It’s beyond ridiculous even. How in the world could a 19 year old white kid, who was enrolled in college in the woods of Old Carolina and had recently given up booze, suppose to have anything in common with the “Gang called ‘Niggers With Attitudes.'” There is no way. Except, perhaps, that like 837,000 other freshmen that semester he had read The Autobiography of Malcolm X and thought he understood the real issues behind race relations in the United States. It’s beyond ridiculous.
At the same time, all I wanted was a girlfriend. What part of “Straight Outta Compton” says “sensitive boyfriend?” None. That may have been another misconception, by the way, as I believed that what girls really wanted was a caring guy and that acting as such would equate to my sleeping with someone. Which has shades of truth, but you can take the sensitive thing to a point at which it’s hard for a woman to know that you are interested at all. That’s a bummer for everyone.
And that whole thing runs its course too. I mean, I am a good listener, or so I have been told. It’s not quite a superpower, but what do you want? Clarke Kent? It’s just not me. And even a decent guy can’t be sensitive all the time. You’d like to just be with your fellows and feel at home. Home for me is, after all, the country. Or the suburbs. But suburbs in the south, so there is some residual cultural affinity that rubs off in the air. Sticky like honeysuckle sap on a humid July afternoon.
Now, we all drink from wells others have dug. Sure, there is some co-opting of culture going on. For instance, the nomenclature of the female canine has a distinct derivation. That a primarily Southeastern group would use a pronunciation common to the West Coast is a dead giveaway of literary appropriation. Then again, it could be a tribute to a man who truly understands how to appreciate the simple things in life.