Caution: White girl on race issues.

They recently added a young black man to the cast of General Hospital, and less than two weeks later, the only other (slightly older) black man just wound up dead and stuffed into a car trunk. And both of them worked for the mob. So, completely ignoring why I'm watching GH, or am comfortable addressing it by an acronym, let's mull over this for a moment. Now, we've all heard the phrase "token black guy" or are familiar with the concept - that, in this instance at least, to show they're "diverse," a network will incorporate some minor minority characters. Minor minority - that spells marginalization all over daytime TV!

Anyway, I'm not trying to make some sort of grand statement here, but what is going on? Let's assume their casting is based on giving the public characters they relate to. I don't know how stay-at-home moms wearing elastic-waisted pants can necessarily relate to mob kingpins and wealthy heiresses, but anyway. Is putting two or three black characters (in a cast of perhaps 35) really going to attract a black audience? I don't think so.

So why the charade? It seems more like they just do it for appearances, like, "Hey.. SURE we're doing this for business reasons, not to be politically correct..(wink).." like when a stage actor feigns something in an embarrassingly obvious way. How dumb.

The even dumber thing is how high-context the politics of race have become, which has manifested itself in a myriad of ways - like the token black guy. People, we're a low-context society. We have lots and lots of words to throw around, but instead of invigorating our civil discourse, they seem to muffle us over time. So much has been said and done, it's confused the crap out of everyone.

I'm not suggesting that we discount the history of civil rights in America, but does every bit of that history still need to provide a backdrop for any issue regarding race, however minor? I mean, I'm wary to even talk about race, it's as though since I'm white that topic is off-limits. I know I'm quixotic, but I'd like to believe that one day all of that context can fall into the background of our lives and we can tackle issues without baggage and with an eye to the future.

Hmm, I'm not even really sure what I mean. If I didn't have such a dubious past I could be a politician...For the record, I'm pretty liberal, if it isn't obvious, and I like to believe that most of us are really good at heart, but I also believe it's every citizen's duty to take responsibility for his/her own life and pursuit of happiness. Any thoughts?

Savannah, some sleaze..

So Saturday I enjoyed a lovely respite from the recent drudgery of Charleston life, not to mention our lusty houseguests (more on that later). I successfully invited myself to visit my friend Aleigh down in Savannah, and she kindly agreed to entertain me for a day. Just wandering around in another city (albeit one very similar to Charleston) was so invigorating! And how thoughtful of Chatham county to allow one to meander with a bloody mary in hand. It's so strange how at times I feel that I need travel in my life, that my perspective must change every so often so as not to get stale.

And despite my (ever-growing) disenchantment with my airline, I'm not ready to give up this particular career yet. If I were furloughed, I'd draw unemployment and go study literature. If not, I may as well stay for three and a half more years, at which time I'll be vested and able to receive retirement pay. But despite all the bullshit, you can't beat getting paid to flit about the globe. Really.

These houseguests, who consist of my male roommate's brother and his girlfriend, have woken me up with their bedroom antics for four mornings in a row. It's not so much the noise as the fact that our house is on pilings, so.. well.. lots of rocking of the casbah, so to speak. It's.. I mean, damn. It's gross.

In addition, the two of them somehow possess the utter inability to, upon leaving the house, close the front door once and just once. No, during their exits, that door may slam and reopen six or seven times. This is done with a blatant disregard for the no-loud-noises-before-10 a.m. rule. They treat this like a sleazy motel with cheap shower curtains that slimily stick to your legs and a dead whore under the bed. Oh, and speaking of showers? They like to use mine together. I'm forced to spray it down with Lysol before each use. Is it just me, or is this unrelentingly bad houseguest behavior? Yuck.

Fuck you and the plane you flew in on.

I realize the titles to my blogs have become successively more bitter, but upon a bit of reflection, it's obvious that the only one to blame is the evil airline that employs me. They're the enemy, and only them. Strange how I never saw this before.

