Its a fact. Its actual. Everything is satisfactual.
January 4, 2009

 

The other day a friend of mine  and I were talking about what his “cultural” name was. He seemed hesitant to say, and after squeezing it out so fast not even Superman would have heard it, he told me that he doesn’t like the name because, and I quote, “It makes me seem like a FOB, and FOB’s stink-like literally they smell.”

Well, frankly I had to ask what on earth a FOB was before deciding to refrain from mentioning that the concept of anyone, much less Asian immigrants, arriving here by boat is simply archaic. Outdated in every sense of the word. Not only that-what’s wrong with being a FOB? who wouldn’t smell after living on a boat for months? Has he smelled anybody at the gym recently? Hell, I’m from Arkansas-who am I to judge?

And then it hit me. I’m not exactly in line for the privilege of shouting from the rooftops that I’m not as important and cultured as I try to pass myself off. I mean, my proudest moment is not that my mother started wearing shoes to grocery shop when it occurred to her that a grown ass woman probably should not be pushing a baby in a stroller, barefoot through the store.

And Religiously I’ve got nothin’ to brag about either. I grew up in what is often considered a less desirable kind of church-not super popular now-a-days in a society that openly mocks and humiliates even more tolerant and sophisticated Christians. My daddy was a hippy that one day woke up from what I can only assume was another night of binge drinking, to realize his need for Jesus. He found the first Jesus Freak he could, grabbed him by the collar and said, “You one of those Jesus people? I need to get saved!” 

So here I am, running in circles with people that would do Christian Lander’s most snide blog entries proud, trying not to attract too much attention to how hillbilly I really am. Why is it so hard to believe that my friend might feel the same way? Perhaps his cultural confusion doesn’t seem quite as embarrassing to me, because I see nothing wrong with it. It does make you wonder though, at what point did somebody start feeling special enough to be the judge?