H or H Fables

Astute reader "Ed" writes:

Date: Mon, 26 May 2008 22:30:33 -0500
From: "Ed *******" <***@***.com>
To: <blogngr@gmail.com>
Subject: Hero or Homo?

Yo Blognigger,

I saw a white guy in brooklyn this weekend wearing this shirt...


I'd be interested in hearing your opinions regarding <snip>


Stop right there, Ed. Hero or Homo, huh? Not bad! I like you Ed; you can come over to my house and F my sister.

A bit crass Ed, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't understand what you're getting at. First things first though: a white guy wearing a "Kanye was right" shirt is not a homo. Homo implies a more high-maintenance, whiny character - a perfect example being the father of my daughter's classmate who brought his own "spelt" hamburger buns to our Memorial Day bbq because he can't digest wheat. That's a homo.

No, the white guy wearing the Kanye shirt is clearly a Tool. It's the perfect nomenclature in this case - he is the Archetypal Tool, fighting tooth-and-nail for the Title against the kid who reminds the teacher that she forgot to give us homework.

Seriously, I'm glad you sent this Ed; sorry if I was a bit harsh earlier. You can take it, right? Remember, I'm Black!

Now, despite what I've said in the past about not finding political correctness patronizing, (mostly due to my enjoyment of having my ass kissed by Park Slope whites) there is something about this white guy's wardrobe malfunction that I find sociologically remarkable if not downright infuriating.

This time though, instead of tracing the white guy's thought process, I think it would be more gratifying and illustrative to examine his ultimate fantasy- the invisible, unspeakable seed of hope which blossomed into his decision to purchase and don a "Kanye was right" shirt:

1. The white guy opens the drawer.
2. The Shirt is right there; clean for a Sunny memorial day!
3. The white guy puts on the shirt, and becomes its Barer.
   
4. The Barer has eggs benedict and reads the New Yorker.
5. The Barer walks to the park.
6. The Barer moves in slow motion past the bbq grills that line the hilly expanse of brooklyn's fields.
7. One colored girl whispers to another; she looks away as The Barer meets her timid glance.
8. An African American bbq chef wearing a white apron is flipping burgers, but somehow feels called to look up from the grill. He stares forward and locks his eyes on The Shirt. He slowly raises his gaze to meet the eyes of The Barer. His awareness of The Barer's skin color comes on like a soft bayside wave. He nods slowly - imperceptibly - at The Bearer. It's a nod of newfound respect, and gratitude; He's the one who's learned something on this Memorial Day.
9. The Barer continues down the path toward a pick-up basketball game.
10. A small group of midwestern red-haired and blond whitetrash kids walk the path toward him.
11. One of them snorts "Kanye wha... what the fuuuk??!" in an Ohioan drawl.
    
12. Another says "wonder what he thinks of OJ??"
    
13. They rush him! "you little nigger-lovin faggot!"
14. "HEY," thunders the call from over his shoulder.
15. The chief Ohioan slowly loosens his grasp of The Barer's collar as they all turn to face the source of the intrusion. There before them stand the entire pick-up basketball team, led by the bbq chef from step 8, still holding a spatula, grease dripping from his apron.
16. "YOU GOT SOMETHIN TA SAY?" asks the black guy holding the ball... and then softly: "you say it to us."
    
17. The Aryan kids trip over each other trying to bolt back to Ohio.
18. The Barer turns around to face the team; everyone in the park nervously looks on.
19. The moment of silence bursts into applause and laughter, and everyone on the team gives The Barer the hiphop pound hug.
    
20. He embraces them each in turn- clasping the right hand of each man, meeting each breast with his own. He doesn't fear their pungent negro sweat - he gives as good as he gets, just like on Real World Brooklyn.
21. They tassle his hair and punch his arm; he gets several cellphone numbers.
    
22. At the Tealounge that night, teenage girls push their breasts together in haltertops and come and ask The Barer if he's "the guy from the park."
23. The Barer is featured on Gothamist, and his regularly scheduled writing workshop is cancelled so that the whole group can go to starbucks and talk about him.
    

What a fuckin homo.