Ethnicity: Shouldn't Matter to Anyone, So Why Does It?

It is the moment my sister dreads most when she is at a gas station. The cashier hands her the change and asks, "Are you Persian?" Everywhere she goes Persians are trying to identify with her.

Wait… you're not Asian?
The men at the gas station are not entirely off base. My sister and I are a mix of Mexican and Israeli. And it's not that my sister has anything against Persians. So why does it bother her? That question, after thinking about it for some time, is very hard to answer. I think it has something to do with the fact that no ethnic group likes to be lumped with one they are not. It seems especially ignorant when Caucasian people do this. One of my closest friends, who is as white as they come, thought I was Asian, probably for about four years of our friendship. I couldn't believe it! It bothered me so much, not that someone would think I was Asian, but the fact that someone would be so ignorant as to see tan skin and make his own wrong judgments. Then again, it really shouldn't matter. Unfortunately it does.

Non Parlo l'Italiano
There are so many good things about being mixed and being a minority. One of my favorites is being able to blend into a cluster of different countries when I travel. On a trip to Italy, people constantly approached me in Italian, assuming I was a native. It was very flattering. But then to be fair, I would have to ask, why is it OK for one to assume I'm Italian or French, but I get offended when I'm mistaken for Asian or Persian. Hmm…I don't know if I want to know what that says about me. The fact is, thanks to societal standards, some ethnicities are considered more desirable than others.

So this Mexican Walks into a Bar…
Race jokes don't often create any rifts, mostly because if one does get offended, they're usually chastised and someone yells, "Damn, take a JOKE!" My first semester at ARC, I admired my Sociology teacher, Shayla Mokhtarzada, for teaching our class not to laugh because it just exacerbates the problem that is racism. I think that a lot of the jokes are in good fun. But when certain ones bother me, I'm not going to lie, sometimes I laugh. Sometimes it's easier than being sneered at for being sensitive.

My Maid is Mexican, I'm not Racist!
What strikes me as really ignorant is when people assume the right to be as racist as they'd like, citing, " My boyfriend's black, I'm not racist!" As if having any kind of relationship with a minority excuses you from stereotyping or bigotry. As long as you hold views that separate or compartmentalize a race, you are being racist. Often, being called a racist is an extremely harsh accusation. Few of us think we are racist, and would probably be defensive and deny it if accused. But the ideas so many of us still hold subconsciously are, well, racist. Maybe if we stop denying it, and make the effort to change, these beliefs can be cleared up.

Black Dude/Girl Trying to Act White
Sometimes I think about the black community's role today and how it got to be this way. Whites and blacks are expected to act so differently. I think a person, white or black, is going to act accordingly depending on his or her environment. And, as fellow Current writer, Monique Worthington pointed out, "Just because I use more vocabulary doesn't mean I'm trying to act white. I just want to be educated." I don't think it's fair to make fun of a guy who "acts white" or to fault a black guy for "acting black."

Stingy Jew
I don't think everyone is a racist. Rather, I think a lot of the things we are taught is through language. People understand and use phrases and stereotypes like a "toothless redneck" and "Indian giver." I was guilty of using the phrase "stingy Jew," even though I'm Jewish myself, making me guilty of what I was just complaining about. I didn't even know what exactly I was implying until my mom made me stop saying it. The thing is, you never know who you are going to offend. So I suppose you should try to become well rounded and try to learn as much as you can about all races, and, as Sesame Street has always taught us, judge people as they are on the inside.

Go To Sleep Girl

I drank a Go Girl.

Although I think caffeine has no affect on me, part of me knows that it sometimes has the ability to keep me up in bed, laying in the dark, praying for sleep. This inevitable, sleepless, me is unpredictable. She pops up whenever. I thought about potentially-sleepless-future-me briefly as I popped open the can of Go Girl at the ARC fashion show (apparently they sponsored the event), but the inkling of possible regret in the back of my head quickly disappeared as the beverage was a) free and b) free of calories. These are two things I can't refuse. The fact that aspartame is arguably toxic and that caffeine slows down your metabolism (thankyou stomach-flattening seminar via Royal Carribean) are nutritional factoids that mean nothing to the cheapskate and sucker-for-sweets that is me.

