A little something about me.
My history is deeply linked to snobby white people. Like, from way back when. When I was in elementary school, we had one black kid. He was bussed in from another school because...I don't know why. All I remember is that he was better at sports than we were so we picked him first for kickball. His name was Nate, and he was an alright dude.
I spent that epoch of my life in a beach community that had a gate and privatized police force. It was whiter than a John Cusack movie (think about it...I'll give you a sec). My parents used In Living Color to expose me to other cultures, because all the Monty Python was just reinforcing the whiteness that permeated my world.
So when I tell you all this next bit, you need to trust me when I say that I am now officially fed up with honkeys.
I work in a very VERY white town. The Connecticut coastline is peppered with places like this. Big old homes with manicured lawns and stone walls. Fancy cars and expensive grocery stores. Good snow removal. Parks with nets in basketball hoops and without broken swings. All over the Connecticut coastline you can see these places. It's idyllic. It's the suburban dream come true.
And it poisons brains.
A woman came into the bistro in which I work. It's a fancy place in a fancy town, and we get ALL the white people. It's noteworthy when someone of color walks in. To the point where we say "Oh, shit, look! Black guy!"
So when I tell you that this woman is the worst white person I have ever seen, believe that I know what I'm talking about.
We serve frites at my job. We make them ourselves and they are very good. Nothing dumb about them, no weird seasoning or procedure, I'm just really good at my job and I make them right. The woman, seated at the bar (like a common wench) asked the bartender about them as something to snack on while waiting for the rest of her party to show up. He says that they are homemade and very popular, and the following question was asked: "Are they cooked in duck fat?"
Now before I continue, let's get something straight. Duck fat is extremely expensive. It's rich and flavorful, yet, and there is a noticeable difference between food cooked in oil versus food cooked in fat, so the question itself, as a simple inquiry, isn't that bad. However....
The bartender came into the kitchen and asked us if they were, doing his due diligence. Of course they were not, as nobody wants to spend $40 on a handful of french fries, no matter how rich my might be. At this point, a couple of us "wandered" out into the bar area to see what monster would ask such a stupid question. Upon hearing this totally normal and logical answer she scoffs, "Oh, never mind then, I'll just wait." She rolled her eyes, turned her head and thrust more clear alcohol down her stuffy gullet.
I went back to the kitchen, went back to my work, and shook my head is awe of this ridiculous moment. But I couldn't keep my mouth shut. Oh, God no.
"FUCKING WHITE PEOPLE!!" I bellowed. I heard the bartender laugh, and the guys standing next to me looked over.
"Just wait until Summer, dude," one said.
"Goddammit," I responded.
I know a lot about white people. And they continue to piss me off.
SD
Saturday, January 28, 2017
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
Lobster
There are certain things I hold sacred. Historical accuracy in fiction isn't very high on that list. I allow for certain things to be misconstrued, washed over, or just flat out wrong, if the story is forwarded by the lack of accuracy. Whatever, I'm generally fine with the lack of historical fact checking in my television, movies, or books. Something got to me, however.
I've been watching this show, whose name I won't divulge at this moment, and they done fucked up. Not to go into to too much detail, but the show follows a bunch of rich white people in 17th century Europe (don't you FUCKING judge me), and there was a moment that got under my skin. It snaked it's way into my brain and I have to talk about it here, to a bunch of strangers (probably) who don't care one way or another.
So here's what happened: Two female characters are sitting at a large dinner table, the other seats populated by peers having conversations, conniving against those in power, and probably securing sex with complicated clothes involved. One of the women isn't eating, in fact, she's pouting about some bullshit. The other one, annoyed at the pouting, says "Oh, just eat a lobster and get over it!" and then pulls a lobster out of a communal lobster bowl and drops it on the pouters plate.
Ok. I got beef with this lobster nonsense.
1) Rich white people in the 17th century didn't eat lobster. In fact, they thought lobster and most other shellfishes were dirty peasant food for dirty peasants.
2) A boiled lobster (as this lobster was) is FAR too messy for a dinner party full of rich white people of that era. There is no way they would take the risk of mussing their faces, clothes, and perfumed hankies to break apart the hardened shell of the lobster in front of them. That's what the servants are for, they are already filth, after all, and no shelled lobster would ever be dropped in front of the master class.
