Noted, You don’t like my opinion.

Interestingly enough, I’ve had friends in the past who can’t seem to see past my homosexuality. 

A few years ago, a friend of mine and I were having at it in a verbal dispute. He was arguing the rights and wrongs of something a teacher had done, and I was trying to even him out, though I was losing my cool as well (I’m only human, it happens) 

The next day, he got wind from a former friend that I am gay. His attitude towards me dramatically changed. He immediately started…. to flirt with me.

I was NOT expecting this at all. I’d never even thought this friend was gay, let alone attracted to me. He proceeded to ask to hang out the next week, after a number of days of awkward smiles from across the lunch room and, once, a butt grab… creeped me right the fuck out. 

As we sat in our friends living room, He started talking about his previous arguements about his teacher, this time completely agreeing with what I said. Fair enough, I swayed his opinion. 

Later that evening, he sent me a text, and from that point on I stopped talking to him. his message was “I think you’re cute. Thats Y I listened to u” 

Apparently, my opinions all depended on my sexuality. apparently, the fact that I’m gay makes me on the same page as him, giving him a positive outlook on whatever my opinion is.

So then, this leaves me to wonder, what do other people think when they form opinions of me? Is my sexuality truly something that influences peoples thoughts/biases? 

Such a notion sounds ridiculous, I know, but humanity is not above this ridiculousness.

Entirely Unified and Singled Out

 

Today our family held a benefit for my late brother, who was brutally murdered, summarized details here. We put together a number of small off color rock bands and invited everyone we know and there friends to come and enjoy the drinks, merriment, and even get some ritsy raffle prizes. And it was wonderful to see so many people fill up our auditorium in league to help a worthy cause (all proceeds went to Wounded Warrior Regiment, whose money helps those injured in the military.)

Though, there was something I noticed that irked me slightly. well, a bit more than slightly. Everyone at this benefit was white. whats more, they all had the disposition of rich white republicans. These kind of people seem to be the best friends of my father and his girlfriend, and not more than one person of color showed up.

I felt a bit off put by it, though still enjoying my fathers guitar playing and talking to some very old family friends, but still noticing the fat that everyone here seemed to be in the same league. Wearing leather jackets, soft fitted dresses, some with expensive or if not expensive, flashy jewelry (let’s face it everyone can be stingy). I just had hoped the plethora of friends we outreached to would’ve gone further than the select group of RWR’s.

The few people i did see of any other ethnicity then ‘white’ were friends of my brothers, come to pay their respects. they, along with about 20 of Phil’s other friends were an interesting bunch; punks, drinkers, smokers, geeks, bad-kids, preppy students, business students, etcetera. It felt reassuring to at least see them there, though of course there association was only with each other, not many of the adults would’ve wanted to sit down with a bunch of smelly vulgar young adults and listen to them talk about the stupid things my brother did.

All in all, this is the kind of social segregation I hope that people can get away from. I don’t like to see any kind of singled out race, culture, sexuality, etcetera, especially when it comes to something as sensitive as a death.

The Tin Roofs of Cange: An Observation

 

Thus far, a lot of what has been explain to us about Paul Farmers life comes off as impoverished and poor, someone who lacked the essentials all of us with access to them daily, say we need and ‘can’t live without. I.E. A bathroom, television, computers, phones, and food enough to last more than a single day.

Yet, what I’ve noticed is that, with great vigor and candore, Farmer Jr. isn’t all too bothered by these things. They’re normal, and he was still able to thrive and succeed in a poor lower class living environment.

Something that caught my attention right off the bat in ch. 5 was the family getting up and leaving there home in Alabama because of “the atmosphere” in there Birmingham town in the 1960’s. Was it only because of the failings of Paul Sr. in in the town as a salesmen? Or was there something politically happening that caused the upheaval and drastic change of there families life at ‘home’?

After looking into it, it becomes clear it was clearly a political and safety issue. by the article Birmingham 1960’s ,showing segregation and rights fights in the south, there was a lot of unrest and violence, so it’s clear why the Warden feared for there safety.

Something that also caught my attention, in chapter 8 while Paul is talking to another volunteer at Hospital St. Croix in Léogâne, the man who seemed to have the same compassion for patients and helping them as Farmer did, said he was ready to leave the country behind, saying “Theres no electricity. It’s brutal here.”

It opened my eyes too. I never really realized how regular electricity has been for my life, and so many others. The only time I had a taste of complete blackout was the blizzard last October, back in 2011. Our apartment was without power and I had to rely on candle light to get around. That was tough, and I couldn’t imagine not having that luxury, but so many people are like that in this world.

It’s very sad. yet also enlightening, to realize what so much of the world lacks that we pride ourselves on using every single day. one question I do have though, because it may have eluded me while reading, or I may not have come upon it yet; is Baby Doc still in power during the time Paul Farmer is running the hospital in Haiti? (in reference to part one and our look at him as head doctor).

Can you see the Real me?

Hi there! Welcome to this blog, cleverly titled after the Anthropology course for which I’m making this for. Genius I know. 

In my extreme neglect I haven’t yet kept up with this blog. I realize now that it’s not as hard as my anxieties try to have me believe ( yes, I’m prone to frequent anxiety attacks, whether or not I show it). So let get this textual reference of myself going, shall we?

Who are you? 

Well, to put myself into the ‘worldly’ demographic, I’m a gay white male college freshmen, a common enough label throughout the country. But what people often look past is that though I have pride in who I am, I don’t take the time to push myself away from the crowds, or to stand out (this is from my own perspective). This is partially due to anxiety, but it is also because I know who I am, what I am, where I came from, and where I want to go. Dressing the way I do, talking the way I do, is all normal in my own world. Not enough people seem to realize that I’m not attempting to impress anyone, I’m merely fitting into my own ‘residual self image’ (insert matrix reference). 

In short, you can see me as an artist, an activist, a liberal, non-religious, not entirely aware of what goes on in our politics, and, though a lot of people don’t show pride for it, or only know the urban dictionary term, a furry (look it up if you so please, this is at your own discretion). 

I tend to ramble.  Sorry if I am at all incoherent.