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Mourning the Loss of an Icon

The Oreo Experience laments the loss of a meaningful and important cultural icon: The Grammy for Best Polka Album. grammy_award-300x380

This week, the folks who bring you the Grammy Awards decided to eliminate the award for the best Polka album because the genre is no longer “pertinent in the current musical landscape.”

Hogwash!

PolkaCantDie2 The sweet sounds of accordions and tubas in 6/8 time have comforted me on many and many a cold night. And my pilmgramges to The Great Allentown Fair to see 18-time Polka Grammy Winner Jimmy Sturr have been well worth the unpaid days off of work. And if it’s good enough for They Might Be Giants, Weird Al Yankovich and Frank Wojnarowsk, then by gosh, it’s good enough for the rest of us.

So a tip of the hat, a click of the heels and a slap of the thigh to my fellow Czech music enthusiasts. Know that just because the cultural change makers of the nation no longer acknowledges you, I will never forget.

Diary of a Mad White Black Woman – Dancing Lessons with WhitePal

Dear Diary,

The party invitation was terribly misleading.

When I saw the evite for “an engagement party at a castle in the Hills,” I thought:”Perfect! I’ll be in good company.” Why was I so confident? Three key words.

Engagement Party – A social setting where guests are forced to stare at two people make awkwardly public announcements about their love while pretending that the divorce rate isn’t soaring well above 50%. That screams Stepford.
Castle – Who lives in castles? English lords, insane Bavarian royalty and the Pope, kind of. ie: White people.
The Hills – Lauren Conrad. Spencer Pratt. Heidi Montag. Enough said.

Imagine my surprise then, when WhitePal and I were greeted with not only an engaged couple of color, but their 45 guests of color as well. From shades of light ethnic, to Southern Baptist, to extras on The Wire, we were surrounded.

I tried to take refuge behind WP, but then…the music started.

A note about WP: He is a great dancer. Amazing. “Ill” as I’m told the kids say. He took to the floor and was immediately the center of attention.

The concentration of so many ethnics made me want to run to the nearest Land Rover dealership and knit a cardigan while doing some hot yoga. But there was something to the scene that looked almost…fun?

Maybe it was the beautiful setting overlooking the Hollywood Hills. Maybe it was the free and happy expressions on the dancers’ faces. Maybe it was dram of gewurtrameiner I had been offered and found necessary to consume. Whatever it was, I wanted to try what I saw on the dance floor. I figured I had earned enough O-points to indulge this one infraction.

As indicated by WP, I have transcribed our conversations accurately to this point. Below is a record of our conversation, and its subtext.

INT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS CASTLE – DANCE FLOOR – NIGHT

OreoWriter hugs the wall while WhitePal finishes a dance battle. Under the sound of applause, OW begins to move timidly toward the dance floor.

OW: I kinda want to come out there (TRANSLATION: I am probably very drunk)

WP: Then do it! (You are probably very drunk.)

WP makes room on the floor and motions for OW to join.

OW: No, no. Don’t call attention to it. (I’m not THAT drunk)

WP: C’mon. Just move. (Because what you’re doing is certainly not “dancing.”)

OW: I don’t know what to do! (There really should have been a disclaimer on the invitation)

WP: Don’t worry about it, just have fun. (What is wrong with you?)

OW: How did you learn this? (Huh…maybe I don’t look totally dumb after all)

WP: You don’t “learn” it, you just…do it. (You definitely look totally dumb)

Another song started and suddenly, the room erupted into a unison chant of all the lonely_goatherd lyrics. How they all knew the words, I don’t know. Even at the best Sound of Music sing-a-longs, we still need the captioning for “The Lonely Goatherd,” and these songs had significantly more complicated verbiage than “laydee-o di laydee-o di lay hee hoo.”

As the guests all turned toward each other in the communion of JayZ, I decided to make my way off of the dance floor and out from under the shadow of shame.

