This is a random IM conversation that happened several years ago, when my AIM name was DaiShinSkim. Random chatters always assumed I was Asian(I am).
VTC559: sup
VTC559: u want to join a krew?
VTC559: den come in this chatroom
DaiShinSkim: what kind of krew?
VTC559: VTC
VTC559: Viet CO
DaiShinSkim: What if I'm white?
VTC559: ur white?
DaiShinSkim: yeah?
DaiShinSkim: Is that bad?
VTC559: g1
VTC559: my boys say na
DaiShinSkim: Cuz I'm white?
VTC559: its an asn krew
DaiShinSkim: I see
DaiShinSkim: what is a 'krew'?
VTC559: gang
DaiShinSkim: An online gang?
DaiShinSkim: What do you do??
VTC559: real life
DaiShinSkim: Oh.
DaiShinSkim: Do you guys do drive bys?
VTC559: na
VTC559: we a koo gang
VTC559: we just represnt
DaiShinSkim: Rob people?
DaiShinSkim: Represent
DaiShinSkim: Cool
VTC559: we have ova 300 peepz
VTC559: all ova
VTC559: da place
DaiShinSkim: Deeeeaaammn yo
DaiShinSkim: Dtz tight!
VTC559: yea
DaiShinSkim: What y'all do when y'all reprazent up in there?
VTC559: we just kik it hang
VTC559: get mo peepz to join
VTC559: dat all
DaiShinSkim: Tight
VTC559: yea
DaiShinSkim: No fights?
DaiShinSkim: OR mugging
VTC559: only if they mess wit us
VTC559: no muggin
DaiShinSkim: Y'all break any lawz an shit?
VTC559: we aint like dat
VTC559: we just chill yo
VTC559: we have like 30 in fresno where i live
VTC559: portalnd about 25
VTC559: la about 30
VTC559: every where
VTC559: and we all kno eachnother
VTC559: just gotta chek our chatroom
DaiShinSkim: A'ight
DaiShinSkim: but I'm white>>>
VTC559: its koo
DaiShinSkim: I know martial arts though
VTC559: den
VTC559: peace
VTC559: can u say dat ur azn?
VTC559: say your chineese aight
VTC559: den i let u in
DaiShinSkim: I have Native American ancestry and the Mongols traversed the Bering strait land bridge approximately 30,000 years ago
VTC559: so u azn then
VTC559: just say u azn aight
DaiShinSkim: So due to that trace of my lineage I'd say chromosomally at least I'm Asian.
VTC559: asl?
DaiShinSkim: 30/m/CA
VTC559: dang
VTC559: yo my bad
VTC559: u a cop?
VTC559: or anything?
DaiShinSkim: no
DaiShinSkim: I can be one
VTC559: 30?
DaiShinSkim: Or play like I'm one in the chat room
VTC559: 30?
DaiShinSkim: Would you like that?
DaiShinSkim: Yes
VTC559: we lookin fo young member tho
DaiShinSkim: Damn yo
DaiShinSkim: I always wanted to be in a gang
VTC559: oh
VTC559: aight
VTC559: g2g
VTC559: man ttyl
VTC559: peace
DaiShinSkim: In Alabama we only had pigs and sheeps and shit
VTC559: ohz
VTC559: aight dne
VTC559: peace
VTC559: g2g
DaiShinSkim: awww
DaiShinSkim: deeeamn!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
I am scared of mentally challenged people...
aka "retarded" people, but that's not Politically Correct these days, although the word merely means: re•tard1 ( P ) Pronunciation Key (r-tärd) v. re•tard•ed, re•tard•ing, re•tards v. tr. To cause to move or proceed slowly; delay or impede. v. intr. To be delayed. n. A slowing down or hindering of progress; a delay. Music. A slackening of tempo. It's just that the over usage of the word by 3rd graders as an insult has forever changed it's place in the American lexicon. Apparently, even music can be retarded, that's awesome. Anyhow, when I was 4 years old, I went with my hippie parents to a hippie party, I can't remember what the occasion was, they were probably celebrating a newly harvested crop of marijuana, it was the 70's. They were burning a big bonfire outside and it was either Fall or Winter, I can't remember but I think it was cold. I guess it could have been Spring too or maybe a cool Summer night. Ok, it happened for sure at some point during the year, and the couple who owned the house had a boy about 8 years old, who was dressed as an Indian on this night. That really confused me. I kept asking my parents if it was Halloween. I mean, what other reason could there be for dressing up other than Halloween right? I really wanted it to be Halloween. I was thinking I'd missed all the pre-Halloween advertisements and huzzah, and it just snuck up on me. Nope, no Halloween. My parents simply explained that this little Indian was special. They might have even actually said "He's a retard" since this was the 70's. Either way, I didn't know what that meant, but I could tell he was different.
