Emo Puppies

I was at the last Robbinsville High School Lit Mag coffeehouse (very likely my last one), and, as per usual, I wrote a poem there in a little less than an hour.  I had just received some bad news, and was going to write something a bit more…perturbed, but Christine said, “Don’t write anything emo. Write about Muppets.”  But I thought she’d said “puppies.”  So this is called Emo Puppies.

Nobody knows all the angst a pup feels

When nipping along at a young master’s heels.

Though barking and frolicking seems all the rage,

Sir Scruffsalot feels like he’s trapped in a cage

Of his own puppy pain

And he’s going insane

‘Cause there’s nothing to gain

For his cute puppy brain

When all is so plain.

He listens to Dashboard Confessional nightly

As he’s trapped in his blankie, snuggled up tightly,

Fighting the man and all of the phonies,

Raging along with the My Little Ponies

That are left on the floor; now they’re his crew.

Starlight and Buttercup know what to do.

If he had the fur, he’d be flipping it back,

Then over his eye, maybe dying it black.

Sure, he’s adorable,

But finds you deplorable,

Stuck in your ways

Like some bourgeois haze.

“Can’t you see what’s around?!”

Screams the pup in his pound,

But you can’t hear the sound

As it scapers around.

Scamper, scamper, ruff!  Plop!

It’s tough to feel fury

When you’re so warm and furry.

So hard to be glummy

When a rub of your tummy

Will put you to snoozies

While you nibble some shoesies.

But the runt of the litter

Isn’t ’bout being bitter,

But of showing the Earth

All around that lacks worth.

Like, y’know, cats.  Seriously, they can suck it.

Bad Company – Feel Like Makin’ Love – Writing Exercise

Driving home today, I felt the odd urge to write something.  Just had the itch.  I threw on the Amazon Cloud Player and listened to a song that I’d downloaded for free recently, Bad Company’s “Feel Like Makin’ Love”, and I just started writing whatever came to mind when I heard it.  What’s below is what came out of it.  It’s short and completely unedited, so bear with things that sound off, as I experiment with style and wording sometimes.  Feel free to let me know what you think of the premise, or if you’d like to see it expanded upon into a longer story, or a series, or really whatever you think of it at all.  Enjoy, or at least bear with me.

 

A sleazy bar, the lights dim but unflickering.  The jukebox plays some lazy song while cigarette smoke hangs in the air like a southern drawl.  An old, grizzled tough has been making love to the bar for hours, holding onto a past that’s got more nails in it than a recobbled shack.  A waitress is on her break, using her phone to check up on her kids, who are at home with her boyfriend who she may or may not trust this week.  She’s young, pregnant younger, never been able to get out of this piss and shit town, and so she works hours at this bar because it’s the only way she can make halfway decent money without flashing her goodies.  A man older than her knows what she wants more than she does, and goes over to her table happy to offer it to her.  She’s used to the hardly-sly come-ons of the drunken slobs and miscreants that populate Rusty Ted’s, but she just don’t have neither the time nor the inclination to deal with Hep’s wily hands tonight.

“Try to keep them hands inside your pockets, Hep,” she mutters, her eyes not leaving her hands as they redial the number.  Dammit, Ray, pick up the goddamn phone.

Hep isn’t hearing nothing from her, and tries to be clever, but his brain has been swimming in brown sloppy juice since 4, so the closest he can come to common courtesy is a slurred compliment of her nethers.

He puts his hands on the girl, and the tough gets up from his stool faster than a flash and kicks Hep so hard that it feels like his nose punched him in the face.  Hep soars through the air like a fat faltering bird and crashes into a table.  Blood pours down the side of his cheeks as he lets out a moan, semi-conscious and still far from sober.  Hep’s friends, though…they’ve got a bit more to argue about.  The tough puts his drink down, and if these lunks can’t make him feel something, anything, he might just kill somebody.

