Author’s Note:
The following is intended for satirical entertainment purposes and in no way represents the author’s actual opinions on African-Americans, either individually or as a collective. It is, if anything, a comment on the absurdity of racism in contemporary society. For these reasons and more, please do not take the below as a sincere social critique. Even though it would fall more under the umbrella of obnoxiously ignorant stand-up comedy than honest-to-goodness hate speech, the author wishes to reinforce that the views expressed in this piece are not actually his own. Some of his best friends are black (and openly so). With that in mind, please enjoy his latest humourous piece.
Just to be clear, though, the author is not at all concerned that this piece is legitimately racist. He knows that its intentions are purely for the purposes of humour. If anything, the author is so NOT racist that he wants to make sure he doesn’t hurt the feelings of people of other races, even when he knows in his heart of hearts that what he's doing isn’t racist. The author is not racist.
Also, the author realizes that this is the first time he's ever prefaced one of his entries with a warning that its views were not an accurate representation of his, so let it be clarified that he's not doing that out of some innate fear of African Americans. Some will be quick to point out that the author did not preface the equally “satirically-racist” piece “ASIANS IN CINEMA” with any kind of warning, even though Asians on the whole are notoriously good fighters. Well, that fact would never have entered the author's head, because he's not a racist. He's racially conscious. Well, to a point.
Let’s say that the author was at the side of the road with a flat tire and a black man stopped to help him put the spare on. The author wouldn’t say, “Wow, what a nice black man.” He’d just say, “Wow, what a nice man,” because, to him, all men are equal, regardless of race, colour or creed. Like Martin Luther King Jr. before him (whatever colour he was, doesn’t matter), this author too dreams of a world where everyone is treated equally, no matter the colour of their skin.
And that’s not to say that the only difference between whites and African Americans is the colour of their skin. The author, of course, realizes that African Americans have a rich history and culture unique to themselves as a people, which is wonderful. He just means that race shouldn’t dictate the way someone is treated.
The author also wishes to point out that, were he eligible to vote in the next US presidential election, he would undoubtedly be voting for Barack Obama. And that’s not because Obama's white half wins over in the author's mind; the author legitimately feels that Obama is the most suitable man for the job. Were Obama white, the author would still vote for him, but, in a way, the author is glad he's black. It’s about high time the US had a black president.
Now, without further a due, here is the aforementioned SATIRICAL piece, entitled “Yo, Ignorance: A Look At The Stigmas Of Contemporary Racism (As Observed Vicariously Through My Black Friends)”. Enjoy!
Publisher’s Note:
At the request of the author, this post has been removed.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Yo, Ignorance: A Look At The Stigmas Of Contemporary Racism (As Observed Vicariously Through My Black Friends)
Monday, August 18, 2008
LIFE'S A PITCH
Dear everyone,
My head is spinning. I owe a thousand apologies. For the last few months, I have not written a single entry on my blog and I know that my regular reader(s) must be thouroughly concerned. Let me assure you folk(s) then that the reason for my absence is a positive one, for I have been to Hollywood; lost at sea, in the best possible way. Those of you(s) who know me personally will know that, for the last year, I have been trying to get a film off the ground. This is my passion play, my labour of love, my raison d’etre, my Citizen Kane, my Sistine Chapel ceiling mural thingy. I would use my beard just to get the brush strokes right.
Let me tell you about it now:
It is a feature-length documentary about me called, “All About Me: A Film About Myself” (working title). With humour, pathos, and incisive social commentary, it paints a searing portrait not only of the failings of the academic system, but also of the deconstruction of the family unit and, most of all, the unfathomable pains and pleasures of youth, in all its grit and glory. I am determined to tell this story— my story; the one about me— from the ground up; not to sugarcoat or pull punches, flinch or smirk. Emotional reality is the key.
That is why the first shot of the film, as I’ve conceived it, is a long-shot of my naked body, curled up in the fetal position and violently escaping from a paper-mache womb made up of my grade-school report cards. The pain of my youth figures prominently into this story.
My first meeting for the film was with Albert Zimmerman, a talent agent from the renowned Zimmerman-Schmimmermann Agency in Los Angeles, California. The artist in him was intrigued enough to let me set foot in his office, but, naturally, the business man in him was nervous about the project. The truth so often frightens. The conversation went a little something like this:
AZ: It’s definitely a unique idea, but… What is your story? What has happened to you that separates you from anyone else?
