13th Amendment, Redux
I know exactly what it means to be degraded.
First off, don't give me that whole you're-a-white-male-who-is-responsible-for-all-injustice-and-inequality bullshit. Look at me, you think I could do anything along the lines of world-wide white hegemony? I can barely write two theses at once. I can't even ask out a girl I like without getting (visibly) shaky. But to get off this tangential little escapade, let's talk about some good ol' fashioned mass media degradation.
It was about four years ago. I was the lowly weekend DJ at KLBQ 98.7 FM in El Dorado, in the ugly Cold War bunker of a building on the corner of Timberlane and Hillsboro (Which, subsequently, leads me to believe the thick walls that place has will save me when Armageddon befalls us). My boss, the local celebrity Brett Miller, knew I had a hard time with girls. He also knew that most of that wasn't my fault for the following reason:
(Daniel's intelligence) = (collective intelligence of El Dorado x 4)²
(Daniel's compassion) = (collective compassion of El Dorado x 4987987)²²
(Daniel's religious views) = ([religious mindset of El Dorado] - sheepherd mentality + critical thinking + abstract thought)
Dating = Compatibility
Daniel's compatibility (X) = intelligence, compassion, quiet moments, dorkapalooza
South Arkansas compatibility (Y) = muddin', beer-swillin', book-burnin', unabashed serfdom to the Southern Baptist Convention
No, he auctioned me off on the air. Well, originally he was going to auction me off. Then he decided to take whomever sounded like the best caller, so he was basically pawning me off on whatever unlucky soul happened to sound hot/cute/nice/desperate enough to spend what was slowly turning into an ensured Valentine's day from hell. The gift package for either having pity on my Valentines-Day-stag-ass or just being that masochistic to resort to not only going out with me but also doing so ON THE FUCKING RADIO was the following:
To this day, I think I can trace all of my insecurities and neuroses back to this. But, that's akin to some alcoholic idiotic whining bitch tracing all her problems back to a deadbeat dad who left the family before she could even form memories. My point to all this? Iggy Pop rocks hard.
So, I meet the girl. Kacey Tomanio, who's father is known for being a hardass at Brookshires and who's entire family is so stuck up the ass of this one nutso church in town, was fairl inextinguishable from other people except that she had these incredibly gorgeous big blue eyes and this little smirk that said "smartass" and "innocently coy" at the same time, somehow. She, on air, emasculated me a tad bit more by confirming that she didn't want to do this but her mother suggested it would be a good idea; however, she did claim that I looked "alright."
You don't want to know the rest of the story. It's total bullshit. She went crazy. Twice. First, she went all I've-had-a-horrible-past-and-I-absolutely-hate-myself-and-so-should-you crazy. Then, she went all I-felt-the-hand-of-God-literally-touch-me-and-push-me-to-the-floor crazy. Then, she broke up with me because Jesus told her to. Last I heard, she had gotten knocked up so she could/would have to marry her ex.
This was basically a big humiliating debacle for me. My friends at high school heard it, and laughed. They laughed again when she actually showed up and said her mom made her come. They laughed again when I choked when it came to asking her out, on-air during rush hour. Brett laughed, although it was with me and after the fact. Same with his wife, although there was a tinge of that sort of social awkwardness you feel when you see a character on your favorite TV show doing something obviously dumb and being completely oblivious to it. I feel all the humiliation and shame and worthlessness crashing down on me again.
Happy Valentine's Day.
First off, don't give me that whole you're-a-white-male-who-is-responsible-for-all-injustice-and-inequality bullshit. Look at me, you think I could do anything along the lines of world-wide white hegemony? I can barely write two theses at once. I can't even ask out a girl I like without getting (visibly) shaky. But to get off this tangential little escapade, let's talk about some good ol' fashioned mass media degradation.
It was about four years ago. I was the lowly weekend DJ at KLBQ 98.7 FM in El Dorado, in the ugly Cold War bunker of a building on the corner of Timberlane and Hillsboro (Which, subsequently, leads me to believe the thick walls that place has will save me when Armageddon befalls us). My boss, the local celebrity Brett Miller, knew I had a hard time with girls. He also knew that most of that wasn't my fault for the following reason:
(Daniel's intelligence) = (collective intelligence of El Dorado x 4)²
(Daniel's compassion) = (collective compassion of El Dorado x 4987987)²²
(Daniel's religious views) = ([religious mindset of El Dorado] - sheepherd mentality + critical thinking + abstract thought)
Dating = Compatibility
Daniel's compatibility (X) = intelligence, compassion, quiet moments, dorkapalooza
South Arkansas compatibility (Y) = muddin', beer-swillin', book-burnin', unabashed serfdom to the Southern Baptist Convention
X≠Y
No, he auctioned me off on the air. Well, originally he was going to auction me off. Then he decided to take whomever sounded like the best caller, so he was basically pawning me off on whatever unlucky soul happened to sound hot/cute/nice/desperate enough to spend what was slowly turning into an ensured Valentine's day from hell. The gift package for either having pity on my Valentines-Day-stag-ass or just being that masochistic to resort to not only going out with me but also doing so ON THE FUCKING RADIO was the following:
- Dinner for two (or $50 worth of food) at Mel's Seafood
- Two tickets to Stars Theater
- Splendid embarrassment for an average listening audience of a few thousand that money can't buy, but mostly because radio is still a free medium
To this day, I think I can trace all of my insecurities and neuroses back to this. But, that's akin to some alcoholic idiotic whining bitch tracing all her problems back to a deadbeat dad who left the family before she could even form memories. My point to all this? Iggy Pop rocks hard.
So, I meet the girl. Kacey Tomanio, who's father is known for being a hardass at Brookshires and who's entire family is so stuck up the ass of this one nutso church in town, was fairl inextinguishable from other people except that she had these incredibly gorgeous big blue eyes and this little smirk that said "smartass" and "innocently coy" at the same time, somehow. She, on air, emasculated me a tad bit more by confirming that she didn't want to do this but her mother suggested it would be a good idea; however, she did claim that I looked "alright."
You don't want to know the rest of the story. It's total bullshit. She went crazy. Twice. First, she went all I've-had-a-horrible-past-and-I-absolutely-hate-myself-and-so-should-you crazy. Then, she went all I-felt-the-hand-of-God-literally-touch-me-and-push-me-to-the-floor crazy. Then, she broke up with me because Jesus told her to. Last I heard, she had gotten knocked up so she could/would have to marry her ex.
This was basically a big humiliating debacle for me. My friends at high school heard it, and laughed. They laughed again when she actually showed up and said her mom made her come. They laughed again when I choked when it came to asking her out, on-air during rush hour. Brett laughed, although it was with me and after the fact. Same with his wife, although there was a tinge of that sort of social awkwardness you feel when you see a character on your favorite TV show doing something obviously dumb and being completely oblivious to it. I feel all the humiliation and shame and worthlessness crashing down on me again.
Happy Valentine's Day.
posted by .venganza. at
5:45 PM
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