Posts Tagged american
Otus asio
Posted by Jefferson Davis in Me, Myself, and I on Friday, December 4, 2009
A couple of days ago, I was having an arduous day at work. I was in the back doing inventory, when I heard one of my fellow employee’s call me to the front. I went to him and asked what the problem was, and he said, “Two more fuckin’ Mexican’s just came in – you help them”.
I work with a bunch of xenophobes. I do not like the fact that a large percentage of Mexican’s do come into this country illegally, but I’m not going to hold it against them. They are just trying to provide for their families. It’s far easier to say that an entire group of people are bad, rather than to realise that there is good and bad in all of us. No one, certainly no ethnicity, is pure or without sin. Some of us are more educated than others but that certainly does not make us perfect.
Researching my own family history has taught me more about myself than anything else. I became humbled, as I went through the records and realising what my ancestors had to overcome. Most were either running away from oppression or starvation. Still, others were ran off their land that they had resided on for a millennia.
All of this being said, I do not treat others like third class citizens because of where they were born. So, I approached the man and woman discovering that they were not Mexican’s at all.
“O si yo (hello)” I said whilst smiling and approaching the couple.
The man adorning a tan leather jacket and denims, smiled, as he leaned in whispering to the lady wearing a black dress and an enormous smile. She was short with jet black hair draping across her back and dark mystical eyes. He was tall and hefty having similar long jet black hair and dark mystical eyes.
“How did you know?” He asked whilst smiling and laughing.
“The Screech Owl pendant was a dead giveaway”, I answered, as I leaned in to shake their hands.
“You’re Cherokee?” The man asked with earnest intrigue and disbelief.
“My grandfather was half Cherokee”, I replied.
“Well, you’d never know it with the freckles and light hair”, he said whilst laughing.
“You might say I’m a bit watered down…There’s more Irish in the bucket of paint than anything else”, I laughingly replied.
“No way, my great-grandfather was Irish”, he yelled whilst patting me on the back.
We continued talking about the Cherokee Nation and our grandfathers. We also discussed our fiery tempers and which group of our ancestors we could blame for that. It was good to reminisce about all things Cherokee and mother earth. Native American’s are thrown to the wayside far too often. I’m still waiting for a Native American President!
When I finished talking with them, I walked to the back to finish inventory. The lad walked to the back, and asked, “What did the Mexican’s want?”.
“They were not Mexican’s, my brother, they are Cherokee, Native Americans.”
He smirked, and said, “Same difference”.
I jumped up from my kneeling position, looked him up and down, and walked away. I felt like decking him right then and there, but that wouldn’t solve anything. Nor would it be worth my time to explain it because you can’t educate those that don’t want to be educated.
I am very proud of my ancestry and am not ashamed of being from the Southern United States.
Thanksgiving
Posted by Jefferson Davis in History, Me, Myself, and I on Friday, November 28, 2008
The ol’ turkey seems to bring out the worst and best in people. All of it in one afternoon.
There was enough muttering, whispering, yelling, arguing, and laughing going around yesterday to last a lifetime.
I got up early yesterday and went to my grandmothers house to get everything in order. I am the official chairman of orderliness. I bring order to chaos. I bring peace to the warring tribes of my family by reciting a few words that I usually come up with at the last moment.
“We are privileged to be gathered together in this place to give thanks to the fruitful bounty of our labour. Also, to treasure our families and friends here today and those that are away yet so close to our hearts.
And, let us never forget the ancestors that came before us. Those that fought and died for our freedoms, and those that suffered because of their religious beliefs or nationality.
And finally, everyone in this family should recognise how special this day is, for most of you, being of European and Cherokee descent, can greatly understand both sides of the story and the importance of this day.
Now, dig in!”
While chowing down on turkey, dressing, gravy, candied yams, green bean casserole, potato salad (me Mum’s specialty) and cranberry sauce, I got into a wee bit of a spat with my cousin. She weaved, wobbled, and pecked at me like a turkey, as I stood and smiled. I don’t remember what it was about, so I don’t reckon it was too important. Something about my sister, I presume.
In the middle of eating, I got called down to my sisters to repair a phone line. To say I was irritated would be an understatement. At every family event, I am badgered with technical questions. They usually want to know what kind of TV to buy or what the best mobile on the market is at that time.
I shouldn’t be insulted by such questions, but I am. Mind you, I kindly answer their questions. But, I know a heck of a lot more about a myriad of other subjects than they would every give me credit for. It is an insult to my intelligence to think that information technology is the only thing buzzing around in my head. 
After repairing her phone line, I went back to the festivities and ate entirely too much. When I got ready to leave, my little niece and her mother came over to say goodbye. She said she wanted to be just like me. Can you imagine such a thing? I asked her why, and she said it was because I was really…wheelly smart and go places.
A ten year old looking up to me? Well, that makes it all worthwhile.
Everybody that had argued through the afternoon conciliated and the three dozen chocolate oatmeal cookies I made were gone!
Happy belated Thanksgiving my ‘merkan comrades.
What gets your goat?
Posted by Jefferson Davis in Pictures on Friday, July 25, 2008
That K8 the Gr8 tagged me for a meme last week. I am just now getting around to it (sorry). I love this one, since there are plenty of things that get my goat!
The Rules
1. List two things that irritate you for a reason (and list the reason!), and two things that irritate you for no apparent reason whatsoever!!
