Burnettiquette

Magic Negroes

What's crackin' friends and frienemies? Hope the holidays have gone swimmingly for you.

Mine have been great. I took all of last week off and didn't write a word...anywhere, for any reason.

But on to business. You should have had a few days by now to marinate on the "Christmas" CD sent to friends by Chip Saltsman, candidate for the chairmanship of the Republican National Committee and former presidential campaign manager for Mike Huckabee.

The highlight of the CD was a parody song called Barack the Magic Negro, sung to the tune of Puff the Magic Dragon. Paul Shanklin, the comic satirist who wrote and performed the song, did so in a voice meant to mimic that of Rev. Al Sharpton complaining that Obama isn't black enough.

Here's a snippet:

Barack the Magic Negro lives in D.C.
The L.A. Times they called him that
'cause he's not authentic like me...

"Yeah the guy from the L.A. paper
said he made guilty whites feel good
they'll vote for him and not for me
'cause he's not from the hood..."

OK, I have no jokes. I'm dying to wax poetic and test humor on you about magical Negroes, but the only images I can conjure up are Morgan Freeman, the black guy who played the sidekick on that old TV show Manimal, and Uncle Remus, the original (Your Animal Here) Whisperer.

Seriously though, I'm struggling to understand how it is that some GOP power brokers don't see the ignorance of this sort of thing. Republican Party leaders would be going nuts right now if the president-elect were a young, white man, and a candidate for the chairmanship of the Democratic National Committee had sent friends a CD featuring a song called George, the Magic White Man.

Don't lecture me about the song being based on an LA Times editorial. Don't lecture me about having a sense of humor. Don't lecture me about liberals saying offensive things too.

Saltsman blaming the Times editorial is like the arrested drug buyer saying it's all the dealer's fault for having a readily available supply. Even if the premise of the Times editorial was absurd - and I'm not necessarily saying it was - what was the Rev. Sharpton voice thing all about? Paul Shanklin's a satirist, a humorist. He makes fun of people in a biting way. Fine. But Chip Saltsman wants to lead a political party that hopes to some day re-take the controls of the U.S. government. People are broke. People are concerned about the color green, not skin colors. There are wars and rumors of wars. This ain't the time for jokes from people who want to help lead the country, especially the kinds of jokes that require a defense.

As for sense of humor, I have a sturdy one, measured by my ability over the years to absorb real jokes and bite my tongue in the presence of offensive crap disguised as jokes.

And, of course, liberals say offensive things too. But they're called out for it just as often as their conservative counterparts. Just look at the past 25 years of Rev. Jesse Jackson's life and consider everything from his Hymie Town slur to his stated desire on Fox to de-ball President-Elect Obama. You're only aware of Jackson's foot-in-mouth incidents over the years 'cause a mainstream media outlet brought them to you.

Some of you know me. You know that I don't believe in full-time partisanship. I believe in voting piecemeal - picking candidates on an election-by-election basis, choosing the one I feel is right on the issues of the day. So I have voted for candidates from both major parties, and also Independents. I learned a long time ago that being conservative and being liberal are not necessarily synonymous with being Republican or Democrat, respectively. Be you.

But if any of you who are diehard Republicans don't get why this Saltsman thing is a little annoying to some ethnic minorities let me leave you with this question:

Would you join a club that espoused things you believed in if the person greeting you at the door to the club took jabs at you over some racial characteristic of yours?

No, you wouldn't. And even as the other members deep inside the belly of the club called out to you to ignore the greeter...or laugh with him and come on in, you'd probably walk away and give 'em all the finger. And you'd give 'em that finger knowing that if you came back to the club same time a week later, the door would be opened by the same greeter.

Now, replace the club with political party, and you have your answer to why there aren't more black Republicans.

Airing of Grievances

In the spirit of Festivus, I have a few things to get off my chest.

Yes, I want my neighbor to quit blasting Freebird from his pickup truck everyday when he arrives home from work. And yes, I want a certain co-worker who loves nature to start loving deodorant. And it is true that I'd like to get hit up less for coin when I walk to the Starbucks down the block from my house. And there is no doubt that I wish my one buddy would quit pretending to be straight and just come out of the closet. And I'm annoyed that a copy editor misspelled my name on an article I wrote last week.

But most of all, I wish Mrs. B would be less tolerant.

