define your hate
Jun. 29th, 2005 10:45 pmI like to sit at the ends of Red Line cars for two very important reasons:
1. It lessens by half the number of people who might have to sit next to me, and
2. The little window indentation, if there, makes a dandy armrest.
There's a third, lesser-important reason, and that is that all kinds of lovely racist graffiti can be found on the sill from time to time. This kind of graffiti (or, for the most part, any graffiti) does not exist anywhere else in the car. It's all on the sill. Perhaps it's because a little up-and-coming Klansman can hide his work-in-progress, or at least halfway obscure it, before letting it fly free to enlighten the rest of the world. Whatever the reason, reading it always makes me feel great, because it reaffirms for me the fact that these kooky "White Power" types ain't got the brains God gave a goose. As Gene Wilder said in Blazing Saddles, "They're ... the salt of the earth. You know -- Morons."
Considering the trains pass through Dorchester, Quincy and Marblehead, it's no wonder such bon mots get scribbled hastily on the sills. I mean, there's a Southie kid right now, as I type this, who's sitting at the end of a Red Line train with his Red Sox cap on backwards, just passing the time thinking about how he quite dislikes the chinks, and then he wonders "Well gee, how can I share this message with others? How can I express my feelings succinctly and wholly, without compromising the integrity of my thoughts?" And then he reaches into his pocket and quite by accident finds a Sharpie...
...and tomorrow when I go to work and ride on the sill, I'll find "I Hate chink's" scribbled almost incomprehensibly near my arm. I always tend to move my arm away from the writing, lest it rub off.
I only bring this up because today, while riding the Red Line home, I found this impressive piece of wisdom written near my arm:
All I know is that the bookly fellow who scrawled the index of hate on the sill is going to feel mighty confused when that Roman centurion stomps the living crap out of him for malinging that beautiful, scholarly, dead language.
1. It lessens by half the number of people who might have to sit next to me, and
2. The little window indentation, if there, makes a dandy armrest.
There's a third, lesser-important reason, and that is that all kinds of lovely racist graffiti can be found on the sill from time to time. This kind of graffiti (or, for the most part, any graffiti) does not exist anywhere else in the car. It's all on the sill. Perhaps it's because a little up-and-coming Klansman can hide his work-in-progress, or at least halfway obscure it, before letting it fly free to enlighten the rest of the world. Whatever the reason, reading it always makes me feel great, because it reaffirms for me the fact that these kooky "White Power" types ain't got the brains God gave a goose. As Gene Wilder said in Blazing Saddles, "They're ... the salt of the earth. You know -- Morons."
Considering the trains pass through Dorchester, Quincy and Marblehead, it's no wonder such bon mots get scribbled hastily on the sills. I mean, there's a Southie kid right now, as I type this, who's sitting at the end of a Red Line train with his Red Sox cap on backwards, just passing the time thinking about how he quite dislikes the chinks, and then he wonders "Well gee, how can I share this message with others? How can I express my feelings succinctly and wholly, without compromising the integrity of my thoughts?" And then he reaches into his pocket and quite by accident finds a Sharpie...
...and tomorrow when I go to work and ride on the sill, I'll find "I Hate chink's" scribbled almost incomprehensibly near my arm. I always tend to move my arm away from the writing, lest it rub off.
I only bring this up because today, while riding the Red Line home, I found this impressive piece of wisdom written near my arm:
fuck allAnd I went "Whoa! Hey! Thanks for taking the time to carefully define each term there, pal!" It was a charming little dictionary and quite enlightening to boot -- I didn't realize 'gook' had branched out to the middle east as well. Was there like some kind of bigot conference where this definition change took place? "Gentlemen, distinguished Chairman, I hereby propose that the term 'gook', usually reserved for those of Asian descent that we don't like, also be amended to include any and all peoples of Arabic lineage currently residing in the Middle East, since I figure we hate them all equally." "The chair recognizes the delegate from the Peckerwoods, but wonders what you think is so wrong with 'raghead' in the first place."
Nigga black
spic Latin
gooks asia & Middle east
All I know is that the bookly fellow who scrawled the index of hate on the sill is going to feel mighty confused when that Roman centurion stomps the living crap out of him for malinging that beautiful, scholarly, dead language.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-30 01:45 pm (UTC)I didn't know whether to be happy the enemy lacked spelling ability, or dismayed that the education at ARHS was producing such unenlightened students (who really should have been able to at least spell the word).
OMG...
Date: 2005-06-30 02:10 pm (UTC)My friend got fed one day with all the kids screaming racial slurs indiscriminately (pun intended), but realized that the previous approach of trying to get them to just not use the words wasn't working, so he sat down a group of 2 or 3 of the worst offenders, and he actually EXPLAINED TO THESE KIDS that even though they shouldn't be using the words, they needed to at least understand what they meant. So he's like "OK, nigger refers to a person with dark skin, usually an African-American or Caribbean sorta person. And a spic would be someone of Spanish-speaking background..." The kids then wanted to know about words like "fucker" and "pussy" and which people these words applied to. It actually did become an educational lesson on paying attention to the subtleties of language and where you do and don't use certain words, and the kids actually did start thinking more about what they were saying, like realizing that you don't call the lunch lady ANY sort of slur ever, but that people might use these words on the playground or the bus.