I am white and not (yet) ashamed to admit it. I guess I should be based on a lot of what I've been reading lately. Yesterday's New York Times, that slanted rag we buy for the Magazine's crossword puzzle, ran an article about the shame of being white circa 2018. It's entitled "Blank Space," which means me and my kind. We are blank space. We're bland and uninteresting and we can't dance. And you can damn well believe that our lives don't matter half as much as black lives, blue lives, and the lives of all the undocumented immigrants everyone is worrying about.
Just why do we suck so much? Well, for starters, we want football players to stand for the national anthem. (I don't give a crap, I hate football.) We under-season our food, make bad potato salad, and are thought to avoid using washcloths. Not one of those three preceding crimes am I guilty of, yet still, I am "awful."
My son says my saving grace is that I'm a Jew and Jews are not white. This would be some small consolation, except for the rise in antisemitism I keep reading about too. In the very same paper, there was a letter in response to an editorial about antisemitism that ran a few weeks ago. The letter writer mentioned that any Jew who could afford it had already bought a condo in Israel. So now I want a condo in Israel, even though I have never even been there. (Hey, I saw The Pianist three times, I'm no idiot.)
No comments:
Post a Comment