A few hours pass at this party and I found that I was scared of this special Indian. I felt he was unreasonable, which is to say I felt he absolutely could not be reasoned with because of his special brain. I don't remember why I felt like that just yet, but I do remember the events which sealed my intuitive inclinations as I went to use the restroom. My parents told me it was in the house and I just had to go up the porch, through the screened door and down the hall. I remember the next sequence of events pretty vividly: First, I was surprised that my parents just let me do something like that by myself, because I was only 4. They must have been on LSD or something, it was the 70's. Second, I was walking to the porch and I saw the special Indian warrior in the bushes, looking at me. I just kept walking and watching him watch me from a bush right next the stairs. He wasn't a very stealthy Indian by the way, I could totally see him. When I approached, he hopped out, raised a hatchet - a real fucking hatchet - over his head and started to swing it down at me. I remember thinking, "he's going to chop me in the head" and I stepped back in time to watch it swing by me, and lodge in the ground between us. I watched him struggle to get the blade out of the ground, and decided it would be best if I left. I went and told my parents, and they told his parents, to which they responded "Oh he's just playing around!" It was the 70's. Kids used to play with weapons all the time.
Fast forward 25 years later, and I am in San Francisco walking around the city with my ex as she checks out internships for her MSW program. We go to a local mental health center and I sit and read a U.S.A. Today during her interview. As I was reading, a mentally challenged tall skinny African American man wearing overalls walked into the waiting room. He was very friendly, talkative and social with everyone. Sigh.... Let me take a break here for a second to explain some things...
Back to the Mental Health Center. I saw the special guy and I thought "I'm in a new city, a new environment, beginning a new life. It's time to start making friends with the retards. It's the 2000's." So as he spoke with me, I spoke back to him all friendly-like. So far so good. There are no bladed weapons or anything. So, after our little talk had ended, I continued reading, proud of myself but still keeping a wary eye on my new friend. I noticed he kept walking in and out of the waiting room sitting down, and then leaving. I then noticed that when he was sitting, he was staring at me, and I further noticed that, when I paused to look at him he immediately got up and walked away. Hmm. The next time he came in the room, he sat a little closer to me. I decided to scope him out with my peripheral vision to see if I could tell what was going on. Awesome news! It turns out he was staring at me and beating off. That's all. Just staring at my face.... and beating off. Excellent. The truce is off. Special Indians: 2 - Me: 0. Not really knowing what to do, I tried to place the newspaper between my face and his field of vision. I found that he was fairly aggressive, as he repositioned himself so he can get a good view of my face. Why my face dude? That's disturbing.
So, I dropped the paper and stared right at him. He immediately left. Then he came back. Started jacking. I stared. He left. This process repeated itself about two more times, until I decided to run upstairs to the second floor and hide behind a potted plant, where he couldn't see me. I watched him walk back into and out of the waiting room in a mad masturbatory frenzy looking all over the bottom floor for my face. After he gave up and left, it dawned on me that I was a twenty-eight year old, grown up man, hiding behind a potted plant, running from a special Indian pervert and I had run into an area of the building I was not allowed to be in. The guy left finally and I right at the same time, my ex was done with her interview. We left the building safely alive and un-raped. Since then, I haven't had any more experiences with mentally challenged people, but as a result my fears of their ilk have not lessened.
