(no subject)
I don't know how to start this exactly, but here's some observations and retelling of some interesting things that have happened to or around me since being in California.
First, black men like my hair cut. At home it was older white men (I'd guess most of them to be in their 50's) and middle aged women (35-50 range). Here, it's still middle aged women, but swap out older white guys for black men of all ages. I've heard it no less than 6 times that I can specifically recall. It's never creepy when they tell me, they just say, "I like your hairstyle" or "I like your haircut" in passing on the street. Almost none of them seem to expect anything from it other than passing on a compliment.
I've been talked to by A LOT of black men on the street here. Like, more than I can even count at this point. . . and they're all really friendly. Much friendlier than the Latinx crowd here (who have subtle cultural differences from what I'm used to, as the mix of Latinx people here is a lot more diverse than in NM, who's Latin culture is deeply rooted in Spain), and not a single white person has spoken to me. I wonder if it's the lack of them in my area, or a lack of friendliness.
I often wonder if I should be annoyed that a bunch of men are talking to me on the streets, but I haven't felt like a single one of them would hurt me or even get upset if I ignored them. In Albuquerque, getting cat-called is. . . It's "normal." I've been harassed on the street by men in cars since I was 13 or so. No one is shouting at me to smile or making kissing noises at me or following me around the block in their work truck trying to get my attention. What I'm saying is that I haven't felt afraid here. Not of men on the streets at least, whereas at home I certainly feel that fear. And I don't get annoyed talking to these people, they're quite friendly and don't seem to expect much from me.
A couple have tried to ask me to smoke a blunt with them. "Do you smoke weed," seems to be a line here. And, of course, I do smoke weed so I don't lie. But then they ask if I'd like to smoke a blunt sometime, and I use the "I have a boyfriend. Sorry." Excuse, even though I kind of want to. Both of the men who've asked me this have said something almost identical. They said, "You can't even just smoke a blunt with a dude?" One was really pushy (that's a whole story in and of itself. He was very kind and helpful, but too pushy about hanging out), and the other just looked me in the eyes after I said, "I think it would be best not to." And said, "No problem girl. Have a good day." We shook hands, I thanked him for the offer, and kept going. Honestly, I want a friend. I wish I didn't feel like he was actually hitting on me. Why else talk to me, right? If we had struck up a conversation elsewhere, I could have trusted that perhaps I could make a friend, but not like that. He seemed nice though.
I have also been complimented several times on my "style" and I don't quite get it, because. . . I don't dress very mainstream, and I certainly don't dress like I'm from LA. Maybe it's just that I'm a little bit different from what people here have come to expect, so they think it's interesting visually? I don't know.
The other guy who asked me if I wanted to smoke a blunt with him was a self-proclaimed gang member (I saw his tattoos, and he explained that it was a gang tattoo) who had started talking to me on my way home from a job fair. He could tell I was "from" Hollywood, and we sat at the bus stop and smoked a couple cigarettes together before out of nowhere he said, "Oh shit, you're going to Hollywood? This is the long way. Follow me." And for a split second I wondered if he was going to kidnap me, but I decided to trust my gut about him (non threatening) and followed him across the street. He rode three stops with me and entrusted another passenger who he apparently knew (the bus driver knew him too I think. He didn't pay at all and even though they kind of hated each other I think, she said nothing) to make sure I got to my stop ok. I'm so glad he did that. If I had kept on the same bus I was trying to catch, I'd have gone the exact oppostie direction of where I was supposed to go. It was an interesting encounter, and I'm grateful for his help. His name was Snow.
Speaking of busses, I had an interview this morning and I rode the bus to it rather than drive the car. Parking is a bitch, and the bus system here is fairly reliable. Nothing like the Portland or what I imagine New York's public transit to be, but better than ABQ. So I'm going towards Beverly Hills and three older women get onto my transfer with me. Two are together, and one happens to know one of those two. I listened to part of their conversation. It was impossible not to, they were all at least a little hard of hearing and were shouting to hear each other. I enjoyed it very much. I could hear them discussing when the dinner for Chanukah would be, and I heard mention of working with a JCC to have meals for it. From that I gathered they were Jewish. One though, the loudest, had a walker and a shopping bag. She was full of stories and clearly didn't give a fuck whether anyone was listening to her. I was listening to her, even though the other two ladies were giving her less attention.
After declairing, "You know, I'm 91," and, "This walker was my late husband's. He's been dead for 10 years [I can't remember that kind of detail] and this was his." I can see why they didn't want to listen. It sort of seemed like the nonesense talk of someone with demensia. Then out of no where she asks the third woman, the one who knew her friend, "Where were you born?" Because all three of them have accents.
"Italia." The third woman proclaimed proudly.
She repeated the word, "Italia. Ital. . . Italy! Ah!" And switches her conversation to what I can only assume is a retelling of a time she visited Italy. Or perhaps just more demensia speak. . . It was in Italian though, so I'll never know. The had an entire conversation though, so I assume it was lucid. Then she says, "Oh yes. I speak 10 languages." And begins to list them. Then again seemingly out of nowhere she says, "You know! I'm on the youtube!" And there was so much glee in her voice, I could hardly bear it.
"Frida Berger. That's my name."
"What was that?" Third woman.
"Frida Berger. That's my name." Frida smiled. She pointed at her walker, "This was my husband's. He died 10 years ago. He was never well."
And then they got off the bus.
When I had a minute, I decided to search her. To see her on The YouTube. But the first thing I found was this article: Survivor: Frida Berger. I was floored for a minute. I listened closer. They got off before my stop.
I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what, so I didn't.
Anyway. that's enough for now. My stomach is acting up, so I'm going to go take some medicine.