No, I'm not asking for my wife to become a jerk. But she is too nice.

That's a cliche, right? We've all heard it, and we've probably all applied it to someone we know.

But niceness is like any other meld of attitude, emotion, and behavior, including sternness, anger, etc.: there can be too much of it.

Mrs. B is so nice that at times she inadvertently becomes an apologist to mean people, justifying her nice behavior to them, while they sulk without cause.

We were just at the dog park with Dog B., and we encountered a mean guy whose overly aggressive dog was pissing off a couple of other dogs, including Dog B., and the other dogs were starting to snarl at his overly aggressive dog to tell that dog to back off. That dog's owner was slow to act, risking an all out doggy rumble. Plus he had a foul attitude. So I called him out, and that made him angrier. And Mrs. B tried to shoosh me, embarrassed that I was snapping on the guy. But you know what? His anger subsided, or he subdued it, and it was replaced with sheepishness. And he got his dog under control.

Mrs. B, ever the diplomat, proceeded to say nice things to calm the situation.

But sometimes that's not the nicest thing to do. Mean people must be checked. And sometimes you have to growl at 'em to check 'em 'cause it's the only language they understand. If you let them go unchecked they won't learn anything.

Plus, mean people have a tendency to be so blind to their own behavior and attitude that if you're too nice to them, they grow accustomed to it and in a weird way start to feel entitled to it. Seriously, too nice equals expected coddling.

When I was 16 and in driver's ed, my instructor was a jerk and a bully. He picked on everyone and regularly tried to humiliate people. Out of habit, when he addressed me I always answered him sir - yes sir, no sir, etc. It was something my dad had required of me since I was a kid. Don't suppose that had anything to do with the military atmosphere?

Anyway, the other kids all answered this instructor yep, nope, yes, no, or with shrugs and nods and shakes of the head. He never said a word to anyone about how we talked to him until the day that I answered him yes, not yes sir, but plain old yes. Know what he did? He pulled me in front of the class and demanded that I say "yes sir" to him. When I asked why, he said because it's what I had always done, and he didn't want it to stop. So I stood my ground. Since he'd called me on the carpet in front of the class, I told him in front of the class that he was a bully who hadn't earned the "sirs" I'd given him before and that until he started showing me some respect he wouldn't get anymore from me, regardless of his age and gray hair. He stopped bullying me after that. He still bullied some of the kids in my class, but not me.

I know Jesus reportedly turned the other cheek. But I turned all four of mine a long time ago. Now, just like I pick and choose my battles, I pick and choose when to present a humble front to a mean person and when to give 'em a dose of their medicine...in a nice way of course.

That's what I want for Mrs. B. She's too nice and has earned the right to answer mean people in kind and do it with no apologies.

Happy Festivus!

USS Bush

Technically that's USS George H.W. Bush, CVN-77, as in the newest and last Nimitz-class aircraft carrier to be constructed for the United States Navy.

The Bush is scheduled to make its debut and be formally commissioned next month.

I love Navy ships. When I was a kid and my dad was serving on the USS (Dwight D.) Eisenhower AKA The Ike, they used to do these father-son cruises, where boys of a minimum age were allowed to go on the sailing version of camping trips with their dads. We'd get assigned a rack (bunk), and we essentially got to hang out with our dads on their ships, while the ships sailed in circles 50 miles or whatever distance from the coast. It was a harmless PR stunt. And it was a blast.

And when I worked as a machinist in college every few months our facility, the late, great NARF/NADEP, would assign a few of us to catapult duty and we'd spend a few days doing maintenance on the catapults used to launch jets from the short runways of aircraft carriers.

Ah, the good old days. The good old, greasy, smelly, metal-shaving-covered, hydraulic-fluid-drenched days!

Anyway, I'm drifting.

What I'm really curious about is whether sending a military ship named The Bush to cruise the world is good PR right now. Like it or not the military is governed by politics. And politics is governed somewhat by image, Public Relations.

Not trying to be funny. But if people are willing to throw boots at the man named Bush, some wannabe terrorist might consider it a trophy to attack a $6 billion ship named Bush when he hears it'll be docking in his country the next day. And no, I don't think they'd make the distinction that the ship is named after the 41st President of the United States and not the current, outgoing president.