I took a turn on the balcony to collect myself and checked my Blackberry. I saw a new email: an evite to a Pampered Chef Cotillion Ball at a beach house in Laguna. Hopefully that will go better.

Burn Baby, Burn

Slather on the aloe, kids, I did it!

As I type this, the skin on my decolletage is hot to the touch, feels like it is infested with a thousand fire ants and is beginning to blister and peel.

I. Have. Sunburned.

sol01 Sunburning is one part of the Oreo lifestyle that cannot be learned. It must be experienced. While all Oreo hopefuls are able to further their assimilation by taking a class in medieval dress pattern making, renting a kayak for the day or picking up some new tech stocks on eTrade. But a sunburn is a special step.

It’s like a fiery kiss from God saying: “Well done. You’re on your way.”

As a child of color, you are often told that you don’t need to worry about sunscreen because you simply will not burn. This is devastating when trying to blend in. Not only do you tan, which just seems cruel, but you are also left out of conversations about “laying out,” going to tanning salons and recurring freckles.

Thankfully, I defeated the odds.

You may think that the melanoma risk is a hefty price to pay for acceptance. But what’s worse? A relatively treatable medical condition or being considered part of a quota system?

My battle scar did not come easily. It took a drive out of unusually overcast Los Angeles and nearly 8 hours in uncomfortably warm sun to crack the surface. I was sweaty, dehydrated and seeing desert oases where there were none. I wanted to give up, but this lifestyle is a marathon, not a race, so I toughed it out and was rewarded this morning as I rolled over onto my chest and let out a scream of pain that woke my whole building.

When my neighbor came to see if everything was okay, she found me in tears. She tried to comfort me, but there was no need. These were tears of joy at my pain.

Sure it hurts to take a shower or wear shirts, but nothing worth winning was won without suffering.

Now excuse me as I log off. I have a dermatologist’s appointment to schedule and a sheet of peeled skin to hang on my wall next to my other trophies.

Int./Ext. WhitePal’s and OreoWriter’s Cars

WHITEPAL and OREOWRITER drive on two different stretches of highway, chatting via Bluetooth. STATIC can be heard on both ends of the line. Both strain to hear the other.

WP: …I don’t know. I think I sound like a wigger in your blog.

OW: You may have a way with words, not unlike Daniel Webster, but you’re no elitist.

WP: …What?!

OW: You’re no elitist. Definitely not a Whig.

WP: Really? A Whig Party reference?

OW: I could hardly hear you…Now it’s clear…Is “whig” not what you said?

WP: No. I said “wigger.”

OW: Ohhhhh, right…(pause)..wait…like the porch furniture?

Playing it Safe

I went to see an August Wilson play last night. I know what you’re thinking. Nearly buying watermelon last week, now seeing an August Wilson play, am I giving up on the Oreo lifestyle?

Not at all, friends. Like with any one night stand, I took precautions.

I went in the company and at the suggestion of a white friend. Taking someone up on an invitation to an awkward social situation is par for the course for, say, Hampton society, so why not embrace!
Pre show, I took care to keep a bubble of unblack patron between myself and other patrons of color. Sitting next to a black person at a play where themes of racial identity will be discussed would tempt anyone to discuss the shared experience of being a minority in America. Such discussions could lead to empathy for and an embrace of one’s ‘culture’, which clearly derails the hard and necessary work one has done as an Oreo.
As an extra precaution, before the show started, my host and myself engaged in a rousing discussion of comparative literature.

This definitely helped offset the high ratio of color to Caucasian in the theater.

Then during intermission, I realized: this situation was not as dire as I thought! August Wilson was the son of a black woman and a white man. Not just white, German in fact. Upon this realization, I breathed a sigh of relief and enjoyed the rest of the show.

To celebrate, I’ve listed some other things that are not nearly as dangerous as they seem, plus how they can benefit anyone looking to hide from who they are.

