The landscape surrounding Igville is more barren than Stevie's temples. Below, please find a post from my archives to liven up the place.
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One of my very first suitors in college was a guy who happened to be in two of my classes. Although I'm sure a variation of the "college goggles" were in effect, he was a cutie, and I was eager to sow some Kindred oats to branch out and take chances. So, we went to the Black Creativity exhibit at the Museum of Science & Industry (sidenote: game or not, this was an awesome exhibit that centered on Black innovations in technology). Things were going wonderfully (he uses big words in context! he's a gentleman! he's witty!) until we stumbled upon a panel discussing the lack of available technology in poor minority communities.
Let me preface this by saying that I feel very strongly about this topic. I grew up poor. I still am poor. If it wasn't for the Apple IIe's at the community library, I wouldn't have been introduced to computers until at least junior high (whatchu know bout that Number Munchers? Oregon Trail?!).
However, my frustration at the lack of current technology and the resulting education gap was 
no match for his. He got into a fervent argument with some unenlightened fool, and instead of wordsmithing him to death, this ninja started crying. Like, for real you guys. No lie. At first, I thought that maybe the air was exceptionally dusty and his allergies were flaring up, but then he started snotting and his voice started cracking and there was no escaping the fact that I was out on a date with a Weepy Will, a Sobbing Rob, a Bawling Ben. So, after gingerly asking him if he was alright, I went to the bathroom to call my Mom - her advice never steered me wrong. The conversation went like this:
no match for his. He got into a fervent argument with some unenlightened fool, and instead of wordsmithing him to death, this ninja started crying. Like, for real you guys. No lie. At first, I thought that maybe the air was exceptionally dusty and his allergies were flaring up, but then he started snotting and his voice started cracking and there was no escaping the fact that I was out on a date with a Weepy Will, a Sobbing Rob, a Bawling Ben. So, after gingerly asking him if he was alright, I went to the bathroom to call my Mom - her advice never steered me wrong. The conversation went like this:Me: Ma! I'm out with [snotface] and he's CRYIN!
Mom: Why? What you do to him? [ed. note: Why was that her first reaction? WTF, Mama?]
Me: I ain't even do nothing! We at the museum and he just started crying down for no reason.
Mom: [giggles]
Me: Ma, this is NOT funny! What I'm supposed to do? I mean, I offered him a tissue...
Mom: Wait, you still there? [Gov't name], come home NOW.
Me: But I think he's still crying. What if he's dying or something? Maybe he's stressed out.
Mom: He ain't dying, he's crazy. Come HOME. This just like that episode of Law & Order! Hurry up before you end up in the alley somewhere.
So, I left. And the next time I saw him, he refused to make eye contact. It went this way for the rest of the semester, until one day he came up to me and made small talk as if nothing ever happened. That creeped me out way more than the blubbering did.
It was a longer time before I returned to the Museum.
1 comments:
Ole soft auss such-and-such!
And I was wondering when the hell someone was gonna post another entry. Geez!
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