Department Of Rachel Bloom Needs To Thank Me
Content warning: awesomeness, and dick humor.
Yes, the afore-mentioned Ms. Bloom, she of multiple slash abilities (singer/songwriter/actor/comedian), might want to toss some gratitude my way for being way older than her. Because if I were Rachel Bloom’s age (and – minor point – if I also had her talent ) I would have composed, sang and posted those so-funny-you-laugh-so-hard-milk-squirts-out-of-your-nose-and-you-weren’t-even-drinking-any-milk videos (usually NSFW) before she did.
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Department Of Speculation: What Is “Stupid Shit” The Title Of?
Alas, it’s not the working title of my autobiography.  It the name of a song by Andy Harrison I was listening to on Tuesday, while walking to lunch.
♫ There’s a world in your hands full of power and love
And the choice’s right here like a new pair of gloves
Whatcha gonna do, you can handle it. ♫
I was reflecting on the inspiring words of Attorney General Loretta Lynch, spoken at a press conference announcing the Department of Justice lawsuit filed re North Carolina’s anti-LGBT legislation; I was reflecting on how frustrating it is, to me, that such eloquence had to be mustered for such nonsense. It’s a big world with big problems, yet some folks be getting’ their tighty whities in a knot about which public bathroom someone else can use…
…and then, the song’s chorus is ringing in my ears:
♫ But they want you to focus on stupid shit
So you don’t have a clue about what’s legit
They want you to focus on
Yeah they want you to focus on stupid shit
So you don’t find your power, your love, your wit
Take a look around
and don’t do it. ♫
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Department Of The Name Blame Game
Content warning: Tragedy For All Humanity ©
I am in mourning, for the lost of inarguably The. Best. Boat. Name. Ever.
You’ve been following the saga of how Britain’s Natural Environment Research Council invited the British public to name their new research vessel…haven’t you? 
Long story short, people submitted names and voted; Boaty Mcboat Face was the runaway winner.; the British Science Minister proved himself to be yet another Upper Class Twit by saying there were “more suitable” names and declaring that the NERC’s research vessel would be named for renowned naturalist and broadcaster Sir David Attenborough .
I’ve nothing against Sir David McDave Face; in fact, I’m a fan. But, he’s got all those wildlife harassment nature documentaries to be remembered for. Those sneaky Limeys asked for the people’s choice, they got it, and then, nooooooooooooooooooooooo.
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Department Of Adventures In American Racism
Content warning: the n-word; stupid/offensive jokes.
♫ Daniel Boone was a man,
Yes a big man.
He was brave he was fearless
And as tough as a mighty oak tree. ♫
It had been years since I’d heard that song, and there it was, on the radio.  Anyone else out there old enough to remember the Daniel Boone TV show? It aired on NBC in the mid-to-late 1960s. Its theme song had three or four verses, each one beginning with the same two lines, stressing what a big man Dan’l was.
♫ Daniel Boone was a man,
Yes a big man…. ♫
The theme song was popular, easy-to-remember…
…and easy to lampoon.
I must have been in the third or fourth grade when two of my cousins pulled me aside at a family gathering. DB and his brother JB told me that if I’d ditch the appetizers table  and follow them out to the backyard I could hear some really funny stuff.
These cousins were the first (but not the last) people to tell me racist jokes – jokes I didn’t always “get.” Although I was only nine years old I considered myself pretty humor-hep; still, I didn’t understand why “Did you hear about the NFL’s plan to reduce the number of fumbles by running backs? They’re going to paint the footballs to look like watermelons!” was supposed to be funny.
I prepared myself for another round of my cousins’ alleged comedy. I was hoping for at least one fart story; no such luck. JB announced that he and DB were going to honor me by sharing the “secret last verse” to the Daniel Boone song.
Daniel Boone was a man,
Yes a big man
But the bear was bigger
So he ran like a nigger up a tree.
Get it? Do you get it?
Stone-faced, flummoxed silence on my part.
My cousins stopped their chortling and exchanged nervous glances. My delayed reaction had them worrying that I was shocked and offended by their use of the N-word (I was) and was going to tattle on them to their parents (I didn’t).
I did laugh. Sort of…eventually. But, not early enough for my cousins. And not for the reasons they’d hoped.
My chuckle, tardy as it was, was genuine. It was one of the first times I was conscious of…I’m not sure what to call it…what, in my mind, was the joke I saw behind the joke they wanted to tell. And I knew there was no way I could explain my thinking to them.
The rhyming offensive word was almost superfluous to the meta/existentialism of the line:
“…but the bear was bigger…”
No need to go further. It still gets me.
Later on, at home, I asked my father about the altered verse. It wasn’t the first time I’d questioned my parents after hearing a racist comment, and it wasn’t the first time their response would include some variation of the Crabs in a Bucket story – a story I later realized didn’t really apply, although my parents obviously thought it did. 
It’s not that your cousins are prejudiced  or even mean-spirited, my father said, it’s that they’re ignorant. People who aren’t very smart, or who are insecure about their status…well, the only way some people know how to shore themselves up is to find someone below them on the totem pole,  and pull someone else back down in the bucket so that they can climb out, or at least not be left behind. Sometimes they do this by mocking people of a different race.
When I was a child, I never heard my parents express (overt) racist sentiments.  I also never heard them openly contradict the bigotry freely expressed in front of me by a few of our neighbors and certain relatives. When a squirm-worthy comment would slither past my Aunt Erva’s cigarette, my parents would change the subject. Later, in private, they would tell me that Erva was not truly prejudiced,  just ill-informed and insensitive.
But you said nothing, I thought. And people were listening.
My parents’ silence on such matters was one of many experiences which helped make me the judgmental bigmouth concerned citizen I am today. A guiding life principle I’ve tried to instill in son K and daughter Belle: if you are with a group of people and someone makes an ignorant/racist/hurtful/sexist/bullying/scientifically-stupid-disguised-as-religious-opinion remark, and you say nothing, others listening may rightfully assume you agree with, or are at least accepting of, the speaker’s sentiments.
Yes, you must choose your battles. But…silence implies acquiescence.
But the bear was bigger….
It still cracks me up.
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Is There Any Day As Happy….
As that day when you get new underwear? Let us all rejoice, as one big pile of 100% cotton loving humanity.
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By The Way And For Your Information
If we’re going to be acquainted on this level you should know that it’s underwear or underpants, and never…never….”panties” (shudder).
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May you focus on the shit that matters (or at least isn’t stupid);
May your silence never imply acquiescence (unless it does);
May new underwear raise your spirits (and never give you wedgies);
…and may the hijinks ensue.
Thanks for stopping by. Au Vendredi!
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 But nice guess, thanks.
 If not, stop reading this right now, go to your contemplative corner, and think about why you distance yourself from the vital issues that unite humanity.
 And I have no idea why. Channel-flipping, you hear all sorts of snippets.
 I could – and one time, I think, did – finish an entire jar of green olives by moiself.
 No parent wants their wiseass ten year old telling them, “Actually, you’re misusing the metaphor….”
 They were.
 I was never sure about how a totem pole could fit into a crab bucket.
 Although as I came to realize later, their political and social justice opinions were far more conservative than mine, and indicative of their respective, less than gracious and enlightened upbringings.
 Wrong again, folks.