3) And this is a small thing that ties into the other two: No claw crackers, mallets, or other shell cracking material were present. This is sinful. This show is retarded.
The scene ended after the pouter looks at the lobster in disdain. I have a special place in my heart for this particular food, as it has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I grew up on the New England coast, and lobsters were always around. We generally will boil them, these days, as nobody can figure out my grandmothers recipe for the baked/stuffed magic lobsters she used to make. In my family, we eat the entire damn thing. Not just the tails and claws. We rip apart the torso and pick every little bit of that bastard clean of meat. There is a bowl, empty at the outset of the meal, and overflowing with the broken, nay...demolished exoskeleton of the lobsters that we, as a group (always as a group) have ripped asunder with violence and melted butter for dipping.
One memory stands out. I was maybe 11 years old. Every Sunday we would have family dinner at my grandparents house. During the day, my grandfather and I would watch football or baseball games, and my grandmother would prepare a feast that could feed a county. Pasta, meatballs, a roast, a vegetable, home made sauce. That was the normal fare. If someone was in town visiting, or we had more than the usual crowd, or there was a sale, it was lobster night. And lobster night was a treat. Boiled, baked/stuffed, pasta with lobster sauce with the legs of the stuffed ones in the sauce, and their claws off to the side for extra lobstery goodness. It was epic.
One day, the normal lobster night preparations are being made, and the men are watching sports. From the kitchen we hear a crash. My grandmother was out doing something, so we rush in to see what had happened. The pot that was boil the lobsters was turned over, water spilling everywhere, the lid on the floor. Six lobsters, half dead and mostly red, were slowly crawling across the counter. They seeked a freedom from the boiling kettle, a destiny other than digestion, relief from the hot death that was becoming them. Then we scooped them back into the pot, refilled it with water, and put it back on the stove. We went back to the game. Another crash. We rush back to the kitchen. One lobster was still holding on to the hope of liberation. I watched the desperate crustacean crawl slowly away from the cauldron. Then my grandfather came in from outside, I hadn't noticed he had left, he grabbed the fleeing lobster, looked it in the eye and said "You...you're mine." He then put it back in the pot, affixed the lid, and put a brick on top of it all to secure the lobsters, and letting us get back to our game.
My grandfather was a great man. And he ate the shit out of that lobster.
SD
I've been watching this show, whose name I won't divulge at this moment, and they done fucked up. Not to go into to too much detail, but the show follows a bunch of rich white people in 17th century Europe (don't you FUCKING judge me), and there was a moment that got under my skin. It snaked it's way into my brain and I have to talk about it here, to a bunch of strangers (probably) who don't care one way or another.
So here's what happened: Two female characters are sitting at a large dinner table, the other seats populated by peers having conversations, conniving against those in power, and probably securing sex with complicated clothes involved. One of the women isn't eating, in fact, she's pouting about some bullshit. The other one, annoyed at the pouting, says "Oh, just eat a lobster and get over it!" and then pulls a lobster out of a communal lobster bowl and drops it on the pouters plate.
Ok. I got beef with this lobster nonsense.
1) Rich white people in the 17th century didn't eat lobster. In fact, they thought lobster and most other shellfishes were dirty peasant food for dirty peasants.
2) A boiled lobster (as this lobster was) is FAR too messy for a dinner party full of rich white people of that era. There is no way they would take the risk of mussing their faces, clothes, and perfumed hankies to break apart the hardened shell of the lobster in front of them. That's what the servants are for, they are already filth, after all, and no shelled lobster would ever be dropped in front of the master class.
3) And this is a small thing that ties into the other two: No claw crackers, mallets, or other shell cracking material were present. This is sinful. This show is retarded.
The scene ended after the pouter looks at the lobster in disdain. I have a special place in my heart for this particular food, as it has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I grew up on the New England coast, and lobsters were always around. We generally will boil them, these days, as nobody can figure out my grandmothers recipe for the baked/stuffed magic lobsters she used to make. In my family, we eat the entire damn thing. Not just the tails and claws. We rip apart the torso and pick every little bit of that bastard clean of meat. There is a bowl, empty at the outset of the meal, and overflowing with the broken, nay...demolished exoskeleton of the lobsters that we, as a group (always as a group) have ripped asunder with violence and melted butter for dipping.
