Hans Strudel. Sort of like a German version of Lucky the Leprechaun.
Being of Anglo-Saxon ancestry, I can’t help but find this commercial to be in really bad taste. Racial stereotyping anyone?
It has to be the whitebread equivalent to all those Afro-Sheen commercials on Soul Train back in the day. Really. It’s worse than all those commercials for Lucky Charms.
It’s almost as bad as the image of the “Thrifty Scotsman.”
Just had to throw something funny out there today.
Back in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s there were a lot of Americans who weren’t terribly fond of the Irish.
Misanglody (N): 1.)The condition of loathing all things white, Anglo-Saxon and/or Protestant. 2.) A rather pervasive and pernicious form of racism prevalent in the United States, generally ignored when directed against traditional white conservatives. 3.) Cracka-hating.
Granted, a lot of the fear generated in the late 19th and early 20th centuries regarding immigration to the U.S. had more to do with religion than country of origin. Many people in this country were afraid of Catholics (because of their belief in the primacy of the pope and the fact that the Mass was said in Latin rather than in English) and were afraid the Catholics would take over. This sounds sort of crazy today but before Vatican II, Catholics referred to other Christians (i.e. Protestants and Orthodox) as “heathens.” Today Catholics have a more beneficent term for Protestants and Orthodox: “separated brethren.”
That’s a little nicer, but as someone who was raised in Catholicism, I will tell you that the Catholics still teach that their goal on this earth is to convert others (including Protestants and Orthodox) to Catholicism. If you’re a Protestant or Orthodox, according to Catholics, you might be Christian, but you don’t have the Faith in its completeness. Catholic theology is an interesting study- and as a confessional Lutheran I am not too far removed from it, but I don’t subscribe to it 100% either. I got lost on the pope thing as well I got lost on the prayers to dead people thing. To each his or her own, and I know a lot of Catholics that live good Christian lives, but I can’t consider myself to be a Catholic because I don’t subscribe to Catholicism 100%. That’s one of the Catholic Rules, that you agree 100% with their rules. Which makes me a Protestant by definition. Just sayin’.
This was some of the same stuff Martin Luther had problems with 500 years ago. I’m not saying all Catholics are party to the corruption, or that Protestants are scandal-free, but it’s still there. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.
Today most Americans aren’t particularly wicky about either Irish people (though I know a few people who aren’t really fond of Bono) or Catholics, which is a good thing. I don’t have a problem with Catholics other than I don’t entirely agree with them, and as far as Irish people go I can’t say much, because a good number of my ancestors are English and Scots- just different parts of the same island.
Anyway, the point is that racism (as well as the myth that freedom of religion means freedom from religion) in this country should be a thing of the past. It’s not, and it shouldn’t be, acceptable to use the “n” word or other racially derisive terms in public discourse. But it seems to be perfectly OK to lampoon the “Cracka Nation” with impunity, and when white people say anything about it they get responses such as,
“White people don’t understand racism,” or worse, “You can’t be racist against whites.” Really?
I beg to differ, and hence, I bring to light the phenomenon of misanglody.
The popular culture is full of examples of the bumbling, inept WASP male and/or the ditzy WalMart queen WASP female. Even in advertising, take notice how often the fall guy is a white guy. To someone who only sees American culture from what they watch on TV, they might leave with the misconception that all white guys are Larry the Cable Guy (no offense to Larry the Cable Guy, but not all white men cut the sleeves off their shirts) and all white women are just like Honey Boo Boo’s mother.
I have body hair issues but even I don’t have five o’clock shadow like that. Nor do I have three chins.
I do admit there are aspects of white culture that deserve the derision they get. One is British cuisine. Haggis and kidney pie do NOT sound appetizing in any remote fashion. My ancestors may be Scots, but I can’t bring myself to eat mutton in any form. The dogs eat mutton because that’s what’s in their dog food, but dogs lick their own butts and eat cat shit any time they get the opportunity to do so. Just because the dogs eat something doesn’t mean it’s edible for humans. I really don’t get the idea behind eating kidneys either. I do eat sushi, (on the rare occasion I can afford good sushi) which might not make too much sense, but I just can’t get beyond the gross factor on haggis or kidneys. Head cheese is another one I can’t get. The fun fact about head cheese is that it is not cheese at all.
Do you eat the stomach “casing” too? Ewwwwwww!
So called “white supremacists” deserve the derision they get as well. Hitler is not a role model. Obama is not white, but he also is not a role model for the same reason. Both Hitler and Obama are racists, just against different groups. Anyone who goes around spouting hate against other races and nationalities- as opposed to pointing out faulty ideology or bad public policy- deserves to be called out for it. I don’t believe white people are any better than anyone else, but I don’t believe we’re any worse either, unless you are taking into account that most of us can’t dance.
I couldn’t dance even when I could drink.
On another note, Miss Jezebel went on her first road trip yesterday. I decided since I had to take Lilo to the vet yesterday to get meds for her re-occuring butt funk (seborrhagic dermatitis) that I would take Jezebel as well because she’s had a slight but lingering bit of the eye crusties and some sneezing. So Miss Jezebel rode up to the vet’s tucked into my hoodie. At least I have a closer estimate on her age (12-14 weeks) and have verified her gender. Jezebel is definitely a girl. She didn’t seem to mind the road trip at all, and was most compliant even getting eye ointment (most cats loathe this) and taking liquid Amoxicillin. Usually I really hate giving cats either eye drops or liquids by mouth, because they normally hate it and it’s a good way to get scratched and/or bitten. She has gotten through two doses of each without much fuss. Let’s hope it’s that easy for the rest of the 10 days.
