tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35465030.post824153721970963833..comments2023-11-03T02:09:49.312-07:00Comments on THE FOOL'S CRUSADE: WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A BIG BLACK GUY...B. Eastonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06994685076537931277noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35465030.post-47858795332833040382011-06-28T07:57:51.818-07:002011-06-28T07:57:51.818-07:00Part the Second:
Elevators are a nightmare.
You...Part the Second:<br /><br />Elevators are a nightmare. <br /><br />You get in with one of those clones (you know, the Brads, the Melanies) and suddenly YOU hear the "rink-rink-rink" sound effect from the stabbing scene in Psycho, or perhaps the "cha-cha-cha-ah-ah-ah" sound from Friday the 13th because, even though your tee know read Depeche Mode instead of Ozzy Osbourne, you're lower caste, you belong in prison, or worse, on the back of a garbage truck (not that there is anything wrong with that, but the Bs and Ms of the world see that job as an absolute horror). <br /><br />No words are spoken in that elevator, no eye contact with the Ms and Bs, no nothing. You are scum. And you ironically feel as though you need Izod shirts, floppy sandals, and a fucking haircut that doesn't scream: Megadeath. <br /><br />In closing, the above makes no sense now that I look at it. Just the ramblings of a fool. But your post struck a cord in me down deep, down in Jon Stewart land; and down there I saw a thing that still exists in the dark...though I be 46 years and aging, a thing that says to me: You, my friend, have been cast as something that should not be. <br /><br />Thanks for making this WASP feel on a terrible Tuesday morning.Tsynnahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18169503409798222703noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35465030.post-1139646202196375312011-06-28T07:57:30.115-07:002011-06-28T07:57:30.115-07:00Part I:
First, let me proclaim before I keep writi...Part I:<br />First, let me proclaim before I keep writing, I'm the offspring of alcoholic Anglo-Saxon-Celts (yeah, what's with that?). And what I am about to write is not meant to be a "oh look at me, I'm pasty white and have experienced bad things toooo, so your points are null and void," but more of a nod, a noticing that on some level I can't define...I get it...at least one iota.<br /><br />I come from the white Food-Stamp belt, you know, those WASPS who had fuck up parents, the ones who didn't manage to earn a swimming pool or work in an office (I have cousins on the other side of the caste fence, and boy, are they weird). So, yeah, when you are one of the FS zombies (my experience), you have a mother who tends bar, who doesn't read books; you have a father, divorced, who chain smokes, reads all the time, but is emotionally distant, and by the way, isn't Baptist in a southern state where Baptists are the only ones getting into Jesus-Heaven. <br /><br />When you are the son of these people, and oh yeah, I love them--as fucked up as they are--, you are outcast. Again, not trying to compare who's more outcast, a long haired WASP wearing an Iron Maiden tee in the Baptist 80's of Arkansas, or a tall black male, I'm just nodding. <br /><br />The nod really begins when you realize other WASPS see you as a Satanist because you have a copy of H.P. Lovecraft on top of your math book in high school. You are seen as a faggot due to your long hair and called "honey" by your chewing tobacco addicted P.E. coach who stares far too long at the ass of ANY female teacher; you are judged as unholy by your art teacher (let me say again, ART teacher) because, hell, let's be honest, wearing a Black Sabbath tee while reading Stephen King doesn't do a poor WASP any favors (stupid of me to be a teen back then, should of chosen now what with Marilyn Manson tees worn everywhere). <br /><br />Flash forward to college. I get in due to luck, I can't afford it, but I have to be there because I know I need it. I'm surrounded by tidy whitey frat guys wearing slippers, toting huge plastic beer cups; next to them is always, and I mean always, perfect Southern Baptist Melanie. You know Melanie, she's got a perfect tan, a socially acceptable laugh, perfect teeth, and wears odd cloths from perfume scented salons I can only imagine because let's face it, I would be snubbed out of such establishments (not that I'd want to be there, because, at that point in my life, I've had twenty years of being treated as a nobody, I've come to accept that I don't really matter).<br /><br />These university colleagues of mine do arcane things at night that feature walking and singing at frat houses, getting dead drunk at the local beer garden, yelling obscene things at the top of their lungs, all the while snubbing their waitress or waiter and treating them like dirt while ordering more beer on the virtue of their parent's credit cards.Tsynnahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18169503409798222703noreply@blogger.com