One memory stands out. I was maybe 11 years old. Every Sunday we would have family dinner at my grandparents house. During the day, my grandfather and I would watch football or baseball games, and my grandmother would prepare a feast that could feed a county. Pasta, meatballs, a roast, a vegetable, home made sauce. That was the normal fare. If someone was in town visiting, or we had more than the usual crowd, or there was a sale, it was lobster night. And lobster night was a treat. Boiled, baked/stuffed, pasta with lobster sauce with the legs of the stuffed ones in the sauce, and their claws off to the side for extra lobstery goodness. It was epic.
One day, the normal lobster night preparations are being made, and the men are watching sports. From the kitchen we hear a crash. My grandmother was out doing something, so we rush in to see what had happened. The pot that was boil the lobsters was turned over, water spilling everywhere, the lid on the floor. Six lobsters, half dead and mostly red, were slowly crawling across the counter. They seeked a freedom from the boiling kettle, a destiny other than digestion, relief from the hot death that was becoming them. Then we scooped them back into the pot, refilled it with water, and put it back on the stove. We went back to the game. Another crash. We rush back to the kitchen. One lobster was still holding on to the hope of liberation. I watched the desperate crustacean crawl slowly away from the cauldron. Then my grandfather came in from outside, I hadn't noticed he had left, he grabbed the fleeing lobster, looked it in the eye and said "You...you're mine." He then put it back in the pot, affixed the lid, and put a brick on top of it all to secure the lobsters, and letting us get back to our game.
My grandfather was a great man. And he ate the shit out of that lobster.
SD
Friday, January 6, 2017
The Next Generation is Fucked.
So I work with this kid, he's 20, so he qualifies as a kid. We call him Juice because, well, he looks, talks, and acts like someone who would be called Juice. Personally, I refer to him as my Work Idiot. He's an idiot in every sense of the word, so the phrase, unbeknownst to him, is entirely justified and not at all derogatory as I love this kid. I would bail him out of jail if I had to.
But, as I said, he's a total idiot. His musical taste is questionable in the way that everyone's is when they are 20 (except mine and most of my friends. We are visionaries with impeccable preferences). Juice works in the dish pit, a suitable career choice for a barely educated but well intentioned idiot, and in the dish pit, they are allowed to listen to whatever music they want. When Juice is there, it's usually some sort of new rap garbage that all sounds similarly terrible, and occasionally the 90's hip-hop Pandora station, which is just pure gold all the way through.
I shouldn't have been surprised when, last night, this interaction between he and I took place:
Juice: Do you like The Beatles? (NOTE: He routinely asks simple questions to start conversations. It's great)
Me: Yea, dude. Love The Beatles. I took a class about them in college.
Juice: I just heard them the first time today. They're okay.
Me: WHAT?!?! There is no fucking way, on God's Green Earth, that you never heard The Beatles before. Impossible. Nope.
Juice: Bro, I'm like, 20.
Me: Fuck you, you've heard Beatles songs before. Wait...you fucking with me? Not in the mood to be fucked with right now.
Juice (laughing): Nah, bro. Just never heard them before
Me (walking away): Fuck off.
I go upstairs to the line and tell some other people about what just happened, how a person of legal voting age has never heard The Beatles before today. None of the others, all of whom have known the boy for much longer than I, seemed surprised. I, for one, am shocked. SHOCKED I TELL YOU!
Later in the night, as this incident has been clogging my brain for hours, I had to school Juice a little. It's my duty as an adult to teach the youth of America on the greatness of The Beatles.
Me: Okay, dude. You gotta listen to The Beatles. They are the most influential and important band ever.
Juice: But they're old.
Me: And half of them are dead, but that doesn't matter. Revolver might be the best album ever recorded. Sgt. Pepper's changed the way we physically listen to music. The Beatles are fucking important to know, man. Get on that shit.
Juice: I think my dad knows them. I just never heard them before.
Me: Goddammit.
I then go and list off a bunch of songs this young idiot had to have heard before. Sure enough, some of them are familiar, and I felt a little better. He was clearly not fucking with me, because he isn't clever enough to keep up this ruse for so long, and the other guy downstairs working in the dish pit was on my side through this whole ordeal as well. Needless to say, I listened to Revolver, and all it's brilliance, on my way home.
