That Doesn't Make It a Hairline

On my way home from work the other evening, I saw a most curious fella. He seemed like a day-laboring sorta guy, at least in terms of his wardrobe. Work boots. Nothing he wore was hip or fashiony. His backpack was pretty dirty.

At the same time, he seemed to have some concern about his appearance. For example, I'd be very surprised if his eyebrows weren't waxed. They were perfect in that way that most men's eyebrows just aren't.

Curiouser than that, however, was his hairline. From what I could tell, this African American fella wasn't at all bald. He kept his hair cropped short, but it was there. And again, he didn't seem to have any sort of issues around male pattern baldness. (I only had a front view, so I couldn't see if he had a bald spot in back, but he wasn't receding.)

About an inch below his real hairline was a fake hairline. A black tattoo masquerading as hair.

At first I thought maybe it was one of those dark birthmarks you sometimes see, but no. It was a perfectly drawn hairline (even with angles coming down in front of his ears), filled in solid black. The solidity of the tattoo ink went back into the area where he had hair, and I couldn't see if it continued over his whole scalp, or if it faded away part of the way back.

I used to work with a Latino woman who was very big on lip liner. She said that she had friends who had actually tattooed liner onto their lips.

This hairline felt like taking the lip liner tattoo to an extreme. And it's not something a white person could get away with. What the hell color could I tattoo my head that would come close to matching my hair color? Even if/when this man goes gray, he'll just be all salt and pepper.

And I can't even say that it looked particularly bad. It definitely looked odd, but not really that bad.

I wonder if tattooed scalps will be something we'll be seeing more of in years to come, sort of like tattoo-covered college basketball players and government-mandated private insurance.

Grand Old Black People!

I'm not going to link to the Republican National Committee's website, but if you want a bit of a treat, check it out. I recommend just clicking and re-clicking on "home." Watch the "GOP faces" change.

I clicked a number of times, and I got one white dude, one white dudette, and about a dozen or so black dudes and dudettes. The Republicans are clearly the party of African Americans.

Far be it from me to offer strategic advice to the political party that has become the Party of Hate, but it seems they'd have more luck pursuing the Latino community than the African American community.

But of course that would REALLY piss off the base.

It's hard out there for a hater.

We Poor, Oppressed White People

Because I'm a straight, white man, there are things I can say to my fellow straight, white men that, for example, a lesbian Latina can't. From people outside my ethnic and sexual identity majority, it would be condescending and inappropriate. So please, allow me to speak frankly to the other straight, white men out there.

Dudes... We are not oppressed.

In fact, because we are white and straight and male, we have just about every advantage that birth can offer. Yes, some of us have seen hardship. Class boundaries, too, are real, and upward mobility is a challenge that runs across ethnic, gender, and sexual identity lines.

But seriously, dudes... We are not oppressed.

Allow me to use a baseball metaphor (since we are straight, white men). When we are born, it's like our lives have a guy on third base with nobody out. Being male puts a runner on first; being white lets that runner steal second standing up; and being straight causes the pitcher to stop paying attention, allowing the runner to sneak into third.

The odds of our success are therefore much higher. If I get a hit, that runner scores a point for my life. Hell, I can fly out, and the chances are pretty good that the runner scores. Jesus, there's even a chance that I can ground out, and if the infield is playing back, the runner scores. And get this: If the pitcher throws me a nasty split-fingered fastball in the dirt, it's possible that I will strike out, and yet that ball will scurry away from the catcher, allowing that runner to score. I call that "the George W. Bush run."

It's possible that I'll fucking blow it. It happens. If you're a Mets fan, you know. You see that guy on third and know the chances are pretty good he won't score. But if I'm the one batting, it's on me. Only if I were a real bitch would I blame the crowd or the umpire or the opposing players for my own personal failings.

So get it together, dudes. We are not oppressed.

I mean, racism? Really? Racism is an institutional problem in this country stemming from hundreds of years of historical oppression. I reject by definition that members of minority groups are racist. Your group has to be in power to be racist. I accept that there are bigots within ethnic minority groups. But until one of those ethnic minority groups becomes a majority that institutionally oppresses white people because they're white people, I will not call them racist.

