The Girl Called Rachel

Handshakefulness, Playhard, and Nicknameification

At Wooster I took a class called Black Women’s Health, which revolved around… You guessed it. We learned to recognize the disparity of education about specifically and historically black health issues and this weeks episode of 30 Rock really sparked my memory of the class.

Dr. Spaceman has just told Tracy he may be pre-diabetic:

Kenneth: Morning, Mr. Jordan. What’s that on your foot, sir?

Tracy: It’s a practice wheel for when I lose my foot to diabetes.

Kenneth: You can’t eat candy if you have diabetes!

Tracy: There’s no link between diabetes and diet! That’s a white myth, Ken. Like Larry Bird or Colorado.

Kenneth: It’s not a myth! Gentlemen, back me up here.

Dot Com: I don’t know. My dad had diabetes and he ate whatever he wanted, until he died the day I was born.

Kenneth: How do you not see the connection?

Toofer: You know, there’s a conspiracy theory that after the Civil War the US government spread false information about diabetes to keep the newly freed slaves sluggish and docile. Which is why, to this date, most African-Americans don’t understand that diabetes is caused by sleeping on your back.

Kenneths devotion to NBC

Kenneth's devotion to NBC


Say what you will about Alanis Morissette, but I was listening to her almost exclusively when I was in 5th grade. I was nine and I knew Jagged Little Pill backward and forward, but was still instructed by a friend’s mother to mute the volume every time we were about to hear the word “fuck”. What was the point of that? I don’t remember why I bought the cd or what I thought the first time I listened to it, but it quickly replaced Ace of Base in my Discman.

That is why I can and can’t understand my 5 year olds’ obsession with Hannah Montana.

Due to my constant playing of this album (and this being the first song on it) I will forever remember the lyrics to All I Really Want (although this is not from memory):

Do I stress you out
My sweater is on backwards and inside out
And you say how appropriate
I don’t want to dissect everything today
I don’t mean to pick you apart you see
But I can’t help it
There I go jumping before the gunshot has gone off
Slap me with a splintered ruler
And it would knock me to the floor if I wasn’t there already
If only I could hunt the hunter

And all I really want is some patience
A way to calm the angry voice
And all I really want is deliverance
Do I wear you out
You must wonder why I’m so relentless and all strung out
I’m consumed by the chill of solitary
I’m like Estella
I like to reel it in and then spit it out
I’m frustrated by your apathy
And I am frightened by the corrupted ways of this land
If only I could meet the Maker

And I am fascinated by the spiritual man
I am humbled by his humble nature
What I wouldn’t give to find a soulmate
Someone else to catch this drift
And what I wouldn’t give to meet a kindred
Enough about me, let’s talk about you for a minute
Enough about you, let’s talk about life for a while
The conflicts, the craziness and the sound of pretenses
Falling all around…all around
Why are you so petrified of silence
Here can you handle this?

Did you think about your bills, your ex, your deadlines
Or when you think you’re gonna die
Or did you long for the next distraction
And all I need now is intellectual intercourse
A soul to dig the hole much deeper
And I have no concept of time other than it is flying
If only I could kill the killer

All I really want is some peace man
a place to find a common ground
And all I really want is a wavelength
All I really want is some comfort
A way to get my hands untied
And all I really want is some justice…

Read that from the angle of a child. What did I think this meant, before I had even turned 10?! Maybe I just had a feeling that I should be listening to a woman who was screaming about something. She had passion that I thought deserved to be listened to, even if I didn’t have the life experiences to relate to it…

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