced me to cool down and deal with this troubling confection and the meaning of subject, audience and context.

So, I considered Linde’s perspective on his work, which often features what we would consider stereotypical Blackface caricature--garishly white eyes, red lips and white teeth--painted onto incongruous images--European busts, animals, etc. The cake and performance, he says, were meant to be provocative commentaries on the West’s view of African female circumcisions. Stifling my impulse to tell him exactly why he failed, I forged on to watch the video of the event and had my mind blown.

Linde nailed it. He absolutely nailed it.

Instead of sucking my teeth, I watched, listened and considered the artistic objective. As the scene unfolded, I remembered a bit of Shakespeare:

All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.

I saw something powerful and heartbreaking unfold in this gallery. The celebrants and revelers at the exhibit were merely unwitting--but abundantly willing--performers in Linde’s play. The cake was not for their delight. The wails he let forth as the cake was cut into was not for their amusement. Linde wasn’t enjoying the moment, making light of a brutal history; indeed, his presence served to shame them, to shame them for partaking in something so distasteful as a cake representing the countless girls and women who have been brutalized. They should have been outraged. They should have been disgusted, haranguing for the cake and the artist to be removed immediately. But they weren’t. Rather than recoil in horror and outrage at the sight of such a cake or the sound of such screams, the men and women in attendance--The West--ate and chitchatted and snapped pictures of the spectacle. As Minister of Culture Lena Adelsohn Liljeroth cut into the cake’s clitoris, she was prompted to whisper to Linde, “your life will be better after this.” And she did.

Ignoring the grotesquery they saw and heard before them, the crowd took what they wanted and passed it around the room. Linde and his cake were merely the exhibit writ large and delicious, treats that signaled an early Halloween and little else. There seemed to be so little reverence for the subject of the exhibit or the man crying out; if there was a stand taken, it has yet to be brought to light. The true outrage in this moment in this moment is not Linde’s cake or performance; it is that no one in that gallery rejected this as utterly reprehensible.

Plates at the ready and shame on standby, they took what they wanted from that enticing Black body, leaving nothing in return.

While I’ve often frowned upon performance art, it is moments like this that remind me how powerful it can be when courageously and properly applied. And believe me, what Linde did took courage. Could I have done that? On stage, in what is the controlled environment of the theater with clearly-defined audience and actors? Sure. In public where those lines are severely blurred? I doubt it. That the Culture Ministry--which I highly doubt was in step with Linde’s intentions--would even agree to such a performance is but a further indictment. This agreement was part of the performance itself and reflects just how much work needs to be done on these matters.

Allowing my blood to cool, I was able to deal with the jarring brilliance of Linde’s commentary on a level that my initial reaction did not. But coming to understand that the artistic intent was not to delight but, indeed, reveal, offered little comfort.

All the world’s a stage. And they all took the cake.

Middle-aged people that frequent the theater are, often times, just former young people who frequented the theater and stopped doing so once they could no longer qualify for the student tickets and thus had to make enough money to pay for the regularly-priced tickets on a regular basis, which often wasn't a reality until they reached middle age.

In short, older people who frequent the theater are just young people with real money who frequent the theater.

Very few theater regulars begin the practice when they are older. 

Young people need opportunities to frequent the theater in order to become old people that frequent the theater because, strangely enough, young people that go to the theater who become old people that go the theater eventually just become dead people who don't frequent much of anything and audience bases are better replenished by young people who become old people.

If we don't find a way to give opportunities for young people *now* to become young theater regulars, eventually, there will be no audience base to speak of and we'll be left to rely on the old people who will become dead people, who will, of course, want to be comped ALL THE TIME.

Encourage young people to frequent the theater. Work to make the theater accessible.

Death to zombie comp tickets.

Dear Bros,

(And by 'bros' I mean siiiiiick bros, as opposed to Black bros, unless of course you're a siiiiiick Black bro, in which case I'm totally talking to you as well.)

