Dance like Everyone is Watching

What do Trump and Bruno Mars have in common?
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Rainy Sunday in New York and Carry on Wayward Son is smudging out the politics of the day. I’m not on message 24/7. I ain’t as righteous as I used to be, but I do require twice the ice-cream. Lord, while I don’t believe in you, just let me have some classic rock and soy milk in my coffee and we’re square today.

I ain’t as righteous as I used to be, but I do require twice the ice-cream.

My white privileged friends and I say (what can easily be considered) sexist, homophobic and racist things daily. My black friends, too. And my gay and Asian friends. (Especially my Asian friends, you know what I’m saying?) But we’re joking – often with each other – sharing the resulting anxieties thrust upon us from the zeitgeist. Dealing the way we know how to deal.

Oh, and we’re not running for President. Our oily portraits will neither festoon the Presidential mugshots in your classroom nor litter your currency. And while a gay joke is never far from our lips, we’d die for our gay friends. Or at least put down the remote.

Maybe we’re the not-so-missing link between the old breed and the new one. The breed behind so overtly racist, the one ahead telling more appropriate jokes, perhaps, devoid of the baggage of the present tense. A necessary step in the evolution towards a new day, one with its own pins and needles that won’t likely include the color of your skin or who you like to suck on.

“… my peesh has other plans…”

Do I objectify women? Shit yeah, niglet. I ain’t right all the time. In my head you’re already in a yes or no column and we’ve merely passed each other on the street or at the museum. Don’t mean I won’t respect your rights. Doesn’t mean THAT is all you are to me. You could be head and shoulders above me and it wouldn’t surprise me. Smarter, kinder, as deserving of love and care. It just means my peesh has other plans in the imaginary sex calendar of my mind. Thanks, advertising.

But what happens if we’re in a power relationship? Maybe I’m your hiring manager. Can you trust me then? Shit, I hope so. Can I trust me? Have I painted myself into a corner? Squirrel!

In the same weekend Trump’s “grab her by the pussy” makes headlines, Bruno Mars’s song with its own macho baggage makes it to number one. There’s as many asses in the Bruno Mars video as on the senate floor. Context is everything. And you can’t unscramble an egg.

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