Tangelo

This is a poem that I wrote in roughly half an hour at a student coffeehouse. The title of the poem was a random suggestion from a student. Enjoy.

The merging of fruit from the vine
Two breeds of citrus intertwined
Tangerine, Orange, bred in kind
Just like the Bride of Frankenstein

How does the flavor grab my tongue
With nothing natural in hand?
Some citric Never-Never Land,
Acidic songs that must be sung.

What manic scientific minds
Could spawn this tang with silky sweet?
Monstrosities one dares to eat
Defying both the pits and rinds

When nature takes the cue to call
And birth some blooming fruit to life
It takes a certain hint of strife
For Mother N to grow it all.

So why should men in bright white coats
Create what passes past our gums?
Because with science, fortune comes!
And turns our fruit to ice cream floats!

Nature’s candy, once it was
Now simply something to consume
So our busy lives can resume
Just choke it down, enjoy the buzz!

Why should you question what you eat?
The label says it’s good to go
And you know all you need to know
About these chemical sweetmeats.

So ere you bite into that plum,
Might you not wonder where it’s from?
What fingers have been in the pie
That you so happily imbibe?
And are you sure its safe to chew
Some nectarine of yellow hue?

So tangelo might have to go,
And though it rhymes with marshmellow
And has a quaint phoshoral glow,
Alas, my friends, I must say “no.”

Survivor

I went to the doctor today.

That sentence alone sounds deadly serious, and while I didn’t discover that I had some life-threatening disease, the news I had was still a bit unpleasant.  My bad cholesterol is high, my good cholesterol is low, and I’m overweight.  I knew the last one, and feared the first two.  The doctor was going to put me on cholesterol medication (something my father, aunt, and uncle already use), but she was hesitant, and for one very large reason: no one at the age of 29 should really be in need of cholesterol medication.  I should be able to control this with diet and exercise, and I’m simply not doing a good enough job.

And so, we have an ultimatum of sorts.  I have four months before my next blood test to drop some pounds and change the direction that my cholesterol is taking me.  It means 3-5 hours of exercise every week for the rest of my life, admittedly something that’s pretty difficult for me these days.  It’s not physically difficult, exactly, but rather mentally challenging, as I don’t like exercise, and have never had very much skill at sports outside of swimming.  It also means no red meat past once a week, tops, and it means cutting out fried foods as much as possible.  It also means intense portion control, making vegetables the main ingredient in all of my meals while limiting starches and making sure that I’m consuming a good amount of protein without overdosing on meat, arguably my favorite of all the food groups.  Additionally, I’ll have to bid a fond adieu to sugary snacks like cookies, and avoid snacking so much in between meals.  When I do snack, it will have to be fruits or vegetables, avoiding unnecessary starches and fats.

Years ago, I lost 20 pounds.  I felt better and looked better.  Now, in my later years, where laziness and malaise have turned me into the lump of goo I am today, I need to lose closer to 50 in order to be at the weight that’s proper for a person of my height.

I expect this to be incredibly hard, and it will likely make me miserable until I start seeing some actual results.  Again, I don’t particularly enjoy working out, even though I like the feeling I get from it. Sweating from your labor can feel very gratifying, but knowing that I won’t see any real weight loss for awhile is going to be tough.  Likewise, watching what one eats, frankly, sucks.  Watching people devour burgers and not gain a pound has always irked me, but now, as my portions really need to be controlled and my dietary choices need to be much more carefully regulated, I imagine that the constant growling of my stomach will be less Winnie the Pooh and more starving jungle cat.

Well, fat starving jungle cat.

April 1st, I have my next blood test which will determine the success of this new plan on beating back the tidal wave of my bad cholesterol.  Of course, a potential reduction in my waistline will also give a decent picture of the potency of my new lifestyle, if I have indeed adopted one.

