And so we ring in the New Year! I hope this letter finds everyone hale and healthy and enjoying themselves. I, of course, am already a week behind schedule on my letter writing, but I doubt that’s really a surprise to anyone.
First of all, let me welcome Jane Alice Cohen, born on January 2nd, weighing eight pounds and change. The proud parents, Sarah and Greg, are doing well and we expect they’ll be eating solid food in no time. I’m sure everyone joins me in wishing them the best. Or, as the less white among us might say, shortie in da house! Shout out to Lil’ Jiz-nane Coz-nen! Word!
Ahem.
I will, for the moment, spare you my political rantings. While I still consider G. H. W. Bush to an inferior alternative to Dan Quayle, there will nevertheless be time aplenty in the future for considering the hapless shenanigans of America’s Favorite Non-Elected Chief Executive. Instead, I will stick to more domestic mundanities for the moment.
The cats are doing well, thanks for asking. Samuel is torn between being incredibly shy and being jealous of the kitten’s attention. We’ve gotten him to come out and play occasionally, and he’s even gotten comfortable enough to lounge indolently on the carpet while we’re still at home. Of course, if we make any sudden or unexpected moves, like reaching for coffee or looking around or breathing, then he’s out of the room like a big furry gray shot. We were told that he’d be skittish, so this is not unexpected. Considering that he spent the first two weeks living on top of our kitchen cabinets, this is great progress.
Aelfgifu, the kittenish one, is partially responsible for his emergence. She’s the adventurous one who’s not afraid to demand affection, so he sometimes follows her at a bit of a distance. He really, really, really wants to be petted, you can tell, but he’s embarrassed about coming up to you and asking for it. So she’ll come up and roll around in your lap, expecting you to pet her, and he’ll sometimes be lurking in the background, waiting for an opportune moment to move just within arm’s reach so you can pet him, too, if you’re so inclined and it’s not a bother or anything. After a few minutes, he’ll get very sheepish and realize that he’s scared of you, then he’ll take off like a big furry gray shot and hide under the bed.
The trick seems to be getting Samuel to come out and getting Aelfgifu to go away. Her favorite games include chasing bed mice (aka, feet under sheets), usually at 3 am and 5 am; sitting on my desk and helping me write, by blocking the screen and putting her paw on the cursor; and sitting on my lap and helping me read, by pulling off my glasses or batting her paws at my book. Amy finds this all to be heartstoppingly adorable. I try not to encourage this sort of behavior, in Amy or in the kitten. Too often, the difference between an adorable kitten and a bad cat is simply age. I’d rather not see Aelfgifu adopt habits that will outlast her adorability. Amy, for her part, argues that I just have a low threshold for adorability.
So I just wait until Aelfgifu is chasing bed mice at 3 am, then I ask Amy which one of the cats was her pick.
I’ve been reading the latest compilation of The Boondocks, by Aaron McGruder, a comic strip which follows the lives of three black urban kids who find themselves uncomfortably stuck in a predominantly white, upper middle class suburb. Amy got a copy of it for Christmas and now is thoroughly addicted. It’s all part of my evil plan, of course, which allows me to read one of my favorite comic strips at the expense of others. Not the most evil of plans, I admit, but I have a number of evil plans and that simply happens to be the one which has most recently come to fruition. Now if I could only get other people to buy my beer and coffee . . . .
And, yes, I did receive coffee for Christmas. I have the jittery hands to prove it. So, really, I just need someone to buy my beer. Don’t worry, I have an evil plan in the works.
Anyway, back to my point, to the extent that I have or need one. While I was briefly named an Honorary Brother during the very late ‘80s, that time is long past and I’ve been extremely white for more than a decade. Consequently, I’m extremely amused at the dialogue in The Boondocks, since I know it will go right past a good percentage of the white audience. So in the interest of broadening the appeal of this excellent strip, I here include a partial glossary of terms and references used.
- beef, as in “startin’ beef”- argument, conflict, controversy
- brutha/sista – male/female person of color
- dag – darn, damn, dang
- a herb – one who looks or acts like his name should be Herb
- knaaamean – know what I mean?, “Capeesh?”
- O.D.B. – Ole Dirty Bastard, a musician formerly of Wu-Tang Clan
- stiz-ackin’ that piz-aper – making money, “staking that paper”
- my stories – my televised soap opera of preference
- aiiight – all right, knaaamean?
- Cassius Clay – Muhammed Ali, a prizefighter of some repute
- jackin’ – stealing, as in carjacking or hijacking
- bitin’ – imitating or appropriating, “taking a bite of”
- ‘proach – approach, preparatory to dealing a smackdown.
- steez – personal style, as in “don’t be jackin’ my steez, ‘cause I’m gonna ‘proach a fool be bitin’ mad styles from me!”
And, lest any of you be confused, I’m about as much of a playa hata as it’s possible for one white man to be. Heck, I was a hata long before there were any playas to be hatin’ on. Word.
