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Showing posts with label Polish. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Polish. Show all posts

Thursday, March 15, 2012

In March I Bash the Irish ... In April, Someone Else ...

March 15, 2012: Beware the Ides of March ... and if not that, certainly beware the Irish. They're a crafty lot, as the movie "Leprechaun" demonstrates, and what with Green Vomit Day quickly approaching, it's important we get ourselves ready for whatever strange debacles may lie just ahead in our dark, four-leafed future ...

But before I go into a lengthy rant against anyone's religion, I think it's important I take a moment to remind Blah-ugh! readers that this Blah-ugh! is less about bigotry and intolerance than it is about trying to create buzz around my new e-novel SPACE CASE, which as you all know is the racially tense story of a bigoted earth woman who's forced to mate with a black man from outer space. (Please understand that the term "black" is appropriate in this case, because this alien's ancestors are NOT from Africa, as may be the case for the typical misconstrued African-American earth dweller who is incorrectly referred to as "black," but instead he hails from a region on the planet Visnoid where skin pigments come in a remarkable range of vibrant colors, including one stylish shade of ebony that would put a vain panther to shame.)

Now, I've completely forgotten what my point was, because I began it so long ago, but you can bet the Irish had something to do with it. Or was it the Italians? This reminds me that I meant to get Italian food for lunch today and completely forgot to, opting instead for Chinese. I can only imagine that this sort of experience is the kind of thing that perpetuates the stereotypes surrounding the Chinese and their craftiness. Of course, there's a good chance that Italian laziness also played its part, along with my own Polish stupidity.

The nice thing about the Polish is that the word is also "polish," which has a nice, clean, well-groomed sense to it. It's a much better moniker than, say, Latvians, or Urkutskians. I'm glad I'm not from Urkutsk, which for a long time I believed was only a region in the board game Risk, but now I think may actually really exist, although its natives are probably ashamed to enter the U.N. because it's such a silly name.

Other countries have silly names as well, including ours. In a sense, we don't even HAVE a name, which is REALLY annoying. I wish we were called SOMETHING, like Featherland ... or Vermeel ... or Kasha ...

Which reminds me of something many of you may not have known, or perhaps cared about -- Did you know Soviet Union translates to mean "States United." Now, does that make any sense? It's moot now, but really, what were we all thinking throughout the Cold War, with such comically juxtaposed names?! U.S. / S.U. !! But what kills me is that no one noticed. I mean, even I didn't for a long time, although I was only born in the sixties, so at least I have that excuse for the early post-war years. What about YOU?!

How did we get on this? I was setting out to make fun of the Jews -- the Sephardic, not the Ashkenazi. I mean, what's with Hanukkah?! It starts on a different day each year. Who designed this religion?! The Polish?

No, but seriously, I'm still trying to figure out if my rampant prejudices and stereotyping are a good thing or a bad thing. (If you're laughing, by the way, they're a good thing, but if you're taking steps to have my book banned in schools, we'll need to reshape this post ...)

In a sense, I feel like a valuable museum-like period piece from another era -- meaning the Cold War -- still an example of that strange, sometimes bitter, sometimes hilarious time when fictional characters like Archie Bunker and Fred Sanford were teaching us not only to be aware of our differences, but to celebrate them with humor and embarrassed arrogance, especially if we felt deep down that our differences were better than those of others, or at least not QUITE as different ...

One nice thing about pre-judging people is that it saves a lot of time. And who has ANY time these days, what with text messages to send and millions of emails bouncing each way and Snooky getting pregnant and all the conversations we've got to HAVE ABOUT Snooky and her pregnancy and her being Ho -- (or a Hoe, depending on your stereotyping decisions) -- and all the new facts bombarding us about other television shows and the magazines about people who are ON television shows and ... It's just crazy!

And that's why there comes a point where we have to just cut corners in some area of our lives in order to make a finer showing ...

So why NOT blame the Irish this month? It'll help balance the joyous festivities of their holiday ... And then next month, we can blame someone else for the warm weather -- perhaps the Arabs!

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Touting "Fray" Magazine ... and Myself

November 24, 2009: I was surprised to find five new issues of "Fray" magazine in my mailbox this evening -- the kind gesture of a thoughtful editor faced with the guilt and hardship of running a print quarterly in the 21st century. The guilt comes from not being able to enclose a check. While I've made various vows about never writing nonfiction for free -- never letting the fruits of my hard-learned craft nourish the public without fair recompense -- something about the issue's theme -- sex & death -- moved me to put out. Still, I'd be lying if I said my motivation was anything but an addict's interest in seeing his name in hard-copy print.

As many of you know, my professional credits are significant, and my writing abilities -- following more failed attempts than I'd ever want to remember -- have blossomed to the point where I consider myself one of the better writers in America. (No, I'm not trying to be funny. This is one of my serious pieces!) But the market has run dry, and most of the people I used to do regular work for no longer have the budgets, nor perhaps the nerve, to fund my radical, though eloquent, copy. (Bastards!)

Perhaps it doesn't matter. We should all continue to marvel at the frail value placed on the written word, and maybe start to embrace it, like we have television and rap music -- two mammoth blisters on our collective cultural toes, though not without some rare examples of merit. Or maybe we should just marvel at MY failure to achieve any ongoing success. I know it has ME confused. Is this due to my laziness, my failure to be as aggressive and focused as possible? Or is the failure that of the American people, who thus far have been unable to recognize my greatness and adequately reward my work?

I would have to say the latter, and I'm trying to be objective. (Believe me, it's not easy, but I'm a professional.)

Since I started writing this Blah-Ugh! I've let my principles deteriorate somewhat. Let's face it, I'm merely scraping for any glory I might receive by way of my 12 faithful followers (although I suspect that at least nine of you have stopped reading altogether -- Bastards!).

The point is, I'm happy to get my "Fray" copies, which have a retail value of $60. (That's a lot of money in the Sudan.) More importantly, I'm pleased to see my article ("Once Around the Corpse") featured in one of the more lovely nonfiction journals on the newsstand today, obviously run by a thoughtful editor -- Derek Powazek -- who, despite being of Polish descent, has created an intriguing product without resorting to macabre, catch-all crowd-pleasing topics, like violence or eroticism.

Order your copy of "Fray" today, but demand Issue #3, because you'll want to read my piece on getting a hands-on tour of a corpse at a medical school. It's vintage me, for those of you who aren't yet fed-up.

Next time: A shout out to all my new blog Followers!