Failure in this endeavor would mean a number of things, none of which are pleasant: a lifetime of medication, constant worry over the state of my heart and arteries, concern over the ability to run around with my children…and a personal failure of my own willpower.  If I cannot accomplish this, something that, literally, my life depends on, then what is the likelihood that I can accomplish anything that I set my mind to?  What would be the point of setting my mind to anything if I cannot do something so incredibly important and vital to my own well-being.

While my diet over the next few days will not accurately reflect this change (Christine and I are going to a New Year’s party in two days, and it will be incredibly difficult to eat well there outside of simply drinking water all night and consuming nothing else), I begin my new exercise routine tomorrow.  I’ll be at the gym for an hour and change from Monday through Thursday, spending an hour doing cardio and around 15 minutes each day doing different weight work and, occasionally, some abdominal work as well.  Friday through Sunday will be days off, but if I’m able to stick to that routine, I should be fine as far as physical activity.  Dieting, and everything already mentioned that relates to it, will start in earnest this Sunday.

I suppose that’s all for now.  Hopefully, I’ll be able to look back at this blog post as the beginning of something bigger or, rather, the beginning of me turning into something not quite so big at all.

Numbers and Niceties.

On Facebook yesterday, a meme went across the social networking site asking people to send private messages with a code number, and the person receiving said messages would post status updates with that number and their thoughts regarding the person who sent it to them.  I did a bunch of these, and people seemed to like them, even though they tended to fill up people’s news feeds.  Here, I’ve reposted all of them, as I received a few tremendous compliments about the writing behind them.  Enjoy, and if you know me personally, perhaps you can guess who some of the people are.

Okay, I’ll play this game. Send a number to my inbox that represents you (i.e. 31, 942, etc.) and I’ll let you know what I think of you. For example, “31 – Your hair is pretty, and while I’ve always considered us friends, I wouldn’t let you babysit my houseplants.” They may be slightly more reverent, however.

‎7 – You know more about a particular subject than anyone else I’ve ever met, and while in some ways that might be a curse, it’s also quite a gift. If knowledge (about a variety of subjects) were worth money, you’d be a millionaire. As a writer, I admire your incredible output and work ethic, and can really only strive to hit your levels. I hope I one day know half as much as you do about this stuff.

47 – You’re a beautiful, kind(ish) person that I don’t see enough of. I know that following your passions and talents has been a long, not always direct road, but perhaps that’s because you have so many. Ultimately, I hope that you find contentment and happiness, because it’s certainly what you deserve. Oh, and the “ish?” It’s for all the “Bite me”s.

‎43 6/8 – You’re remarkably talented and driven, but that second part may be your curse. You know exactly what you want, and that’s great, but I only hope that you don’t end up with your heart broken. The business needs people with your love and dedication, and I hope that, no matter what setbacks you face, you do eventually break through, at least enough so that it makes you happy.

420 – You’re quirky and interesting, and I’d settle for having just a little bit of your talent. I know that when I see you, you’ll always be warm and funny, and I’ll always get my money’s worth watching you perform, too, which isn’t something I can say about everyone I see onstage. I respect you tremendously, and think that you’re the proverbial knees of the bees.

‎43762 – Theatrically, you’ve likely given me more opportunities than I deserve, and some of my favorite performances have been under your direction. Your love and knowledge of the arts is legitimately inspirational to me, and I only hope that I’ve never let you down in any of the chances I’ve given you.

‎82.666 – I hope you find your happiness, as you’re a good kid with a big heart and, if memory serves, incredible friends who love you to death. No matter what happens, I know that your creativity and kindness will take you to great things, even if the road is bumpy and seems to go nowhere at first. As all the kids are saying now, it gets better. Here’s hoping that things are good now.

‎331 – One of the highlights of my theatrical re-emergence of the last few years has been getting to know you and your family. For some bizarre reason, you seem to really like me, and I absolutely love talking to you about a variety of topics wherever we encounter one another. Your passion for life is really beautiful, and I’m always, always happy to run into you at whatever wacky function brings us together.

