gordonzola: (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] jette just wrote about one of those strange meeting-the-internet-friend-for-the-first-time events that ended in mystery, avoidance, and hurt feelings. It made me realize a couple of things. First, that I’ve been either lucky or skilled in not having any of those types of interactions. Second, I’ve had bad first-time-hanging-out interactions with people I’ve met in other ways so I should just shut the fuck up about that.

Maybe my formative experience with this has made me careful.

It was just after high school so maybe that partially excuses it. I met a Sacto punk rock girl at a party who seemed really cool. In retrospect, I realized that she started talking to me after I, uncharacteristically, helped run off some kids from a different high school who were harassing friends of mine. We didn’t have much time to talk before she had to leave, but we were friends of friends so we exchanged numbers.

She invited me up for a weekend while her friends parents were away. We were pulling one of those she’s staying-at-a-friend’s-house scams. I don’t remember what I told my parents because I was still living at home too. But I made it up to Sacramento by borrowing my brother’s truck.

I met her in whatever park the punks hung out in. It was already dark because I couldn’t leave San Rafael until I was done with work for the day. I followed her directions and met her at the entrance. We made our way to the center of the park. Though thinking about it now, I can’t imagine a Sacramento park being not linear and rectangular, the path was confusing and I lost track of where we were walking.

Finally, in some kind of clearing we found the punks. Or should I say, we found the skinheads. White-power skins, braced, booted and all with those heavy sharp, pointy rings on their fingers meant for maximum damage. Serious 1985 skinheads who would mostly be in jail in a few years time. Lots of American Front patches and white laces. Big guys and mean girls. They looked like they’d been drinking for awhile.

She started introducing me to her friends. The first guy I met said, "I’m Mike. Keep it white."

I wish I could tell my LJ readers that I said something pointed, witty, or clever. I wish I could tell you I beat up all the skins for being racist fucks. I almost wish I could tell you that I took a beatdown for the cause after telling Mike to fuck off. But I looked at the situation, weighed my odds, and said, "Hey."

When we had an alone moment, I suggested we go somewhere else. When we were clear of the danger area, I asked her if she was white power. She denied it and said those guys were just joking around. "And Mike’s half-Jewish anyways," she said in his defense. Besides, she had grown up with them and they bought her booze.

I didn’t really believe that, but since I had made some elaborate lie to cover where I was staying that night, and I’d already started drinking, I decided to stay over instead of drive the hour and a half back home. And to stay clear of her friends. It’s not like I had the money for a motel room.

We went over to her house where her dad was watching the news. The Contras had just burned a cooperative farm somewhere in Nicaragua and the reporter was gushing breathlessly. "I like those guys!" her dad said.

We went to her friend’s house, drank more and went to sleep, not fooling around even though we were sharing the same bed. I escaped early the next morning. I didn’t plan on seeing her again and I guess it was mutual. I got a letter from her three days later saying she didn’t want to date me because her parents liked me too much and she didn’t find boys that her parents liked to be attractive.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about being held in similar esteem to the Contras but I was glad there would be no more contact.

(Any readers have any first meeting horror stories they’d like to share?)
gordonzola: (Default)
(I haven’t had much time to write so the night described is from a couple of weeks ago.)

The week that the war started I made a bad movie choice. My friend Southbay* and I are good movie companions because we both have pink sparkly wallets and enjoy seeing movies like "8 Mile" that our pretentious friends are too good to see. We had a movie date scheduled way in advance, but current events intervened and we decided to go to the anti-war demo instead.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t find the anti-war demo. There we were on Market and Powell a little after 5 PM and almost no one was there. Sure, there were the requisite hippies with drums, the sectarian paper sellers, the t-shirt guy selling "No War on Iraq" and "We Support our Troops" shirts, but only about 10 other people milling about. There weren’t even any more than a couple of cops. No sign of Officer Powder. Something was wrong here.**

Of course, my new wingnut nemesis, Anti-Semite Sam*** was there. He attracts photographers and somehow he kept walking around so that we’d be in the same general area. Local folks will probably understand**** that the last thing I need, as a legal officer of my workplace, is to get photographed with an avowed anti-Semite, so Southbay and I wandered away from the not-really-a-crowd.

