This is a story from December 14. 2010
This weekend my best friend and I drove to San Diego to watch the Chargers date rape the Chiefs. Very exciting stuff. At the end of the game we ran for the train, like thousands of other fans. We were pushed aside by young men and old ladies alike as we tried to navigate our way to the east bound train. We were, a little lost. Suddenly we are as far as the crowd will allow us to go. A train is leaving, and the rest of us must stand and wait in traffic. “But why?” I ask. There was room on that train and there is a clear path in front of me to move closer to the platform and be sure to get on the next train. The only thing holding me back is some lady’s Independence Day tote bag made from recycled water bottles and my innate obsession with being polite. “Should I brush her to the side?” I think. No, just wait and she’ll turn to the right allowing me to scoot by, best friend in tow.
I wait approximately 45 seconds and the path opens. I tug my girl, Pellett, further. We move 4 feet ahead before some lady yells “Hey! You’re just gonna cut in line? You can’t do that”. But we can do that. There is no law against cutting in line. And there is no “line” really, just a group of folks standing around. Maybe the people in front of me don’t want to move forward, but I do. I definitely want to get on the next train. My buzz is wearing off and I’m sweating like a Guatemalan whore at the southern Mexican border. “Don’t let them get any further” she yells to the crowd. Is this woman inciting a riot because I moved four feet ahead of her? Pellett gets nervous and embarrassed and pulls away from me. “Jae, lets just stop”. What the bleep? We don’t even know these people and we don’t live in San Diego. Who cares? We’re all probably getting on the next train anyway. What difference does it make? “Grow up!” the lady yells. I turn around to face my accuser. “Why don’t you just get over it?” I say. Then I yank Pellett forward. Now I’m angry. Not at the lady, but at my best friend. Doesn’t she know that I would punch a pregnant lady in the uterus for her? She tells me that we’re not from the same place so maybe our ways of handling this are not the same. My best friend is trying to politely tell me that she thinks I’m “Ghetto”. She’s right, I am but besides that fact we had been pushed aside all day by strangers and Pellett was actually more bothered by it than me. The one time I push a little my best friend jumps ship.
But what did I learn from this tiny moment in the life of earth? I learned that it is okay to push, as long as you are willing to stand up for your self, right or wrong. Your best friend may not want to take the same path you take but you gotta be willing to move forward. You must be your biggest advocate and your own enforcer of progress. 2 minutes later I could not pick that agitator out of a crowd to give her the death stare I so desperately wanted to give or to walk up to her and stand awkwardly close and smile and call her a racist because I’ve always wanted to play the “race card”, but I’m thankful for her and today is a new day in the life and times of this Negative Negro. Today is the day “I stop being polite and start being real!” wait that’s from the “Real World”, but it’s just cheesy enough to work.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Tucker Carlson: The man is paid to give his opinions.
Why do people who get paid for their opinions have to retract their comments? Why is everyone so damned sensitive? It’s just an opinion.
Now, I don’t personally think Michael Vick should be executed for executing dogs, but I agree with Tucker Carlson’s passionate stance against such cruelty. It aint okay Vick. Yes you served your time and probably even repented to your higher power, but I still have an opinion about what you did. 2007 wasn’t so long ago sir. I still have an opinion about the O.J. Simpson murder trial, the genocides in Rwanda and the ban of ephedra based products. Why, why and why, respectively. And I don’t like Vick personally. There, I said it. You can’t show such cruelty to other sentient beings and call yourself a good person. (No, I’m not a vegetarian. Feel free to have your own opinion about that. It is after all, just your opinion. A thought on a subject, really.) And I could never trust a man who kills dogs for sport. My father was murdered when I was young, which sent me into a spiral where I didn’t care about people for a long time. Still it never occurred to me to kill or sponsor the killing of dogs. I grew up in a pretty dangerous neighborhood and we didn’t have a whole lot of money, but I always had an instinct towards what was good and right. We live in a society where molesting children, beating your wife, cutting in line and killing domestic animals are all unacceptable. If you can’t handle that, try France or Cambodia.
Michael Vick should be ashamed, and from what he says, he is deeply ashamed and embarrassed for his part in the whole dog fighting business. I forgive him for terribly poor judgment. However, I will never allow him to dog sit my four legged friend. I have no desire to date him despite his bad ass skills on the field, his sexy fit physique and his multimillion dollar bank account. And that’s just my humble opinion. Michael Vick may see my photo and say he would never date me because I’m out of shape, I procrastinate, my hair is nappy and all my sexy clothes are covered in dog hair. And that’s okay too Michael Vick. But why should any of us have to retract a comment stating an opinion that we still hold? Maybe in the future Tucker Carlson will have a sit down dinner with the entire Vick clan and he’ll find them to be a loving and kind family. Perhaps Carlson will see the light that now shines in Vick and he will have a change of heart, but until then, he should be able to express a less than supportive opinion about Vick, not because executing young men for dog fighting is not what we have decided on as a society, but because it’s just his opinion. And isn’t that what the man gets paid for anyway?