‎3.14 – Everybody loves pie. While I’ve only met you once, you seem like a nice, funny person who has personality in spades. However, I think that our mutual friend was confused about what exactly your relationship was with him, and that might be on him, or it might be on you, but it was a bit odd. I hope everything makes sense to everyone now, though.

‎345 – Last I checked, you were a sweet kid trying to find your exact path. I know that you had a few issues regarding an older sibling, and I can’t speak for them, but I know that you were really, really incredible at being you, and that was plenty good enough for everyone who knew you. I hope that school is treating you well, and as long as you don’t betray who you are, you’ll be better than fine: you’ll be great.

‎1.618 – While I wouldn’t describe us as close, if I were lost in the woods with only a pen knife and pants that I’d already peed with fear and hopelessness, you’re the one I’d trust most to McGyver our way out of there. Everyone knows that you’re smart with a wicked sense of humor, but I was surprised how much I enjoyed talking to you at a wedding not too long ago. Good to know for the future.

77 – Beautiful, conventionally and unconventionally, if such a thing as possible. You’re also a highly motivated actress, and a fine one at that. It’s a shame that our paths haven’t crossed more often in the theater, but no one knows what the future may hold. I know that you’ve had some very rough times these past few years, but whenever I see you, there’s a light that’s as bright as the first day I met you.

‎33 – When I first saw you act, I’ll admit that I was unsure, but it was incredible how you took such thankless roles and made them really memorable. Plus, your dedication and obvious love for what you were doing was nothing short of astounding, as you were just so happy to be there performing while ingrates like me bitched about my lack of lines. I wish I had half of your dedication, and a quarter of your heart.

‎1192.2 – You’re one of my best friends, and while seven or eight years ago that would have been bizarre to me, I can’t imagine not knowing you anymore. We chat so often that my wife thinks I’m having an affair with you, and I know that every conversation with you is going to be fascinating and likely hilarious. Seeing you blossom into your field has been a joy to watch, and, ofttimes, it is an honor to know you.

i – Don’t tell anyone, but you may well be the favorite amongst her friends. Sure, you’re smart, but our conversations are an absolute blast, as I learn something new about the universe just about every time we meet up. You also have a wacky enough sense of humor that you find my jokes funny, which automatically bumps you up a few points, anyway.

‎23 – As you pointed out, I haven’t seen you in at least ten years, but I can still appreciate the fact that you make music, and release albums; as far as I’m concerned, that makes you a rockstar. It’s more than I’ve done, and it’s pretty amazing. Not every relationship from elementary school survives, but if you ever want to catch up when you’re in Central Jersey, give me a holler and we’ll meet up for a cup.

‎68 – All those years ago, I would have never predicted that you would be the writer and film buff that you are today. I love writing, but the way that you love movies is the way that I only wish I could love something (besides my wife, of course), and the delicate hand you take with writing about them is beautiful. I know you’re capable of incredible things, and I can’t wait to read them.

‎56 – Honestly, I admire you. You’re great at all of the important things that I want to do, and, from what I can tell, manage to be a great guy and an incredible father while doing so. If I see your name attached to something, I know that it will be excellent. The only downside is that you’re so goddamn humble about everything, and are incredibly easy to talk to about a variety of subjects. Jerk.

‎609 – You’re one of my best friends, and I’m honored that you value my input and opinion. You are one of the only people in the world that I feel completely comfortable speaking to. You’re impossible to offend, but I’m glad we’re not really trying to offend each other anymore with shock humor. Above all, you’re a good man; a really good man that handles responsibility like a swordsman handles his blade.

123 – You once went out of your way to be as unlikeable as possible to people like me. From what you’ve told me as of late, that’s changed, and I assume it’s because you feel like you’re in a happier place now. I hope that you’re happier, and that you have a solid idea of how you’d like to make your way in the world. You have the potential to be great, and I hope that you fulfill every drop of that potential.