ME: Well, see, that’s what’s original. People have seen the exciting, the surreal, the adventure. One thing that you hardly ever see in cinema these days is the mundane. It’s always some crazy action-packed adventure, like an "Indiana Jones" or a "Hotel Rwanda", and, what this film seeks to do is to say, “Okay, we’ve seen that. Here’s what I had for breakfast today.” You know? Tell me, who has done that before?
AZ: Well, I’m not so sure that’s something anyone would want to see.
ME: I would.
AZ: Yeah, ok… I mean, because it’s your life, sure, you’ll get a kick out of it, but who else wants to see what you had for breakfast?
ME: Or dinner, whatever.
AZ: It’s not breakfast in particular. It’s the idea of just sitting around watching a guy do nothing for two hours. We can see that at home. You’ve gotta add some excitement or insight, otherwise people are just gonna stay home. Where’s the drama?
ME: (hesitantly) In high school, people were mean to me.
AZ: Okay…
ME: Like, they would say things like, “Hey, Daniel Wart!”, you know, and they knew that wasn’t how my name was spelled. Or “Warth, huh, good guys, say, what is he good for? Absolutely nothing!” I mean, sure, it’s clever, but still…
AZ: So it’s a film about bullying.
ME: You know, or “Hey, fag!”
AZ: Yes, so, it’s about bullying?
ME: No, it’s a film about everything.
AZ: Right, but the focus is bullying.
ME: (pause) Exactly.
Although Albert did not agree to represent the project, he did refer me to a manager by the name of Bob Pepper, who works over at Imagination Limited Management. That night, I wrote in my diary:
“Hollywood has always been a savage beast that feeds on compromise, why would it make any exception for me? Although I was initially adamant that there should be no conventional plot, no thematic focus, I can now see that it will be nearly impossible for me to secure financing for such a risky project. What I need to do is trick the Hollywood elite into believing that the film will be something they want it to be, something it’s not. I must stick to my guns, whilst giving the appearance that I’m folding. If they want a story about bullying, then let them believe that’s what they’re getting.”
With this in mind, I was able to make my meeting with Bob Pepper infinitely more successful. That being said, it got off to a shaky start:
ME: Okay… Forget everything you THINK you know about movies…
BP: Fuck all that, just tell me the story.
ME: Oh… Okay… (pause) It’s about bullying.
BP: (intrigued) Girl-bullying?
ME: Well, the protagonist is male. It’s me, actually. I want to do a documentary about myself, and the torment I experienced in adolescence.
BP: You know what’s really hot right now? Black people.
ME: …Pardon me?
BP: People are really hot on rap music and all that.
ME: Oh… Yeah, but, like I was saying…
BP: Tell you what you should do. Give the movie an urban slant, like “Hoop Dreams”. I want to see gritty, on-the-street drama. I can’t sell a movie about some preppy white kid complaining that kids are mean to him. Show me Harlem, show me South Central. Give me a street kid who’s so hopped up he’s mugging old ladies just to be able to afford junk.
ME: It’s a documentary, though, right? I doubt I could find anybody to do that stuff on camera…
BP: Alright, well just make him black then. And give it a rap soundtrack, real hardcore hip-hop shit, something we can sell.
ME: Look, I don’t mind if our soundtrack is entirely comprised of hardcore hip-hop shit, but I really feel that I should be the focus of the story. I want to talk about my experiences, my life.
BP: Then find black you. I’m sure there’s some kid who’s black who’s gone through all the dumb shit that you have. Find him, make him the focus of the movie, and I’ll help you finance it.
I couldn’t believe it! Financing! All I had to do was find the African-American me. It wasn’t so hard to believe that I had an African-American doppleganger out there somewhere. After all, I’m not a racist. Some of my best friends are that colour.
So, I began circling around the more urban areas of Los Angeles, searching for the African-American version of myself as an adolescent. Of course, I got my fair share of worried looks. It’s unfortunate that we live in the kind of world where you have to worry when an older male is wandering through playgrounds, looking for children to film.
I quickly decided to put posters around the city, describing my ideal candidate. The poster read:
DOCUMENTARY FILMMAKER SEEKS SUBJECT FOR FEATURE FILM!
Ideal candidate would be:
- Male
- Between the ages of 15 and 18
- African-American (or “Black”)
- Attending a public high school
- Introverted
- Experienced with bullying
- Inexperienced with members of the opposite sex (must be heterosexual!)
