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Tuesday, May. 07, 2002 / 11:42 a.m. ~Taking the Wrong Road Too Early in the Morning~ Thinking about Tattoobelly�s upcoming trip to Europe prompted me to dig out my journal from my own trip to Europe back in 1985. Actually I didn�t have to dig much. My journals are all in a pile in a plastic bag in my closet. So, I�m here at work, first thing, lost in my trip to Europe. I had to close it for a moment, step away, if you will. It�s a very pretty book, covered in a red Oriental fabric, a design with pagodas, flowers, maple trees. And to open it and read it� well. It starts in September of 1984, and it�s me riding my bike in my neighborhood where I used to live. Then it�s me deciding I need to go back to school, to become a photojournalist. It�s me in the same exact place I am now, not knowing what to do, waiting, expecting to be able to figure out my life, worrying about being 23, and lost. Nothing�s changed. I thought Europe would change me. I did grow, but I don�t think I changed. I�ll always be the same inside. I can pick up any journal I�ve ever written, come back here even, and read this if it�s still here years from now, and think, yes, that�s me, I�m still the same. I came in to work, to my cubicle, and Veronica was saying that Kathy did something, �like a white girl�, and I asked, �What? What was like a white girl?�, and she meant the way she hugged, the way Kathy hugged Penelope. So Penelope hugged me, as every morning (I know, hugging at work? This is my job, do you see how it is?), and paid special attention, so I hugged her fully, breast to breast, held on for a few seconds. I questioned Veronica, what did she mean, how could she say something like that?, and she kept saying how I shouldn�t take it personally, but how can I not? I�m the only white person here. I told her later, what mattered most to me was that she was able to say that, that I could never, never, not in one million years, say the flip side to that, any racial comment, I�d be called into M�s office, there would be meetings all day, I�d be in so much trouble, how that burns me, how horrible it is, how there is this racial tension. She said she�d never be the one to be with me in that office. She�d never have a problem. Yes, yes, YOU, I know. Not you, people here, you know, �people�. Kathy had to explain her �coldness�, and why should she? We�re not required to hug here. But she did, and I said hugging is an individualistic expression of affection, it has nothing to do with race, gender, color, creed, religious persuasion. Yes, I was angry. First thing in the morning, I have to be the only white person, having to deal with political incorrectness, a slight �racial slur�. Normally I wouldn�t care, but as I say, this is a volatile atmosphere. This is not a place where statements like that can normally be said, jokingly or otherwise. Yesterday it was Billie Holiday, �Billie�s Blues�. Today it�s �Kind of Blue�, Miles Davis. And Skipper and I discussed it on Friday night. I said it flows, it�s so seemingly unstructured, how could it have been written? He, the jazz musician, the one who�s read the book on the making of this very album (a whole book on the making of it), explained it as best he could. I called it sexy, he asked did I mean it was good to make love to? Who needs to make love? Just listening feels like a sexual experience. I can�t help but close my eyes to the beginning trumpet sounds. This is the best album ever recorded. Period. This is what I wrote on 9/16/1984: �I�ve been searching, trying to find what it is I�m searching for � purpose, destiny, goals. What am I going to do? The relief of discovering may be worth all the trouble it takes to get there� A trip to Europe to blow it all out, one last attempt at growing up or maybe being a kid again, and a chance to redevelop my photographic eye in a totally different and wonderful setting. Adventure surely awaits me. Then to come back and think some more � then� back to school. Finish what I�ve started and make something of myself. Show the world what I can do � be really good at something and hopefully make money. I hope it all works out, that I stick to plans and increase my confidence, discipline and determination. And that people like P. continue to goad me along, to keep pushing until I do something about what I want out of life. I may not get another chance to experience the things I want. After all, I�m only 23 and ever since I moved to this apartment and began to enjoy it fully I�ve felt too settled, too sedentary for a person of my age. I�m truly excited and scared at the same time about my plans. I�ll continue to think about them though � any plans that affect my entire life need lots of thought. I need lots of money too, but that�s another story. So many things to do, so many things to see and experience � it�s all out there waiting for me� I just have to go get it � I know I can if I decide I will.� Huh. I wrote that almost 18 years ago. And I have lost so much of that idealism, that hope. But this morning I felt a bit more. I thought that what I want to do is document, it�s what I do anyway. Write what I see, photograph what I see, put together that book I want to do, a memoir in photos. I�m so tired of wasting my time. If it weren�t for the need for money I�d leave this pit of a job right now, right this second, I�d pack up and never look back. I did go to Europe though, six months later. I did it. I was scared and homesick in the beginning, but it was one of the very best things I ever did in my life. I had to be pushed, but it was great to have someone like P. around me back then, someone who truly cared about me and would take the trouble, the time, to do the pushing. She was one of the most influential people in my life. Now, it�s all up to me. Any push has to come from within myself, and that is so much harder. The trumpet sounds melancholy now. �Blue in Green� � this is not my favorite piece. It�s 10:00 in the morning and I�m here instead of being alive. I�m finding myself increasingly angry. I can�t believe Veronica said that, told Kathy she was hugging Penelope �like a white girl�, because it wasn�t a full hug, it was abbreviated, and that it was okay for her to say that. I�m angry that I�m here, that I�ve been here 4 years, 4 years too long, that I�ve grown so complacent, so desperate for money that I�d lower myself to this, that I�ve become prejudiced, almost racist, dealing with this crap every day. I think about how not so long ago my co-workers would have had to use a separate bathroom from the one I�d use, how they�d not be able to drink from the same water fountain, or their children go to schools with white children, how now they can use all the racial slurs they want, they can abuse me, and it�s okay. Now, MTV is solid hip hop, all the time, women debasing themselves, wearing shorts that crawl up their asses, shirts that barely cover their breasts, thrusting at young men in sports jerseys and baggy pants. How did we get here? Such a turnaround. Right this moment I�m not too fond of black people at all. Horrible even to write that, but it�s tame compared with what I think sometimes. You wouldn�t believe what I deal with on a daily basis, here, being the only white person. I�m not respected for being different, not at all, I�m expected to assimilate, and I�m tired of lowering myself, of dumbing down my speech, my ideas. This is a bad day, this is a day wherein I may act without thinking, this is a day wherein I�ve simply had enough. I�d better stop writing now. I think I�ll read more of my European journal, listen to Timbuk 3 next. I�m going down a road I don�t need to be on. Not right now. Cost of the War in Iraq
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