7 Quick Takes on French Fry Corn Dogs, Racial Names, and Regular Dogs

7 Quick Takes, hosted at This Ain't the Lyceum

— 1 —

Confession: The Mel Gibson–Helen Hunt movie What Women Want is one of my guilty pleasures. Back in the day, when I had cable, I would always stop to watch that movie if it was on TV. (Before it came out, my “stop and watch” movie was Pleasantville.)

On a vaguely related note, I came across a pair of essays published by my favorite Catholic news aggregator, CERC, about what men want (which caught my eye immediately) and then what women want. Spoiler alert: they’re basically the same thing, and it centers around admiration. What do you think?

— 2 —

I dipped my toes back into the Pinterest black hole and discovered a new food that I now must try: a french-fry covered corn dog! Why is this Korean food? How could we let them take our food and make it so much better?

— 3 —

As a black woman who does not have a stereotypically black name, I think about the correlation between name and race a lot. I’m the only non-white Lindsay I’ve ever met, and I’ve caught more than one flicker of recognition when I meet people face-to-face who have only known me on paper. As a result, I enjoyed reading a short NPR story about a white man named Jamaal.

His story indicates that he and I have opposite experiences. People assume that he’s black; people assume that I’m white. He’s been told that he has a black man’s name; I’ve been told I have a white girl’s name (not by someone I ever spoke to again, thankfully). When he shows up, people expect racial diversity and don’t get it; when I show up, people who hadn’t expected racial diversity get it.

Then again, I get called “Ashley” so often that I’ve started to wonder about parallel universes.

— 4 —

Whenever I do link-ups, I always visit at least the post linked up before mine. In last week’s 7QT, I clicked on a blog I’ve never visited before, and the first take struck me. Like many moms, Katherine daydreams about the day when all of her littles are grown up. However, unlike most of the mom rhetoric I read, her post acknowledges that many of her good habits (like avoiding social media and trying not to yell at her kids) are the direct result of having those very kids underfoot.

It’s like the mom version of St. Ignatius’s reading the Bible and the lives of the saints because he didn’t have anything else to read while convalescing. Katherine’s conclusion is that she will need to work even harder to grow spiritually when she doesn’t have her kids basically forcing it on her, for better or for worse.

— 5 —

I turned lemons into lemonade in my West Coast Swing class this week. The studio I attend always does drop-in classes, so when there’s an intermediate class, there is a beginner class at the same time. This week, I arrived to find that there were only beginner classes, since most of the staff and intermediate students were away at a competition. I decided to practice my beginner basics, especially the technique tips I got in private lessons last month. Eventually, I rotated to an intermediate leader who expressed a desire to learn to follow, so I practiced my beginner leading skills with him!

Most of the other dancers were couples who had no interest in practicing with anyone else (which is a shame), so the social dancing was kind of a bust, but at least I was confident that I can nail my basics.

— 6 —

That’s all I’ve got this week, so I guess this is really only five takes.

— 7 —

This corgi is done, and so am I. So that’s six takes.

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Speaking of racial names, I grew up in a rough and tough suburb of Chicago where whites were a minority. I spent as much time outside as I could and as a result, always had a dark tan. So when I was in high school and I cut my naturally wavy hair to above my shoulders everyone either said I looked like Pat Benatar (80s version) or thought I was Hispanic! It was so extreme that my teachers would pronounce my very white name (Amanda Morrison) with Hispanic accents!! lol My dad had the same issue, and he was a very tall Michael!

    Oh, that’s terrible. My friend Sabrina is Mexican, and her parents intentionally gave her a name that would sound good pronounced with an English or Spanish accent. “Amanda” could be a similar name… but for you, it’s not!

    I wish we could be more comfortable talking about race. Then again, I’m reading a book right now that notes that some (white, in this book) people consider talking about race to be a racist action in and of itself. Oh, well.

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