So far, I can even give her meds without resorting to welding gloves again.
Lilo is the easiest creature on the planet to medicate. She will even take Keflex without protest (getting it down Clara was an adventure, and yes, it does taste nasty) as long as it’s included in a bite of cottage cheese. The combo of Keflex and Prednisone will clear up her butt funk, but I feel for her. She does great with oral meds but isn’t so cool with the bath part of the treatment. Baths were not suggested for Jezebel, which is quite fine with me.
Most of the time Lilo is mellow. Except when her butt itches.
I know that here lately I have been rather drawn to the macabre. It seems that around Halloween (when the seemingly endless Central Ohio winter effectively begins) and also toward the end of February (when the even more depressing season of Snowbooger Grey sets in) I get obsessed with the issue of mortality- mine, and that of others.
It doesn’t help that Saturday I had to attend the wake (and yes, it was an actual Irish Catholic wake, complete with noise, a plethora of friends, relatives and assorted others, enough food for an army and then some, and plenty of whiskey and beer) of a dear older lady who I was both surprised and delighted to call a friend. Then Sunday (which had almost completely slipped my mind) was All Saints’, which is one of the hardest days of the year for me to go to church. I need to do that- especially on the difficult days- but it’s very hard for me to make a conscious effort when I know I will be streaming tears uncontrollably the whole time. I don’t handle public displays of emotion well at all. The whole idea behind All Saints’ is to remember those who have gone before us, which has been especially difficult for me since Grandma died.
Sadly, I don’t spend enough time with people I care about. I would have liked to have talked with her one more time, but I missed the opportunity. I am reminded yet again how temporary life is, and how the people I want to see and talk with a little while longer might not be there the next time I think of them.
It might seem strange, for someone like me who isn’t terribly social and isn’t really into superficialities, that I am so neglectful of the very few close relationships I have. It’s actually rather pathetic that I avoid human contact to such an extreme. I have enough excuses- overwork and babysitting Jerry are probably the two biggest drains on my time and energy- but excuses are exactly that. I don’t make the time. Even though I do cherish people I deem to be friends, being around people wears me out. I know it sounds superficial and selfish, but I really have to be intentional regarding who I socialize with, and with how much time I spend being in the company of others. Otherwise I get stretched too thin and get emotionally and physically exhausted.
Over the years I’ve discovered I need solitude not only to get my head straight and to make some sense of my fractured and often puzzling emotional life, but I also have a genuine physical need to take that ivory tower time. Leave me alone and let me regenerate. Often. The bad thing is that I don’t get nearly enough opportunity for such regeneration, so I take it where I can get it. Otherwise I will get physically ill, and end up being forced to stop and get away.
As much as I found it necessary to go to our friend’s wake, I paid for it in terms of just plain coming home depleted. I don’t know if my exhaustion had to do with trying to keep Jerry out of too much trouble (he almost killed an entire 30 pack of Natties) or just from needing to get away from people for awhile. Perhaps a combination of both?
Maybe I really am one of those people who would be better off out in the middle of nowhere with sparse company other than books, music and dogs. It’s been way too long since I was able to be left alone long enough to read a novel (and I do have what promises to be a good novel on the way- 11-22-63 by Stephen King.) It doesn’t take me long to read a novel – even Stephen King’s novels, which tend to be lengthy- but it seems I am constantly being interrupted with Jerry being unable to get his own pills, being unable to shut up late at night, and constantly whining about his shirts or this or that or the other thing.
Maybe it’s not fair of me to expect Jerry to take care of himself like a normal adult. Sadly I have been party to his Helplessman routine for many years, so how can I expect him to take his own pills, iron his own shirts, and keep himself from drowning in the toilet when he’s shitfaced?
I know I am no paragon of virtue by a long shot, but I admit I get tired of the babysitting. It’s hard to put my foot down because Jerry is incredibly emotionally fragile. He gets on my nerves, yes, but he’s a lot worse when he gets either shitfaced and/or in temper tantrum mode. Sadly, he has learned (just like a toddler) that the tirades are a form of blackmail. “Appease me or I’ll go off again” is the mentality. While I know that it’s a fruitless endeavor to keep on feeding alligators, way too much of the time I simply cave in and let him have what he wants so he will shut up. Especially if I’m tired and/or he’s drunk. The irony here is that in the end I’m just rewarding him for whining. Unlike a toddler, when Jerry starts in with the whining and tirades, I can’t take him to the ladies’ room and warm his behind.
I know all too well that life is a limited time offer. I shouldn’t be so harsh with Jerry, even though I lose my patience with the helpless act and with the gambling and drinking. I know I should cherish whatever time we have even though he does try my patience and dealing with his behavior can be quite draining.
I’ll have time to sleep when I’m dead. Hopefully somewhere along the way I’ll find time for the Stephen King novel.
ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL: 