In other words, "reverse racism" is a concept that doesn't exist in reality.

So come on, dudes. We are not oppressed. Seriously, fellow straight, white men: there is oppressed, and there is us. Oppressed is not us.

And to all of you straight, white men in positions of power currently making the argument that you are oppressed... It just doesn't quite hold water, seeing as you're senators, representatives, talk-show hosts, TV personalities, etc., etc.

Honkies, please...

Beating a Dead Bank

Last night, the Mets christened the Jackie Robinson Rotunda at their new ballpark. Jackie's widow said a few words, and his daughter threw out the first pitch. The players all wore the number 42 (that's Jackie's league-retired number), and Jose Reyes scored from first base on a wild pitch just to show off his Jackie Robinson wheels. And the Mets won the game. All in all, a fine evening.

Bailout Ballpark, or as the team has insisted on calling it Citi Field, was designed to look like Ebbets Field in Brooklyn, where Jackie Robinson played with the Dodgers. Good call.

But Jackie deserves more than the rotunda. That the whole stadium wasn't named for Jackie Robinson is embarrassing, even more so now that the corporate sponsor is eating bailout funds for breakfast and, whether or not the executives at Shitigroup are willing to admit it, is totally insolvent.

I've complained on numerous occasions about the whole "Citi Field" thing, I know, but when I saw clips this morning, it just got my blood all a'boiling again. Jackie's widow says that Jackie would be humbled to have the glorious rotunda honoring him.

Well, fuck that, Mets. Give Jackie the whole stadium.

I'm just glad that when I finally get to Bailout Ballpark I'll have some Shake Shack around to wash that Shiti taste out of my mouth.

I Guess If It's the Only Way...

Some of you may have heard that here in the United States of America we just elected our first African-American president. His name is Barack Obama.

So once President Obama's term is up after four or eight years, will we go right back to white men? How about a woman? Maybe an Asian or Latino? How about an openly gay president? We've never had one of those.

(Obviously, we've had closeted gay presidents: James K. Polk was a particular flamer; William Howard Taft was a charter member of the Bear Club; and Andrew Jackson was overcompensating.)

What will it take? Well, if Iceland is any indication, it'll take a massive financial meltdown and full-on governmental collapse before an openly gay person will become the leader of a whole country.

From what I can understand (and let's face it: I don't really), Iceland's problems are like our problems in the United States on a healthy dose of steroids. George Mitchell worked on Major League Baseball's steroid report, and now he's the special envoy to the Middle East. And that has nothing to do with anything!

Momentous

So I'm not really sure what to say about The Big Day tomorrow, a.k.a. Barack Obama's Inauguration, a.k.a. Goodbye Dubya, a.k.a. History.

Perhaps you're asking, Why the hell are you writing about it? The only answer I can think of is that I have to.

It's been eight years of unmitigated disaster, the last three-plus of which have been documented from the B&E point-of-view. So yes, I really do have to say something.

My dad's birthday was on January 20th. He'd have been 65 on this birthday, officially a senior citizen. My dad died just over five years ago, before most people had even heard of a certain Barack Obama. I think my dad would've been a real fan. He always appreciated a good speech, and as a church man himself, I think he'd have fond feelings for the inspiring aspects and pastor-like cadence of the speech-maker.

Plus, I think Dad would really like Obama's whole "disagree without being disagreeable" approach. And he would certainly like the way Obama speaks about spirituality and his faith. It disappointed my dad that Democrats always sounded so disingenuous and defensive when speaking about spirituality. And it infuriated him that the Religious Right cornered the market on Christianity in politics, when to him it couldn't be further from "Christian."

He used to tell a story about our years (well, my 11 months; his years) in Florida. It was the late sixties, and Dad decided to take bus full of teenagers from his church in Boca Raton inland a mile or so to a black church, where they picked up a few teenagers for an integrated outing to the beach. Some of the black teens had never seen the ocean before, even though they lived just a mile or two from it.