Scorpions.
The fake danger: With half a dozen eyes, a crispy exoskeleton, giant pincers and a tail that means business, scorpions are as terrifying looking as a rerun of Tyler Perry’s House of Payne. But it turns out it’s all looks. These tiny horrors are nearly blind and have only a very mild venom. Getting stung by one is only about as harmful as getting stung by a bee.

The Oreo Upshot:
Even better than the fact that scorpions can’t really hurt you is that they are found in places where people of color are not: remote desert campsites, historic Victorian homes and exotic pet stores.

So if you as a person of color do have the fortune to be stung by a scorpion, wear that injury proudly. It shows that you are hanging out where you should be.

Swine Flu
The fake danger: Despite a handful of deaths and promotable nicknames like “Hamthrax” and “Snoutbreak,” the feared 9o5trT Swine flu is not really all that bad. Some experts are saying that it is in fact much less severe than the yearly regular flu outbreaks and the CDC is considering changing the definition of ‘pandemic’ to accommodate the general unseriousness of Swine Flu.

The Oreo Upshot:
Initial Swine Flu cases were coming out of Mexico. Should you come down with fever, chills and diarrhea, just show off your pics from the white sandy beaches of Cancun with the other white sandy patrons and anyone who was afraid of your symptoms will be delighted that they can reminisce with you about how fun it was to have drinks served to them by brown locals whose hovel homes are hidden by the American based hotel chains who give you decent rates by refusing the natives a living wage.

Texting While Driving
The fake danger:
Sure there is an accident or two more now than there were pre iPhone, but the frustration incurred by not answering text messages while avoiding pedestrians on the on ramp is the real danger. Gen Y is accustomed to getting what we want when we want it. Even if we want it while operating a 2,000 pound thing that can kill an innocent on contact.

If we don’t keep our hands at 4 and 8 on our phones and not at 10 and 2 on the wheel, how can we tell our dinner date we’re running late, passively aggressively avoid our parents with a digital birthday greeting or find out if the object of our affection texted us back yet…no? how about now?…Now? NOW?!?

Don’t think of it as creating an accident by being visually distracted, think of it as avoiding the death of our self-esteem, which is way more important than that guy selling roses and oranges by the side of the road who we just grazed.

The Oreo Upshot
Everyone has a cell phone, so that’s not going to make you stand out. But if you can get someone to call you to trigger your Grateful Dead ring tone while the cops are finishing your accident report, so much the better!

Move 10. e5
The fake danger:
Chess That’s right, chess fans. What was once seen as a problem move in the trusted Najdorf Variation of the Sicilian Defense, is playable after all. Thank to the continued efforts of the folks at Rybka, there are many solutions this seeming stalemate of a move. Including of course, but not limited to: 10. h6, 11. Bh4 dxe5, 12. fxe5 (alt: 12 wfd7).

The Oreo Upshot:
If you understood any of that, you have Oreo points for life, even if you do decide to watch an episode of House of Payne.

I Have a Dream…That White People Will Tell My Story

Thank you to Dexter King for doing the right thing.

This week, the son of civil rights icon MLKing, sold the rights to his father’s story to director Steven Spielberg. This is the first time that anyone has been allowed to purchase the rights.

Dexter King

Good on you, Dex. Way to uphold the Oreo spirit. Who better to tell the story of a black man of modest means and constant struggle than a white bazillionaire?

The fact that Spielberg, in order to justify his need for the rights, produced neither a script nor an outline for the film should raise zero eyebrows. Though he hasn’t proven to Dex that he has the right story, he has proven to the King heir that he has the right amount of cash to put down for it, and what is more Anglo-tastic than capitalism.

Besides, a movie about a black person that is also written and/or directed by a black person suddenly goes from “Oscar contender” to “niche film.” And that’s just not marketable. Unless it’s done by Tyler Perry who is a marketing machine, but is doing nothing but hurting the cause.

