Ethnic Avenue – The Street That Crosses All the Others

Archive for the ‘White People’ Category

The source of the overwhelming majority of stereotypes about White girls at-large, the Straight-Up White Girl is probably the most abundant variety of White girl. Because their fashion and language can vary by region and conditions, they’re often misclassified into one of the group’s subsidiary, niche member classes: the “Valley girl,” sorority chicks, mall girls, girl-sport athletes (e.g., volleyball), cheerleaders, and others who make up the overall species.

But not every White girl is a Straight-Up White Girl. The group excludes some notable cousins like Sporty-Crunchy White Girl, Gangsta White Girl, and Indie-Hipster White Girl.

Appearance & Dead-Giveaways

• Immaculate, braces-straight teeth to match straight hair
• Unmistakable “White-girl accent” and inflection; heavy use of space-fillers like “she-was-like”
• Displays the absolutely latest fashions and trends (e.g., Ugg boots with mini skirt)
• Seemingly unaware of, or indifferent to, dressing exactly like one another
• Legs and feet that never seem to get cold (flips flops, shorts–even in winter—at the faintest sign of decent weather)
• Fond of loud “woo-ing” to publicly express their approval of things

Lifestyle & Tendencies

• Survive on a steady diet of entrée-sized salads, fancy coffee drinks, and heavy cell phone use
• Drive around in Volkswagen Jettas or similar, “cute” girl-cars
• In warm weather regions, will often ride around in beach-cruiser bicycles (in flip-flops and shorts, no less)
• “Love to dance,” but unwittingly perpetuate the white-girls-can’t-dance stereotype when they do
• Carelessly unaware of realities beyond their immediate, privileged existence
• Painfully unaware of the ephemeral nature of beauty, their tendency to age poorly, and the expiration date for their time-limited lifestyle
• Become embittered and bitchy in their 30s, when their favorable position in society–directly associated with their youth and perceived desirability– starts to erode into mean and cruel cougar-hood

It’s probably a good idea to start answering some of the (better) reader questions that come through the Avenue. I’ll start with one about an issue I’ve often pondered myself.

What’s with all the last names for first names among young-ish White kids these days? I thought you might have something to say about this.

Sandy – New York, NY

Sandy,

Naming your kids after (exceptionally Anglo) last names is the new adding-superfluous-letters-to-otherwise-common-names. The Meaghans, Jaymees, and Ashleighs of a couple of decades ago are the Mackenzies, Madisons, and Tylers of today.

Giving your kids a last name as a first name is certainly not a new thing. Back in the day, you’d run into the occasional Spencer or Owen. But there’s definitely been a noticeable spike in the practice in recent years, especially for girls. And, double-especially, among well-off White parents. You don’t often hear a mom calling out for her little Martinez or Garcia.

The explanation is pretty simple. Fancy-ish White parents don’t want to give their kids the same tired-ass, pleb names they have. And, for once, I agree with them. How many more Jennifers or Mikes can you have in the world? Next time you’re on a private college campus, try shouting out “Hey Jenn!” in a crowded area and count how many girls turn around.

This is why I’ve long advocated for a license-plate-style (or internet-address-like) registration system for baby names. If a name is taken, tough shit, you have to add a number two to the end of it, a hyphen in the middle, or come up with a new one entirely. A person’s name goes back into the pool when they die, or legally change it to something else.

A system like this would force people to be a little more creative, and make remembering people’s names a lot easier. Who could forget someone named Jenn-2k10?

There’s an old Saturday Night Live sketch where David Spade reviews then-current movies. He’d start many of his reviews, in his typical dead-pan tone, with something like:

x the Movie. I liked this movie. . .when it was called y the Movie.¹

¹Where x represents a newer movie, and y represents an older, usually better, movie.

That’s a little how I felt about Avatar, the long-awaited fantasy blockbuster from James Cameron and them. I liked it: when it was called Pocahontas, the Lion King, and Warcraft the game. But, of course, there’s more to the movie than its uncanny resemblance to a live-action FernGully—including some deliciously obvious racial overtones.

We've been needing a White Guy around here.

Since the reviews are pretty much in by now, we know how it’s played on Main Street. But how did it play on Ethnic Avenue? I’ll break it down for you.

Visually, But Not Aurally, Striking

I’ll get this one out of the way, since that’s what everyone is focusing on anyway.

I can’t deny the obvious. There were tons of bells and whistles to this movie. Realistic Smurf-Thundercat hybrid creatures; unusually aggressive, and realistic, alien wildlife; colorful, iridescent foliage; the list goes on.