At the following meeting of the elders, one of them asked my dad if he'd had the bus cleaned and disinfected. My dad asked why, genuinely confused. The elder told him it had to be because the black kids rode on it.

What I don't actually know is the end of that story. Maybe Dad never told me. He told me he was horrified, but I don't know if the power dynamic was such that he had to do what the guy said.

In relating the story to someone recently, I'm pretty sure I said he refused to disinfect the bus, but in thinking about it further, that might be a hole I filled in myself. My dad would definitely stand up for what he believed, so it's possible he refused, but I don't really know.

It's Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and the day before a profoundly historic Inauguration Day. And I'm thinking about my dad.

Yes, I think it's fair to say that my dad would've liked his 65th birthday very much.

Reading That's Good For You

It's been about ten days since the electorate chose Barack Obama as its next president, and during that time, there have been numerous occasions when I've been moved all over again at everything from the symbolism to the actuality of the meaning of an Obama Administration.

One such occasion was when Amy Goodman hosted Alice Walker on her Democracy Now! program. Walker read her open letter to Barack Obama:

Dear Brother Obama,

You have no idea, really, of how profound this moment is for us. Us being the black people of the Southern United States. You think you know, because you are thoughtful, and you have studied our history. But seeing you deliver the torch so many others before you carried, year after year, decade after decade, century after century, only to be struck down before igniting the flame of justice and of law, is almost more than the heart can bear. And yet, this observation is not intended to burden you, for you are of a different time, and, indeed, because of all the relay runners before you, North America is a different place. It is really only to say: Well done. We knew, through all the generations, that you were with us, in us, the best of the spirit of Africa and of the Americas. Knowing this, that you would actually appear, someday, was part of our strength. Seeing you take your rightful place, based solely on your wisdom, stamina and character, is a balm for the weary warriors of hope, previously only sung about.

I would advise you to remember that you did not create the disaster that the world is experiencing, and you alone are not responsible for bringing the world back to balance. A primary responsibility that you do have, however, is to cultivate happiness in your own life. To make a schedule that permits sufficient time of rest and play with your gorgeous wife and lovely daughters. And so on. One gathers that your family is large. We are used to seeing men in the White House soon become juiceless and as white-haired as the building; we notice their wives and children looking strained and stressed. They soon have smiles so lacking in joy that they remind us of scissors. This is no way to lead. Nor does your family deserve this fate. One way of thinking about all this is: It is so bad now that there is no excuse not to relax. From your happy, relaxed state, you can model real success, which is all that so many people in the world really want. They may buy endless cars and houses and furs and gobble up all the attention and space they can manage, or barely manage, but this is because it is not yet clear to them that success is truly an inside job. That it is within the reach of almost everyone.

I would further advise you not to take on other people's enemies. Most damage that others do to us is out of fear, humiliation and pain. Those feelings occur in all of us, not just in those of us who profess a certain religious or racial devotion. We must learn actually not to have enemies, but only confused adversaries who are ourselves in disguise. It is understood by all that you are commander in chief of the United States and are sworn to protect our beloved country; this we understand, completely. However, as my mother used to say, quoting a Bible with which I often fought, "hate the sin, but love the sinner." There must be no more crushing of whole communities, no more torture, no more dehumanizing as a means of ruling a people's spirit. This has already happened to people of color, poor people, women, children. We see where this leads, where it has led.

A good model of how to "work with the enemy" internally is presented by the Dalai Lama, in his endless caretaking of his soul as he confronts the Chinese government that invaded Tibet. Because, finally, it is the soul that must be preserved, if one is to remain a credible leader. All else might be lost; but when the soul dies, the connection to earth, to peoples, to animals, to rivers, to mountain ranges, purple and majestic, also dies. And your smile, with which we watch you do gracious battle with unjust characterizations, distortions and lies, is that expression of healthy self-worth, spirit and soul, that, kept happy and free and relaxed, can find an answering smile in all of us, lighting our way, and brightening the world.

We are the ones we have been waiting for.

