Thursday, October 30, 2014

Odd Affirmative Action Issues

Cowboys/Cowwomen/Gay and Transgendered Cow Individuals,  with affirmative action guidelines strictly enforced,  there is bitter cactus juice to expectorate.   An obsessive cattle roper of the urban high plains,  it is remembrance of disgruntlement formed around the time people were at their most obnoxious with their computers.   The Peguins won two Stanley Cups the decade I was to learn of something that pisses me off now.  Recollections from the 1990s deserve a few extra puffs on the peace pipe for having taught me that women have a social hierarchy.

Don't men?  Yeeeeee-ee-eeehhh-essss.  Are men referred to, jocularly, as pigs?    Do fish swim?

Isn't the social ordering of people in some ways the nature of civilization, without which people are too plainly barbaric to function beyond hairy bear-skin wearing brutes?  I must respond in the very same long creepy affirmative as above.  Yeeeee---esssss!  And at the same time, no.   Some people have been noticing, and commenting, that civilized people would be a fuck of lot nicer if they quit engaging global combat and fulsome social meddling.   But I wasn't trying to go global.  I have a local pain in the ass I need to talk about.

I was told that some nearing-middle-age woman from Upper St. Clair, name withheld to protect the gold-digger, a so-said lovely, wonderful woman, so elegant, so entertaining, had one strike against her.  Or, the only strike I know of, as people weren't telling me much in those days, but I'll whine about that at another time.  For pecuniary reasons, she married a Jewish man.

Did/does she love the man?  Irrelevant.   As the local hierarchy went, any woman facing financial ruin from previous behaviors/relationships/hush-hush arrangements tended  custom by marrying a man who has money enough to cover debts and needs past/present/future.   Per more localized custom, wife and husband are bound to enjoy a nice way of life in the suburbs, or ex-urbs, or bedroom community, or gated community.  Or penthouse, if the missus has superior aim.    There's gut-wrenching tales of black widow type poisonings on television, but none of that goes on, that reaches the news, at least.    There was, as still is, country club anti-semitism.

To have top billing among the blue bloods in Upper Saint Claire, a woman has to marry a rich Anglo-saxon man with mucho dinero.  A German or Austrian dude with any pedigree at all is fine, in a pinch, if they are solid in the banking zone, must have a Benz, and there are some lower ethnic preferences that permit relatively complete social status.  But quite low, too low on the short list for pleasure on my part, a woman has to marry a rich Jewish man if she is unable to rope any of the more preferred ethnicities.  The married lady I was informed about had done so, and was aggreived.   Best I can figure from a half-long gossip session, in a shitty kitchen, in a shitty efficiency apartment, the one right next to mine, identical to it, the two people liked each other well enough to act as a couple no matter what the emotional digital read out was on love or sex or feelings of any kind at all.  And at the same time, she was dissatisfied with having had to marry a Jewish man to sustain her standard of living.  The standard she saw herself entitled to.   This type of marriage was clearly understood and tolerated, which could be described by some as some sweet Neil Simon theater shit.  Or  gold-digging and racism all at once, against people to whom greed is too often ascribed.  Jews are greedy little money persons, and wealthy Brittish men are handsome no matter how bad their teeth rot out and their  jowls flop on the floor.  White suburbanites, uber alles.

Well I can't close the show without some sort of positive humanistic snake dance.  You might say that a community of prosperous individuals, all sharing fucked up customs and norms, could be no better or worse than the rest of fucked up human kind.  Productive, hardworking and accomplished men of several races get to cohabit with some attractive, warm, witty aging socialites.   I'm only mad because I don't have the big bucks, and can't play in their big jungle gym in Upper Saint Claire and other fat honey jars.  I'm still disgruntled, but who cares.



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