I know that rave-y concert gatherings like Barstool Blackout are a pilgrimage of sorts in whatever city they touch down in. I understand the appeal of the sensory stimulation: Loud techno/electronic/dance music to pump fist to whilst raging; pharmaceutical satisfaction to keep the party going; scantily-clad young women with ever-so-long backs, shaking what little their mamas gave them.

And then of course there are the fellow bros. Adorned in sunglasses and fluorescent tatters that would put the Ultimate Warrior to shame, there is at every turn, a bro with whom you can preen and aggressively hug bare chested while spilling your beer. Your hair? Sick flow or bro fade. Your biceps? Sick pump. Your lax tank top or smedium v neck? Sick bro wear. Your U-S-A chants? Sick patriotism. Barstool Blackout is a celebration of the sacred broalition; hardly a monolith, it is yet a mighty fraternity whose roots can be traced back to the twelve men who bro'd with Jesus of Nazarene.

But alas, I needs must share some bad news: There is a harsh reality you must accept while basking in Xanadu, lest you find yourself thrown into a dank alley, your evening cut short and the cruel glare of shameful walk on the horizon.

No one wants to see you bro onstage when the DJ invites Long Back Sally and the Spandex Syndicate up to objectify themselves party.

So, the other night, there was a cast party at the theater for the two shows we ran in the month of March. As most of the babysitters were at said party, I elected to bring the Pack n' Play in the hopes that Juice would tucker out following the show that evening.

She did. About two hours after the show ended (which is four hours after her normal bedtime if you're keeping score at home.)

With all those people she'd come to know and love and all that music and all that Ouma (my mother), homegirl was determined to party. So, she's running around and being hype and being admired until she steps into the theater space from our lobby area. Sitting on a low platform are a few actors from the shows and nearby are a few people in chairs. This was roughly a circle of people having various conversations. Not wanting to be left out, Juice walks to the edge of the circle and observes for a minute before matter-of-factly taking a seat on the low platform and, after a few beats, attempting to sit cross-legged as she saw a few people in the chairs doing.

WHO IS THIS KID?!

Ask any of the half dozen witnesses: a 22-month old child attempted to enter a conversation circle and attempted to cross her legs to look the part. It was so random and quick, there was absolutely no way to get out a camera before she quit attempting to make the cross, but it totally happened.

I know that doesn't sound like much, but I'm telling you: Watching a little kid sit down and attempt to sit cross-legged in a conversational way is hysterical.

Son...just now watched this Lawrence O'Donnell interview with Joe Oliver, supposed friend of George Zimmerman. O'Donnell, Charles Blow and Jonathan Capehart went straight Lob City on dude. 

This was originally published on Ebony.com

I have no desire to get Type-35 diabetes, though I’ve spent the last few years eating as though I did. Between late nights at the theater and a penchant for being a passive-aggressive emotional eater who takes out frustrations of the daily grind on greasy fast food as though it was manna sent from above, my diet could be classified as “not especially healthy.” I wish this was the part where I told you that the birth of my daughter changed my dietary outlook, but that’s fudging the truth a bit. Upon becoming a parent who still spent late nights at a theater, the challenges of child-rearing merely allowed for more French fry eating at 1:30 in the morning.

The struggle, of course, is that bad food tastes delicious and does terrible things to your insides. There have certainly been times I actually felt physically distressed at shoveling junior bacon cheeseburgers down my gullet. Why am I doing this? Then I remembered that sitting there in the car, listening to the radio and devouring delicious horror was my little bit of sanctuary.

‘98 Jeep: conveyance, confessional, fortress of solitude.

Then my wife shipped off to basic training.

To keep us linked, I took up sacrifices that would actively keep her on my mind. One was not shaving (my beard looks awful, thank you for asking.) The other was cutting out alcohol--if she can’t kiss the book, why should I? Unbeknownst to me--because I was still eating poorly--I was losing weight. Wanting to be responsible husband/parent dude, I decided to use this momentum to get back in the gym. And failed. Five Guys was more appealing than five sets. Still as I’ve written and spoken to my wife over the last few months and seen the positive changes being effected in her and myself in this time apart, I’ve decided to give my health another shot. But this time I started with focusing on changing my diet.