‎64 – You’ve done something that I’ve always wanted to do, and that’s live in a foreign country for an extended period of time. I’m jealous. You’re remarkably funny and dedicated to whatever you set your mind to, and while we’re perhaps not terribly close, I’ve always had a ton of respect for you.

724 – I’m incredibly proud of you, if a bit jealous. You’ve accomplished more than I’ve been able to in less time in essentially the same field, and you should be lauded for those accomplishments, but it is slightly hard for me to admit such things. Still, my failings should not override your successes, and you should be proud as well. Also, I’m exceedingly happy with our relationship these days

‎128 – You’re a really, really good person who deserves incredible things to happen to her. You also have one of my favorite names, but that’s neither here nor there. If you had the time or the inclination, I would absolutely love to catch up, because I’ve always found you interesting and fun, and it’s a shame that we didn’t develop more of a friendship than we did.

88 – I hope the music thing works out for you, as you just seem to be so head over heels in love with it. You’re a good guy with a quirky sense of humor and a ton of drive to succeed, so it would be tragic for you not to, at least in that particular arena. If nothing else, I hope you keep writing stuff that makes you happy, regardless of who ends up liking your music or not.

‎3.145 – While you’re responsible for some of the more…interesting days from high school, I’m glad that you’re following your passion, even if it’s just something for the weekends. I know that the last year or so has been rough, but here’s hoping that your quasi-new relationship and the love of your daughter will keep you going when the weather is cold and the reflections sit heavy on your brow.

271828 – You’re more talented than you initially let on: you set design, you direct, you act, and you teach a subject I can barely wrap my head around. It sometimes troubles me that I’m not working with people of your caliber on a daily basis anymore, but such is life. I know that whatever endeavors you’ll strive towards, you’ll succeed, simply because you’re just that good.

4 – You’re one of the smartest, hardest-working people I know, and you let your geek flag fly in the most glorious ways that I know of. You’re also one of those people that I desperately wish I was closer with, and hope to foster a stronger friendship than what we have now. If I have any criticism, it may be that you’re not quite sure what you want.  You’ve had some jobs, and they’ve worked or haven’t worked to varying degrees, and now you, like me, are in flux. Hopefully, we can work on something together, as it might give us both some level of focus, but you might need to figure out exactly what it is that you want.

‎4521 – You’re one of the good ones, and if I only had students like you, my teaching career, or what there is of it, would be an absolute dream. You’re driven, passionate, and, above all, good. That word may seem generic, but it’s one of the greatest compliments I can give to anyone. I expect great things from you; I doubt you’ll disappoint.

‎999,998 – I don’t know what to make of you sometimes, to be honest. Sometimes, I think that you’re a sane person in a sea of fools, and other times I wonder who let you out of the asylum. You have an odd sense of humor, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing, as it may actually take you far. That being said, I don’t know if I can ever wrap my head around everything you are, and I think I’m okay with that.

112 – I haven’t seen you somewhere around 10 years, but based on the few conversations we’ve had since, it seems that you haven’t changed at all, which is great, because you’ve always been pretty great. I know that you’re going through some rough times right now, but know that when you find the guy you want, he’ll be all yours, as you’re remarkably beautiful, both inside and out.

‎729 – You’ll be joining some distinguished company in a year and change, and I couldn’t be happier. You’re a talented artist whose future just keeps getting brighter, and it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. If nothing else, I look forward to all of the various holiday shenanigans, as I’ll have someone else to talk to that isn’t part of the wacky Lederman horde. Plus, always good to have another quasi-nerd around.

That’s all.  It’s far more writing than I certainly intended on doing yesterday, but I hope a few of you enjoyed them.

Finding Your Corner of the Sky – The Quarter-Life Crisis and the Life Less Ordinary

This is the second part of a series called the Wushfield Wednesday Write-Off, a friendly competition between my sister and I, where we’ll write on a different topic each Wednesday and share those writings with the world through the (admittedly meek) power of our blogs.  This week, the topic was the quarter-life crisis, and her blog can be found here.

