From the Hood to the Holler by Charles Booker

I'm sad today.

Charles Booker is a wonderful man.

He lost the race for the Kentucky senate to that jerk-off Rand Paul, whose ads painted Charles Booker as an angry, violent black man who had angry, violent supporters. Rand threw a temper tantrum in his ads because some Democrats (inlcuding me) thought it was funny that Rand's own neighbor beat him up.

A couple of my friends were at the Victory Party the Booker campaign put on at the Muhammed Ali Center in downtown Louisville last night. One friend went live on Facebook and I was able to hear Charles Booker's "concession speech." It touched my heart so deeply.

Book I haven't read yet: From the Hood to the Holler (A Story of Separate Worlds, Shared Dreams, and the Fight for America's Future) by Charles Booker (2022)

Why I haven't read it yet: I've been a lazy reader lately. I'll get there.

Should you read it: YES.

Here's an excerpt from Charles Booker's concession speech. Get your Kleenex ready.

"I need y'all to know: we already won. We already won. I need all the news outlets to take that down. We already won. Our victory is that people have stood up across Kentucky that had given up. People that once thought that their voice didn't matter are now lifting their voices and organizing and running for office. We are the change and that's the win. From the hood to the holler is about regular people standin' and we have taken that stand. That's the victory, Kentucky and we've got more work to do... I ain't never quit."

Comments

fetal friday?

I know that I left everyone hanging yesterday. You know, when I went to pee on that stick. (That was mean of me. Not the peeing, but the leaving hanging.) Well, I think the big reveal is best expressed in letter form. Deep breath. Here goes. dear unborn baby daughter son or daughter, I take it back. I take back everything I said about not wanting kids. I was just scaredspice, and the slightest bit selfish, and maybe I had a giant fear of commitment. But, three positive test results in the last eighteen hours seem to say that you actually are in there, getting all comfy. I guess you'll probably be here in mid-December. I never thought about having a Christmas baby. (You've really put a wrench in my whole taking-maternity-leave-during-the-NCAA-tournament plan, but that's okay. At least it's basketball season. Don't tell Daddy yet, but you are going to cheer for the Indiana Hoosiers.) Speaking of Daddy, I take back all the mean things I've ever sa...

Last Call: John O'Keefe's Journey from Waterfall to Fairview (12:11:09am - 12:21:09)

I tend to bury the lead, so let me say this up front: I won't get to any of it in this post, but by 12:24:22am on January 29, 2022, John O'Keefe had arrived at 34 Fairview, gone into the house, been incapacitated, and had been dragged down the two short flights of stairs down to the basement, and up the stairs to and through the bulkhead door. Yes. All of this happened by 12:24:22am. And here's how I started my research this week to figure it out: When I decided to look at timeline, I didn't think I'd spend all my free time in an entire DAY focusing on the short time frame of 12:11am - 12:21:09. I wanted to go "back to the start" (shoutout to Coldplay!) and figure out what the time discrepancy was really all about. I started with steps: Hyde (report) 12:11:09 - 12:21:09 170 steps 326 feet Guarino (testimony) 12:11:09 – 12:21:05 170 steps 326 feet Whiffin (report) ...

a little ashamed

I've been feeling a little guilty lately. I think I'm sort of obsessed with my own blog. Seriously, I adore coming home for lunch in the middle of my workday. My plan is always to sit down and write. It's the perfect time to work. There are no distractions (other than the hungry rumble in my tummy) or reasons that I shouldn't be able to churn out a good amount of words before I head back to the world of checking account deposits and cash-in tickets. However, I find that when I come home for lunch, all I want to do is blog. My reader is full as a good girl's Christmas stocking, and then there's my own post -- just waiting to be written. Something alarmingly witty, for sure. Something that will generate the multiple comments I will hungrily read from my cell phone when I sneak out for a cigarette break at 4:00. So, I avoid the writing -- you know, of the fiction variety. I sit here, instead watching the text fill the blank screen of a New Po...

Too Many Books

Search This Blog