The change, in short: way more water, way less sugar, way more food that won’t kill you and can actually spoil after being prepared.

The new diet has been an enjoyable challenge. It hasn’t been a struggle every day, but it has certainly required focus. The thinking and unwinding I used to do while slamming down fast food behind a steering wheel is done above a cutting board with fresh fruits and vegetables. Sometimes, I totally feel like Eric Bana in Munich. This lifestyle change has given me a chance to slow down and take care. While I never let my daughter eat as badly I was eating, this improvement has also given me more time to focus on her and hopefully prevent her from getting Type-36 diabetes. This challenge has been somewhat less enjoyable.

While my wife has been away, I have been abundantly fortunate to have the support system that I do. My daughter is still at the age where people want to be around her, so there are plenty of people--my parents, my wife’s dad, my sister-in-law, friends at the theater--who are willing to lend a helping hand. As these are people that I trust with my offspring, I have a good sense of their eating habits, which are delicious and often unhealthy. It’s not a mountain of fast food wrappers or anything like that, but the offerings are decidedly (African) American in preparation--a little too much grease; a little too much salt; vegetables that have had the nutrients cooked out of them. I want to say something, but I haven’t found the words.

Food is political, cultural and even spiritual in some cases. If you don’t couch dietary concerns into direct medical conditions like allergies, voiced restrictions are often read as ' bougie' and an indictment of that person’s entire life and how they carry themselves in the world. So it is with great unease that I hazard broaching the subject with regard to what my daughter eats, especially with people who have given so much of their time and heart to being there for my family. How do I address this?

Am I being a wimp as a father? I’m disinclined to beat the drum of diet reform. I discuss my changes, but I don’t feel the need to infringe on others. I simply did what I felt I needed to do for myself.

How do I inform without indicting; improve without infringing?

Geez, I can’t wait ‘til my wife gets back.

The above child is not my nemesis. Yet.

Sometimes, I look up and realize I haven't written anything for dumb long and then don't necessarily have one, but several things to muse about. Here we go...

Trayvon Martin: So much has been said and done, that I will merely say this: At trial, my entire cross examination would center around the why George Zimmerman exited the vehicle after being told he did not need to do that by a public safety official. I'd flip through my legal pad like I had various questions, but really I'd only ask that one.

Peyton Manning: If I'm 36 with a broke neck, I probably wouldn't pick a cold weather city to sling the pill in, but I get the sense John Fox is more likely to let Manning do his thing as opposed to Jim Harbaugh, who would likely chest bump him onto the PUP list. And as far as not wanting to face his brother in the NFC, I think that is flawed logic for this reason: Is it really better to face him in the Super Bowl? If that did come to pass, are we going to see that Eli is a better playoff quarterback than his brother? I think we already know that.

Random: I think 'should' is the most dangerous word in the world, particularly when said in relation to the fuckery of others.When surrounded by potential fuckery, methinks people would be wise to conduct themselves as though they were aware of said fuckery in their midst, thinking of what is possible/likely to happen as opposed to what should happen. This is something people should do.

Acting Trophies: Isn't having a best actor and best actress category kinda sexist? What is intrinsic to a male or female performer's performance that warrants the distinction? Couldn't one make an argument for a single Best Performer category? In reality, we know that the separation allows for more opportunity--let's be real, if it was all one category, I don't see women getting a fair shake in the voting--but the categories randomly puzzled me enough to think about it on the internets. A friend had this to say:

"[I]f you double the categories by making a gender distinction, you give more opportunity for winners. And therefore double the number of award-winners you can cast in your movies to rake in sales for the following year."

She then apologized for sounding cycnical, though I'm not sure why.

Parent Ish: Today, I dropped Juice off at daycare and Eric, my nemesis and someone she seems to be sweet on, was back after a long absence. Did I glower in his direction? Yup. Gotta maintain dominance, son.

This piece was originally posted on Ebony.com

I like to think that part of the reason I stayed alive is that I never let anyone get closer than the barrel of my rifle, not even the people that I knew.