Another debt of gratitude then to directors of color like Spike Lee (who has done quite enough, thank you), John Singleton, F. Gary Gary (The Negotiator, The Italian Job, Be Cool),Carl Franklin (One False Move, Devil In A Blue Dress, Out Of Time), Clark Johnson (SWAT, The Sentinel), Tim Story (Barbershop, Fantastic Four 1 and 2) and Antoine Fuqua (Training Day, King Arthur, Tears of the Sun, Shooter) for not picking up the MLK helm and running with it.

Why settle for the predictable nuance, verisimilitude and personal experience a black director could bring to the MLK story when a sweeping John Williams score and a perfectly timed push-in can tell us exactly how to feel and will guide us out of the guilt and toward a sunny, unchallenging ending.

Steven Spielberg

Also, Spielberg has proven that we don’t really need black people to tell black people’s stories. After Amistad and The Color Purple, I say let’s turn over all of “our” movies over to him. That way, we can concentrate on how the powers that be see our struggles and learn to more accurately adhere to their vision.

The best part of this puzzle: A rich, powerful white man now owns the rights to a black man’s life. Makes you nostalgic for the old days, doesn’t it.

Plausible Deniability

I almost bought a watermelon today.

I know excuses are pitiful, but it was hot, I was hungry and the allure of a lightly sweet, hydrating fruit was mighty and powerful.

But I was strong. I left the display, went inside and bought a bushel of figs instead.

The whole experience made me realize there are some things that even the most devoted Oreo will have a hard time avoiding. I’m listing some here for your reference, hoping that you can forgive me my trespasses and looking for a program, 12 steps or otherwise, that can help.

Ashy Knees. When one has higher levels of melatonin in one’s skin, one should also have higher levels of lotion with them at any given time. We do our best, but sometimes extra dry weather, a sudden fall to the ground, or time spent genuflecting and praying to be released from our ethnic bondage will sap the skin of moisture. Don’t worry, we’ll reapply as soon as possible.

Hairanoia. As discussed earlier, hair is a very delicate subject for an Oreo. We go 6046 through great pains to keep it in line….a very straight line…and stray jets of water, rainfall or the beach or a public pool can be disastrous. It’s not that we can’t swim, it’s just that like a Mogwai, water has the ability to replicate things about ourselves that are best left alone. Specifically, the curls that give away our true identities.

Looking Bad by Comparison. If you watch movies, you will see that black people are relegated one of to two roles. They are either the obligatory thugs/criminals/ ganstas , or they are what is affectionately called a Magical Negro.

These MNs are found in movies like The Green Mile, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, The Legend of Bagger Vance, The Shining, The Hudsucker Proxy, Because of Wynn Dixie, Two Weeks Notice, Shawshank Redemption, Million Dollar Baby, Driving Miss Daisy (oh, hell, the whole Morgan Freeman oeuvre), The Matrix, O Brother Where Art Thou and The Stand, just to name a few.

These black characters exist to help white characters with whatever their problems may be without taking any reward or benefit for themselves.

The truth is, every black person is a Magical Negro. If you’re a scuzzy looking white person, you’re not nearly as frightening as that black man in line behind you, so consider the loan yours. If you’re a white lady with a few baby daddies, well at least those daddies don’t come from Inglewood, so line up for county services. If you’re a high school dropout with suction cups for hands, your resume is still more readable than Harvard graduate DeShawnda’s so get ready to roll over that 401K.

Sickle Cell Anemia. This disease exists only in persons of African descent. 76520-004-27CD47E9 The upside: It renders us immune to Malaria. The downside: It exists only in persons of African descent, so the blood test that’s part of a yearly physical forces us to reckon with who we really are. Why must you betray us, biology?

Grits. No excuses here. Grits are amazing. Small. Grainy. Filling. Delicious…and white. So hopefully that counts for something.

Self Loathing in Space…It’s logical, Captain.