I used to make fun of Go Girl for its blantant sucker appeal. "What a marketing crock!" I thought. Because it's pink, sugar-free, and somewhat chic looking, women are supposed to purchase this joke of an energy drink? But the fact remains that it tastes nothing like Red Bull (a very good thing), has less than 5 calories (I know this because it has a less than < sign on the label), and it's delicious with vodka.

So after thumbing through the new Bjork songs my friend put on my ipod (as it turns out, not many of which can be counted on to put you to sleep) and reading 50 pages of the best book ever (Killing Yourself to Live by Chuck Klosterman), I was left with only a new appreciation for Bjork's ability to roll her tonsils and began hearing my thoughts in a narrative voice, which always happens to me when I read a lot and is probably the reason I'm writing a blog right now. But no sleep.

The fact that I can't sleep is probably the only affect energy drinks/caffeine have on me. I don't recall ever getting an energy "high". I'm pretty much down for a nap any time. Today I slept in till 10:00 a.m. Come 4 p.m., I had nothing to do and conked out for an hour simply because I could (and only woke up because I had to attend to the ARC fashion show). The only "high" I get from said drinks is not feeling the need to go to sleep. Unfortunately the free opportunities always seem to present themselves in close proximity to bed time.

Go Girl should make a drink called Go To Sleep Girl to counteract the "energizing" affects of their leading product.

In other news, or shall I say shit that actually matters, I'm going to UCLA- starting in July for their Transfer Summer Program. I almost want to call it UCFLA, that is, UC fuckin' LA! The same acronym can also be used for AR, as in I go to fuckin' AR (FAR), although with a very different (read: negative) connotation.

The reality that I'll be living in L.A. in less than 3 months hasn't sunken in. I feel this strange, but typical (of me), combination of "I can't wait to worry only about myself and not what my mom wants me to do!" and "Aw, I'm going to miss sleeping in the same house as my mom." Obviously the former wins out by a landslide and I'm super excited about the whole thing, but it will be weird to live away from my family for the rest of my life (not in the same house, not necessarily in a different city).

Maybe I should try one of my mom's sleeping pills. I most probably won't do that, since, now that I think about it, I have an irrational fear of putting drugs of even a normal nature into my body. I don't even like washing my birth control pill down with alchohol for fear that it might make some sort of deadly cocktail in my stomach. This fear is also what has kept me from purchasing diet pills (come on, that Envy stuff is tempting and convincing and to a certain extent, before Anna Nicole passed away, so was Trim Spa) and from trying anything more than weed (that and that Dawson's Creek episode where Andy has a seizure from taking one ecstacy pill). I suppose both those things make me a) easily influenced by cheesy advertising and b) easily influenced by sitcoms with subtle "after-school-special"-like morals.

Well I'm off to (try to) sleep, me and the narrator in my head. Goodnight.

Cookies n' Cream

I just went grocery shopping for at least the second time this week. Aside from being totally endless and annoying, being the one in charge of grocery shopping still allows me to get whatever the hell I want. Needless to say, there's always at least two kinds of Dreyer's Slow Churned ice creams in the fridge. Bel-Air's assortment of Slow-Churned kind of sucks, but there was one gem: Cookies n' Cream! What I once thought was a totally overrated flavor is now one of my favorites. It's very hit and miss though. The key is the name-brand, meaning the cookie chunks have to be Oreo brand. None of that Costco off-brand bullshit. Not only are they not as soft, they have virtually NO cream! Can you imagine? The nerve. Big Spoon frozen yogurt on J St. tries to pull this fast one on their customers, but I'm not buyin'!

Anyway, so I was just unloading the groceries and saw the opportunity for prime-ice-cream-eating, as it had been softening for just the right amount of time. So I open it up and there's a huge cluster of Oreos (including one whole one)! With tunnel vision ensuing, I grabbed a spoon and started, what Nick calls, "fueling my addiction." I started wondering if the manufacturer saw the top of that particular carton and thought, "Look at that baby. That will be one lucky ice-cream consumer," shaking his head. Okay, so this is the 21st century and it's probably operated by machines, and no one without my i.c. addiction would ever utter those words, but the point is: I am one lucky ice-cream consumer!

Yesterday Oprah interviewed author Cormac McCarthy and he said another author said he only writes when he's inspired. That's definitely true for me, I'm just inspired by insignificant happenings like reduced fat ice cream.