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The N-Word, A Users Guide for White People

Recently, Dr. Laura Schlessinger has come under fire for using the N-word on her syndicated radio show. To be honest, I don’t like Dr. Laura. I don’t listen to her show. The few times I’ve heard her, she has struck me as a complete idiot. The fact that she feels the need to give up her radio show because she was stupid enough to say the N-word (on the air, 11 times), that just makes me happy.

But I’m not here to talk about Dr. Laura. I’m here to talk to white people about the use of the N-word. First, I am white, but I have been married to a black woman for the last 21 years. We have two children, and we go to a mostly black church. Also, my best friend (and former roommate and best man at my wedding) is black. Possibly, this gives me a unique perspective.

Before I go on, I want to lay a little background. There are two versions of the N-word: N-word pronounced with an R and N-word pronounced with an A. N-word with an R is a derogatory term for black people. Always has been. Always will be. N-word with an A is a relatively recent thing, probably from the last 20 years or so. N-word with an A is a term of endearment that some black people use to refer to each other. How is this distinction important to white people? It really isn’t, but it does help in an argument I’m going to make later, so just bear with me.

The other morning in the shower I had sort of an epiphany. It dawned on me that my entire life, white people have been adopting black vernacular. I don’t know when it started, but I do know it’s been happening pretty much as long as I can remember. All I know is that when I was in Elementary School, there started to be black people on TV, not just singing or dancing or playing sports, but shows starring and about black people, like the The Flip Wilson Show and Sanford and Son. And at about the same time, all of the kids in my mostly white school started saying things like the “The devil made me do it” and “Watch it sucka.” I was one of them. Since then, there have been dozens and dozens of others, from “Dyno-O-Mite” to “Whatcha talkin’ about, Willis” to “What up dog” to “Foshizzle.”

Let’s face it, black people just talk cooler than white people, and for years, white people have been talking like black people to seem more cool. Can you blame us? This brings me to my shower epiphany. N-word with an A is the one word in all of the black vernacular that white people can’t say, and for some reason, it really bothers a lot of white people. I don’t think it’s on purpose. I don’t think that a bunch of black people got together and decided, “Hey, let’s all start calling each other the N-word with an A, and it’s going to drive white people crazy, because we’ll be able to say it and they won’t.” It just worked out that way.

White people have been talking like blacks for so long, that we feel like it’s our right, and maybe it is, but that still doesn’t make it okay to say the N-word. I do have a suggestion for all of the white people who really want to be able to say the N-word. There’s another word, cracker pronounced with an R. It’s a derogatory term for white people. I suggest that white people who feel the need to use the N-word start calling other white people Cracka (pronounced with an A) as a term of endearment, as in, “Gimme some love, cracka“ or “Cracka, please.”

Further, since there is still so much confusion, so I’ve included following:

Frequently Asked Questions for White People on the Use of the N-Word

Why can black people say the N word and I can’t?

They just can.

Why?

At the risk of using rather specious logic, because that’s the way it is.


That’s no answer.

You’re right, but that’s the answer anyway.


Is it ever okay for me to use the N word?

No.

What if I pronounce it with an A?

Still No.


What if I’m just trying to illustrate a point?

Oh, that’s entirely different– No.


What if I have a lot of close black friends?

At this point, I’m going to ask some questions of my own. How many of these close friends have you had over to your house? Or been to theirs? Or had a meal with? Potlucks at work and sharing a table at the company Christmas party don’t count. Have you met and know the names of their spouses and/or children. Or have they met and know the names of your spouse and/or children. Do you know their phone number without having to look it up, or have it in your cell phone for nonwork-related reasons. Have you ever been out to dinner with them? Or to a movie? Shopping? A ball game? If you can’t answer yes to at least two thirds of these questions, they’re probably not as close as you think.

Okay, maybe not a lot of black friends, but some.

Good for you. The answer is still no.

I do have one really good black friend, and I want to call him the N word with an A as a term of endearment.

Okay. If he was white, would you still be worried about finding a term of endearment?

No, that sounds kind of gay.

There you go.

Let’s say the whole Cracka with an A thing catches on. Would it be okay for a black person to say Cracka?

Good question. I would say No. If a white person can’t say the N-word, then a black person can’t say the Cracka. Fair is fair. Then again, realistically, no one is going to start saying, Cracka.

I do have a very good black friend. Would it be okay if I called him Cracka and he called me the N-word with an A?