Now, I don’t personally think Michael Vick should be executed for executing dogs, but I agree with Tucker Carlson’s passionate stance against such cruelty. It aint okay Vick. Yes you served your time and probably even repented to your higher power, but I still have an opinion about what you did. 2007 wasn’t so long ago sir. I still have an opinion about the O.J. Simpson murder trial, the genocides in Rwanda and the ban of ephedra based products. Why, why and why, respectively. And I don’t like Vick personally. There, I said it. You can’t show such cruelty to other sentient beings and call yourself a good person. (No, I’m not a vegetarian. Feel free to have your own opinion about that. It is after all, just your opinion. A thought on a subject, really.) And I could never trust a man who kills dogs for sport. My father was murdered when I was young, which sent me into a spiral where I didn’t care about people for a long time. Still it never occurred to me to kill or sponsor the killing of dogs. I grew up in a pretty dangerous neighborhood and we didn’t have a whole lot of money, but I always had an instinct towards what was good and right. We live in a society where molesting children, beating your wife, cutting in line and killing domestic animals are all unacceptable. If you can’t handle that, try France or Cambodia.
Michael Vick should be ashamed, and from what he says, he is deeply ashamed and embarrassed for his part in the whole dog fighting business. I forgive him for terribly poor judgment. However, I will never allow him to dog sit my four legged friend. I have no desire to date him despite his bad ass skills on the field, his sexy fit physique and his multimillion dollar bank account. And that’s just my humble opinion. Michael Vick may see my photo and say he would never date me because I’m out of shape, I procrastinate, my hair is nappy and all my sexy clothes are covered in dog hair. And that’s okay too Michael Vick. But why should any of us have to retract a comment stating an opinion that we still hold? Maybe in the future Tucker Carlson will have a sit down dinner with the entire Vick clan and he’ll find them to be a loving and kind family. Perhaps Carlson will see the light that now shines in Vick and he will have a change of heart, but until then, he should be able to express a less than supportive opinion about Vick, not because executing young men for dog fighting is not what we have decided on as a society, but because it’s just his opinion. And isn’t that what the man gets paid for anyway?
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Question 9
This March I will be receiving a short survey. I will be asked ten simple questions about myself. Questions which are supposed to let other Americans know who lives in America.
I look forward to participating in US Census 2010. I've never done it before. Ten years ago I was so insignificant that I never received my questionnaire or a personal visit to my home.
But the question causing the most controversy this year is "Question 9". The question which asks us to identify ourselves racially. Well, just by looking at me, one could say I was black. When I read casting calls I look for the letters "AA", for African American. Ask my great grandmother and she might just call me negro. I happen to answer to all of the above. When writing I often refer to myself as "The Negative Negro". The word negro doesn't bother me. Should it? Once upon a time it was the commonly used word to identify those born of African decent and currently living in America. Then someone got offended and we started calling ourselves colored. Then someone else wanted to be radical and we chose the specific color black. Then some one wanted to be politically correct and we have settle on the term African American. For now. I feel African American is the most presumptuous, being that I cannot trace my lineage any further than South Carolina.
One day, while surfing the web, I happened upon "The Racial Slur Database". It's pretty funny. It reminds one of why they should be offended by the names, letters and number which may identify them racially. According to this database, anything other than your first name should mean a complaint to human resources. They say "AA" could also be a reference to "double A batteries, which you use for a while then throw away". I guess. If you say so. But I'm still not offended. "Akata-West African (Yoruba) term for African-Americans. Meaning ancestors of slaves or cotton picker". I'm also not offended by this. My ancestors did pick cotton.
The attempt, in including the term "Negro" as an option for identifying oneself racially, was an attempt at inclusion. Some Negros don't consider themselves to be black. Some African Americans will never answer to negro. If you don't like any of the options, choose Hispanic. They are asking you to identify yourself. What do you think you are?
I know a girl who is half Filipino and half black. When she was in elementary school and she was asked her race she identified herself as Filipino. Her teacher called her a liar and she had to have her Filipino mother visit the school to right the wrong. But if the kid identified herself, what gives her teacher the right to question that? Answer as you see fit. The government is not trying to offend you. They will accept the answer you give.
I look forward to participating in US Census 2010. I've never done it before. Ten years ago I was so insignificant that I never received my questionnaire or a personal visit to my home.
But the question causing the most controversy this year is "Question 9". The question which asks us to identify ourselves racially. Well, just by looking at me, one could say I was black. When I read casting calls I look for the letters "AA", for African American. Ask my great grandmother and she might just call me negro. I happen to answer to all of the above. When writing I often refer to myself as "The Negative Negro". The word negro doesn't bother me. Should it? Once upon a time it was the commonly used word to identify those born of African decent and currently living in America. Then someone got offended and we started calling ourselves colored. Then someone else wanted to be radical and we chose the specific color black. Then some one wanted to be politically correct and we have settle on the term African American. For now. I feel African American is the most presumptuous, being that I cannot trace my lineage any further than South Carolina.