Science fiction often involves the colonization of new places and the enslavement or eradication of the alien species found there. Thus, a fairly Anglo-Saxon genre. And consequently, a genre any good Oreo should learn to enjoy.

So I went to see Star Trek this weekend and was pleasantly surprised to find a fellow Oreo welcoming me to the fold.

Officer Uhura (NOTE: Mild spoilers ahead)

photo: http://www.startrekmovie.com

While the actress playing Uhura, Zoe Saldana, is mixed race and therefore ineligible for Oreo status, Uhura herself clearly is.

Three indicators make her penchant for non-ethnicity delightfully obvious.

Physical profile. Urhura’s rail thin body as depicted in the film happily erases any hint of ethnic curvature.
Her mother tongue. Uhura is clearly in the top first or second percentile of her class and speaks many languages and dialects. Not included in her language list: jive, ebonics or urban.
Identity safe sex. According to the latest film, Uhura is romantically involved with Commander Spock. While there were no other cadets of color on board the enterprise, there were a host of cadets of color at the academy. Uhura could have unwisely chosen one of these young men to bed with. However, she rightly chose interracial, nay interspecies love, just like a good Oreo should.
Bonus points for chosing a near Vulcan version of an Oreo (Voreo? Vuloreo?). Spock is half human, half Vulcan and his decision to have emotional relations anyone betrays his Vulcan (minority) side.

Whitewashing knows no planetary bounds. And thank the cosmos for that.

Diary of a Mad White Black Woman – Old Friends

Dear Diary,

I was back at my favorite performance venue last night and was again looking for ways to avoid the line.
I saw my favorite bouncer and waved him down. He came over to me and I switched into light ethnic mode. Using a few choice phrases that WhitePal taught me, I ‘hollered at my boy’ as I tried to see what I could do in terms of mitigating me standing in line. I reminded him about the show he invited me to and I told him I had to miss the all Black Comedy Spectacular because because traffic that night was retarded.

The look in his eyes told me he wasn’t feelin’ that shiz(?).

I didn’t understand. Last week, he was more than happy to accommodate my requests in exchange for the momentary belief that we had anything in common based on our simliar ability to not sunburn. Tonight, he was cold, distant, it was if he had seen through my facade and wasn’t havin’ it.

He confirmed the fact that I would have to stay in line and then moved on.

Then I saw another brother come out of the club.

Ohhhhh, that was the guy I had flirted with the week before. I realized this because he came up to me, put his hand inappropriately on the small of my back and called me his shorty.

I guess we all really do look alike.

Feliz Fiestas!

Had to put down my Corona, piñata y Rite Aid purchased sombrero to get this one in on time. Didn’t want to Cinco de Mayo to go by without an homage to an institution that helps keep self-loathing in the hearts of my Latino/a hermanas and hermanos. Why should black folks be the only people who get to celebrate the subtle erasing over of the truth of their ethnic history? It’s an acculturation all-skate!

So, the public school system and a host of beer commercials lead us to believe that Cinco de Mayo is a day to be celebrated because a small band of underdog Mexican fighters defeated the much more powerful French forces.

While it is true that this did happen on 5/05/1862, by 5/05/1863, the French recouped and captured those fighters in an effigy that caused the Mexican forces to think twice before standing up to white folks again.

The less marketed Dieciseis de Septiembre is the actual day we should be celebrating. Because this is the day that Mexicans actually began the fight that would win them their freedom from their European oppressors. But “dieciseis” is harder to say, thus less marketable and would allow a people of color to truly celebrate a victory of substance.

And that’s just silly.

I will admit. Part of me feels guilty for knowing this information, much less disseminating it. It goes against the very principals of the autophobic Oreo way of life. But as long as I don’t have to talk about the upset inherent in Juneteenth, the next round of Dos Equis is on me!

Ole!

(because botched border crossings are hilarious for children to see)