"Dress like refugees…"
As Brian has noticed, it's pledge-drive time for those of us addicted to NPR. On Friday night, I was preparing for a dinner party I was having and listening to the pledge drive while I frantically cleaned the kitchen.
I was especially excited because I have a crush-from-afar on one of the Chicago NPR personalities. (Rather, I had a little crush-from-afar on him.) I would swoon every time he announced which Buddhist holiday it was on his Saturday morning hosting shift. Rumor had it he visited in the building in which I work only a month ago, to do some reporting a story on faith and politics. (Swoon.) He also is a member of my particular religious tradition, about my age and not bad looking. (Swoon.)
So, I was rather enjoying the pledge drive. Until it came time for the crush-from-afar and another local host to discuss the promotional sweatshirt they're giving away at the whatever-amount-a-month level.
"I think this should be the new station uniform," crush-from-afar said. "Because most of the people here dress like refugees."
I couldn't believe it. He'd actually said "dress like refugees." On the air.
I listen to NPR for its nuance in reporting major conflicts and sensitive issues. Not glib comments about people fleeing disaster areas.
I attend a church where a number of the congregants are from Sudan, Liberia and the Ivory Coast. Many of them are refugees. One new friend, whom I'm helping to learn English and American customs, is a refugee herself.
None of them dress in a manner worthy of the cliché such as that used by the host.
In fact, my refugee friend from the Ivory Coast and I went shopping for winter-appropriate shoes on Sunday. We picked out some very stylish shoes for her job, and a nice pair of tennis shoes.
When I got home from work today, I found a letter from my dad containing $100. It was from the money my Grandma left when she died earlier this year. My dad suggested we use it to help my friend buy some winter clothes.
I think it's a great idea. Especially since she's been in America three months and has no idea how cold the winters can be in Chicagoland.
So. When I'm through with helping her shop this Sunday, "dress like a refugee" will be a compliment of the highest order.
As Brian has noticed, it's pledge-drive time for those of us addicted to NPR. On Friday night, I was preparing for a dinner party I was having and listening to the pledge drive while I frantically cleaned the kitchen.
I was especially excited because I have a crush-from-afar on one of the Chicago NPR personalities. (Rather, I had a little crush-from-afar on him.) I would swoon every time he announced which Buddhist holiday it was on his Saturday morning hosting shift. Rumor had it he visited in the building in which I work only a month ago, to do some reporting a story on faith and politics. (Swoon.) He also is a member of my particular religious tradition, about my age and not bad looking. (Swoon.)
So, I was rather enjoying the pledge drive. Until it came time for the crush-from-afar and another local host to discuss the promotional sweatshirt they're giving away at the whatever-amount-a-month level.
"I think this should be the new station uniform," crush-from-afar said. "Because most of the people here dress like refugees."
I couldn't believe it. He'd actually said "dress like refugees." On the air.
I listen to NPR for its nuance in reporting major conflicts and sensitive issues. Not glib comments about people fleeing disaster areas.
I attend a church where a number of the congregants are from Sudan, Liberia and the Ivory Coast. Many of them are refugees. One new friend, whom I'm helping to learn English and American customs, is a refugee herself.
None of them dress in a manner worthy of the cliché such as that used by the host.
In fact, my refugee friend from the Ivory Coast and I went shopping for winter-appropriate shoes on Sunday. We picked out some very stylish shoes for her job, and a nice pair of tennis shoes.
When I got home from work today, I found a letter from my dad containing $100. It was from the money my Grandma left when she died earlier this year. My dad suggested we use it to help my friend buy some winter clothes.
I think it's a great idea. Especially since she's been in America three months and has no idea how cold the winters can be in Chicagoland.
So. When I'm through with helping her shop this Sunday, "dress like a refugee" will be a compliment of the highest order.
7 Comments:
Ironically, you may not be the only person in my friend circle who has had a crush-from-afar on this particular person and then been dismayed at something he has said or done. Unless there are more NPR faith and religion reporters of our particular faith tradtion who are attractive and of the appropriate age. I guess this just proves that nothing, not even NPR, is perfect.
What a disappointing comment from an otherwise reliable and balanced reporter. Also, what a lovely way to refute said statement. And now I am debating whether to be the party pooper: I guess it does not matter so much, now that he has been booted from your short list, so I will spill all. A good friend of mine is a good friend of his from college, and so I know that he is gay, taken and happy to remain taken for a long, long time. And from what I know of him, he probably regrets his comment. At least I certainly hope he does.
I'm glad you're a conscientious gal.
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Well, apparently I need to blog about my unrequited crushes more often so that people from halfway across the world can vet them for me. :) Hey, "What, you too?" do you happen to know simpatico guy, by chance.
Um... even though I haven't read the book (hasn't been translated yet, I guess), I really do think the phrase "he's just not that into you" can be very freeing. Or in this case, "he's just not that into your gender." But luckily, I haven't got a clue who simpatico guy is (or letter-writer, either). So you're safe on those. Crush away! :-)
Oh, I'm flattered. She's read my archives.
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