The Carruths

So Ben and i were talking about a post i’d made over at my FA blog. After reading it, he rather audibly voiced frustration in my direction, saying “You need to make another blog!” This has been coming up more and more as of late. He feels that i’ve been raising a lot of good topics over there, and the things i’m writing have a much farther reach than the specific topic of that blog. Basically, i have some really good things that i’ll write, and then at the last minute, i think of a way to tie them in with fat, or fat acceptance or body acceptance. (In the future, i’ll probably just post them over here. We’ve decided this is a “whatever” kind of blog, and so it serves as a good catch-all for, well, whatever.)

And to some extent, i agree. The things i’m writing about over there are important and partially relevant to the main topics over there… but they ultimately have a larger scope.

Right, so we were talking about why the discussion of Being Weird is important, and he said something that made me want to quote him:

It feels like everyone is at a themed costumed party, when i thought i was attending a support group.

At that point, i started taking dictation, typing out what he was saying. The rest of the quoted bits are what he said.

I know how problematic questions of authenticity are, but i feel like we can take those sorts of questions at least a little seriously, given that we can recognize authenticity, and that the recognition of it has such an impact.

When you meet someone who really is Whatever, there’s no question. It as certain as that there is air in your lungs.

(Side note: i originally typed “lunch” instead of lungs, and after i snickered, i had to explain to Ben why i was laughing. I then went on to make matters worse (in that he almost snorted his dinner out of his nose) by saying, “it’s the new anaerobic diet!”)

It really is much on the brainmeats lately, because given the strangeness factor, it feels like i’m not allowed to ground, to connect with what i really need to connect with to rejuvenate, to center myself – to rest or recoup. It feels like a skin-dive, where i’m never allowed to come back up for air. Maybe more like a scuba dive, where i’m only allowed to go back up for fresh air tanks when no one’s looking. “I’ve been breathing CO2 for ten minutes, but dammit! The fish are still watching!”

A lot of that’s been really up in my face, with me running errands in the neighborhood, with me mingling as much as i do – because man, there is no middle ground. There are people who are really cheerful and friendly and curious. They’ll ask me why i look funny – ask me about my ears, about my nose, or if i live in the neighborhood, because i don’t look like i should be shopping here. So there’s that, and there’s silent and varying degrees of fearful hostility. I actually had someone throw up their hands in front of their face as they were walking past me – as if to ward me off.

That degree of reaction is by no means common. My first thought was “Am i so strange as to merit that kind of response?” And then i caught myself and realized that was wrong. That was a false correlation. The right question was: “Am i so familiar that you know how to react, and that this is the correct reaction? Are you so sure that you have me pegged, and that you have me pegged in such a way that you are confident in so extreme a response?” Because of course, the more extreme your response to someone or something, the more sure you better be that you’ve sized it up correctly. But yeah, the question is not “Am i so strange that you respond this way”, it’s “Am i so familiar?”

(Side note from Lindsay: the reaction to me is rarely that extreme, but i have had similar experiences. In Chicago, i’ve had more than one little old lady cross herself while looking in my direction.)

You know what’s surprising, though? There’s the exception of people that i’ve had previous contact with, like the people at the video store – they’re always pleased to see me. But there seems to be a store culture there, they seem to know us. Maybe we’re part of the training: “There are some weird white people who come in, but they’re really nice and really cool.” Most of the people who hang out at the flea market are really friendly – maybe because the flea market is a little pocket of forced diversity. You have some stalls that are run by Vietnamese or Chinese families, some by older black families, some by younger black families, some single entrepreneurs, some who go for the casual attire and others for the formal clothing. With the customers there it’s a very mixed bag, the reactions i get. But the people who work there, who own the stalls, they’re always friendly. Not in that sales-pitch kind of friendly, either.

