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In Case You Didn't Know, I'm Pretty Fucking Important On The Internet

2011-11-26T13:52:00.001-08:00

Stuff like this happens to me literally all the time:

What's it like to be so internet famous, you ask? There probably aren't the words to convey such incredibleness to you people. Maybe there are, but I don't really feel like looking them up.

African American History; A Tale of Rich Culture, Triumphant Minds, and White People Who are Dicks

2011-08-20T03:11:00.000-07:00

Friends, you no doubt know me as a lover of both history and race. What a delight it was, then, to stumble upon the unique treasure that is the National Great Blacks in Wax Museum, located in one of Baltimore's more, um, shitty neighborhoods. I'd read a bit about this trove of historical information online, and couldn't have been more excited to see it with my very own eyes.

As I set foot into the museum's foyer, I was greeted by none other than a life-sized replica of Hannibal Barca himself! I practically swooned with the delight of military conquest and racial history zipping (I chose to note use "racing") through my veins. And gin. Gin was zipping through my veins, too.

I feared that my whiteness would be the elephant in the room. I was wrong.

But as we know all too well, black history has far too few Hannibals and far too many, well, these guys.

Now I feel the need to mention at this point that, due in no small part to the mean white fellow in the Waldo shirt pictured above, and also because I was very much the only fair skinned party attending the museum on this particular afternoon, I felt a bit of that "white guilt" that seems to be popular these days. Thanks for nothing, Thomas Jefferson! Well, actually thanks a lot for writing the Declaration of Independence. That was pretty solid. But other than that, nothing! Except maybe championing states' autonomy and inalienable rights of individuals, as well systemic safeguards against oversized financial institutions. Oh and for helping establish the United States as a beacon of post-monarchy reason and liberty, which gave the French masses the gumption to overthrow absolute monarchy. Jeez, Jefferson really was a remarkable leader. And he spoke at least six languages! Wait, what was I talking about?

Anyhow, my race-based trepidation/self-hatred was fortunately quelled by some well-placed reminders of the triumphs lightly peppered throughout African American history. For example, we have the courageous tale of the Underground Railroad which, according to the following tableau, required the jamming of one's forehead into an escaped slave's posterior in order to shove him through a stove or something? I dunno. The gin was really kicking in at this point. Just look at the silly picture.

And I learned of some courageous and idiosyncratic tales as well, such as that of Henry "Box" Brown, a slave who escaped to freedom in the North by stowing away in a box. I think Brown earned his nickname due to his preference for boxer shorts, as opposed to the gingham pantaloons that were much more popular at the time.

But far from dwelling solely on episodes of the distant past, the museum also highlighted 20th Century achievements, such as the time this guy went into space I guess? I was pretty much blacked-out (get it?) by this point, so I'm just working off of the photos I took. Your guess is as good as mine.

And also who can forget the time this woman got the shit scared out of her by a chicken? Yeah, things were starting to get pretty weird. And there certainly weren't any plaques or literature explaining what was going on. I guess whatever really happened here will stay between bandana lady and that really, really scary chicken.

And then, as if mana sent from heaven itself, I suddenly came upon an oasis. Just as the museum's installations were growing increasingly nonsensical and overwhelming, I was comforted and refocused by the portrayal of a very tall white fellow gazing post-strokeishly at some aquatic-themed wallpaper.

And here's where I'd like to personally thank the brains behind the National Great Blacks in Wax Museum. While their key demographic is most likely the African American community, they must have anticipated that a white or two would sneak in at some point. And feeling confusion and drunkenness, those whites would be soothed by a brief reminder of their natural habitat: the waiting room at a dentist's office. *Andrew breathes sigh of relief, then vomits in his mouth a bit but is totally cool about it and no one notices probably*

Now back to the blacks. This here is a saddening depiction of the time a young man donned his mother's nightgown and strained really hard to take a shit atop a wood pile. Things were simply done differently back then. Oh, history! Breathe your endless wisdom into me!

And what tribute to the long and storied journey of African Americans would be complete without a display of pickle jars containing severed body parts? Clearly overflowing with lessons to teach, this exhibit warranted closer inspection...

Ah yes. A turgid, pale penis suspended in hazy liquid next to a little league trophy. Black history is so complex! That's why they devote the entire month of February to it, I suppose.

And far be it from the National Great Blacks in Wax Museum to display the slightest hint of gender bias. No, at this fine institution every dick-in-a-jar is accompanied by an equally disgusting/confusing ladyparts-in-a-jar. And also Captain Morgan. And another baseball trophy. They really whipped out their A-game with this display. Either that or there was a tag sale at the Halloween store across the street on the day they were setting up shop.

I cannot begin to innumerate the lessons that I learned during the seven and a half minutes that I spent in the museum, but one stand-out fact is that black history cannot always be communicated through literal depictions of specific people, events, and floating genitalia. Sometime a degree of symbolism and even poetic license is required. For example, we can tell at first glance that the gentleman below is not having the best day. But why?

Aha! A closer glimpse reveals that his angst derives from the small wolf that has bored its way through his arm. Now his plight is as clear as day, and this storied institution has succeeded in its mission of the "study and preservation of African American history." All thanks to creepy arm wolf.

As you can imagine, this adventure's onslaught of emotional imagery, exposed power inequalities, saddening yet important historical reminders, and pickled poontang was overwhelming. Needing time to process my new knowledge of the African American plight, I returned to my natural habitat in order to reflect.

Thank you, waiting-room-Alzheimers-guy. Thank you for standing there staring placidly at that dolphin wallpaper, eternally pondering the convoluted intricacies of humanity and likely filling your Depends with a little "brown history". You are the axis mundi for the countless white minds dumbfounded by how history has systematically privileged some and browbeaten others. Thank you. And also, you should change those Depends. And probably put some water in that tank because those fish are for sure dead by now.

There's a Nap for That!

2011-06-15T12:23:00.001-07:00

As many of you already know, I'm really good at a lot of things. I've displayed the tenacity to continue living with my mother literally years after most of my piers threw in the towel. I can pass for both Jewish and gay. And I'm especially skilled at offending Chinamen. One area in which I've earned a "Needs Improvement" mark, however, is that of sleep. I am terrible at sleeping.

As a result, the guy who I get my mescaline from recommended that I try what's known as a "sleep study". In short, I spend the night at the hospital while various biological rhythms and outputs (I'll try my darndest not to fart and/or ejaculate) are carefully measured by science. The results will hopefully allow my doctor to find the magical combination of medication, lifestyle change, and, hopefully, blowjobs that will turn me into a healthy sleeper.

Do you think I jest? Not this time. Except for the mescaline part. I made that up. He actually sells me roofies. Anyway, as this evening progresses I will keep you, my loyal fan base, updated using a little trick called live-blogging. So check back periodically throughout the evening to learn more about my experience.

Every experiment, of course, requires a control. To satisfy this necessity, here is a photograph of me, before the sleep study, very skillfully not sleeping. Let's see how things progress as the afternoon gives way to evening and as those roofies I told you about start to kick in.