6:27 p.m. - 2003-12-04
skin conditions
I read this (ed. note: this used to link to a now-deleted story about some weird-ass Klan activity) last week, and it made me a little nervous about our impending Thanksgiving road trip through the Deep South. Not that I feared violence at the hand of an archaic secret society that disapproves of my girl and her heritage; I just didn't want this incident to throw a pall over my family's own ritual holiday mock-lynching/paintball-tourney.
In LA, street gangs provide urban idiots the w/the same special feeling of inclusion that the Klan affords psychotic hillbillies; and gang affiliations are drawn along ethnic lines, too. But the murderous exploits of street gangs are, ultimately, fiscally motivated and hence easier for society to stomach. (Plus they have more ex-members on MTV than the Klan!) The brand of hate the Klan espouses makes us so uncomfortable, I think, because it's rooted in the same historic quagmire as many of our own less-malevolent-but-still-lame attitudes about race and religion. The line between the fearful, suspicious, lifestyle we were promised by the founding fathers and the pig-fucking hatred of the Klan is a fine one; and we cringe collectively when some idiot crosses it.
The road trip was beautiful, though. For all my urbane posturing I remain at heart a rural southerner, and it was good to be crossing those muddy, snake-infested, creeks again. The clay-spattered fireworks stands, the still-warm deer draped festively 'cross tailgates, the icicle lights twinkling on mobile homes of every make and color; a provincial holiday feast for the senses, really.
Speaking of trailers, way out in the banjo pickin' hinterlands of N. Alabama, we passed two of 'em sporting homemade signs that read "Body Piercing". Hmm, rednecks with nipple rings... How do we get back to the freeway, Hon?
There were four of us at thanksgiving dinner. Good thing mom made those three extra pies.
Also got to hang w/my girl's family in Atlanta. A posse of her cousins was down from Detroit, and I found myself feeling, as I do whenever I'm the sole white face at a large family gathering, like a special ambassador from the kingdom of Caucasia. Like it's on me to prove that the melanin-ally deficient can be just as amiable and easygoing as the next guy. Of course my being a complete neurotic asshole makes the assignment more challenging. I was totally sleep-deprived as well...which resulted in a critical loss of focus during several of the more complicated handshake maneuvers. And I'm sure that, had I had more rest, I wouldn't have snipped "Can't you people just be quiet and watch the movie for once!" quite so testily during a family screening of X Men 2.
Sleep deprived or not, though, I suck at remembering names. And this particular clan is crazy w/the nicknames, which they freely interchange with given names in conversation; essentially doubling the cast of every family anecdote, and my workload as Caucasian ambassador. (I'm pretty sure Marseilles' nickname is TC, or "Turtle's Cousin", and that "Turtle's" real name is Curtis. Curtis' dad was introduced to me as "Happy", but that still leaves "Booka", "JoJo", and host of players I can't place.)
I got a relevant photo and some other junk for you, diary. I just got to dig it up.