Hmm, it would be kind of dumb, but okay.

I don’t care what you say. I’m going to use the N-word anyway. What do you think of that?

It’s a free country.

If I use it when there aren’t any black people around, what’s going to happen?

Possibly, nothing, but more likely dirty looks and most people are going to think you are an A-word hole.

You don’t think some people are going to admire me. For my courage?

Some might, but not for your courage, and trust me, you probably don’t want these people admiring you.

What if I use it in front of black people?

Probably, you’ll get your a-word beaten like a set of snare drums at halftime of a Morehouse game.

What about Dr. Laura?

Cracka, please.

Wild, Wonderful

Last week on the way home, I ended up behind a car with West Virginia plates. It’s one of those states that have a motto on the license plate. It said simply,

Wild, Wonderful

Wasn’t what I was expecting. Then again, I suppose that “Marryin’ Cousins” isn’t the type of thing you put on a license plate.

Jesus is About to Return

There’s a billboard just off the side of the freeway, where I get on in the evening to go home. I don’t rememeber the exact wording, but it’s something along the lines of,

Jesus is About to Return

Get Ready

And then a url for whatever church group had paid for the billboard.

Now, I don’t claim to be any great Bible scholar, but I seem to remember something about the day of the lord coming like a theif in the night. I’m thinking that thieves don’t advertise.

Not a Toy

I’ve been going for walks at lunch lately, and the other day I was walking past the parking lot of a building a few blocks away. Parked there was a Honda Element with a vanity license plate which read, NOTATOY. Now I’m thinking that if you feel like you have to put a sign on your vehicle that says, “Not a Toy,” you probably should just leave in the little wind-up key in the back when you park it.

Extended Warranty

A little over a week ago I bought a smoker, basically a barbecue, but designed to cook with smoke rather than directly with fire.  The way it works is that the cooking surface is in a large barrel and off to the one side is the firebox, a smaller barrel where you have the charcoal and wood for smoking. It cooks really slow, because you’re cooking with smoke rather than fire. I bought the smoker at Walmart, despite the fact that I really hate Walmart.  The reason I went with Walmart is that the only alternatives were one at Sears/Kmart (which the online reviews said was a great smoker, provided you liked your meat raw) and another at Lowes (which the online reviews said was a pain to assemble). 

The problem with Walmart (in this case)  is that this was not something that they sell many of.  So if you were looking for one, you had to look online to see which stores were supposed to have the thing. Then, you had to call the store and talk to someone in the BBQ department to see if they actually had it.  If you just walked into the store and didn’t ask for it, you would never find it because they keep them in the back. Found that out after unsuccessful trips to different stores.  When I finally did find it, by calling first and verifying that they had one in stock, it still was a pain, because even though they had a person right there in the BBQ department, that person was the greeter, and they had to call someone who actually worked in the BBQ department to help me.  By the time, the BBQ person showed up, I had already wandered into the back, which was more or less open anyway, and found the thing. We loaded it on the cart, and I headed for the checkout.

Now, here’s the weird part, as I was buying the thing, the woman ringing me up asked if I wanted an extended warranty. I said, “It runs on fire.”  She didn’t really get it, but I thought it was funny.

Link related to this post:

Char Broil Offset Charcoal Smoker at walmart.com

Postscript
I used it for the first time yesterday, and everything came out awesome.  It was kind of a pain in the butt, because even though it cooks really slow, you’re always moving stuff around to keep it close to the hottest part of the grill, near the firebox.  Still, the end result was worth it.

GPS Kit

So I’m at Frys Electronics this weekend and heading to the check out, I notice this one short aisle that has these little electronic kits in plastic bags.  Basically, they contain a circuit board and all the parts you need to create little gizmos that do things like turn on the lights when it gets dark.  Curious, I check them out.  There is a guy already standing there. He points at this GPS kit. “This is what you need when you want to find out where your fucking girl really goes when she says she’s going to the store,” he says.  “I’m gonna get me one of these with my next check. Fucking bitch.”

I’m think he has yet to find his soulmate.

Tax Night Post Office Trip

So last night, Tax Day, April 15, I found out at about 8:30 pm the my Federal tax e-file was rejected. This was the first time I had ever e-filed. I forgot to check my personal e-mail during the day, not surprising, because I never check my personal e-mail. The issue was that my date of birth on my return didn’t match what the IRS had on file from the Social Security Administration.  I checked my return, and it was correct there. There was no way to get ahold of Social Security that late, so I had to print and file by mail, which by the way, I could have done at any Post Office during the day, had I not decided to e-file.