- Well-versed in “real hardcore hip-hop shit”
- Interested in film or some other art form
*Although not essential, having a side part in your hair is considered an asset.
After much searching, I found little Gary Drake. He was a fifteen-year-old boy of modest economic upbringing, who, like me at that age, fancied himself a filmmaker. Also like me, he had not much luck with the ladies or with academics, and he was quite withdrawn. His world came alive when he got home and his pen hit the paper; he dreamed about composition, camera moves, and jarring jump-cuts that somehow made sense. He was black me!
Excitedly, I phoned Bob Pepper and told him I had found the perfect subject for the documentary. Although I initially had to remind him who I was, his interest in the project was quickly resurrected. He told me that he had assembled a list of rap songs that he wanted in the movie, and I was excited to hear them. The final step was to talk to a producer.
True to form, Bob Pepper hooked up a conference call with one of the biggest in Hollywood; a real hot-shot named Jerry Weiser, over at Catacomb Pictures.
It went like this:
JW: Hello?
BP: Jerry, baby. It’s Bobby Pepper.
JW: Bobby, how the fuck are you, you stupid cock?
BP: Well, I wish your wife would trim her pubic hair once in a while, but, otherwise, I’m doing great. How are you, you slimy Jew?
JW: Can’t compain, can’t complain.
BP: Good, then let’s talk business, huh? I got a kid here, hot kid— I’m serious, he smells like burning coal; if I touched him, I’d have third degree burns— anyway, he’s got this movie he wants to make, and I really think it’s gonna be big. Huge even. It’s gonna tower. His name’s Daniel Warth.
JW: What is he, German?
BP: Yeah, maybe, but he’s alright. Anyway, tell him the story, Danny Boy.
ME: Alright, forget everything you think you know about movies...
BP: (shakes his head discouraging)
ME: I mean, it's a story about this kid...
JW: What kind of kid?
BP: A black kid!
JW: I love it. Tell me more about this kid.
ME: Well, it’s a documentary about his struggle to…
JW: Documentary? What are you kidding?
BP: It’s gonna have a really great hip-hop soundtrack.
JW: I don’t care if John Lennon comes back from the dead to do the music! A documentary?
BP: It doesn’t have to be a documentary!
JW: Now you’re talking. Okay, keep going.
ME: Well, I think it should be a documentary...
BP: What's the difference?
JW: Yeah, kid. You want to make this movie or not?
ME: Yes, I want to make THIS movie, my movie. Not whatever it is you're trying to turn it into!
JW: Look, kid. You know how many people there are like you, with ideas just like yours. Everybody wants to make some self-indulgent bit of tripe that nobody but them is going to enjoy.
BP: Yeah, why are you so scared of pleasing an audience? Let us do what we do best.
Reluctantly, after much pushing and pulling, I agreed to make the project as a narrative film. It was to be a work of fiction, with a cast of actors to be determined by an established director. But, first, the premise was taken to a successful screenwriter, who would find its inherent marketability and bring it all out within the framework of a three-act structure. They were planning to cast Gary Drake until pretty late in the game, when a popular rapper named Sweet-Tooth expressed interest in the part. They also changed the title to something they felt was much more marketable. It was now called "Get Wit It."
Recently, a billboard poster for the film was put up in my neighbourhood, so I decided to gather a veritable who’s-who of my friends and family to come and check it out. They all stood in one big mob, still and speechless as they stared up at it.
“What is it?” One of them asked.
I laughed.
“That’s my movie!”
My head is spinning. I owe a thousand apologies. For the last few months, I have not written a single entry on my blog and I know that my regular reader(s) must be thouroughly concerned. Let me assure you folk(s) then that the reason for my absence is a positive one, for I have been to Hollywood; lost at sea, in the best possible way. Those of you(s) who know me personally will know that, for the last year, I have been trying to get a film off the ground. This is my passion play, my labour of love, my raison d’etre, my Citizen Kane, my Sistine Chapel ceiling mural thingy. I would use my beard just to get the brush strokes right.
Let me tell you about it now:
It is a feature-length documentary about me called, “All About Me: A Film About Myself” (working title). With humour, pathos, and incisive social commentary, it paints a searing portrait not only of the failings of the academic system, but also of the deconstruction of the family unit and, most of all, the unfathomable pains and pleasures of youth, in all its grit and glory. I am determined to tell this story— my story; the one about me— from the ground up; not to sugarcoat or pull punches, flinch or smirk. Emotional reality is the key.
