It’s just that everybody in America who’s tired of buffalo chips, bullshit and puke vectors, everybody who’s tired of the creeping meatball, the nefarious barf-suckers…everybody tired of that will rise up. If they just rise up and abandon the creeping meatball, that means a lot.
It means, the creeping meatball on one hand is Johnson’s lumpy face, and on the other hand it’s the whole sick deathly death-causing middle-class America, it’s got to be passed over and risen above. It’s not anticipating mass violence.
If we prophesy enough that violence is going to occur, then it will occur. And if we say that we’ll stand together and be cool and be sane, and fuck in the streets, then from Our cosmic view we will prevail. I guess; I don’t know. I hope.
Woodson envisioned a weeklong celebration to encourage the coordinated teaching of Black history in public schools. He designated the second week of February as Negro History Week and galvanized fellow historians through the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History, which he founded in 1915. (ASNLH later became ASALH.)
The idea wasn't to place limitations but really to focus and broaden the nation's consciousness.
Carter G. Woodson (1875-1950) was an American historian, a scholar and the founder of the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History. Woodson was instrumental in launching Negro History Week in 1926. Bettmann Archive/Getty Images
"Woodson's goal from the very beginning was to make the celebration of Black history in the field of history a 'serious area of study,' " said Albert Broussard, a professor of Afro-American history at Texas A&M University.
The idea eventually grew in acceptance, and by the late 1960s, Negro History Week had evolved into what is now known as Black History Month. Protests around racial injustice, inequality and anti-imperialism that were occurring in many parts of the U.S. were pivotal to the change.
Colleges and universities also began to hold commemorations, with Kent State University being one of the first, according to Kaplan.
Fifty years after the first celebrations, President Gerald R. Ford officially recognized Black History Month during the country's 1976 bicentennial. Ford called upon Americans to "seize the opportunity to honor the too-often neglected accomplishments of Black Americans in every area of endeavor throughout our history," History.com reports.
SMART PEOPLE… described by Kristen Kimball in the DIRTY LIFE. Good summer read, life goals, etc.
“We were the only people in town who did not keep our lawn neatly mowed. In Essex, even the scofflaws and the drunks, the wife beaters and the serial unemployed mow their lawns. On the outskirts, there might be cars up on blocks in the yard. permanent fixtures, but the grass around them was cut on a weekly basis. Our elderly neighbors, the Everharts, kept their lawn both neatly trimmed and thoroughly decorated, with figu rines, birdbaths encircled by pansies, and a kind of weather proof slide projector set up to make a picture against the house at night, a different image for every holiday, from a flag at the Fourth of July to a snowman at Christmas.
Meanwhile, our lawn grew shaggy. I looked at it as I ran by with my hands full of crates or tools or stakes, feeling a grow ing self-loathing, knowing that it was a black mark against us in the collective mind of our community, a civic failure. One evening at the beginning of summer I’d grabbed the little elec tric mower my parents had given us and made an attempt to cut it, but by then the grass had grown so rank it was like trying 10 shear a sheep with nose hair clippers. I made one crushed, chewed-up stripe of grass at the lawn’s periphery and was defeated. By August the lawn was so overgrown it could swal low dogs and small children. Our community has more than its fair share of eccentrics, and it is tolerant of them, but I could tell the lawn bothered our neighbors, because they didn’t tease us about it. Others of our quirks-such as the pair of Highland horns that Shane Sharpe helped Mark bolt onto the hood of our Honda, making the car look like it’s sporting a handlebar mustache-they would tease us about incessantly. About the lawn, they were ominously silent.
Mark is immune to this kind of social pressure, and gener ally contemptuous of lawns. In his mind, grass is for grazing. And therein lay the solution. We might never find time to mow the lawn, but if it looked fecund enough, and the cattle were hungry, we could find the time to put up a fence. A few weeks before our wedding, we ringed the lawn with electric fence and moved the beef herd onto it. The dairy herd was recruited for the smaller patch across the driveway.
For three days, the cattle mowed our lawn. We fell asleep to Rupert calling to the dairy cows: a series of mournful, falling bass notes, the sound of a monumental desire. Then a petu lant trumpeting, the pitch rising to what passes for tenor in a bull, the sound of desire thwarted by electric fence. We awoke to the rip-rip sound of cows grazing right outside our window. “