A few hours pass at this party and I found that I was scared of this special Indian. I felt he was unreasonable, which is to say I felt he absolutely could not be reasoned with because of his special brain. I don't remember why I felt like that just yet, but I do remember the events which sealed my intuitive inclinations as I went to use the restroom. My parents told me it was in the house and I just had to go up the porch, through the screened door and down the hall. I remember the next sequence of events pretty vividly: First, I was surprised that my parents just let me do something like that by myself, because I was only 4. They must have been on LSD or something, it was the 70's. Second, I was walking to the porch and I saw the special Indian warrior in the bushes, looking at me. I just kept walking and watching him watch me from a bush right next the stairs. He wasn't a very stealthy Indian by the way, I could totally see him. When I approached, he hopped out, raised a hatchet - a real fucking hatchet - over his head and started to swing it down at me. I remember thinking, "he's going to chop me in the head" and I stepped back in time to watch it swing by me, and lodge in the ground between us. I watched him struggle to get the blade out of the ground, and decided it would be best if I left. I went and told my parents, and they told his parents, to which they responded "Oh he's just playing around!" It was the 70's. Kids used to play with weapons all the time.
Fast forward 25 years later, and I am in San Francisco walking around the city with my ex as she checks out internships for her MSW program. We go to a local mental health center and I sit and read a U.S.A. Today during her interview. As I was reading, a mentally challenged tall skinny African American man wearing overalls walked into the waiting room. He was very friendly, talkative and social with everyone. Sigh.... Let me take a break here for a second to explain some things...
At this point in my life, I'm very aware of the fact that I have an irrational fear of mentally challenged people. I know it is stupid. I would like to not feel like that. It's exactly like a fear of dogs stemming from a childhood dog attack. It would be nice for me if when I'm in the food court of the Mall, and group of special people wander in to eat, squealing and gnashing their teeth as they do, and I'm not overwhelmed with the feeling I best expressed by the words "get the fuck out of here right now Jimmy". I have friends who have volunteered to work with mentally challenged people at schools and such, which I imagine is an occupation best compared to working as a cowhand at a satanic murderer/zombie ranch. The only good things I can imagine to come out of that experience would be the hilarious stories you get to tell your friends years later. Like the story my friend Peter Balabuch told me, about one Halloween where a special boy came to school wearing a cowboy hat, a tie-dye shirt, red Converse Chuck Taylor high tops, shorts and a Dracula cape. Peter asked him "Hey Brandon, what are you dressed up as for Halloween?" His response: "KENNY ROGERS." I love that story. I want to dress just like that and say I'm Kenny Rogers for Halloween too, but I elect to get the inspirational stories like these second hand, because I can't help but assume I will be killed every time I am around the Special Indians.
Back to the Mental Health Center. I saw the special guy and I thought "I'm in a new city, a new environment, beginning a new life. It's time to start making friends with the retards. It's the 2000's." So as he spoke with me, I spoke back to him all friendly-like. So far so good. There are no bladed weapons or anything. So, after our little talk had ended, I continued reading, proud of myself but still keeping a wary eye on my new friend. I noticed he kept walking in and out of the waiting room sitting down, and then leaving. I then noticed that when he was sitting, he was staring at me, and I further noticed that, when I paused to look at him he immediately got up and walked away. Hmm. The next time he came in the room, he sat a little closer to me. I decided to scope him out with my peripheral vision to see if I could tell what was going on. Awesome news! It turns out he was staring at me and beating off. That's all. Just staring at my face.... and beating off. Excellent. The truce is off. Special Indians: 2 - Me: 0. Not really knowing what to do, I tried to place the newspaper between my face and his field of vision. I found that he was fairly aggressive, as he repositioned himself so he can get a good view of my face. Why my face dude? That's disturbing.
So, I dropped the paper and stared right at him. He immediately left. Then he came back. Started jacking. I stared. He left. This process repeated itself about two more times, until I decided to run upstairs to the second floor and hide behind a potted plant, where he couldn't see me. I watched him walk back into and out of the waiting room in a mad masturbatory frenzy looking all over the bottom floor for my face. After he gave up and left, it dawned on me that I was a twenty-eight year old, grown up man, hiding behind a potted plant, running from a special Indian pervert and I had run into an area of the building I was not allowed to be in. The guy left finally and I right at the same time, my ex was done with her interview. We left the building safely alive and un-raped. Since then, I haven't had any more experiences with mentally challenged people, but as a result my fears of their ilk have not lessened.
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