Unstaged Reality

I don’t much care for reality shows.  As a whole, I think so many started out as bogus – though there are some really good ones now.  I don’t watch the Biggest Loser, but that is at least believable as being real. So many of the first reality shows introduced were “staged”.

          Over five years ago TBS advertised one called “He’s a Lady”.  I would roll my eyes every time I saw the commercial.  And yet, I must have been intrigued.  Must have had some sense of morbid curiosity.  Why would a guy subject himself to follow in a woman’s footsteps for 6 weeks or two months or whatever it was.  How about a quarter of a million prize money?  Or the “false” advertisement which drew them to enter in the first place?

          There were at least eleven candidates who had applied for “The All American Man” contest – prove to the nation just who was the most macho.  Some had envisioned physical competition.  Some thought their knowledge of “man power” would win them over. Others may have had something else in mind.  No one expected the rules would have them dressing up, making themselves over, and doing their best to imitate woman such as their wives and girlfriends.

          Some might have bailed upon hearing the truth of what the contest entailed.  But there were eleven men picked to start off this new reality series.

          I was rooting for Rick.  I didn’t know him.  Perhaps it was his charisma or that he was a dad of five children or because he was the oldest of all the contestants.  I don’t know.  Something.

  But Rick was let go after the first round -  along with three others.  Some disappointed that they had been dismissed so soon but at the same time relieved not to have to endure more humiliation. 

          Mike and Albert (or Scarlet and Alberta) definitely made the prettiest females.  In fact Albert actually made for a more attractive woman than he did as a guy.  David (Wynona) was definitely NOT attractive – and actually quite awkward about trying to pass himself off as a woman.  

          At the end of each episode, the guys got to select one among them that might be voted off the show and the final decision was given to the judges.  Mike had been selected at least three times.  Mike (Scarlet) was beautiful.  He also had attitude.  If the show had been solely about beauty he might have won.  But there was a lot more to it – though I don’t know that the contestants really got it at first (if at all).

          David was never selected to leave the show.  He was gawky.  Not a potential threat to any of the other contestants.  Surely having David in the group would just increase the chances of any other to win the quarter of a million dollars. 

          It wasn’t just the contestants who found David’s behavior as a woman non-realistic.  He’d get stares from men and woman alike shaming him because he was homely, or clumsy, or obviously not a women or whatever.  David sensed it and it was uncomfortable just to have to present himself as a woman – but to have others treat him as though he didn’t matter made it even more difficult.

          I rooted for David.  I didn’t want to because I can never pick a winner.  Whether it’s a painting or photography or food selection or a person – whenever I show an interest, it (or he) is always eliminated. The judges never like what I like.  They often vote for what (or whom) I don’t.

          David showed great compassion and felt emotion both as David and as Wynonna.  He was getting it.  And each day he understood it more.  Women DON’T have it easy.  Sometimes men are pigs.

          David went on to be one of the three finalists.  He had a shot at the quarter of a million prize – and for the first time he realized he could actually win.  Before the final judgment, each of the contestants answered the question, “How has being a woman helped you become better at being a man?”  David gave the most awesome answer ever.

          “. . . men’s obsession with external beauty can be hurtful when the greater beauty inside is ignored . . .” he had learned greater respect.  He had established friendships and had learned lessons that were far greater than the prize money.

         I was crying.  David was crying.  His wife was crying. The audience was crying.  The former contestants who had returned for the finale were crying.  The judges were crying.  Even John Salley who seemed too macho to even want any kind of involvement in the silly exploitation was crying.  I still cry whenever I listen to it.

It was David’s speech that won him first prize.  And there were cheers and tears.  It was so awesome.  The judges had actually picked the same person that I had.  That has NEVER happened before.

          I have watched other reality shows since.  But the only ones I think are worth watching are the ones that make me cry.  Undercover Boss, the Locater and Secret Millionaire come to mind.  All great at building up and fulfillment.  I’m grateful to these positive reality shows.

We Don't Tell the Animals How to Behave

I so love it when nature seems to work against itself.  I’ve received emails featuring dogs or tigers raising pigs

 ;

or orphaned duckings accepted and raised by a non-biological mother.  I’ve read miracle stories on animal survival and unexplainable compassion.  And I think that it is totally great!