The title of this post is a reference to one of my favorite musicals, Pippin, an older work of Wicked composer Stephen Schwartz and made famous by the direction and choreography of the legendary Bob Fosse.  The show has style and charisma to spare, and I’ve enjoyed it even more since I directed it back in the fall of 2003.  Essentially, the plot revolves around a young man’s quest to live an extraordinary life, as he refuses to settle for anything less.  He tries his hands at a number of lifestyles, such as being a great warrior or a great lover, but everything seems to fall far short of his expectations.  Ultimately, he realizes that he may have to settle, but that doing so is not necessarily the disaster he imagined it to be.  Still, “when you’re extraordinary, you have to do extraordinary things.”

The desire to be amazing and do amazing things throughout an incomparable life, accomplishing amazing tasks across an amazing world, is something that nearly every child experiences growing up.  From the day we are born, many of us are told we are special, or that we are smart, or that we can be anything we want to be, as long as we set our minds to it.  Of course, this is nonsense; no matter how much I focus, I’m never going to be able to fly without the aid of an airplane or helicopter, and I’m still waiting for my Green Lantern ring to come floating down from the planet Oa.

If the Green Lantern reference is lost on you, congratulations; you were likely somewhat popular in high school.

Perhaps we’re all special, but we’re not all special enough, it seems.  While some may travel the world, exploring the plains of the Serengeti only before spiritual trips to India while on sabbatical from their high-paying jobs as French wine-tasters or German racecar drivers, most will probably spend the majority of their lives in a single town, living essentially average lives doing average jobs that need to be done, and there’s nothing wrong with that.  The world turns on such people.  When I was an English teacher, I like to think I made a difference in the daily lives of my students, giving them reason to think and question in between their inevitable bouts of teenage lunacy.  I teach, while others drive buses or pick up garbage or deliver packages or manage the restaurants where I spend what little disposable income I have.

We can’t all be special, but we all wanted to be, and, in a sense, it’s a shame that so many people find themselves beaten down by adulthood and the inevitable responsibilities that come with it.  I know a number of people who have tried to push away growing up with a strength not unlike that of Hercules, and all it has done is make them seem sad.  Time is the one thing in the universe that is inescapable, other than a black hole and, likely, velociraptors.  As the carpe’ diem poets so succinctly pointed out, time is our enemy, as it takes away our looks, our speed, our strength and, sometimes, our dreams.

All of that being said, it’s good to want.  It’s healthy to want to escape from whatever town we’re in, as we find in ourselves the will to explore that pushed men and women to walk across the Bering Straight millenia ago.  We should push ourselves to get uncomfortable before we settle into the endless days of work, paying bills, and sleeping.  I’m 29 years old, and I’ve been to a few foreign countries, namely England, Australia, New Zealand and Jamaica, and I have on intention of going quietly into the night before I’ve set foot on every continent with the exception of Antarctica, as “ice” isn’t among my normally stated interests.

We should adventure, and even if our wildest dreams are unattainable, it doesn’t mean that we can’t leap into otherwise strange waters in the hopes of creating new dreams and finding new journeys, physical or otherwise.  Thus, regardless of age, I urge you, dear reader, to work in a way that makes you happy, and to realize that life is only the trap you make of it.  Some parts of reality are impossible to avoid, but it doesn’t mean that our dreams have to die, and it certainly doesn’t mean that everything needs to be accomplished by the time we turn 25.  Health permitting, life is long, and the only adventure that we cannot explore is the one that we refuse to.

But First, Do No Harm – Thoughts on Political Correctness

This is part of a series called the Wushfield Wednesday Write-Off, a friendly competition between my sister and I, where we’ll write on a different topic each Wednesday and share those writings with the world through the (admittedly meek) power of our blogs.  This week, the topic was political correctness, and her blog can be found here.

“Look, mommy!  A black guy.”