Outside the people i’ve had contact with, the group demographic that is most reliably friendly is older folks. If their hair is visibly silver, it’s a much better than 50/50 shot that they’ll be friendly. Those are the ones who make small talk in the grocery store line. They’ll flat-out ask about my piercings, and ask if i live around here. Their reactions will be positive, like “that’s neat” or “that looks really nice.” Just the other day, a very old woman (if she’s a day under 70 i’d be amazed) in a motorized wheelchair said, “I didn’t think that could look good, but that looks really smart.” I don’t get that: you’d think that with pop culture exposure, that it would be younger people that would be more accepting – but it isn’t. The younger folks are generally more reliably surly (like that’s a shock, coming from a teenager). I find it interesting that i’m far more likely to engage in some pleasant small talk with people 30 or 40 years my senior, than people closer to my own age.

I find this incredibly interesting. I’ve been taking the bus to and from work for a few months now, and i can count on one hand the number of times that someone has sat next to me on a crowded bus. People would rather stand than sit next to me. On the bus i take between home and the train station, i am the sole white woman on the bus, and that’s very likely a factor here. In the morning, the bus is lit inside, and it’s very dark outside, so the mirrors make great windows. I’ll look “outside” – sometimes looking at the lights that come through, but more often watching the reflections of my fellow bus-mates. I have seen people enter the bus, scan the seats, and stop to look at the empty seat next to me. There’s a brief pause where they consider it, but then they very decidedly move on to another seat.

I’ve wondered: is it because i’m fat, and they think there’s not enough room to sit next to me? Surely i don’t take up that much space. Is it because i’m white, and they don’t want to offend me or something? Is it because i’m weird looking, with my black leather motorcycle jacket, and my buzzed haircut?

The other day, i had a conversation that shed some potential light on the matter. I was waiting for the bus that would take me home. I was standing in the unofficial smoking area, having my much-craved first cigarette of the day. An older black man came out of the train station, looked around, saw me, and started walking in my direction. He made eye contact and looked my smoke – very clearly indicating that he was about to ask for a cigarette. I paused the music on my iPod and took the earbuds out of my ear. He asked for a smoke and i gave him three (he looked like he was a bit down on his luck). I loaned him my lighter when he asked to borrow it, and smiled politely when he gave it back.

After a few minutes of standing there, smoking, he looked at me and said, “Hey, you don’t mind if i ask you a personal question? I don’t want to be rude or anything.” I grinned and said, “Man, i’m from Chicago: i have a different definition of rude. So long as you don’t hit me or spit on me, i’m a’ight.”

He told me his name, and then asked me if i “knew anything about obtaining some pills”. I shook my head, “Nah, i don’t know anything about that stuff. Not my sort of thing, you know?”

A few more minutes passed. He turned back to me and said, “Uh, i wasn’t trying to ask you about anything illegal, you know?” – “Hey, what you do is your business, not mine.”

He grinned and looked relieved. “Well, you know why i asked you right? Why i targeted you?” I raised an eyebrow at the word “targeted”, and thought it might have had something to do with the nose ring or the abovementioned jacket, but i shrugged. “It’s because you’re white. You see all these other black people over here? I couldn’t ask any of them about it.”

I laughed and said i supposed it was a stereotype for a reason. White folks who still have day jobs are probably more inclined to get into “safe” drugs like pills. A few years ago, Ben had a rather unpleasant experience in our old hangout pub. He’d gone to the bathroom, minding his own business. He was wearing a tank top that showed off the jaguar spot tattoos on his shoulders, and even then his septum ring was rather large and prominent. On his way back to the table, a white guy in khakis and a button-down shirt came up to him and asked him for drugs. Ben looked at him and said he didn’t do that kind of thing – and then this guy tried to argue with him about it! “C’mon man, i know you’ve got something. I mean, look at you.”

By this point i’ve strayed pretty far from the original topic of weirdbits. But they’ve been weighing heavy on the mind lately, so i’m sure we’ll come back to that later. This first post is a bit of a doozy (even if only in length), and it’s almost time for bed.