Commenting on a Comment

Hmmmm. How do I start?

As you probably know, any comments that are sent into this blog are not posted unless I okay them. Pretty much, I rarely ding any comments unless they are way over-the-top or mention a friend of mine specifically with their first name and their last name. But I nixed one the other day specifically because I wanted to address it here in a longer piece.

It came in from Anonymous as most do. On one of those Wednesday rants which was highlighted by one of those frightful Oprah pictures. With the new Sitemeter contraption attached to this blogsite, I can get a lot of intel on who’s reading, when, and from where. Not specific names, but location and server data, etc.. With the location feature, I am finding readers in places of access where I don’t think I have friends. And who knows how people come to read this blog. When I first started it, I did one entry on what an overrated TV writer Aaron Sorkin is. I got more vitriolic comments from people I didn't even know---all telling me that I was bitter and jealous of Sorkin's success. Huh?

Well, anyway, on a daily basis, I can now see that I have about 50 regular readers, which is actually higher than most metropolitan newspapers these days. I have my thoughts on where this comment originated, but the identity of the writer is ultimately immaterial. Any blog is a place to voice opinions and feelings. Mine are no more or less correct than yours or theirs. It’s a free country. Or so it appears.

Anonymous started by asked about my New Year’s resolution to be nicer. If I wrote that resolution here, I cannot trace it. Perhaps I am being confused with Osama Bin Laden's last video message. But, then I was described as being prejudiced and prone to making a lot of statements that leave a bad taste in one’s mouth. And the closing line suggested that I should realize that I’m not as perfect as I think I am.

I went back over that Wednesday’s entry and wondered what was the trigger. The picture of Oprah with a hairdo that looked like it was teased with a nuclear reactor? The suggestion that she looked like Buckwheat after going through a haunted house? Actually, in that photo, she looked more like a photo I once saw of silent movie comedian Harold Lloyd after he went through a haunted house in one of his movies. But, if I had used that joke, who the hell would have gotten it?

Okay, who else did I get snarky about on that day? Obama. The new Secretary of the Treasury. Republicans. People who still haven’t adapted their TV sets to be digital. The blind Governor of New York. Not really a lot of topics where I haven’t gone before. And, for the most part with perhaps a little less political correctness, there was nothing that you probably didn’t hear in Jay Leno’s monologue that night.

I thought about the word and the description of my character. “Prejudiced.” And I thought about the mosaic of people who are regularly in my life.

I have friends who are White, Black, Hispanic, and Asian. I have friends born in the USA and elsewhere. I have friends who are liberal and friends who are conservative. I have friends who voted for Obama and friends who voted for McCain. I have friends who are devout Catholics, Jews, Protestants, and confirmed Atheists. I have friends who are straight and friends who are gay and friends who don’t seem to give a shit one way or the other. I have friends who are solid citizens and friends who have broken the law. I have friends who have been faithful in their relationships and friends who have not. I have friends who love the Designated Hitter rule and friends who detest it. I have friends who like the Dodgers and friends who like the Yankees and friends who like the Giants and friends who like none of the above.

And, given my “prejudices,” how is it that I have found room for all of them?

My age group comes from a parental era where prejudice was commonplace. In my home and in your home. We probably heard it all. It was a different time. I remember being in the fifth grade. There was a class project where we were divided into teams of two. They gave you two pounds of clay and a bucket of paper mache and, from that, you had to build a volcano or a replica of the US Capitol. I forget what we built, but I do recall my partner. A Black classmate named Thomas. As fate would have it, we would need to work at each other's homes to get it done. So, Thomas came over one afternoon to my house. And, as fate would have it even further, my father came home at the same time.

I remember vividly the look on his face when he saw Thomas. It was etched in my mind for eternity. It was clear yet indescribible. He was angry but a little not. I came to realize and understand. Indeed, other than a delivery person, Thomas was probably the first Black person to ever set foot inside our house. Time had shifted enormously that day in our home and lives.

But that was the era we were in. My parents and grandparents were not bad people. Neither were yours. And, like it or not, just a little bit of all that exists in all of us who have moved on from that generation. What was the song that Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote for "South Pacific?" "You have to be taught, so carefully taught." Both hatred and love are handed down through the ages. From your parents and from mine.

A little of that still comes out in some of my political viewpoints. I'm a firm believer that pandering to some segments of our population has been over-emphasized and landed us right in the economic sewer that we're in right now. But that doesn't mean there is hatred. There are celebrities that I abhor and I will always poke fun at them. There are other celebrities who I won't touch, primarily because I might have some direct business connections to them. I'm not stupid.

What this blog will always be is politically incorrect because that's what humor should be. And used to be until the last decade or so when everybody started developing lots of sensitivity with lawyers on retainer. Don Rickles in his nightclub act stomps around the stage talking about spics and coloreds and micks. Is he prejudiced? No. He's just a relic of another time where humor, regardless of how pointed, was appreciated.

There are going to be days when I might be a little over-the-top. This blog is frequently written on the fly. Looking back, there are lines I even cringe over in retrospect. I made a joke about Jennifer Hudson and her murdered family around Christmastime which I would love to retract now. But, without fail, I am here to lampoon one and all. White and Black. Catholic and Protestant. Republican and Democrat. Like it and like it not. The last time I looked, the entry into this blog was still a passive act. There is complete control over how you click in and click out.

As for the notion of me being perfect, you'd have to really see the meter on my self esteem to know just how far from the truth that is. All you have to read is exploits of my social life to realize that any level of perfection went the way of hula hoops and Colorforms.

Okay, maybe my daily readership drops by one. But, it's fascinating to understand that, as much as I put myself out there on this blog for all to see, there are some who still don't know me at all.

Dinner last night: Pasta and meatballs.