That is why the first shot of the film, as I’ve conceived it, is a long-shot of my naked body, curled up in the fetal position and violently escaping from a paper-mache womb made up of my grade-school report cards. The pain of my youth figures prominently into this story.
My first meeting for the film was with Albert Zimmerman, a talent agent from the renowned Zimmerman-Schmimmermann Agency in Los Angeles, California. The artist in him was intrigued enough to let me set foot in his office, but, naturally, the business man in him was nervous about the project. The truth so often frightens. The conversation went a little something like this:
AZ: It’s definitely a unique idea, but… What is your story? What has happened to you that separates you from anyone else?
ME: Well, see, that’s what’s original. People have seen the exciting, the surreal, the adventure. One thing that you hardly ever see in cinema these days is the mundane. It’s always some crazy action-packed adventure, like an "Indiana Jones" or a "Hotel Rwanda", and, what this film seeks to do is to say, “Okay, we’ve seen that. Here’s what I had for breakfast today.” You know? Tell me, who has done that before?
AZ: Well, I’m not so sure that’s something anyone would want to see.
ME: I would.
AZ: Yeah, ok… I mean, because it’s your life, sure, you’ll get a kick out of it, but who else wants to see what you had for breakfast?
ME: Or dinner, whatever.
AZ: It’s not breakfast in particular. It’s the idea of just sitting around watching a guy do nothing for two hours. We can see that at home. You’ve gotta add some excitement or insight, otherwise people are just gonna stay home. Where’s the drama?
ME: (hesitantly) In high school, people were mean to me.
AZ: Okay…
ME: Like, they would say things like, “Hey, Daniel Wart!”, you know, and they knew that wasn’t how my name was spelled. Or “Warth, huh, good guys, say, what is he good for? Absolutely nothing!” I mean, sure, it’s clever, but still…
AZ: So it’s a film about bullying.
ME: You know, or “Hey, fag!”
AZ: Yes, so, it’s about bullying?
ME: No, it’s a film about everything.
AZ: Right, but the focus is bullying.
ME: (pause) Exactly.
Although Albert did not agree to represent the project, he did refer me to a manager by the name of Bob Pepper, who works over at Imagination Limited Management. That night, I wrote in my diary:
“Hollywood has always been a savage beast that feeds on compromise, why would it make any exception for me? Although I was initially adamant that there should be no conventional plot, no thematic focus, I can now see that it will be nearly impossible for me to secure financing for such a risky project. What I need to do is trick the Hollywood elite into believing that the film will be something they want it to be, something it’s not. I must stick to my guns, whilst giving the appearance that I’m folding. If they want a story about bullying, then let them believe that’s what they’re getting.”
With this in mind, I was able to make my meeting with Bob Pepper infinitely more successful. That being said, it got off to a shaky start:
ME: Okay… Forget everything you THINK you know about movies…
BP: Fuck all that, just tell me the story.
ME: Oh… Okay… (pause) It’s about bullying.
BP: (intrigued) Girl-bullying?
ME: Well, the protagonist is male. It’s me, actually. I want to do a documentary about myself, and the torment I experienced in adolescence.
BP: You know what’s really hot right now? Black people.
ME: …Pardon me?
BP: People are really hot on rap music and all that.
ME: Oh… Yeah, but, like I was saying…
BP: Tell you what you should do. Give the movie an urban slant, like “Hoop Dreams”. I want to see gritty, on-the-street drama. I can’t sell a movie about some preppy white kid complaining that kids are mean to him. Show me Harlem, show me South Central. Give me a street kid who’s so hopped up he’s mugging old ladies just to be able to afford junk.
ME: It’s a documentary, though, right? I doubt I could find anybody to do that stuff on camera…
BP: Alright, well just make him black then. And give it a rap soundtrack, real hardcore hip-hop shit, something we can sell.
ME: Look, I don’t mind if our soundtrack is entirely comprised of hardcore hip-hop shit, but I really feel that I should be the focus of the story. I want to talk about my experiences, my life.
BP: Then find black you. I’m sure there’s some kid who’s black who’s gone through all the dumb shit that you have. Find him, make him the focus of the movie, and I’ll help you finance it.