I'm not wishing it to happen or anything. I hope the ship and the sailors who serve on it go unharmed. I hope no one throws so much as a sandal at The Bush.

But given the current climate, you can't blame me for being curious.

Adolf Hitler denied birthday cake

See, this is what I meant several posts ago when I said giving your child a goofy name is tantamount to child abuse.

A New Jersey man and his wife are angry that their 3-year-old son, Adolf Hitler, was denied a birthday cake by their local ShopRite grocery store.

Heath and Deborah Campbell wanted a custom cake for Hitler's 3rd birthday party. But ShopRite thought it would be distasteful to inscribe a cake with happy birthday wishes to Hitler. The Campbells believe it was cruel to the child, who doesn't know history and just wanted a birthday cake. Eventually Wal-Mart agreed to make the cake, as they had for the birthday of one of the Campbell's daughters, JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell.

Another daughter is named Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell, the latter being an homage to Heinrich Himmler.

The Campbells, who reportedly are Holocaust deniers and whose house is decorated with Swastikas, insist Adolf Hitler is just a unique name that they chose 'cause they believed no other child would have it. They argue, that in spite of their feelings about racial separation...but not superiority, the old Hitler and the ideas he represented are dead, and that the new Hitler, their Hitler will be raised in a normal way that allows him to choose when he's older what types of people he'll associate with.

Hmmm. I don't even have any jokes about this one. Whatever the Campbell's motives were I call this child abuse. Even if the Campbells are right in their theory that young Hitler won't be teased and tortured by other school children some day, what's it gonna do to his psyche when in 8th-grade World History class he hears about the things his namesake did?

Of course, the question could be moot. There's a good chance young Hitler will learn about those things at home.

You too can be a Whopper

Remember that old Dr. Pepper commercial whose chorus went "I'm a Pepper, he's a Pepper, wouldn't you lke to be a Pepper too?"

I ask 'cause it reminds me of this new Burger King fashion/hygiene accessory.

Typically when I slip up and hit up a fast food joint, I go 'cause I want the taste of fat-filled burger.

But I've never wanted to smell like one. So it was with great interest that I found two boxes on my desk when I arrived at work this morning - both from Burger King. Both contained cologne. Actually it was body spray called "Flame." Same thing.

Here's the picture that accompanied "Flame." It didn't work for me, but who knows? It could inspire you to want smell like Burger King:

Anyway, here's the funny thing - the slogan on the "Flame" label reads  "The scent of seduction with a hint of flame broiled meat."

After I had picked myself up off the floor from laughing so hard I sprayed a little "Flame" in the air. And I'd swear I smelled the "hint of flame broiled meat." But a male colleague said it wasn't there and I was succumbing to the mental power of suggestion.

We both decided though that "Flame" had to be wack, just the same as if CrackRonald's released a body spray called "Grease." But we also agreed that women are the best judges of what smells best on men.

So I took the "Flame" bottle to several female colleagues, including my boss, and let them smell it without showing them the label.

They loved it.

So now I am eating my words that "Flame" must be wack. I'm gonna let Mrs. B smell it. And if she likes it, there could be a shakeup coming soon in my daily body spray rotation.

I don't mind smelling like flame-broiled, lightly-seasoned meat, served my way on a sesame seed bun.

I've smelled worse things on humans.

Join me on NPR this afternoon

If you have access to a radio around 1:15ish or 1:20ish, I'll be a panelist on News & Notes.

Iraqi Shoe-thrower

You know the story. An Iraqi journalist hurled his brogans at Pres. Bush a few days ago.

I've seen all the late night jokes. Some of 'em even made me laugh.

But even though I haven't been a fan of the outgoing president's work, this whole incident bugged me.

I mean no disrespect to the office of the presidency, when I make this analogy: But I view elected officials like my siblings in the sense that I can snap at my sibling and say things and do things to get under my sibling's skin that you can't do. And if you tried to do or say those things to my sibling, I'd strongly rebuke you. May even knock you the hell out, and my displeasure with you wouldn't necessarily be about the reasons you were angry with my sibling. We may agree on the reasons. But my sibling. Leave the scolding to me.

