I know, non-existent reader, I know. I've been gone for a long time. I should leave blogging to the people who actually blog.
And you might be right. I haven't written anything for Jasonocity in a long time.
I would have stayed away.
But then this happened.
For the hyperlink shy, Geraldo Rivera recently said on national television that he thinks that the hoodie Trayvon Martin was wearing was as much to blame for Trayvon Martin's death as the man who, you know, shot and killed Trayvon. Apparently, guns aren't the only things that kill people. Hoodies do too.
So, you see, I had to come back. I had to write another post. Someone had to defend Geraldo Rivera.
As you can probably tell from my anal retentive use of commas, I'm a black man, which puts me in the best position to tell you why Rivera was right.
I'm not young anymore, but it wasn't that long ago that grandmothers were clasping their purses as I walked by. I still remember watching a young lady roll up her car window when she saw me. And I understood. The idea of me putting my car in park, jumping out, running over to hers, jumping in, and stealing her purse before the light turned green was, I'm sure, a very scary thing. I remember the look on her face like it was roughly a quarter after five o'clock yesterday evening on my way home from my office job.
That's why I get what Geraldo was saying. In modern day America, hoodies have a negative association. What we wear helps define how others see us. It's our image. We control it. There's no getting around that. A black man wearing a hoodie might as well be carrying a sign that says, "I will murder your family to the soothing rhythm of Fuck the Police!"
So any time someone decides he really didn't have to use the elevator I was on, I take a good look at what I'm wearing and say, "Not anymore."
That's how I've learned to make my blackness more palatable to people like Rivera and George Zimmerman. Now I don't wear baseball caps. I don't wear sneakers. Or loose-fitting jeans. Or t-shirts with words on them. Or neckties. Or dress shirts. Or glasses.
These are scary things on a black man. I avoid them at all costs.
I suggest you other black men out there do the same. Stop wearing wrist watches. Trust me. The relative position of the sun is a fantastic way to tell time.
Also a no-no: going outside. Black men, stop that. And if you must venture outside (hospital visits?), consider surrounding yourself with as many white people as possible. Five bonus points for each polo shirt. Keep the melanin count low.
Then again, when I consider what Geraldo said, I realize that his words ring true for all kinds of people.
Think about this, ladies. Do you want us to get the wrong idea? Do you want us men to assume those exposed elbows mean you like the smell of chloroform? No? Well then, you'd better break out the turtleneck and sweatpants.
(And while we're at it, stocking up on a hijab or two wouldn't kill ya either. Just sayin'.)
Also, you Italians out there should avoid pizza places and designer suits. Asians, stay away from my math classes in general. Arab Americans, trust me, there's nothing wrong with a good long drive home for Thanksgiving. The miracle of flight is overrated.
Remember: It's your image, so it's your job to make everyone else comfortable with it.
So I hope Mr. Rivera will read this and know that at least one of us scary folk is heeding his advice. I will never wear a hoodie again. Or carry around Skittles. Only criminals eat Skittles.
Oh, and Mr. Rivera, you might wanna consider shaving the mustache. Someone might think you're trying to get some kid into the back of your van. Then they might shoot you because of the way you look, and that just wouldn't be fair.
Right?
And you might be right. I haven't written anything for Jasonocity in a long time.
I would have stayed away.
But then this happened.
For the hyperlink shy, Geraldo Rivera recently said on national television that he thinks that the hoodie Trayvon Martin was wearing was as much to blame for Trayvon Martin's death as the man who, you know, shot and killed Trayvon. Apparently, guns aren't the only things that kill people. Hoodies do too.
So, you see, I had to come back. I had to write another post. Someone had to defend Geraldo Rivera.
 |
| He'll beat you up with his TI-85! |
I'm not young anymore, but it wasn't that long ago that grandmothers were clasping their purses as I walked by. I still remember watching a young lady roll up her car window when she saw me. And I understood. The idea of me putting my car in park, jumping out, running over to hers, jumping in, and stealing her purse before the light turned green was, I'm sure, a very scary thing. I remember the look on her face like it was roughly a quarter after five o'clock yesterday evening on my way home from my office job.
That's why I get what Geraldo was saying. In modern day America, hoodies have a negative association. What we wear helps define how others see us. It's our image. We control it. There's no getting around that. A black man wearing a hoodie might as well be carrying a sign that says, "I will murder your family to the soothing rhythm of Fuck the Police!"
So any time someone decides he really didn't have to use the elevator I was on, I take a good look at what I'm wearing and say, "Not anymore."
That's how I've learned to make my blackness more palatable to people like Rivera and George Zimmerman. Now I don't wear baseball caps. I don't wear sneakers. Or loose-fitting jeans. Or t-shirts with words on them. Or neckties. Or dress shirts. Or glasses.
These are scary things on a black man. I avoid them at all costs.
I suggest you other black men out there do the same. Stop wearing wrist watches. Trust me. The relative position of the sun is a fantastic way to tell time.
Also a no-no: going outside. Black men, stop that. And if you must venture outside (hospital visits?), consider surrounding yourself with as many white people as possible. Five bonus points for each polo shirt. Keep the melanin count low.
Then again, when I consider what Geraldo said, I realize that his words ring true for all kinds of people.
Think about this, ladies. Do you want us to get the wrong idea? Do you want us men to assume those exposed elbows mean you like the smell of chloroform? No? Well then, you'd better break out the turtleneck and sweatpants.
(And while we're at it, stocking up on a hijab or two wouldn't kill ya either. Just sayin'.)
Also, you Italians out there should avoid pizza places and designer suits. Asians, stay away from my math classes in general. Arab Americans, trust me, there's nothing wrong with a good long drive home for Thanksgiving. The miracle of flight is overrated.
Remember: It's your image, so it's your job to make everyone else comfortable with it.
So I hope Mr. Rivera will read this and know that at least one of us scary folk is heeding his advice. I will never wear a hoodie again. Or carry around Skittles. Only criminals eat Skittles.
Oh, and Mr. Rivera, you might wanna consider shaving the mustache. Someone might think you're trying to get some kid into the back of your van. Then they might shoot you because of the way you look, and that just wouldn't be fair.
Right?
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