          Recently my brother introduced me to the Blog “Raising my Rainbow”  which I have checked periodically and tried to follow from the beginning.  In a few posts the blogger has sought out advice for book recommendations.  And I have checked out various recommendations that have been left in the comment section. 

My favorite book thus far is “And Tango makes Three” by Justin Richardson  and Peter Parnell – a charming book about two male penguins at the Central Park zoo who found themselves enjoying the companionship of one another and tried to imitate what the other penguin couples were doing.  The most fascinating thing about this children’s book is that it is a true story.  It actually happened.

And I wonder how much flack these animals may receive from those in the animal kingdom.  Probably not near as much as those among the human race.  Why do things have to sound so “scandalous”?  Why do we have to try to analyze every little thing? Why can’t we appreciate the genuine love and compassion?  What are we scared of? Wouldn’t it be great if all of us could learn to love and be accepting of one another?

Today is a holiday in which we honor Martin Luther King Jr. as his birthday was yesterday. His dream included acceptance. I am grateful for his victory in fulfilling that dream (though we still obviously have a long way to go) and for life’s lessons that teach us “It is okay to be different”

Outside of the Box

                I remember watching an episode of “The Twilight Zone” in which a “turning of age” theme was introduced.  Girls were expected to trade in their bodies for a much more exciting model.  There was even a catalog of models to choose from.

         

          The main character of this episode had her birthday coming up – and it was expected of her that she would choose from at least two different models.  The girl was quite plain – perhaps even homely looking.  But she had a mind – which she really wanted to keep.

          It seems like those who had changed their bodies had become so obsessed with the way they looked that they did not or would not think about anything else.  It wasn’t her.  She wanted to remain an individual and not have to join the “Stepford” clan.

          Last month I read the following story  about a quite colorful house that was built into a very earth toned neighborhood.  This in turn  reminded about this particular “Twilight Zone”  and also an episode from “Third Rock from the Sun” in which the aliens still feel inadequate as fitting in and accepted as human beings.  They decide to join a click who calls themselves normal.  They live in the average apartment where walls and floor are all one neutral color and everybody is a perfect “cookie cut-out” all from the same mold.  After only three days the aliens become bored with not being able to fulfill whatever individualism they possess and sabotage the average “rules” so that they will be kicked out of their lease agreement.

          As with any other city Herriman has its share of uppity people (no pun intended) but I’m happy to read that there are neighbors who would like to keep the colorful house as is.  And for the new homeowners sake, I hope it doesn’t have to be painted some drab color just to appease some snob – unless of course there really is a written rule: “Thou shalt NOT paint thy house with bold colors if it does not please thy neighbors”  I wonder: Does the community have their say in all the Christmas decorations?  Style of clothes that can be worn? 

          I mean I can understand if it’s honestly harmful to the community.  Don’t imagine any of those willing to see the house become a boring earth tone have ever seen or understood the movie “Up” What’s wrong with trying to fulfill a dream.

          I think people who live in the box are afraid of people who talk about moving out – let alone when they actually do.  How dare anyone shatter their drab boxed up world.  How dare someone or something should shake so hard that they are forced to notice that not all people are the same – nor do they want to be.

          Me?  I’m a shaker.  I have NEVER had the desire of being a carbon copy.  I want to be the original one of a kind – but not so it takes away from another.  I just don’t wish to feel trapped.  I enjoy being able to breathe on my own.  I think if neighbors had a say in what color I have to paint my house, I’d be a little more than sad.  I actually wouldn’t want to live in a community where I have to become somebody else.  Or nobody.  Without my individual worth I think I would cease to exist.  It would be like removing my mind.

         

          I had once taken a toll painting class in which we would complete three projects.  The first was a bat – a decoration for Halloween.  All of the class was taught to paint their bats black with white trim.  Mine was purple with pink trim.  When the class did their houses in a steal blue with red trim – I painted my house yellow. 

          I had dismissed myself from the class for whatever reason.  While I was gone, the instructor made the comment to my sister-in-law that I certainly do move to the beat of a different drummer.  That is true.  I will go miles out of my way to find the perfect tune to dance to – perfect to my ears anyway.  But I don’t expect it will be the same for all people. And it doesn’t bother me if I’m alone.  It’s what makes me tick.