When I was four or five years old, I was walking down a path at a local park when I said this to my mother, who quickly shushed me, telling me that it was wrong to point such things out.  To be fair, yes, the man passing us was, indeed, a black guy, but they wanted to let me know that, despite the truth of my statement, it wasn’t appropriate to announce the obvious fact of people’s skin color.

They were right, of course.  It was rude, and, to my credit, I haven’t pointed out random people of color since.  I consider it a major accomplishment, as should all of you.

I remember the political correctness movement coming to prominence, if such a word is correct, in the early 1990s.  I was entering my teen years, and it was then that phrases such as “African-American” replaced “Black,” “Asian-American” took over from the admittedly strange “Oriental,” and so on and so forth.

Generally, these things felt right; there was no real reason to doubt the powers that be that informed the world of such things, and we certainly didn’t want to offend anyone.  So, we said Native American, and Little People, and used the word “person” at the end of “fire” and “police” instead of the more masculine term that had been a part of American society since there were men to do those jobs.

As a side note, maybe it’s good that the occupation of Milk Man is essentially extinct, as calling someone a “Milk Woman” may have been impossible to do with a straight face.  Try it.  I tested it out on my stepsister, and she seemed to get a kick out of it.

Anyway, I generally don’t have a problem with the concept of political correctness, as it all stems from a desire to be kind and fair to all people.  Admittedly, it’s likely also a mechanism for a dominant culture or skin color to mollify themselves about being dominant in the first place, but those less than honorable origins doesn’t mean that addressing the issue is unnecessary, and I’m personally glad that we have a few new terms to play with in the hopes of keeping people happy.

After all, I’m a man of words.  I love their taste and sound, and love the way that they curl off of the tongue.  As George Carlin said, there are no bad words, only bad meanings.

And, in a sense, that’s the problem.

Words that are effectively neutered by the hammer of political correctness lose some of that meaning in the process, and that’s not always for the best.  Again, the word “Oriental” certainly needed to go, and replacing “midget” and “dwarf” with “Little People” is a huge improvement, as it makes them, as the name suggests, people, as opposed to sideshow attractions or fictional beings who live in the mountains of Middle Earth.  These were necessary steps.

Still, I hate that the word “black” has almost become a dirty word, as there’s nothing wrong with it.  ”White” is still acceptable, because “Caucasian” sounds funny, and not everyone considers themselves a “European American.”  After all, a number of black people have their origins in the Caribbean, and calling them African-American is, if not an insult, exceptionally wrong at best.

Some of those words were, and are, fine.  They’re ways that we distinguish people, not judge them.  If I know two men named John Carver, one white and one black, and I’m asked to tell someone which one just had a kid, is it wrong of me to say “White John” or “Black John?”  I don’t want to be incendiary, and I suppose I could say “the one with red hair,” or some other physical characteristic, but making note of one’s skin color does not a racist make.

But that’s not what necessarily bothers me.  Maybe the words, ultimately, are fine.

Maybe it’s the hyphen.

AfricanhyphenAmerican suggests an asterisk, something to explain that this isn’t a normal American, but someone who’s American and something else.  The hyphen is, in this sense, a bit insidious: AsianhyphenAmerican, NativehyphenAmerican, LatinhyphenAmerican, and all of the rest exist to make minorities stand out as others, nonstandards…differents.

I don’t want to upset anyone, but, while using politically correct language can assist in such goals, to embrace politically correct language as it has been created is to do what I did when I was five years old; to point out the differences in our society is, ultimately, rude, and creating subsets of people in an otherwise inclusive society is offensive.

I suppose that what it comes down to is that there shouldn’t be African-Americans or Jewish-Americans or Indian-Americans or any other subset of Americans.  We’re all Americans, equally and wonderfully.  Some of us are Jewish, some of us are of Indian descent, and some are of African descent.  Simple as that.

We’re not hyphens.  We’re Americans.  That’s correct enough for me.