One day, while surfing the web, I happened upon "The Racial Slur Database". It's pretty funny. It reminds one of why they should be offended by the names, letters and number which may identify them racially. According to this database, anything other than your first name should mean a complaint to human resources. They say "AA" could also be a reference to "double A batteries, which you use for a while then throw away". I guess. If you say so. But I'm still not offended. "Akata-West African (Yoruba) term for African-Americans. Meaning ancestors of slaves or cotton picker". I'm also not offended by this. My ancestors did pick cotton.
The attempt, in including the term "Negro" as an option for identifying oneself racially, was an attempt at inclusion. Some Negros don't consider themselves to be black. Some African Americans will never answer to negro. If you don't like any of the options, choose Hispanic. They are asking you to identify yourself. What do you think you are?
I know a girl who is half Filipino and half black. When she was in elementary school and she was asked her race she identified herself as Filipino. Her teacher called her a liar and she had to have her Filipino mother visit the school to right the wrong. But if the kid identified herself, what gives her teacher the right to question that? Answer as you see fit. The government is not trying to offend you. They will accept the answer you give.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
My first Thai Massage
I just got a massage in North Hollywood. A scandalous experience and I shan't return. I just wanted to go someplace within walking distance because I was completely loaded on Vicodin. I like to treat myself sometimes. Don't judge. So, I make my way to a Thai Massage place just blocks away from home. I've glanced at their neon sign on occasion and wondered what a Thai Massage experience might be like.
It was 6pm and very dark. I entered the room loudly so as not to walk in on anything. "Hey, hey, hey. Whats going on in here? Hello?" I thought perhaps they were closed. But this was just the first clue that I was not in for a fun ride. I look to the left, just above gold Buddha's bald head at a sign which reads "NO Sexual!". First of all, who prints signs in broken English anyway? Is there no proof reading at the sign shop? No sexual what? No sexual innuendos? No sexual T-shirt graphics? Finally May Ling sashays to the front lobby, polishing off her two piece chicken meal and wiping her hands on her jeans. Why was she wearing scrubs on top and jeans on the bottom? Was she supposed to be working the front desk? Maybe she didn't think she would have to stand. Then she says, with a confused look on her face, "How can I help you?" Um, is this not a massage boutique? All signs said "run fast, run far", but I could hardly move due to the Cabernet I used to wash down the vicodin.
They have me dress in silk boxers, which must have had an owner once upon a time, and a silk shell cut open in the back, like a hospital gown. of course I put it on open in front because the last time I was in a hospital I was getting a breast exam. I could swear she glanced up at the nearest "NO Sexual" sign to remind me of the house rules and I apologized frantically and turned my shell around. I didn't want any sexual.
For the next hour I was pulled, smashed and bent in ways I never want to experience again. I think they were mad at me for actually wanting a massage because they just started making up moves. Massaging bones, rubbing back and forth over cartilage. "That is not a knot lady! Its my knuckle!" All the signs were there. I should have just left. But now its done. And when I pass that glorious neon sign boasting one hour Thai and Swedish massages, I am no longer tempted to stop.
It was 6pm and very dark. I entered the room loudly so as not to walk in on anything. "Hey, hey, hey. Whats going on in here? Hello?" I thought perhaps they were closed. But this was just the first clue that I was not in for a fun ride. I look to the left, just above gold Buddha's bald head at a sign which reads "NO Sexual!". First of all, who prints signs in broken English anyway? Is there no proof reading at the sign shop? No sexual what? No sexual innuendos? No sexual T-shirt graphics? Finally May Ling sashays to the front lobby, polishing off her two piece chicken meal and wiping her hands on her jeans. Why was she wearing scrubs on top and jeans on the bottom? Was she supposed to be working the front desk? Maybe she didn't think she would have to stand. Then she says, with a confused look on her face, "How can I help you?" Um, is this not a massage boutique? All signs said "run fast, run far", but I could hardly move due to the Cabernet I used to wash down the vicodin.
They have me dress in silk boxers, which must have had an owner once upon a time, and a silk shell cut open in the back, like a hospital gown. of course I put it on open in front because the last time I was in a hospital I was getting a breast exam. I could swear she glanced up at the nearest "NO Sexual" sign to remind me of the house rules and I apologized frantically and turned my shell around. I didn't want any sexual.
For the next hour I was pulled, smashed and bent in ways I never want to experience again. I think they were mad at me for actually wanting a massage because they just started making up moves. Massaging bones, rubbing back and forth over cartilage. "That is not a knot lady! Its my knuckle!" All the signs were there. I should have just left. But now its done. And when I pass that glorious neon sign boasting one hour Thai and Swedish massages, I am no longer tempted to stop.
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