In Peace and Joy, Alice Walker

You can also watch her appearance here. There's a pretty good introduction from a Uruguayan writer who reminds Obama to remember that the White House was built by slaves. It begins about eleven minutes into the video.

A Stay With Two Hours To Go

The Troy Davis case down in Georgia is getting some national and international attention, but not nearly enough.

In short, Troy Davis (an African American) was convicted of killing a (white) police officer in 1991 and sentenced to death. Since the trial, seven of the nine non-police witnesses have recanted their testimony, some claiming that the prosecutor threatened to charge them with perjury if they had recanted at the time.

Yesterday, after various parole board and court denials, Troy was two hours from lethal injection when his last channel of hope, the Supreme Court of the United States, put a stay on his execution until they review the case next week.

I freely admit that I don't know much about the case except that there's no physical evidence and that the prosecution won its conviction based on the testimony of the witnesses.

As we know, in recent years, SCOTUS has taken a sharp turn to the right (activist judges, indeed), so I have little faith that they'll overturn the conviction, order a new trial, etc. Call me cynical.

But if there's any doubt at all, how can capital punishment be used to put this man to death?

Wait. Scratch that. How can the state sanction the murder of any individual, whatever the crime? It's fucking medieval.

Naturally, both of our major party candidates for president support the death penalty. That makes both of them more cynical than I am. After all, putting someone to death denies the possibility of redemption on any level.

If you want to read more about Troy and his case, this is his website. I've heard interviews with his sister (the radio program Democracy Now is following the case), and she's fighting this battle and a recurrence of cancer. Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway), she's impressive.

Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Episode 7

Barber Shops and Beauty Salons

In this battleground state, barber shops and beauty salons are considered official places for canvassing. On the ground we have faith coordinators, youth coordinators, and barber shops and beauty salons coordinators.

I found this to be hilarious, and asked (incredulously, I might add) if the whole barber shops and beauty salons thing wasn't a joke. My supervisor's response? You know Obama is black, right?

So then I suppose I should set up shop outside a Popeye's. Or maybe a reggae shop. Oh wait, perhaps a stand that sells watermelon and kool-aid?

Diversity Reminiscent of Offensive Jokes

Local advertisers understand that we've got ourselves a melting pot here in New York City, so portraying diversity in local ads proves a sensitivity to our many cultures. Or perhaps local industry just knows that they have many target audiences from which to take money.

Large companies will create individual ad campaigns targeted toward the different markets. But what do you do if your budget only allows for the creation of only one campaign or even only one ad?

Easy! You shove as much diversity into that ad as possible!

A pattern is emerging on NY1, everyone's favorite local news station. You get three people. A white dude, an Asian woman, and a black dude. Show them enjoying your product in perfect harmony. Done.

The white dude is sometimes a white woman, if more women use the product than men.

A white dude, an Asian girl, and a black guy are watching TV... A white girl, an Asian chick, and a black dude are going shopping...

Keep an eye out for this pattern, B&E readers, and ask yourself: where are the Latinos at?

A Word or Two About Racism

(Because really, B&E readers, why not?)

With the McCain campaign implying that Obama's uppity, with Bill Clinton's continued denials that he's racist, and with the popularity of a game that uses "race cards," I figured I'd inject myself into the discussion for the six of you that like your baldness effective.

At some point (probably in college), I accepted that racism was an institutional problem. The general inequalities between black and white in this country are the result of hundreds of years of racism. That the divide between black and white is once again growing... also a result of racism. It's in the interest of the people in power (in this case, white people) to keep the power structure in its current form.

We've made some progress over the past few years (Look, ma, no more slaves!), and the civil rights movement brought us a few steps closer to equality, what with affirmative action and all (something the racists want to take away). But the fact remains that we are a racist country that benefits those of us who are white.

