Typing -
On the flight today back to LA, as I walked back to my seat next to the toilets, which honestly seemed to be a mixed blessing. As I walked up, I saw that my row-mates were already there. The man was heavily muscled in the with the steroid-induced pudgey-ness around his rib-cage that suggests that his liver is trying to escape his body by inflating until it pops out of his neck. His girlfriend, which seemed obvious since she unable to let go of his arm as if he might run away, moved grudgingly to let me pass to take my seat.
Every place has a stereotype, and these two were the stereotype of Southen California: overly (spray-on) tanned; body-conscious verging on paranoia; that look below their manicured eyebrows that they are incredibly superficial even if they are brilliant investment bankers (but even I-Bankers have standards).
But it was hard to not feel suspect of these two. The man wore a watch the size of a small brushed metal orbital device held to his wrist with metal tank tread. With his shaved arms and bleached-white hair he gave the impression of someone wanting to appear to be a carefree Venice surfer and looking more like a Swedish porn star a little past his prime. His girlfriend looked like she would aspire to be a Swedish porn star a little passed her prime. They are stereotypes masquading as people who move to California because they feel they’ll be more accepted there. And, funnily enough, they are. I think it is telling that California has accepted this as a state treasure, especially since they elected a man just like this as governor. We chose as our leader a man that used to shave his chest on a regular basis and would pose for beefcake photos. Looking back that might not have been the choice.
Every place has people who feel they must REPRESENT their place or culture. Ask any Clevelander in a Cav’s jersey about the Pistons, a New York lawyer where they spend Shabat, or an American tourist the best way to ask for a toilet in a foriegn country (in English REALLY LOUDLY). But, California thrives on stereotypes. Maybe, it’s because of The film business where casting agents all want to break people down to a Type (I need a 13 year old kid with acne, braces and freckles for this shot NOW). I wonder if my seatmates are in the movie business. But who would cast someone who looks like a Swedish porn star a little past his . . .
Oh, yeah.
As my flight prepared to take off today back to LA, I walked back through the plane to find that my seat was next to the toilets, which honestly seemed to be a mixed blessing. As I walked up, I saw that my row-mates were already there. The man was heavily muscled in the steroid-induced pudgey-ness around his rib-cage that suggests that his liver is trying to escape his body by inflating until it pops out of his neck. His girlfriend (obvious since she refused to let go of his arm as if he might run away) moved grudgingly to let me pass to take my seat.
Every place has a stereotype, and these two were the stereotype of Southen California: overly (spray-on) tanned; body-conscious verging on paranoia; that look below their manicured eyebrows that they are incredibly superficial (mind you, they could be deeper than Heidegger and Mother Theresa put together, but impressions are impressions). But it was hard to not feel suspect of these two. The man wore a watch the size of a small orbital device held to his wrist with metal tank tread. With his shaved arms and bleached-white hair he gave the impression of someone wanting to appear to be a carefree Venice surfer and looking more like a Swedish porn star a little past his prime. His girlfriend looked like she would aspire to be a Swedish porn star a little passed her prime. They are stereotypes masquading as people who move to California because they feel they’ll be more accepted there. And, funnily enough, they are. I think it is telling that California elected a governor who used to shave his chest and pose for beefcake photos on a regular basis. Looking back, that might not have been the best choice.
Every place has people who feel they must REPRESENT their place or culture. Ask any Clevelander in a Cav’s jersey about the Pistons, a New York lawyer where they spend Shabat, or an American tourist the best way to ask for a toilet in a foriegn country (in English REALLY LOUDLY). But, California thrives on stereotypes. Maybe, it’s because of the film business where casting agents all want to break people down to a Type (I need a 13 year old kid with acne, braces and freckles for this shot NOW).
I wonder if my seatmates are in the movie business. But who would cast someone who looks like a Swedish porn star a little past his . . .
Oh, yeah.