I saw it in 3-D because that was supposed to “enhance” the experience (though the most you actually get is a blurred 2.5-D, from the thin, even layer of someone else’s face grease spread out over the 3-D goggle lenses).

I became suspicious when I learned that it was available in 3-D, since a good movie ought to be good even you’re watching it on one of those VCR-sized black-and-white combination radio-televisions from the 70s. In other words, it’s a good thing it had the strong visuals, because compelling dialog and an original story were obviously not the focus. After all, good conversation doesn’t put asses in the seats. What does, apparently, is having the option of listening to your iPod the whole time and still getting 90 percent of the story.

So don’t be surprised when we go back to the silent-movie era, with a movie with no dialogue running up front and an old guy playing piano in the back. Except, this second-time around, it’ll be a special effects bonanza on the screen, with a hipster DJ “spinning” records on his MAC laptop.

You heard it here first.

Environmentally Sound (Recycled) Storyline

A strange thing about watching this movie was the nagging suspicion–reoccurring every few scenes–that you’d heard or seen this story before. Then, about half way through the movie, you realize Avatar is a cleverly woven quilt-work of older stories. It’s not a bad idea, actually. Instead of another single remake, why not remake several movies at once? That’s surely better. Some examples:

Pocahontas – Native princess meets the white interloper; takes him to the village to meet her father, the chief (Powhatan); the natives generously spare his life , and he adopts their way.

Warcraft II the Game – Elven archers, flying dragon-like creatures; this was every awkward gaming nerd’s dream come true.

The Lion King – Collective African-like chanting rituals at the “tree of life.”

White People Save Dumb-Ass Natives (Again)

I can speak from experience that I would be totally lost if it weren’t for the periodic, intrepid White guy coming into my life and saving me from my own noble, but foolhardy, ways.

Helping Dumb Natives, Since Colonial Times

Let’s face it: ethnic people throughout history have needed help from White people with modernizing their lives and learning how to enjoy the finer things.

The problem is that they brag about it in movies way too often. They could have stopped at Dance with Wolves and I’d still remember how much we owe them.

Avatar has an acute case of white-people-save-the-day-itis. Here’s an abbreviated list of the accomplishments a single character introduced as being kind of dumb (and handicapped), but White, was able to accomplish during the course of the story.

• Convincing the chiefs to spare his life
• Learning the language lickety-split
• Learning the ways of The People within three months
• Stealing the main warrior’s bride-to-be and then punking him in front of everyone
  
• Taming the untamable gigantic dragon creature–something only five other people in history have managed–in one fell swoop
  
• Communicating directly with the deity
• Convincing the deity to “take sides,” something it never does
• Saving the entire planet Pandora

Thanks again, White people.

Another interesting aspect to this story was the intentionally ambiguous ethnicity of the Na’vi (the natives). Like the patchwork storyline, the ethnicity of the natives was a skillful blend of Native American Indians, Africans tribes people, and blue Thundercats.

Names (Obviously) Culled from a Quick Internet Search

One of the challenges to suspending my disbelief throughout the movie was the eerily familiar (and somewhat lame) naming of things.

At times, it seemed like after the seven years of working on all of the visuals, the creative team got tired when it came to naming everything. Pandora, Avatar? It sounded more like my browsing history than a fantastical new world.

A lot of bad-ass shit that starts on the mean streets of the ethnic world, dies a slow death in the suburban cul-de-sacs of the mainstream. By the time young-ish white girls start doing it, you know the fangs on the tiger have been filed down to rounded nubs. Then, one day, you hear it coming out of a middle-aged lady’s mouth on an idiotic sitcom and you know it’s all over.

I’ve seen this process repeated with Swiss-clockwork precision on tons of urban, ethnic (often black) language and practices including: Snoop Dogg lingo (fo’ shizzle),” talk to the hand,” “no they didn’t,” the raise the roof palms-up gesture, the cabbage patch dance, corn rows, etc.

A recent casualty to this trend has been the distended-lip, kissy face pioneered by Latino men all over the world to discretely point to things without using their hands or, similarly, by black men to express intrigue or curiosity.

Cuba Gooding demonstrates his intrigue and curiosity.

But a deadly cocktail of digital cameras, picture texts, and social networking has rendered the once-useful gesture into the over-abused, default pose for lame self portraits (accompanied by the raised, extended arm toward the camera) or a generic, catch-all “cutesy” face for party-atmosphere group shots.

Aw, djeah, boy-ee. Don't be frontin'. Keep it real, like me.

So, it’s with great regret that I bid goodbye to the mighty kissy face. For decades, you served us well, my old friend.

