Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Warho fo sho?


"So you think it's alright to call a black woman a ho?"

Oh boy. My first day hocking shirts in Union Square, and vast swaths of people come and go, even in my quiet nook on the southeast corner. You can tell when someone "gets" Warho. There's the initial observation, the moment of pondering the various elements and double entendres, followed by a flash of crystallization, and a look that blends shock, amusement, and dumbfounderment (according to Dictionary.com, that's the grammatical correct word). People grab their friend, come back over to see if what they just saw is in fact a mashup of Andy Warhol's Marilyn Monroe and a hard-lined diss of Condi Rice. And hopefully I sell a shirt or give a flyer for them to tack on the refrigerator.

I've heavily considered the sensitivity of such a word to certain demographics. Firstly, to women, but namely, black women. In the wake of the Imus controversy a few months back, skullfuck seems a modest term in comparison. On a side note, is there any other 2 letter combination in any language that packs such a whallop? Most of the truly satisfying expletives require at least 4.

As these things happen, the individual most expressive of being offended was not a woman. Granted, he was black, and rather peeved. I could tell it was coming, eyes glaring as he stepped onto the curb and nearer my table. When greeted with the same words that preface this post and a hostile, accusatory tone, I gave it even odds that things might escalate. Fortunately not, though I was labeled as an imperialist [sic] "white man" who can do anything he pleases. The closest I like to get to imperialism is cheering on English football and having the liberal gin & tonic or four. He did make some good points, particularly on the broad notion that racism is endemic and systematically ingrained into our society. But he became increasingly hyperbolic in his accusations, labeling anyone who buys (RED) products from The Gap as racist, and not caring about Africa. He also gave me a T-shirt design, "Peaceful Racist," because that's what many of us are by virtue of our daily lifestyles and choices. I suppose.

When offered the choices at the local mega mall, between Hollister, Polo, Wet Slut (I mean Seal, faux pas), Levi's and a Gap product that at least gives some money to African industry (cotton + manufacturing) and their perpetually crippled economies, I'll choose the latter. In all other circumstances, I'd be equally cynical to Gap T-shirts saving Africa, but at least it does something, and gets people to realize, albeit on so ever miniscule a level, that things are BAD over there. Blame the blanditudes of our corporate fashion monocultures, but don't transfer all the blame onto the indivuals. Stoke that anger and peg it on the system, maaaaan. Because most people won't think beyond the choices laid out in front of them.

At the very least, this little encounter helped me to consider and articulate a line of responses to any subsequent individuals who are incensed by le Warho.

1) Do you get the design, the spoof, the elements at work? Yes? Good, let's proceed.

2) If you observe the colors used, note how Condi is depicted. She is every color of the rainbow (red, orange, yellow, 3 shades of green, blue (sorry indigo) and violet. Further, she is showcased in the center as the American icon that she is, in red, WHITE, and blue. I could be wrong, but is Condi regarded as a prominent figure and pillar within the African-American community? How dedicated is she to her people, with her constant affections for W? Just watch 2 minutes of Lil' Bush to see what I'm talking about.

3) Finally, if you'd like to prioritize the racial implications of the word "ho" over the broader context and message, I won't deny anyone that right. But if you quantify whore/ho as someone who turns tricks for profit, in a culture regarded by many as lewd and shameless, then let's apply that definition to Iraq and our administration. Condi and every last individual who deceived the American people, profited off the war, and whored out our self-respect as a country, is a warho, a war criminal, a war rapist. So I'm not singling Condi out, but hasn't she escaped a good deal of criminal for the very reason that she is a woman... and perhaps, black? Plus, has the lady ever looked better? Honey, I think I gave her a great makeover, and that coifed hair just evokes Marilyn.

As a final qualifier, I call upon Dave Chappelle's epic Racial Draft '04, to finally put an end to individuals of multiple cultural associations. The white delegation made a surprise move, drafting Colin Powell. Nevertheless, Rondell and the black delegation consented, ONLY on the condition that they also accept Miss Condoleeza Rice. Done and done. You've got yourself a goddamn deal.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

When War was for Right, not Might?

Today I attended the funeral of my great uncle. Savvy man, got into the computer/data business back in the early sixties when key-punch cards were today's Wikipedia entries. Or something analogous. He served in World War II, stationed for nearly two years in Bombay. Contracted dengue fever while over there. At the service today, veterans from the American Legion gave him a three-gun military salute. Old soldiers, having served no later than Korea. Back when patriotism was a little more than a PVC bumper sticker (kudos, John Edwards). The flag was folded with precise reverence for what the three colors represent: the free sky above our heads, the bloodshed sacrificed to earn it, and the peace which it has ensured for our nation.

Really? That's what the flag represents? It's not the chlorine blue of an inground swimming pool, the red sheen on some dude's Camaro, or the white mayonnaise that gooshes out when someone chomps into a double quarter-pounder?

Because, as I said goodbye to Uncle Fred, a man I did not even know very well, I also said goodbye to another chink in the faded armor of a byegone generation. This was the last time that the nation went to war as a whole, with a firm, undeniable purpose in mind. Before Vietnam, before Iraq I and Iraq II: Neocon Boogaloo. That people still think, still deluded by the government and themselves, that the current war was some type of valiant quest to preserve freedom. Syriana is no Casablanca, and George Clooney is, regrettably, not Bogie. Things are muddier, blurrier, and not so crisp as a digitally restored black & white film. The emotions, the national consciousness that the older folks attending must have felt. Real pride, real spirit, not this lacquered, ultra-bleached smiling, factory-farmed eggshell-brittle notion we now have of freedom & patriotism. Sweetened with high fructose corn syrup before serving, how could I forget. But this war to end all wars also gave us the fallout: we can build and raze a flagship Target store in the time it took to secure Iwo Jima (now Iwo To). What shockwaves will come out of this national epic?

Better color interpretations yet: blue for all the pent-up hypermasculinity of today's society, red for our lusty flights of passion with the shopping mall, and white for the blank void of a national psyche that once stirred hearts and minds.