I couldn’t believe it! Financing! All I had to do was find the African-American me. It wasn’t so hard to believe that I had an African-American doppleganger out there somewhere. After all, I’m not a racist. Some of my best friends are that colour.
So, I began circling around the more urban areas of Los Angeles, searching for the African-American version of myself as an adolescent. Of course, I got my fair share of worried looks. It’s unfortunate that we live in the kind of world where you have to worry when an older male is wandering through playgrounds, looking for children to film.
I quickly decided to put posters around the city, describing my ideal candidate. The poster read:
DOCUMENTARY FILMMAKER SEEKS SUBJECT FOR FEATURE FILM!
Ideal candidate would be:
- Male
- Between the ages of 15 and 18
- African-American (or “Black”)
- Attending a public high school
- Introverted
- Experienced with bullying
- Inexperienced with members of the opposite sex (must be heterosexual!)
- Well-versed in “real hardcore hip-hop shit”
- Interested in film or some other art form
*Although not essential, having a side part in your hair is considered an asset.
After much searching, I found little Gary Drake. He was a fifteen-year-old boy of modest economic upbringing, who, like me at that age, fancied himself a filmmaker. Also like me, he had not much luck with the ladies or with academics, and he was quite withdrawn. His world came alive when he got home and his pen hit the paper; he dreamed about composition, camera moves, and jarring jump-cuts that somehow made sense. He was black me!
Excitedly, I phoned Bob Pepper and told him I had found the perfect subject for the documentary. Although I initially had to remind him who I was, his interest in the project was quickly resurrected. He told me that he had assembled a list of rap songs that he wanted in the movie, and I was excited to hear them. The final step was to talk to a producer.
True to form, Bob Pepper hooked up a conference call with one of the biggest in Hollywood; a real hot-shot named Jerry Weiser, over at Catacomb Pictures.
It went like this:
JW: Hello?
BP: Jerry, baby. It’s Bobby Pepper.
JW: Bobby, how the fuck are you, you stupid cock?
BP: Well, I wish your wife would trim her pubic hair once in a while, but, otherwise, I’m doing great. How are you, you slimy Jew?
JW: Can’t compain, can’t complain.
BP: Good, then let’s talk business, huh? I got a kid here, hot kid— I’m serious, he smells like burning coal; if I touched him, I’d have third degree burns— anyway, he’s got this movie he wants to make, and I really think it’s gonna be big. Huge even. It’s gonna tower. His name’s Daniel Warth.
JW: What is he, German?
BP: Yeah, maybe, but he’s alright. Anyway, tell him the story, Danny Boy.
ME: Alright, forget everything you think you know about movies...
BP: (shakes his head discouraging)
ME: I mean, it's a story about this kid...
JW: What kind of kid?
BP: A black kid!
JW: I love it. Tell me more about this kid.
ME: Well, it’s a documentary about his struggle to…
JW: Documentary? What are you kidding?
BP: It’s gonna have a really great hip-hop soundtrack.
JW: I don’t care if John Lennon comes back from the dead to do the music! A documentary?
BP: It doesn’t have to be a documentary!
JW: Now you’re talking. Okay, keep going.
ME: Well, I think it should be a documentary...
BP: What's the difference?
JW: Yeah, kid. You want to make this movie or not?
ME: Yes, I want to make THIS movie, my movie. Not whatever it is you're trying to turn it into!
JW: Look, kid. You know how many people there are like you, with ideas just like yours. Everybody wants to make some self-indulgent bit of tripe that nobody but them is going to enjoy.
BP: Yeah, why are you so scared of pleasing an audience? Let us do what we do best.
Reluctantly, after much pushing and pulling, I agreed to make the project as a narrative film. It was to be a work of fiction, with a cast of actors to be determined by an established director. But, first, the premise was taken to a successful screenwriter, who would find its inherent marketability and bring it all out within the framework of a three-act structure. They were planning to cast Gary Drake until pretty late in the game, when a popular rapper named Sweet-Tooth expressed interest in the part. They also changed the title to something they felt was much more marketable. It was now called "Get Wit It."
Recently, a billboard poster for the film was put up in my neighbourhood, so I decided to gather a veritable who’s-who of my friends and family to come and check it out. They all stood in one big mob, still and speechless as they stared up at it.
“What is it?” One of them asked.
I laughed.
“That’s my movie!”
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