Galactic Housekeeping (#15 - The Results are In, More CRT, and Supermarkets Suck)

 No quote today...

Okay, the results are in as to whether I shall continue this nonsense in another form or switch to podcasting.

I want to thank everyone who chimed in in comments and on e-mail for their input. It has been very valuable.

The Results are: few, if any, wish to hear my dulcet, expletive-laden, Brooklynese tones on a podcast. Primarily, this is because the consensus is that no one has time to listen to one; they'd rather read. Additionally, I'm told my writing is entertaining and informative and it might lose something if my mental diarrhea were to be transmitted via the spoken word.

Fair enough.

So, I will be searching for a better literary platform, instead. There's a few, so stay tuned.

Next Up, CRT memory lane...

After writing about the trials and tribulations of Diversity Training the other day, a memory resurfaced of an encounter during one of these sessions when I drove the Propagandist to want to slit her wrists. We were asked to describe a situation in which we found ourselves among The Other and why it might have made us uncomfortable and how we felt about it.

She called on me. I could not refuse.

So, I started to tell the story of that time I banged a Jamaican stripper in the back seat of my '86 Chevy Chevette four-door hatchback...

No, no, no, that isn't what she meant.

So, I started telling the story of when I was 10 and two black kids robbed me at knifepoint for my newspaper collection money...

Apparently this is not what she was after, either.

Exasperated, I began to tell the story of when three black guys robbed me at gunpoint after I got some cash out of an ATM at 2 in the morning.

She asked me to sit down and think about it some more. She would get back to me later...strangely, she never did.

Which is a pity, as I was all ready to regale everyone with a quite hilarious anecdote involving a drunken Filipino, a machete and a minor traffic accident...

Supermarket Peril...

Curious situation I keep finding myself in. And for some reason, it's almost always in the supermarket.

I'm pushing my cart up an aisle this afternoon, but it is blocked by two idiots who apparently cannot decide between 7-Up and Sierra Mist, despite the fact that both are on sale. I would like to get through.

"Excuse me, Ladies...".

"Hey! I'm a guy!"

"I'm sorry. With all the masks and pasty-skinned transgendereds running around, its sometimes difficult to tell."

Expletives are exchanged.

Now, I was polite. I DID say "Excuse me" and "I'm sorry", after all. And even when I told "Hey, I'm a guy" to procreate with himself, I did ask it as a favor.

This happens to me a lot recently.

I can't figure out why.