By the time, I got everything ready to go, it was about 9:30 pm.  My plan was to come in from Pacific Highway, which is direction that most people wouldn’t come from. I brought my skateboard, figuring If I could find a parking spot within about 12 blocks I was good.

From that direction, it was backed up to where the road splits to go to Midway on the right toward the Post Office or another street on the left toward Pt. Loma. Going right, it’s not very far, but it looked like you would need to go to the light in front of the Post Office and make a U turn. I had a feeling that was a very very slow moving line.

I went the other way to come in from Rosecrans from Pt. Loma. From that direction, it was backed up to three blocks from Midway, the street where the post office is. I cut through a parking lot and parked on a side street. It’s hard to say how far away it was in terms of blocks, because the streets are kind of weird right there, but it probably was about 6-8 normal blocks.  I got out my skateboard.  If you figure that cars were coming from all possible directions, I probably passed hundreds and hundreds of cars. I also passed the local Fox affiliate, doing their Fair and Balance take on the event. Plus, I also passed dozens of pedestrians who were doing the same thing as me, but without the benefit of the skateboard.

When I got to the Post Office, there was a group of about 20 people holding protest signs.  There’s a name for this group, the name seems to escape me now. Let me think…. Douchebags….  No, that’s not right. What is it? Tea Baggers…. No, that’s not it either. Tea Partyers. That’s it.  There’s so much crossover between the three groups that you can see how I could get confused.

I dropped off my envelope and headed back to the car. As I was leaving and passing the Tea Partyers, one of the passing cars honked its horn in support. Swept up in the momemt, I said, “Woohoo, yea, Tea Baggers,” just loud enough for the one closest to me to hear, but not loud enough to alert the rest of the rednecks and have them chase me down and sodomize me with their signs.

All in all, it probably took me about fifteen minutes longer than driving down there on any given night.  On the way home, I decided to reward myself with a Klondike bar.  I stopped to call my wife to see if we needed anything at the store. Before I had left, I had joked that I needed to make sure I had my wallet, because I didn’t want to get arrested for skateboarding.  Naturally, the first words out of my mouth were, “I got arrested.” She didn’t think that was funny at all, but at least was not mad enough to make me sleep on the couch with my Klondike bars.

Link releated to this post:

Protesters rally widely under Tea Party banner - SignOnSanDiego.com

On Her Majesty’s Secret Service

For the last about two months or so, I’ve been listening to my MP3 player, in alphabetical order by song title. With over three thousand songs, the effect is similar to random, but you never hear the same song you heard yesterday, which will happen on Shuffle mode. I started at the beginning of the Ws, and now, I’m about half through the Os.

Anyway, this morning on my way to work, I was driving with the top down, and “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” came on. This is one of the main instrumental pieces you hear in James Bond movies.  Hearing this as I was driving, I almost instinctively started looking on my dashboard for the toggle switches to activate all of the super cool devices that movie spies have built into their cars, you know, machine gun, rocket launcher, ejector seat, oil slick, or my all-time personal favorite from the Dean Martin Matt Helm movies, a secret compartment with a decanter of bourbon.

Side Effects

You know what I love?  I love when you see a commercial for a prescription drug, and they say that one of the side effects is increased instances of [name of the disease you took it for]-related deaths.

Carol King

I’m listenting to my mp3 player today. For the last month or so, I’ve been listening in alphabetical order by song title.  I started in W and have made it around to I.  I figure this way it’s more or less random, but I don’t miss anything or have anything repeat, unless I have two copies of the same song.

Anyway, a Carol King song comes up, which seem strange to me, because as far as I know, I don’t have any Carol King.  I know I bought Tapestry on CD years ago, but I’ve been through all of my CDs and can’t find it. Kind of pisses me off. I hit the play button, so I can bring up the screen and see what it is.  I figure that it has to be a soundtrack or something.  Turns out it was Todd Rundgren, “I Saw the Light.” I swear I would have bet money it was Carol King.  I’ve added a link to the song on lala.com below.  I hope it works.  Give it a listen and see what you think.  Oh yeah, one more thing.

Sorry, Todd.

http://lala.com/zQU4I