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Sunday, Nov. 24, 2002 / 1:53 p.m. ~Viggo Mortensen Didn't Want to Sell Me a Car~ Gladys and me, we was spoonin'. We need our own song. The Spoonin' song. Normally I am behind her, I'm pulling her into me, my arm is around her belly, and she's under the covers. This morning I turned the other way and she stayed, and I realized she was spooning me. Her leg wasn't wrapped around my waist, fore, nor rear, but still, it was cute, we was spoonin'. We actually got up and went to bed this morning, around 5:00 a.m. I was watching an intense diasaster movie, and I thought they went out of style in the '70s, but this was 1996 or so, Sylvester Stallone, "Daylight". I don't remember it, don't remember hearing about it, but holy moly, there is this intense, outrageously realistic looking scene in which a couple of trucks of explosives explode (Here's Gladys with Giant Mouse, dang!), well, the explosives explode, causing this giant wave of a ball of flames, no, a giant flame wave, or giant flame ball, through one of the tunnels leading from NYC to New Jersey. Lincoln? Holland? I don't know, but there was a car chase preceding the explosion, some kids carjacked a guy who had a briefcase filled with diamonds handcuffed to his wrist. They must have followed him (I missed the first few minutes) and they knew he had it, they cut it from his wrist, stole the car, they were immediately pursued by law enforcement into the tunnel. Lots of crashing and swerving, etc., ensuing. It just looked so real. Like a real tunnel. I think it was a real tunnel. And all this traffic behind them. Families, tourists, a couple and their Weimaraner, a woman leaving the city because she's fed up. And the explosives trucks are backended, they explode, those flames go all the way through the tunnel, swooshing over all the cars and the people in them, but of course the people we've gotten to 'know' survive. Oh, Viggo Mortensen was in it! Blonde. Handsome and chiseled as ever. I really wanted to watch this movie, but I fell asleep. And when USA network became infomericals I woke up and actually went to bed. Hence the undercover spooning. I remembered the last time I slept all night on the sofa and never went to bed, before Friday night anyway, it was after the one night stand. I couldn't get back in my bed right away. Neither here nor there. I dreamed we got our new supervisor. A white woman, from off site. No one knew her. She had straight auburn hair, full, to her shoulders. She seemed really competent, confident, like she would make many changes, not tolerate any bullshit, I was going to like her, and I was thinking, OH MY GOD, you guys, a WHITE supervisor!! We've never had one in this department. This will be wild. I could feel the tension amongst my coworkers, and I was really happy. I've read a couple things, diary entries, etc., written by white people, people just so outrageously disgusted at racist remarks, behavior, etc., exhibited by their fellow white men, and women, and I think yeah, it's easy to be all politically correct when you're surrounded by white people, isn't it? Make yourself the minority, try it, see if you feel differently. Most of these self righteous white folks would never take a job wherein they were the minority. They sit around with their white friends at their white bar/club/restaurant hangouts and sip their apple martinis and talk about how horrible it is that there are still racists in this 21st century, how we should be all past that. How we all get along now, blah, blah, blah. Come down South, my brethren, check it out. We are as segregated as we ever were, in spite of multiracial drinking fountains. Blacks and whites will never live as one. Never. I take a very realistic view here. It's a fact. I was raised to love everyone, not to discriminate, not to be prejudiced, and it wasn't until I started seriously interacting with blacks that I realized they don't want to interact with white people. Blacks, for the most part, don't care much for white people. MLK Jr may have had a dream, but he was the only one dreaming it. Trust me, I'm in it, I'm in the middle of it. I'm in the Bible Belt, I'm surrounded by prejudice, racism, I see it every single day, and as some black people would gladly have it, I am the victim this time around. Sit in your pub in NYC and talk about how awful it is that there exists a Confederate flag, but come down here and try being the minority, put yourself at the opposite end of that spectrum, and see how you feel then. I didn't mean to get off on that tangent, but I was suddenly thinking as I was writing about my dream of us having a white supervisor for the first time, and how different it would be, that some readers (white, middle to upper middle class, northerners) would gasp and think I'm oh so horrible to write it. Just thought I'd fill you in. Come live in my world, I'll show you. First hand. You think I'm making this up? Ahhh, what do I care what you think. Besides, I think I know who's going to get the job. The suspense is palpable, but I think it's going to be a woman from another department. She's spent the past week or so hovering in our little area much more than usual. Either she really wants it, or she's got it. We'll find out! Cannot wait. I also dreamed I went to the Toyota dealership to buy a new car, just like JimmyU went to the truck dealership and drove away in his new truck. Just like that. Gawd, I can't imagine having a car payment! What, aren't they like hundreds of dollars a month? In addition to rent??? And cable and phone and gas and electric? And car insurance and food and GAS? On what I make? No way. Reminds me, I mustn't forget to put in a couple quarts of oil before I head out tonight. Out. Heading out. Ahem. No comment. He might read this, so I can't talk about it, at all. That sort of sucks. I'd like to be able to talk about it, but yeah, he will read this. Hi. Hello. This is me not talking about you. Nopers. Self righteous politically correct white people. Grrrr, they piss me off. The kind that make sure to say, "My African American friend..." blah, blah, blah. Yeah, well, do you insist on being called European American? Because I'm not fucking white, have you seen my skin? It's more pink than white. I'm fucking European American. And don't you forget it. Whitey. Spew, spew, spew. That's me spewing venom. Oh, we was lyin' in bed a spoonin', when the man at the car dealership took me for a ride in his pickup, and he was real cute and I wanted to get in his pants, but I woke up. No, that doesn't make a very good song. The man at the Toyota dealership didn't want to sell me a car because I was going under $50,000. He asked how much I was going to spend. But he gave me a ride, somewhere, I don't know where, and there was my friend Amy and we were looking at a picture of blond wood furniture in a catalog and she said she prefers black wood. I kind of liked the Norwegian look, but she didn't care for it. And I wondered where was my dealership guy in the nice suit. I gave him a hard time, said, "You look like you have PLENTY of money to me, you don't need more, just sell me a car". I was saucy. Sassy. He was cute. I think he was Viggo Mortensen from "Daylight". Yeah, he was! Well, my dream version. Oh, here is my Cainer horoscope for this week: "Once upon a time, our world was full of surprises. Wherever we went, we could be sure of encountering something or someone new. Then came chain stores; international conglomerates creating identical shopping malls in every town across the planet. Thanks to them and satellite TV, we can now lead carbon copy lives wherever we are. Perhaps this is why we now react so dramatically to distinctions and differences, wherever they remain. Your current desire to break new ground is not sitting well with someone who prefers to preserve the past. This week�s challenge is to negotiate a route to change that is acceptable to all." Sounds so nice. But no one can predict the future. If only we could. Guess I need to, like, shower or something. And eat something, or something. I really don't feel like going anywhere, really. This is hard. Cost of the War in Iraq
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