Take my own family for a moment... My mom and dad were born a part of the largely undereducated, underpaid part of society, the daughter and grandson of German immigrants. During a time of segregation, they got themselves a decent education and worked their way through college. Starting off downright broke, through teaching and ministering, they clawed their way into the middle class and gave my sister and I more opportunity than they had. We went (mostly) to public schools, and because we lived in a perfectly nice middle class (mostly) white neighborhood, we attended the (mostly) white, middle and upper class public high school, arguably the best high school in town. Both of us went to private colleges. If I'd made decisions unrelated to my soul, I could probably be one of those rich fucks that annoy me so much. Hell, maybe I'd even be a Republican.

The opportunities afforded to my parents and then to me would not have been possible if we weren't all white. I'm not saying that my folks didn't also work their asses off and pull themselves up by the bootstraps (and all that code-talk for getting rid of "government handouts"). But we had a distinct institutional advantage. We look like the people in power.

So when Lindsay Graham says unequivocally that John McCain doesn't have a racist bone in his body, well, based on how I think about it, that's a horseshit statement. When Bill Clinton insists he's not a racist, more horseshit. You're white; I'm white. We've had more benefits because of our institutionalized race advantage, and we are therefore culpable in the racism of this country, i.e. we're racist.

Perhaps McCain, Clinton, and I aren't bigoted, prejudiced, or discriminatory, and maybe what I'm talking about is more semantics than substance, but I don't think it is. I think it's important that whitey take responsibility for the institutionalized racism in the United States.

The first step is acceptance. We're all a bunch of racists! Wake up, white people! Oh, wait, that doesn't sound quite right.

You're Totally Playing the Race Card on Me

At my job, we've started to accuse each other of playing the race card. It's a totally fun thing to do. Other cards you might try playing at your jobs:

- the gender card
- the sexual orientation card
- the global warming card
- the bald card (a personal favorite)
- the [illness-or-disability-of-choice] card
- the Manny's-now-a-Dodger card
- the lawyer card

I don't know where the hell this deck of cards came from, or what any of these cards actually mean, but it sure makes for a great game of canasta!

You're Making It Even Harder for White People

There's a fantastic Thai restaurant in nearby Woodside that the missus and I like to frequent from time to time. It's called Sripraiphai, and although I may have that spelling just a little bit off, it is seriously good. In fact, a friend says a Thai man in our neighborhood called it the best Thai food outside of Thailand. It's good enough that I'm prepared to believe him.

So when the missus, the big sis, and I had leftovers from our meal at Sripraiphai the other night, you better believe I was psyched as all hell to take that shit for lunch.

When I opened the to-go bag, I noticed one of those foil bags housing one of our leftover items. It said, "Good Chinese Food" on the front.

It's no secret that we white people have a hell of a time distinguishing amongst our Asian brothers and sisters. I feel like I've gotten pretty good at it, having lived in a city with a vibrant and diverse Asian population for quite a few years now, but I'm also not so confident in my abilities that I use a term more specific than "Asian" if ethnicity is relevant to my character description.

The Asian foods, on the other hand, are quite easy to distinguish, at least how they're presented in their American forms. But this "Good Chinese Food" bag really threw me for a loop.

What if my favorite Thai restaurant is actually Chinese? Now that would be inscrutable.

Bruce LeeRoy vs. Chow Yun Fatchmo!

Once upon a time, in South Africa, Chinese immigrants were known as Chinese immigrants. Then, with the establishment of apartheid in the 1940s, the Afrikaner government classified the Chinese as "colored." In the 1970s, Taiwan established economic ties to South Africa, and Taiwanese immigrants were "honorary whites."

Because no one could tell the difference between the Taiwanese and the Chinese, things got a little easier for the Chinese in South Africa. They still had no rights, mind you, but they also had the honor of sharing the white facilities with a bunch of racist, cracker-ass bitches. Lucky, lucky Chinese.

So when apartheid ended in the 1990s, the Chinese were lumped together with whitey and therefore denied the benefits available to other "colored" groups.

Well, no longer. On Wednesday, Chinese South Africans were reclassified as "black."

Maybe this explains why there are suddenly so many Chinese Soul Food restaurants cropping up in New York City.

(Thanks to my esteemed Chinese-American Art Director at work for the link and the ensuing smartass IM conversation. Bruce LeeRoy was all him.)