Out of the Closet

OK, I’ve never told anybody this before for fear of rejection and persecution. But it’s time I came out. So here goes . . . . I love fruitcake. There. I’ve said it and I feel better about it. I am one of twelve people on this planet that actually loves fruitcake. I find the denseness to be comforting. It’s not fluffy and puffy like most sissy cakes. And I love those strange pieces of fruit. It’s like a mystery: what are they? How did they get that way? This cake has its secrets. It is dark and aged, like an old book; like a small, ancient chest with secret treasures inside. Regular cakes are obvious and two dimensional. You know them immediately. But if you want discovery and revelation, fruitcake is for you. You are an adventurer.
I am attempting to connect up with other Fruitcake Lovers (FLs). We will form a clandestine society like the Opus Dei or the Rosicrucians. We will develop secret handshakes, signs and arcane symbols so as to recognize each other but not be found out by others. We will conduct secret meetings on moonless nights and skulk around dark alleys in dangerous neighborhoods. I’ve always wanted to skulk. We will discuss origins and histories and conduct odd ceremonies involving exotic cloth, imported incense and charts in forgotten languages. And we will talk disparagingly about the Haters of Fruitcake (HOFFERS) and their shallowness and stupidity.
I feel better now that I’ve come out but I’m still not going to reveal my identity. I may be honest, but I’m not crazy.

Life in the Food Chain

In a small way I feel sorry for bigots, but not very much. Bigots are lazy crybabies. By trying to blame other groups for their own personal problems or the problems of the world, they are avoiding responsibility for the sorry state of their own crappy little lives. They have made a mess out of it and feel impotent in the flow of world events and, so, it must be someone else’s fault. “Those bastards out there are ruining the world and my life. I hate those niggers/Mexicans/Jews/Asians/Arabs/French/liberals/democrats/republicans/ communists/politicians/bosses/unions/intellectuals/women/aliens, etc., etc.”
Many years ago in Grants Pass, Oregon there was a large contingent of the Ku Klux Klan. They hated black people especially and would hold regular meetings to rail against the colored people and their conspiracy with the Jews to take America away from the superior whites. The problem was, in those days, there was not a black person within 200 miles of Grants Pass. It must have been tough. I have imagined that they could have used a full size photo stand-up of a “negro” so that they could stand around and spew ugly curses at it until they got tired and went home. What a pathetic group.
A few years ago my wife went into the Deep South for a family reunion. The large group spent a sunny day together having a pleasant picnic in the local park. She reported that they were warm and friendly people and she was enjoying herself with the extended family that she hardly knew. It went well for a while until there was a lull in the conversation. An aunt spoke up and said, ‘You know, a nigger raped a white woman the other day over in the next county.” My wife was shocked. Not because of the bigotry. She knew that existed. She was shocked that throughout the day at regular intervals, it seemed necessary to inject a nasty comment about black people whether in was pertinent to the ongoing conversation or not.
I pondered that event a lot. Forgive my armchair psychology, but my conclusion is that many middle and especially lower class people must constantly remind themselves that they are not the bottom of the food chain; that there must be someone lower. These particular people are surrounded by African Americans and they have a long, complex relationship with them, so black people are the target. If they were surrounded by Mexicans or Vietnamese or Native Americans, then they might be the source of their problems.
I’m convinced that bigots suffer from a serious inferiority complex and rather than working to build themselves up, it’s much easier to push someone else down. To be honest, I think we all suffer from this sickness to some degree. Most of us, however, do what we can to eliminate it. We recognize it as a human weakness.
So, whenever someone is pointing the finger at someone else just a little too much and too often, I begin to suspect the source of the complaints. To paraphrase Shakespeare, “Methinks thou dost protest too much.”