          Thank you to all of those who allow individualism and may accept even if they don’t agree. Thanks to all the citizens of “Pleasantville” who learned to accept the changes and appreciate the color – expanding their thoughts and acceptance from a black and white world.

Introduction: Beneath the Wraps

          I had once heard a story of a racist who was sent to a burn center for her condition.  Life had dealt her a bum deal.  She was in constant pain. She was bitter. And she made it no secret about how she felt.  She quickly gained a reputation in the burn center because of her ill mannered behavior.

          All the patients wore bandages – some more than others...  They were all burn victims.  None was able to escape his or her circumstances due to race, religion, or possession of money. They all had to be treated.

In time this women was befriended by another patient who was certainly in far worse shape than she – he looked like a mummy as he appeared to be covered with bandages from head to toe.  And yet he had such a great outlook on life.  He taught her how to cope, to listen, and to live.  She enjoyed their visits together and would look forward to the next time they would talk. She had developed a love for her new friend. Perhaps she saw him as a father figure.

          After a few months the man’s bandages were removed. It wasn’t until then that the woman realized that the man was a different race than she.  She was confused.  All of her life she had been taught to hate, or fear, or resist or whatever – for whatever reason.  And yet this man had been so kind to her.  He had taught her.  He had been her friend.  Would she really give all that up just because she was a racist?

So often we refuse to listen to the thoughts or ideas of another because his or her beliefs are not the same as our own.  So often we place judgments upon appearance.  So often we assume that an individual is represented by his or her entire race or even a name and therefore must possess certain character trait. 

          A name? Really?  Have we become such a petty society that we would actually treat another differently based upon his or her name? How many people choose their names?  Honestly?  Oh, there’re a small handful that have their names legally changed for whatever reason – but most everybody I know did not pick out the name he or she was given – either first or last.

          Nicknames are different.  They are earned playfully or maliciously based upon one character trait or a piece of personality – but nicknames still do not define a person’s entire being.  And being related to an individual might account for some personality attributes – but being related does not take away from one’s individualism.

I often enjoy reading the introduction to different Blogs – why the title of the Blog is so named and how it relates to the Blogger.  My Blogger name comes from the story that I just shared. At this point I don’t want just anybody looking at it.  I don’t want to invite the entire public – but I don’t necessarily want to make it a secret either. 

 My brother has an anonymous blog.  It’s quite profound and well written.  There is actually a large handful of people who are aware of his real identity. A neighbor had read some of his posts and had asked my mom, “Does Corey have a Blog?”  Not that my mom was the right person to question – as she didn’t even know what a Blog was.  Mom is the one who told me about Corey’s Blog – which in turn introduced me into the Blogging world.

I notice the Blogs that I seem to enjoy most have started out as a therapeutic method for the Blogger – at least in Corey’s case it did. After a couple of years he came to terms that made him feel that he didn’t need to Blog anymore – but he gained many followers in the meantime who weren’t anxious about seeing Corey take flight.  He’s part of a support group.  They need to read his words.  I need to read them.  He is so good at explaining things and has such an awesome gift with words, it would be a shame to all of us if the Blog were to go away.

I am not near as gifted with words – though I have had many people advice me to start my own blog because “I could really help people”. I suppose that each of us is titled to his or her own opinion. Perhaps some posts may be profound – others may not have meaning – just opinions.  My opinion.  And some will be written for my own therapeutic needs. So there you go. 

I don’t have permission from anybody to use his or her real name in my Blog – though I don’t guess many of them would care either way.  It’s not that I’m trying to keep my Blog a secret.  In actuality I would like to be discovered.  But I want to introduce myself and my subjects subtly – and there may be some who will figure me out and many more that will never know even when and if my identity is revealed.

I actually have a rather common name – too common.  But for the sake of my Blog I will be known as LaTiesha Cannon – no particular reason.  I just like the sound. My husband is Roland and our daughter is Jenna.  All other associations will be introduced as I go.  Have fun with it or ignore it completely. But please be respectful.  Thanks.