When I lived in Sicily as a kid, just outside Palermo, young Sicilians with whom I became friends, would make anti-American jokes. They'd poke fun of the sailors and airmen stationed on nearby U.S. Naval and Air Force bases. They'd dog the servicemen's uniforms and pick on their funny haircuts. The thing is I'd poked fun at the servicemen too. I'd made cracks about the haircuts, and so on. But my young Sicilian friends? They were knocking these guys and making more generalized anti-American jokes even as they bragged about the summer homes their parents were able to buy in Taormina, thanks to lucrative contracts they'd signed for work on those military bases.

My own sister and I did it. She's five years older than me. And when I was a kid and she was a slightly older kid she and my older cousin who lived with us at the time would torture me mercilessly. You think of the cruel nickname; they used it on me. I don't think it's a stretch to say that my sister and cousin bullied me. They won't mind me saying so. It's true. But it probably helped toughen me up.

But I digress. My point is when some other kid, some kid who wasn't family, tried to jump in the fray and bully me, my sister and cousin would put that kid in check and tell him things to the effect of "We know James is a snot nose and has cooties, but he's not your brother. We'll deal with him."

Goofy? Yes. But I'm sure you get my point. If that journalist dude wanted to yell at President Bush or stage a protest outside the hall where the president spoke, fine. But even if we weren't all informed that in Arab cultures tossing shoes is a put-down, I'd still have seen that journalist's shoe-toss as out of line.

Unpopular or not, I give Pres. Bush a few points on this one. I think I might've tried to force that guy to eat those shoes.

Man sprays teens with fox urine

This post is not about a kinky sex ring involving showers of animal pee.

Moving right along, it is an attempt at a serious story about a Minnesota man who got fed up with repeat visits from high school vandals who left his house draped in toilet paper.

Scott Edward Wagar of Willmar, Minn., says he told the kids to cut it out. They kept coming back. This particular evening he was ready. Wagar, wearing night vision goggles, saw the TPee-ers coming, swore at 'em, and told 'em to leave his property. After he determined they weren't leaving, Wagar opened fire...with a Super Soaker water rifle filled with fox pee.

My response to this story? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Bet they won't TP any other angry hunter's homes. I'm assuming he's a hunter, 'cause if he isn't I'm expecting a follow-up article about what types of people keep a stash of fox pee at home.

The local prosecutor's response? On Wednesday he formally charged Wagar with misdemeanor assault, theft, and disorderly conduct for the pee gunnery, his reluctance to return a cell phone that one kid left behind and a brief wrestling match he engaged in with one male vandal.

I never got into TP-ing houses in high school 'cause I had funnier things to do. I could never get the TP to unravel as it flew. And I had at least one insane neighbor who might have shot me...with a real gun.

For the record, I am anti-pee-spraying-of-teenagers. On the other hand, am I nuts for thinking that Wagar didn't do anything worthy of criminal charges? I'm not ready to give him a ticker tape parade 'cause pee-spraying sounds gross. But I'd buy him a pint if I saw him in my favorite watering hole juice bar. I'm thinking at most he should've gotten a verbal warning from the sheriff to call 911 next time.

The kids got off easy. Wagar could have been bat poop crazy and sprayed them with bullets instead of pee. Their folks could've been planning funerals. Instead the kids just had to shower and bathe in tomato juice.

I'm never gonna be that old grumpy guy in the neighborhood who chases kids off his lawn. And I say that while thinking "there, but for the grace of God go I," 'cause I really love my lawn, my trees, etc. And messing with a man's property is one of those potentially do-at-your-own-risk things.

I'm too pretty to go to jail over some prankster kids, but consider this:

About a month ago vandals went up and down my block spraying white paint on the backs and tail lights of virtually every car in sight. That night my car was parked on the street and not in our secure, gated driveway. But guess whose car was the only one on the block unscathed that night?

I hope we were spared 'cause the kids I don't know on our block aren't quite sure about my temperament. Good. I'd rather they worry that I'm not a punk than think I'm an easy target for a prank.

So kids if you're reading this, don't worry, I don't own a Super Soaker...But I will spray you with a 12.5-on-the-boot-scale Kung Fu kicks to the arse. And if your parents raised you in the school of thought that says pranks are your harmless release of frustrated creativity, I'll kick them too.

Forget the Dark Knight. Tell your friends that Bootman may be watching!

Diversified Holiday Guest List

I couldn't make this up if I wanted to.