Ten years ago, most people couldn’t have told you what chipotle was. Shit, I’m not confident most Mexicans could have told you what it was. If you’d asked me, I probably would have guessed that Chipotle was an obscure brother of my favorite god in the Aztec pantheon—the mighty Huitzilopochtli.

The fierce Huitzilopochtli.

But these days, chipotle is everywhere. And, everyone most assuredly knows what it is. There’s chipotle spread. There’s chipotle salsa. Every sandwich, burrito, wrap, entree-sized salad has to have something chipotle. It seems that every restaurant throws a little of it into everything, just to be on the safe side. In fact, there’s even a whole bargain-bin Mexican food chain bearing the name of the pesky condiment.

For some time I’ve wondered what or, more importantly, who was responsible for polluting some of my favorite cuisines with this distracting, overpoweringly smoky taste. A little field reconnaissance, and attentive television watching, has revealed the obvious culprit.

Someone please pass the chipotle.

It’s no wonder White people love chipotle (the chili, I don’t know about the restaurant). It sounds exotic. I have an aching suspicion that they enjoy pronouncing the hard Nahuatl stop in the middle of p-t-l-e. (I mean, who doesn’t?) But above all, chipotle provides just the right amount of non-threatening ethnic zest to their food, without the inconvenient, and potentially embarrassing, “kick” of the Latino-er chilies.

That’s why I never understood the controversy over Columbus Day.

For most of my life, I thought of Columbus Day as a celebration of the first large-scale gentrification in North America. Since a lot of us ethnic guys have been reaping the benefits of subsequent gentrifications (a flood of white girls into the neighborhood), I thought it was a holiday-worthy event. After all, Columbus got the ball rolling.

What a cute neighborhood! And what reasonable prices.

But, now I’m realizing that Columbus Day is even more. It’s also the day we mark the mighty Native American’s discovery of his kryptonite disease—smallpox. Sure, it decimated millions—and wiped out entire civilizations—but he should have known his weakness. Superman did.

This got me thinking: it’s not right to celebrate only one group’s Achilles-Heal Disease. To be fair, every major ethnicity’s kryptonite should get its own holiday. (Don’t be offended if I left your group out.)

Achilles-Heal Disease Holidays (Proposed List)

• Happy Bloody-Diarrhea Day – Indigenous Americans*
• Happy Sickle-Cell Anemia Day – Blacks, Latinos
• Happy Type-2-Diabetes Day – Latinos, Blacks
• Happy Lactose Intolerance Day – Asians
• Happy Tay-Sachs Disease Day –Jews**
• Happy Sun-Exposure-Induced Melanoma Day – Northern-European Whites
• Happy Gluten-Allergy Day – Other Whites, Miscellaneous

* Already exists

** Already have lots of holidays

From: Your Ethnic Friend
To: All White Guys with Faux Hawks
Subject: RE: Your New Haircut

Hey bro,

I hope you know this isn’t an easy e-mail to write. But as your token ethnic friend, I feel it’s my responsibility to tell you this: it’s time to get rid of the faux hawk.

I’ll admit that when they first came out, faux hawks were actually pretty cool. In fact, I thought the concept was nothing short of brilliant. Some genius somehow devised a way to resurrect a kick-ass hairdo from the 80s and adapt it into a tamer, office-friendly version–one that wouldn’t embarrass your girlfriend in front of her parents. It was still edgy, but now it was versatile. You could go straight from work to the hipster bar and not look ridiculous in either place. And, it was easy; all you needed was a quarter-sized portion of hair product and a mirror (and maybe a hair dryer, I’m not sure).

I don’t know the exact history of the do, but I’m pretty sure White guys started it. At least that was my observation. In fact, my buddy Matt—you know, the guy that does the cabbage patch to celebrate everything—was one of first to have one. But regardless of whether or not you guys did it first (and I can be 100-percent comfortable in my manliness when I say this), White guys did it best. That’s not surprising, since I imagine lighter-colored, fine hair is easier to manage and ply into those wild configurations than coarse, ethnic hair like mine.

Then everything changed. Not only did every White guy go out and get a faux hawk, but everyone else did too—in massive numbers. From there, things quickly got out of hand. Nowadays, the faux hawk is the default haircut of choice for douchebags, movie stars, and generic dumb-asses everywhere—regardless of race, age, or the overwhelming abundance of the haircut.

The mighty faux hawk’s been cheapened, my friend. And, worse, it’s not your own, cool-White-guy thing anymore.

So now, if you still have one, you look like an idiot. I know there aren’t that many choices for short and easy (but still manly) haircuts that don’t make you look stupid or dangerous, but there must be something more. I mean, what did you do before?

Look man, I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t care: enough already with the faux hawk.

Sincerely,

Your Ethnic Friend