He was just another indictment of this country's general ability to refresh its ranks with intelligent people.

S


omeone, perhaps a nazi skinhead, engaged me in an email exchange throughout today's shift at Comet. I've rather been hoping that out there somewhere is a hilariously brilliant skinhead or nazi who would attempt to engage me in an intelligent debate about my anti-skinhead views. Up until now, the only form of discourse the skinheads have ever been able to muster has consisted of idle threats and inaccurate, unimaginative name-calling. For me this had reinforced the traditional sterotype of skinheads: they're not too bright, they depend on their numbers for their courage, and they're bigoted. But I'm always eager to see sterotypes shattered. Sadly, though, this guy was neither entertaining nor intelligent, he was just another indictment of this country's general ability to refresh its ranks with intelligent people. I don't toss and turn at night in fear of there some day being skinhead pages to rival my own and expose my lies.

This time he added the barb, "it upsets Angela to have to see it."

B


n, my old co-worker, and Nathan VanHooser, my childhood friend, both came to visit me at work. We talked about the recent social upheavals in my little world, and other interesting things like the Katie situation.

After work, I saw Matthew Hart as he was just leaving for work. He said he'd been drinking tequila all morning and had just woken up from a drunken sleep. He went on to mention that Leah had come by and had another one of those crazy conversations where she said she'd "made a terrible mistake." To this Matthew normally expressed the view that it doesn't matter any more and that she should come and get her stuff. This time he added the barb, "it upsets Angela to have to see it." Leah had been staying at the Haunted House (with Rory and Tyler) for the last week or so, but now she's moved back to live with her father in Louisa. Her role in our lives has been reduced to trivial.

I shunned the cheap beers and bought a case of Redhook ESB.

I


  was hanging out with Monster Boy when a stranger came to the door. He was an unassuming man with black hair and an honest face, and looked to be about thirty. He introduced himself as Bernard, one of the people who have been corresponding with me since finding my pages on the World Wide Web. He's a post-graduate molecular biology student at UVA, and specializes in the biochemistry of tumor cells. I may have once been a biology student myself, but that wasn't our real connection. Bernard, you see, shares my affinity for certain aspects of the cultural non-mainstream. Anyway, at my invitation, he put in an Annie Lennox CD he'd brought. Various interesting topics were discussed over beer.

Then Bn showed up, hung out for awhile, left, and later returned again. When Angela arrived, she and I made a run to Barracks Road to get beer with some money Matthew had given me. What with the unusual social mix, the mood seemed festive, so I shunned the cheap beers and bought a case of Redhook ESB.

We were smoking some high-quality marijuana, the kind with the thick orange tentacles and blue-green leaves.

Ocean, the guy involved in Rory's notorious hit and run accident came by and sat around mostly discussing music with me. Bn put on Metallica's ...And Justice For All. We were smoking some high-quality marijuana, the kind with the thick orange tentacles and blue-green leaves, so our thoughts were sensitive to the structure of the music. In Metallica, there's something very impressive about the complex interlacing of the various rhythm parts. This is partly due to the fact that all the instruments except the solo guitar are mostly used for percussive purposes. Bn and I made numerous comments about how good it was. But when it was over, Bernard leapt up and put on his Annie Lennox CD again. Wow, from Metallica to Annie Lennox! You'd think we were listening to college radio or something.

M


atthew Hart came home from work at around midnight. He came directly inside with a look of angst on his face. That's when I noticed the strange assemblage of arguing people on the front porch. I went out to investigate, and a thin cloud of marijuana smoke followed me.

"There's a name for people like this. Angela, have you ever heard of white trash? The house might be made of brick, but it's just a trailer."

Most prominent of all was Angela's mother, Mama Venesian. She's a thin woman with sharp elbows, curly black hair, and a fast tongue with a sharp New York City accent. She'd come with Angela's former boyfriend, Aaron, and she was addressing Angela. Deya was also there, sitting quietly as usual.

I sat beside Deya and listened. I was a little embarrassed by the distinct aroma of urine that wafted up from the bushes near the porch. Us boys need to start pissing just a little further from the house. We know and we've been told, but we're lazy.

Mama Venesian was upset about the fact that Angela has abandoned Aaron and has started frequenting a place so clearly wretched as Kappa Mutha Fucka. Her voice grew progressively louder as she denounced our place as "some kind of Crash Pad" and said "There's a name for people like this. Angela, have you ever heard of white trash? The house might be made of brick, but it's just a trailer."

Of course, this had the side benefit of losing the former boyfriend.

I wasn't insulted at all. I was delighted. This was the first time in my entire life anyone had ever called me "white trash." I piped up, "Actually, we're going to be getting pink flamingos any day now!"

"I'm talking to Angela!" Mama Venesian said abruptly. She concluded, "Well, if you're going to spend time with people like this, then you're no daughter of mine!" With that, she turned and left.

Angela, who was much less embarrassed by this little display than either Matthew or I would have expected, said that she suspected her mother had been drinking. She was concerned Mama might also be driving, so she demanded that Aaron go with her. Of course, this had the side benefit of losing the former boyfriend.

I was too busy using Latin word-attack skills to entirely parse his sentences.

For awhile I sat on the front porch with Bernard. He was talking about chemical pathways that affect the growth of cells. I've studied my share of cell biology, but what he was saying was almost completely incomprehensible. He made the situation all the worse by speaking almost entirely in complex cell-biology jargon. I was too busy using Latin word-attack skills to entirely parse his sentences. I also found myself being distracted by other thoughts. But then, perhaps only in an effort to be a good host, I mustered the necessary powers of concentration and began to comprehend what he was talking about. This gave me a welcome opportunity to ask intelligent questions instead of just saying "uh huh" in fake understanding.

I like the idea of increasing the diversity of the people hanging out at Kappa Mutha Fucka.

When the others put on my favourite movie, Bad Taste, I snuck off to my room to go to sleep. Monster Boy ended up staying up late and hanging out with Bernard. I like the idea of increasing the diversity of the people hanging out at Kappa Mutha Fucka, and Bernard is definitely a step in that direction.

---

Get a sense of what I was like exactly eight years ago today.

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