I was less than jubilant a couple weeks ago, when my profit sharing check was deposited into my bank account and the damn thing didn't even cover my cell phone bill. Sixty-seven bucks. Some people got thousands. I'm not bitter. So anyway, I get this dumb e-mail from my supervisor which was really just a fwd from the accounting department to him explaining that due to some technicality, I shouldn't have gotten even the meager, pathetic bonus that I did and would have to have it deducted from my paychecks. It was a real bitch, and even worse because next to my name the balance due read 112.30. Hell no, you fucking assholes. I got slightly better than half that amount. The day that I give you a single dime more than I am obliged to by law? Oh, that'll be the day, my friends. And whose fucking fault is it I was given this scanty sum in error anyway? I say screw you, take it out of your own paycheck, you vile and loathsome accounting drudge-bitch.

Screw you! (Meow)

I think this is something like how this morning went:

Mr. Scarlett: Get away from my kibble, bitch!

Mojo: Look, the humans went boozin' again last night and I'm hongry. Just a coupla' those little X's..

Mr. Scarlett: Oh hell no!

(here much scrapping, over various surfaces in the kitchen, ensues)

Those dumb cats. They've been very feisty with each other lately. In fact, this is something like the third time I've been awoken by one of their scuffles this week.

I can't blame them too much, as a certain chihuahua/dachsund mix puppy we've been taking care of the past few days has quickly become the bane of everyone else's existence. The other pets are frantic at the thought we might be keeping him, and the level of tension in the household is all but intolerable. His name is Moses, but it ought to be Satanic Hyper Rat-Boy. He has enough energy for a Great Dane, just in a very concentrated (and frankly hideous) package. Those girls in Hollywood must be sedating their little dogs before they carry them around like purses.

What was I thinking when we said hello?

I usually refrain from threatening to embark on violent rampages, but right now I'm getting close, folks. I've had way, way too much time for introspection lately (and it's making me mad) and it's all my company's fault. They are so freaking cavalier about flying people out of seniority order and letting the rest of us languish in our respective homes, it makes me sick. The only thing to do is to harass, harass, harass. The supervisors, the schedulers, the union reps. They really don't seem to care.

I think they're vengeful. "Oh, she called again? Well, we'll fix that little bitch's wagon. Put her on the no-fly list for another five months."

Writing the column has been a welcome diversion, but hello, I have to actually travel in order to come up with material. I guess I could do a series on each each room in my house, but a nagging suspicion tells me people might not be interested.

I just switched from reading Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov to Holidays On Ice by David Sedaris so I could enjoy sarcasm grimmer than my own. And it makes me giggle. If there's anyone out there reading this who has never experienced the pleasure of reading his books, I urge you to immediately do so. He is a hilariously talented man.

Things are getting stagnant. I'm broke. I want to take a road trip to headquarters and break somebody's face.

a couple haikus.

Rain makes me lazy
All day I download music
Mainly indie rock.

I love, love the Shins.
Wish I could marry a band,
I'd bring a shotgun.

I'm gonna throw the fuck up.

I am so thoroughly unimpressed with my behavior not only last night, but all of yesterday. If I were my friend I'd stage an intervention.. that's not a suggestion, by the way.

I let myself get seduced by the idea that our profit-sharing checks that we were to receive today would be some sort of astronomical fortune, so I spent probably $250, all told, yesterday, on clothing and spirits, effectively allowing my funds to drop dangerously low, into the teeth-gnashing zone.

Yeah, it was slightly less than seventy bucks. So because I'm a glutton for punishment, with mounting horror, I decided it'd be an opportune time to look at my Cingular bill. Just shy of two hundred bucks. Yikes. You run out of rollover minutes and you're screwed, I'm discovering.

Some might freak the fuck out right now. Too late! I already did that last night when I was sobbing my drunk heart out in a recessed storefront area that homeless people probably usually occupy (and were just scared away by my antics). Why? Because my love life is a sad farce and only in complete drunkenness do I seem to grasp the grim comedy of it all.

It's real difficult right now not to whine and moan and go, "My life is in a shambles! Woe is me. Woe unto anyone who enters my sphere of desolation," especially since even Mojo is against me now, having shat (yes, shat) twice and puked once in either my bedroom or bathroom within the last 24 hours.

I'm not even hung over. But I think I'm gonna throw the fuck up.

Hell, I guess I could call somebody who cares, but I can't find my phone..