Song of the South; part 4192012

So I go over to Big O's friend's place to do some piddly maintenance, and to screw around with that teak some more. The stuff looked good initially but this oil finish routine is not suitable for this particular bunch of furniture. I researched and learned how to do it because way back at the beginning of the saga, house manager wanted it done they way they do marine teak, using oil finish. At that time I was all for poly urethane or something of that nature.

At any rate, I learned and believed it would work out. It is not really working out. I'm going to call the manufacturer, hoping they are still in business and see what they used to begin with. Even though their lacquer or varnish did not hold up, it still may be better, especially since they eventually got covers for the stuff. If it were mine, I'd just pressure wash it now and then and let it be gray. That isn't acceptable to those who own it or manage the house, so we go with another plan.

Anyway, I arrive and walk out to the courtyard/pool area where a guy is on a ladder putting pieces of copper on top of some of the beams. I was friendly, even though when I greeted him he replied with the belligerent toned version of "Can I help you?". I explained that I frequently do odd jobs and maintenance there, and that I would be sure not to interfere with his project.

He then gives a little, annoying chuckle as he says, giggle giggle, You sound like you're from Tennessee, giggle laugh. It was a total non sequitur, as I had just asked a question regarding my efforts not to do my work in the possible path he might take as he did his thing.

I stared at him for a few seconds, then asked, "Is that funny?" I get so sick of people who think the slightest bit of southern accent represents ignorance, incest, etc. That is very much the way it is in California. Most of these people have never been to the South, and certainly haven't spent enough time there to have a clue about the people or the culture.

Mr. Roofer caught me in a mood which was not one of the most tolerant or forgiving in my arsenal of moods. His comment and manner were not of the variety of friendly interest or in any way complimentary. I stood there resisting putting voice to what had filled my mind. Two words, the last of which was "you!!".

I stood staring, then turned and walked away. He'd answered the question about whether it was funny with something unintelligible and an I guess so. He was on a ladder and seemed frozen, like he didn't know whether to ascend or descend.

It is not good, but I felt that if I stuck around that I'd have vented my rage at the arrogance of many in this state, and my rage at things unidentified, even in my mind. Wisely, I went to sit in my car and cool off. I called Fin.

Sometimes I think I'd like to move back to south, but then I remember how 99% of the black people seem to hate you and want to give you a hard time. It is not hard to find someone eager to beat you to a pulp, kill you, or rob you--because of race. Racism is the curse. That and belligerent ignorance. Life is hard so it must be your fault.

Much is magnificent out here. In some ways I suppose I became permanently southernized. That involves a certain mode of courtesy, pride, and respect. That doesn't involve race or incest or any of the stereotypes I see circulated out here in media and general culture.

I've been in the ethnic minority in two or three cities where I lived for a number of years. That can be educational. I get along with anyone who is halfway congenial.

So, you want to break it all down by ethnicity, then you best be prepared to own it. Or maybe you want what I want--to become a nation of individuals judged by your good looks, and your character.

Being lumped in with a group forces you to take on guilt for their crimes as well as credit for their accomplishments. Unless, of course, you only identify when it serves some selfish end.

But we all want to be victims. I'm a victim because I'm Black; because I'm Mexican; because I'm White; because I'm poor; because I'm rich; because I'm ugly; because I'm pretty; because I'm too smart to be understood; because I'm a dimwit...

Victim grouping is a big business. Look how hard Jesse and Al try to keep fanning that flame. They must be running out of good fuel because they tend to jump on cases which aren't clear cut, before the facts are known, and many times it turns out they labeled the real criminal as the victim. In some cases, there may be no case at all, in reality. KKK uses the same tactic, but not many people sucker for it. I do not consider Jesse and Al any more legitimate, at this point in time, than the White supremacist groups.

Sooner or later someone will figure out that no group has been free of being victimized in one way or another at some point in history. One fact which goes unstated is that most groups have done as much to screw themselves over as the groups they identify as their enemy. That goes for black, white, yellow, mellow, red, taupe, and mauve, men, women, blablabla.

Don't lump me in with any of them because no one speaks for me. And I don't trust others of any group to which I may belong to voice anything agreeable to me. However, I guess I am somewhat of a Southerner. But only in the very best and finest aspects of that culture.

And the case can be made for any group's claim to victimization even now. It does not serve the cause of liberty, equality under the law, or any of the tenets necessary for a society of free individual humans.

In any case, many of the best artists, writers, musicians and people of note were native Southerners. So back off, California!
And besides, I have hardly any accent at all.