Mixed...Media, Races, Messages, Part II

I just got the most luscious pizza delivered...spinach and ricotta with olive oil and garlic over mozzarella. Yum! What does that have to do with media, race or messages? Nothing. I was just rubbing it in.

I'm fairly addicted to NPR, if you haven't noticed. Last evening, I was listening to Fresh Air, a locally produced radio interview program which (she says proudly) happens to be the most widely syndicated radion program on public radio. Terry Gross was interviewing Angela Nissel, a writer for the television show Scrubs and author of a new book, Mixed: My Life in Black and White. After just hearing most of the interview and reading her book excerpt, I just might have to start watching Scrubs. And isn't Miss Angela just about as cute as a lil' bug? Go on...go see.

Ten or fifteen minutes into the interview I was interrupted by the urgent need to call my friend, Tamara...

"Do I smell like wet dog," I asked? A long moment of silence (very uncharacteristic of Tam, may I tell you) was followed by a loud guffaw and then an earnest denial.

"No, you don't smell like wet dog," Tam reassured me, stifling a chuckle.

"But some black people say they think white people smell like wet dog, don't they?"

"Well.........yeah." As if everybody knows that!

I pointed out to Tam that not everyone knows how black people talk about white people out of earshot, and vice versa. Tamara really did think everyone knew this. I was obviously not part of the 'everybody' Tam had in mind.

Tam said, "I figured you must have heard it when you were growing up."

"No," I said, "I heard 'honkie' and 'whitie' thrown about at _______ (my alma mater) in the late 60's and early 70's but nobody ever called anybody 'wet dog' that I heard of."

Tam assured me that, even having walked with me in the rain the other evening, not a whiff of wet dog was to be smelt.

I'm fortunate that Tam is my best friend. She has remained my friend despite the ultimate betrayal, that I sold my home, a few miles from hers, and moved to another state. You see, it really is all about Tam (Sorry, Kelly!). She has almost forgiven me my transgression. She will never let me forget, though. Tam and I have known each other or about each other for over 20 years. Tam works at the same county social service agency as my mom. Whenever Tam would do something foolish or ditzy or impractical (which is, admittedly, fairly often), my mom would comment, "You should meet my daughter! You two are so much alike!"

Tam and I hit it off immediately and have been fast friends ever since. Ours is one of those special friendships where we can not be in contact for many months but just drop right back into step without missing a beat. We're also able to talk very frankly about many things including issues of race and are of a similar mind on the subject. Mine could be summed up as a "Much Ado About Nothing" attitude. I don't want to speak for Tam but I think she feels pretty much the same. Race has never entered into our friendship in a negative way.

I am comfortable enough with Tam that I can confess my anxiety about black people to her. It's not the type that leads me to grip my purse tighter when a black youth gets on the elevator with me. At least not any more than when the young white kid with the 134 piercings, black/blue/purple hair and huge, baggy pants shoves his ring-laden hand to hold the elevator door open and hops on. It's anxiety about saying something really stupid and coming off as that "tiresome white woman," then being referred to as someone who smells like a wet dog once I walk away. I don't like people rolling their eyes at me...at least not behind my back. You want to do it to my face, fine!

Oh, there's much more water in the well but I'm so distracted right now by This American Life, on (surprise!) NPR. It's an episode about mind games and deceptions. Since I'm trying to shape a new persona, I could use the pointers. ; )