An open letter to "people of color", and in fact, to ALL people:
I don’t talk much about race.
I grew up going to school with African-Americans, Mexican-Americans, Asian-Americans, and white kids…
I had a great time, but there is something missing; can you guess what it is?
I, the Matt-Man, do not have a hyphen next to my group.
This issue has come to the forefront.
Since we are in an embattled Presidential election that involves a “Half-Black, Half-White, Half-Sure of What He Wants to Do…um…Black Man”, I felt the need to discuss this.
Schmoop and I were talking yesterday, and we agree…This label of “African-American” is silly.
Okay, certain folks went from being called, slave, to negro, to colored, to Afro-American, to Black, to African-American…
What the fuck do you people want to be called? What do you call yourselves?
I know, there are plenty of people with white guilt who are more than happy to say, that some of their best friends are, “African-Americans”, but c’mon, in silent social circles, what do you call yourselves?
I myself, use the term, “black”. You know why? Because you are!! Okay maybe not black, black. But I’m not white, white.
I’m more of a whiter shade of pale, while at the same time, Schmoop is nearly an alabaster color. And there are many more shades of whiteness that abound.
Yes, I know you may be brown, tan, sienna, whatever, but can’t we all just say “black“? Can’t we all just say, “white”?
Or better yet, can't we just say, "She's Lisa; he' s Greg." Without any color or ethnicity reference?
It makes life easier.
Philosophically, I am not a big, “life is black and life is white” person, but in this case, it makes sense.
Yes, we all use labels when it comes to ethnic pride, such as German-Americans, Italian-Americans, and in my case, Irish-Americans.
Our groups, however, harbor two distinct differences between us and many “African-Americans”.
First of all, we white folk, typically only refer to ourselves that way during an annual parade or a drunken festival once a year that benefits pedophile Priests and/or folks who want the trains to run on time.
Secondly, we do not claim an entire continent. I, for one, have NEVER called myself a European-American.
Claim all of Africa as your heritage, and you run the risk of being called, “uppity”.
I guess what I am saying is that Americans, of all races, creeds, and ethnicities have become uber-sensitive. It’s time to stop it.
If you want to be proud of your ethnicity, have at it. Be proud. I am of mine…
But please, you can be black, white, Oriental, Mexican, whatever…I just want you to be you.
Lose the labels…lose the assumptions…lose the stereotypes…just be you.
Cheers!!
Big news kids…
Senator John McCain will be in Ohio today speaking at the NAACP Convention in Cincinnati.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I have never thought McCain to be bigoted or racist at all, but I still kinda chuckle.
To me, it just seems that he will be so out of place.
I guess it’s because I picture him, a pasty, old, white guy awash in a sea of mainly black men and women.
His cultural sensibilities and experiences are a result of years of Washington politics, a well-to-do military upbringing, and being married to a botox infused cupcake.
McCain has enough trouble getting his doddering message out to middle class, white America. I think he may need some help in connecting with this crowd.
So Senator McCain, I have a few suggestions for you…
Keep it real. Talk about the things you have done over your incredibly long lifetime that will bring you closer to the bruthas and sistahs.
For instance, talk about your experiences during the VERY early days of the Civil Rights movement, by saying the following:
“Folks, I knew Frederick Douglass. Frederick Douglass was friend of mine. Barack Obama is no Frederick Douglass.”
“I was deeply moved and honored when President Lincoln asked me to edit his first draft of the Emancipation Proclamation.” (Just don’t mention the part about you scratching out the freeing of the slaves reference.)Continue on with:“Harriet Tubman and I were very close. We got naked and jiggy with it on more than one occasion. My alabaster steam engine took a ride on her Underground Railroad many times. In fact, if it hadn’t been for certain laws and the social stigma, I would have married her. The bitch had back, and I had mad skillz.”Show that you are a man of the streets:
“Many people believe that the scars on my knees are from my days as a P.O.W., not so ladies and gentlemen... 
I got these while rippin’ it with another fine piece of mochachina ass, when in 1934, I did it doggy style underneath a gaslight in a Paris alley with Josephine Baker.Are ya feelin' the Big Mac Attack now, my homies?"Let the crowd know that you are like-minded:
“Folks, I am one of you…I am a pimped out, tricked out, Schlitz Malt Liquor drinkin’, Sugar Bear. In fact, I’m just a love machine…and I won’t work for nobody, but you.”
End your speech with:“My bros and bitches, if you take one thing away with you from my speech today, I want it to be this…
Don’t think of me as President McCain, think of me as Mack Daddy McCain.
If, however, you are looking for a Commander-in-Chief, you can call me, President Superfly. God Bless America...Word to your Mutha...Thank you, and Peace Out.”
I know I shouldn’t, but I am just trying to help out Johnny Mac. No, really.
I will be gone nearly all day. I am taking Ryno to the batting cages, (maybe I will have him videotape me swinging for the fences) to lunch, and then…yes another 5-9 gig at the “Thru”.
I’ll catch up with ya all late tonight. Have a great day. Cheers!!