-Clifford Hobbins, on his experiences interacting with the Vietnamese during his tour of duty

....

When I heard about the Quran burnings, I shook my head and waited for the expected retaliation. Time and again, we’ve been shown that the fervent believers do not play that; their line in the sand is very clear, so an uprising was to be expected. Hearing that the retaliation included American troops gunned down in secure military facilities made my blood run a little colder. There used to be a time when I would have regarded this as the grim cost of war and moved on, but this time I can’t move on and my mind drifts westward toward the remotest parts of Missouri.

My wife--who is probably low-crawling as we speak--is a member of the armed forces, training to be a military police officer in our state’s National Guard. Some people breathe a sigh of relief when they hear that, thinking that both her part-time status and being a woman will keep her out of harm’s way. I tell them flatly that this is not the peacetime Guard; that female combatant status has a lot of loopholes; I tell them that anyone wearing Kevlar can be shot. They spoke to me with the assumption that there were rules when it came to war. I took a strange comfort from reminding them there are not.

Read more at Ebony.com

Rick Santorum on the separation of Church and State:

The idea that the church can have no influence or no involvement in the operation of the state is absolutely antithetical to the objectives and vision of our country

Fascinatingly, Santorum also said that such separation is "not the founders' vision."

Puzzled by the above, I opted to jump inside my limited-edition Google time machine and investigate.

Thomas Jefferson, scalawag and statesman had this to say in 1802 in a letter to Dansbury, CT Baptists

Believing with you that religion is a matter which lies solely between Man & his God, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship, that the legitimate powers of government reach actions only, & not opinions, I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should "make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof," thus building a wall of separation between Church & State. Adhering to this expression of the supreme will of the nation in behalf of the rights of conscience, I shall see with sincere satisfaction the progress of those sentiments which tend to restore to man all his natural rights, convinced he has no natural right in opposition to his social duties.

Unconvinced, I jumped back inside my Goolorean and happened upon James Madison. Scamp-like with a rapier wit, Jimbo offered the following when speaking on Ecclesiastical Endowments

Ye States of America, which retain in your Constitutions or Codes, any aberration from the sacred principle of religious liberty, by giving to Caesar what belongs to God, or joining together what God has put asunder, hasten to revise & purify your systems, and make the example of your Country as pure & compleat, in what relates to the freedom of the mind and its allegiance to its maker, as in what belongs to the legitimate objects of political & civil institutions.

Strongly guarded as is the separation between Religion & Govt in the Constitution of the United States the danger of encroachment by Ecclesiastical Bodies, may be illustrated by precedents already furnished in their short history....The opponents of the amendment having turned the feeling as well as judgment of the House agst it, by successfully contending that the better proof of reverence for that holy name wd be not to profane it by making it a topic of legisl. discussion, & particularly by making his religion the means of abridging the natural and equal rights of all men, in defiance of his own declaration that his Kingdom was not of this world. This view of the subject was much enforced by the circumstance that it was espoused by some members who were particularly distinguished by their reputed piety and Christian zeal.

Hurtling back to the future, I stumbled upon an LA Times article written in 2004 by former JFK aide Arthur Schlesinger Jr

The founding fathers did not mention God in the Constitution, and the faithful often regarded our early presidents as insufficiently pious.

George Washington was a nominal Anglican who rarely stayed for Communion. John Adams was a Unitarian, which Trinitarians abhorred as heresy. Thomas Jefferson, denounced as an atheist, was actually a deist who detested organized religion and who produced an expurgated version of the New Testament with the miracles eliminated. Jefferson and James Madison, a nominal Episcopalian, were the architects of the Virginia Statute of Religious Freedom. James Monroe was another Virginia Episcopalian. John Quincy Adams was another Massachusetts Unitarian. Andrew Jackson, pressed by clergy members to proclaim a national day of fasting to seek God's help in combating a cholera epidemic, replied that he could not do as they wished "without feeling that I might in some degree disturb the security which religion now enjoys in this country in its complete separation from the political concerns of the general government."

I think we need to start calliing these cats the Founding Heathens, amirite?