According to Gawker, clients of a certain anonymous New York public relations firm have been ordering the firm to find "desirable" black people to attend their holiday parties this year, because they - the clients - are predicting that black folks will be the new, cool party accessory (as opposed to Scotty dog sweaters or mistletoe) thanks to...the election of Barack Obama.

Seriously, they're calling it the "Diversified Holiday Guest List."

I suppose there are worse ways to get invited to a party, like to cook, or serve drinks, or park cars.

But what I'd like to know is why I'm not on this list. I mean I'm not saying I should be top 10. But hell, there's a journalist on their top 10 list. I could fill that spot.

So if you're a highfalutin' New York company...perhaps with offices in Miami and you need a black person for your over-the-top holiday party, I'm for rent. And I'm an ideal choice for the following reasons:

1. I'm pretty, waaaaay prettier than I'm given credit for usually.
2. As long as the sun is up, white people don't fear me, except for that one time...
3. I own at least two pairs of calf-skin cap-toed shoes that are fit for a banker.
4. I have a collection of pocket squares that admirably compliments my collection of neckties. And I know how to knot a bow-tie - no clip-ons for me.
5. I'm aware that those squat glasses in which Cognac and other throat-warming spirits are served are called snifters.
6. I read the New Yorker, and I don't believe for a minute the allegation made on Family Guy that people who work at the New Yorker are missing an orifice.
7. I wasn't raised in poverty or turmoil, but I can pretend I was for the sake of conversation.
8. I've never been arrested, and I've never been ticketed for anything but parking violations.
9. I've never appeared on a reality TV show, especially not one whose burning question was "Is he or isn't he the father?" or "Was he born a man?"
10. And I do know the secret handshake, but I promise not to use it in your presence.

First Class all the Way

Pop culture experts and head shrinkers have always said that the most popular TV shows are successful because they touch on the moods, interests, and desires of Average Joe and Average Jane.

For the most part I believe that. Think back in the day. Working class black folks in the mid '70s through mid '80s got their kicks out of The Jeffersons, because it made them feel good to see George and Weezy doing well for themselves.

When pre-teens in the '80s were feeling caught between the fading style and mannerisms of the '70s and big shoulder pads that hadn't quite caught on yet they set the parameters for "cool" by Silver Spoons.

Again, it was all about the national mood and "its" appetite. Skipping ahead in time, it's easy to understand why 24 took off on Fox, after 9/11. The national mood was happy for a show about a super spy who spent single days rescuing the oblivious masses from terrorist attacks.

So it was no huge surprise that reality TV evolved from showing seven random and extremely average 20-somethings living together on the first season of The Real World in 1992, to mindless displays of wealth and frantic pursuits of wealth in more recent years.

Tell me you haven't watched an episode (or two or three) of Cribs, the MTV show that features snarky tours of the homes of actors, jocks, and musicians. Tell me you didn't watch Fear Factor and cringe at people scarfing down roaches and cow shlongs and nearly drowning themselves for a shot at the $50,000 grand prize. And tell me you didn't watch that miserable failure on Fox back in the day, called Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire?

And all that's OK, 'cause the national mood said it was OK and even fun to see how the other side lived and to watch people going all out for quick money. Maybe it gave Average Joes something to aspire to, even as they admired their favorite singer's house.

But the national mood is changing again. The economy - job losses, home foreclosures, thieving bankers, clueless auto execs, etc. - outranks terrorism on the list of things that make us wake up in a cold sweat at night.

So I wonder if lazy reality TV, the kind that just chronicles the antics of rich people, is on its last leg. It doesn't fit the current mood. Or am I wrong about that?

The Bravo network, for example, has ridden the financial voyeuristic wave for a while. It has made a killing over the past few years on franchises like Real Housewives of (Your city's high end neighborhood here).

That network's latest "reality" offering is First Class all the Way, a new show that chronicles the work of a big money travel concierge, whose job it is to fulfill the travel and vacation whims of the extremely rich, without consideration of price. Bad timing, maybe?

I'm not anti-rich. Wouldn't mind joining their ranks. But when the top news story of the day, pretty much every day, is possible economic collapse, I'm just sayin'....

Oh well, half the people at whom Bravo is aiming this show are going broke and probably won't be able to afford cable in a few months anyway. And when they stop watching and low ratings kill the show, it will be proof that the national mood, as flexible and organic as a single living being, understands irony and has a sense of humor.