What I have come to learn is that if we don't educate the youth of today about the music of yesterday, we are all doomed to a generation of blank and shallow nonsense that has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Exposing the classic arts to people with malleable minds is important. Showing them what can be accomplished with some imagination will lead to better music, film, literature, and art in the future. Better art will lead to a better, more well rounded understanding of humanity. And with a more acute sense of the human spirit we will avoid the pitfalls of today. We have to learn from the past, not only the general history, but the artistic history as well. Or else we will be doomed. Again. A shitty arts education will incur more Trump like people in power. Narrow worldviews, those without the arts and culture, are a major contributor to hate and prejudice.
I'm not saying we all have to be artists (although it wouldn't suck), but we need to have an understanding and appreciation for the beauty and wonder that good music, films, literature, and art can do for us as a society.
If anyone needs me, I'll be around, listening to The Beatles all day. We should all aspire to be as great as they were.
SD
But, as I said, he's a total idiot. His musical taste is questionable in the way that everyone's is when they are 20 (except mine and most of my friends. We are visionaries with impeccable preferences). Juice works in the dish pit, a suitable career choice for a barely educated but well intentioned idiot, and in the dish pit, they are allowed to listen to whatever music they want. When Juice is there, it's usually some sort of new rap garbage that all sounds similarly terrible, and occasionally the 90's hip-hop Pandora station, which is just pure gold all the way through.
I shouldn't have been surprised when, last night, this interaction between he and I took place:
Juice: Do you like The Beatles? (NOTE: He routinely asks simple questions to start conversations. It's great)
Me: Yea, dude. Love The Beatles. I took a class about them in college.
Juice: I just heard them the first time today. They're okay.
Me: WHAT?!?! There is no fucking way, on God's Green Earth, that you never heard The Beatles before. Impossible. Nope.
Juice: Bro, I'm like, 20.
Me: Fuck you, you've heard Beatles songs before. Wait...you fucking with me? Not in the mood to be fucked with right now.
Juice (laughing): Nah, bro. Just never heard them before
Me (walking away): Fuck off.
I go upstairs to the line and tell some other people about what just happened, how a person of legal voting age has never heard The Beatles before today. None of the others, all of whom have known the boy for much longer than I, seemed surprised. I, for one, am shocked. SHOCKED I TELL YOU!
Later in the night, as this incident has been clogging my brain for hours, I had to school Juice a little. It's my duty as an adult to teach the youth of America on the greatness of The Beatles.
Me: Okay, dude. You gotta listen to The Beatles. They are the most influential and important band ever.
Juice: But they're old.
Me: And half of them are dead, but that doesn't matter. Revolver might be the best album ever recorded. Sgt. Pepper's changed the way we physically listen to music. The Beatles are fucking important to know, man. Get on that shit.
Juice: I think my dad knows them. I just never heard them before.
Me: Goddammit.
I then go and list off a bunch of songs this young idiot had to have heard before. Sure enough, some of them are familiar, and I felt a little better. He was clearly not fucking with me, because he isn't clever enough to keep up this ruse for so long, and the other guy downstairs working in the dish pit was on my side through this whole ordeal as well. Needless to say, I listened to Revolver, and all it's brilliance, on my way home.
What I have come to learn is that if we don't educate the youth of today about the music of yesterday, we are all doomed to a generation of blank and shallow nonsense that has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Exposing the classic arts to people with malleable minds is important. Showing them what can be accomplished with some imagination will lead to better music, film, literature, and art in the future. Better art will lead to a better, more well rounded understanding of humanity. And with a more acute sense of the human spirit we will avoid the pitfalls of today. We have to learn from the past, not only the general history, but the artistic history as well. Or else we will be doomed. Again. A shitty arts education will incur more Trump like people in power. Narrow worldviews, those without the arts and culture, are a major contributor to hate and prejudice.
I'm not saying we all have to be artists (although it wouldn't suck), but we need to have an understanding and appreciation for the beauty and wonder that good music, films, literature, and art can do for us as a society.
If anyone needs me, I'll be around, listening to The Beatles all day. We should all aspire to be as great as they were.
SD
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