2. Give credit to the person who tagged you.
3. Link your answers to the original blog.
4. Tag four new people to participate.
Two things that irritate the living hell out of me for a good reason:
The “N” Word:
There is a big hoopla going in the states over the “N” word, and who, or better yet, what race can use it. There are different pronunciations and spellings of the word throughout the world. Of course, like most other words in English, Spanish, French, and Italian languages, it all goes back to the Latin word. It is a derogatory term used mostly by African Americans today. Any Caucasian man caught using it would surely be hung up, drawn, and quartered. I have never used it out of respect. In the US of A, we have a double standard on everything. Slavery is a thing of the past. Let dead dogs lie. Oh wait that wouldn’t be profitable for black leaders that thrive on controversy. Every civilisation has been enslaved at some point in history. I give everyone, regardless of colour or nationality, the same amount of respect! Do I feel guilty for what my ancestors might or might not have done? Hell no! How about reparations? You can kiss my white arse, if you think you’d get a pence out of this boy! Grow Up!
Extreme Nationalism
Extreme nationalism, created by the fascist of the twentieth century, is spreading like the plague! It’s one thing to be proud of one’s country, but to badger people and call them expats just because they are trying to better themselves, is outright stupid. Be proud of where you are from, but don’t let that view blind you from the world. I let the media and family alter my vote in 2000, but, thank god, I didn’t make the same mistake in 2004 Tis true that I’m about to be an expat, but that doesn’t mean that I’ll be ashamed of being an American. Why can’t we all just get along? I’m quite sure people will give me no end of grief about being from “Bush Country”, but I’ll not let it bother me. We need to learn to look beyond nationality. We are all different. Not everyone in America loves Mr. Bush. I certainly will not run around like an eejit, screaming, “I’m an American”. For that matter, not every Iranian is a terrorist.
Two things that bug me for no apparent reason
Saggin’ Britches
This is a pet peeve of mine. I can’t stand to see teenagers, young men, and men with the waist of their pants hanging ‘round their knees. It drives me mad. Have a little respect for yourself and the poor bloke behind you for cripes sake. A young guy came into my business many years ago. His jeans were sagging almost to his knees. Another co-worker and myself picked at him until he pulled them up. We offered to buy him a belt. He refused. He had to hold his pants up all the way to the car. When he went to open the car door, his pants fell to his feet. We laughed and so did the car load of girls at the carwash next door.
Egoists
They bore me. You can’t tell them anything that they haven’t already heard. They know everything that ever was and ever will be. Admittedly, I have a lot to learn about the world. Willingness to learn and to be open minded is an appealing feature these days, albeit a fading one.
Hmm…Who shall I torture with this meme?
(There’s a myriad of bloggers out there worthy of my torture, but I’ll leave this slot blank for anyone that would like to participate)
Cantaloupe of Hope
Posted by Jefferson Davis in Pictures on Saturday, May 10, 2008
My love for cantaloupe started when I was a lad. I really began to appreciate the luscious melon about ten years ago. It was a blisteringly hot July morning, when me, my stepdad, and a couple of his friends went deep sea fishing 80 miles off the coast of South Carolina. At the time, I was being a good lad and not drinking any alcohol; in fact, I had bought a twelve pack of sodas to take with us before we left.
After a three and a half hour boat ride, we arrived on the fishing grounds in the Gulf Stream. I had been deep sea fishing before, but this was an all day gig. I baited my hook with the slimmest squid parts I could find and as soon as the weights hit bottom, I had two Red Snappers yanking on the rod and reel. I battled it out with Red Snapper, Grouper, Trigger fish, and Amber jacks until I tired.
The drunks got drunker, and I got dehydrated in the afternoon sun. I went into the galley of the boat, where the drinks were being cooled, and found nothing but case after case of Bud Light, an American Beer. I went back outside to find one drunk pulling in an Amber Jack and two others puking over the side.
After a minute or two of looking around aimlessly on a boat that I was not familiar with, I asked the Captain and first mate if they knew where the sodas were. They were both clueless. The first mate offered me his last soda, but I declined even though I was extremely parched.
So, I went and knocked back a beer and laid down on the small couch in the galley. That was a major mistake. It didn’t take long for the rolling waves in my stomach to match the five foot waves of the Atlantic Ocean.
I went back outside and joined the drunks vomiting over the side. The first mate checked on me yet again. I managed to get together enough energy to fish some more while we trolled with live bait. I managed to snag myself a lovely amberjack that weighed in at around 25lbs. Not long after I caught it and another bloke caught an even larger one, and we started the long journey home.
All of the drunks decided to go lay down, so I stayed on deck with the first mate. I was so dehydrated and exhausted by this point that I could barely talk or keep my eyes open. He went to a cooler that was concealed by seats and pulled out a huge cantaloupe. He cleaned his fish knife off in the salty Atlantic and whacked it in half. Then, he preceded to hand me half of it. I kindly whispered a thank you but I’m fine remark, but he gave it to me anyway. I kindly thanked him and ate every bit of that melon without one utensil.
Every time I eat a cantaloupe, I think of that day. I might have fell over dead in a few more minutes, if he hadn’t of demanded that I take the half. It is a marvelous fruit of nature that holds so many nutrients. It is my favourite food in the summer time. It captures my imagination with its knotted ropes over a lush green surface rind. Well, everything captures my imagination.
What say you? Do you dig Cantaloupe? What is your favourite summer fruit or vegetable?