After another 15 minutes of people (not us) making pathetic attempts to chant, we said fuck it. Back to plan A. Let’s go see a movie. Checking the times and an actual newspaper, we determined that the only movie we both were interested in seeing, and that was playing soon, was Gangs of New York.

OK. In retrospect, it might be easy to say, "You know, it’s not a good idea to see an extremely violent movie less than a week after war starts". For some reason, that wasn’t clear to us at the time.

The opening scene was extremely bloody. Fountains of blood. Flying teeth. Gushing blood. Lots of thwacking of hard, sharp objects on bone and flesh. Bloodsicles in the snow. I kept flashing back on the pictures of dead Iraqis I’d seen earlier in the day and I’ll admit, it was upsetting in a way that I don’t usually feel at the movies.

Having said that, I enjoyed most of the movie. I mean, it’s a typical revenge story/costume drama, but it tells the history of a time in America that is relatively not discussed very often. I though Daniel Day Lewis was really good as the Butcher. It shows the Irish in their non-assimilated period, which is always worth looking at.

There is one part, however, that totally cops out. While Leonardo DiCaprio and Daniel Day Lewis are preparing their showdown, the NY draft riots begin. Because they are isolated and preparing for battle, they get left out of the lynchings and anti-Black violence that historically-speaking, both would have supported and/or participated in. To further absolve the main characters, who we are supposed to like to varying degrees, Leonardo DiCaprio’s Irish gang even has a Black member, presented matter-of-factly and without drama. Or historical context.

While the Irish might not have been accepted as equals to the ruling class at the time, does anyone really argue that their interactions with Black people in the 1860s were uncomplicated? I would say that there were undoubtedly exceptions and incidents of cooperation and/or involvement by some Irish-Americans in the abolitionist movement, but in a movie telling an "untold story", the Black gang member (who gets lynched by other poor, probably-Irish, ghetto dwellers) seems to be able to join the Dead Rabbits simply because he chooses to.

This is a relatively minor part of the movie, but it makes to story less intelligible. If some poor Irish so easily accept Black people into their social organizations, why is much of the rest of the Black population of Manhattan being attacked, lynched, burned out of their homes and fleeing for their safety? While, truth be told, I didn’t really expect the suffering of Black people to be more than an ornament and plot device for "Gangs of New York", I think it even trivializes the position of the Irish. True, it does show Irish immigrants getting fresh off of boats and being sent, instead of the rich, to die in a war for their new country which promises them nothing but squalor. That they take their anger out on those even further down the political food chain is foreshadowed and seen as an inevitable consequence of political moves made beyond their control.

Leonardo has the Great Man thing going so somehow he is above racism. The rest of the Irish have Mob Mentality so they are racist. White people (We) can identify with the Great Man, of course, and tsk tsk about the Mob, even if we understand the bigger powers in play. All I’m saying is, picture a movie where the sympathetic, heartthrob hero, who we’ve learned to love, participates in his community’s racist violence at the climax of a 3 hour movie. Would that be seen as perpetuating racism? Or as a truer picture of how rooted racism is in American history?

Or how about showing Irish Americans who took a principled abolitionist position? Leonardo’s position is a "colorblind" one hard to differentiate from popular present day conceptions of how to view race. That is: not to see it at all. True, there are always anachronisms in these types of movies, but I would argue that this one is there to make race issues stay firmly in the past.

Believe it or not, I actually did enjoyed the movie. Longtime readers should know by now that I dwell on the negative. It makes me happy.



*I need an LJ nickname for her because I have mentioned her a few times. I hope she likes this one.
**As it turns out, contrary to traditional Left culture, the march left promptly at 5 PM. We had missed it.
***[livejournal.com profile] whythingsburn does a good job describing him here, so I don’t have to.
****Sorry, I am not going to explain it if you don’t. Don’t hate me.

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