So far, this trip has been interesting and rife with things to analyze and absorb.
First, black men like my hair cut. At home it was older white men (I'd guess most of them to be in their 50's) and middle aged women (35-50 range). Here, it's still middle aged women, but swap out older white guys for black men of all ages. I've heard it no less than 6 times that I can specifically recall. It's never creepy when they tell me, they just say, "I like your hairstyle" or "I like your haircut" in passing on the street. Almost none of them seem to expect anything from it other than passing on a compliment.
I've been talked to by A LOT of black men on the street here. Like, more than I can even count at this point. . . and they're all really friendly. Much friendlier than the Latinx crowd here (who have subtle cultural differences from what I'm used to, as the mix of Latinx people here is a lot more diverse than in NM, who's Latin culture is deeply rooted in Spain), and not a single white person has spoken to me. I wonder if it's the lack of them in my area, or a lack of friendliness.
I often wonder if I should be annoyed that a bunch of men are talking to me on the streets, but I haven't felt like a single one of them would hurt me or even get upset if I ignored them. In Albuquerque, getting cat-called is. . . It's "normal." I've been harassed on the street by men in cars since I was 13 or so. No one is shouting at me to smile or making kissing noises at me or following me around the block in their work truck trying to get my attention. What I'm saying is that I haven't felt afraid here. Not of men on the streets at least, whereas at home I certainly feel that fear. And I don't get annoyed talking to these people, they're quite friendly and don't seem to expect much from me.
A couple have tried to ask me to smoke a blunt with them. "Do you smoke weed," seems to be a line here. And, of course, I do smoke weed so I don't lie. But then they ask if I'd like to smoke a blunt sometime, and I use the "I have a boyfriend. Sorry." Excuse, even though I kind of want to. Both of the men who've asked me this have said something almost identical. They said, "You can't even just smoke a blunt with a dude?" One was really pushy (that's a whole story in and of itself. He was very kind and helpful, but too pushy about hanging out), and the other just looked me in the eyes after I said, "I think it would be best not to." And said, "No problem girl. Have a good day." We shook hands, I thanked him for the offer, and kept going. Honestly, I want a friend. I wish I didn't feel like he was actually hitting on me. Why else talk to me, right? If we had struck up a conversation elsewhere, I could have trusted that perhaps I could make a friend, but not like that. He seemed nice though.
I have also been complimented several times on my "style" and I don't quite get it, because. . . I don't dress very mainstream, and I certainly don't dress like I'm from LA. Maybe it's just that I'm a little bit different from what people here have come to expect, so they think it's interesting visually? I don't know.
The other guy who asked me if I wanted to smoke a blunt with him was a self-proclaimed gang member (I saw his tattoos, and he explained that it was a gang tattoo) who had started talking to me on my way home from a job fair. He could tell I was "from" Hollywood, and we sat at the bus stop and smoked a couple cigarettes together before out of nowhere he said, "Oh shit, you're going to Hollywood? This is the long way. Follow me." And for a split second I wondered if he was going to kidnap me, but I decided to trust my gut about him (non threatening) and followed him across the street. He rode three stops with me and entrusted another passenger who he apparently knew (the bus driver knew him too I think. He didn't pay at all and even though they kind of hated each other I think, she said nothing) to make sure I got to my stop ok. I'm so glad he did that. If I had kept on the same bus I was trying to catch, I'd have gone the exact oppostie direction of where I was supposed to go. It was an interesting encounter, and I'm grateful for his help. His name was Snow.
Speaking of busses, I had an interview this morning and I rode the bus to it rather than drive the car. Parking is a bitch, and the bus system here is fairly reliable. Nothing like the Portland or what I imagine New York's public transit to be, but better than ABQ. So I'm going towards Beverly Hills and three older women get onto my transfer with me. Two are together, and one happens to know one of those two. I listened to part of their conversation. It was impossible not to, they were all at least a little hard of hearing and were shouting to hear each other. I enjoyed it very much. I could hear them discussing when the dinner for Chanukah would be, and I heard mention of working with a JCC to have meals for it. From that I gathered they were Jewish. One though, the loudest, had a walker and a shopping bag. She was full of stories and clearly didn't give a fuck whether anyone was listening to her. I was listening to her, even though the other two ladies were giving her less attention.
After declairing, "You know, I'm 91," and, "This walker was my late husband's. He's been dead for 10 years [I can't remember that kind of detail] and this was his." I can see why they didn't want to listen. It sort of seemed like the nonesense talk of someone with demensia. Then out of no where she asks the third woman, the one who knew her friend, "Where were you born?" Because all three of them have accents.
"Italia." The third woman proclaimed proudly.
She repeated the word, "Italia. Ital. . . Italy! Ah!" And switches her conversation to what I can only assume is a retelling of a time she visited Italy. Or perhaps just more demensia speak. . . It was in Italian though, so I'll never know. The had an entire conversation though, so I assume it was lucid. Then she says, "Oh yes. I speak 10 languages." And begins to list them. Then again seemingly out of nowhere she says, "You know! I'm on the youtube!" And there was so much glee in her voice, I could hardly bear it.
"Frida Berger. That's my name."
"What was that?" Third woman.
"Frida Berger. That's my name." Frida smiled. She pointed at her walker, "This was my husband's. He died 10 years ago. He was never well."
And then they got off the bus.
When I had a minute, I decided to search her. To see her on The YouTube. But the first thing I found was this article: Survivor: Frida Berger. I was floored for a minute. I listened closer. They got off before my stop.
I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what, so I didn't.
Anyway. that's enough for now. My stomach is acting up, so I'm going to go take some medicine.
So far, this trip has been interesting and rife with things to analyze and absorb.