It’s a pretty prevalent joke amongst my social circle: I am obsessed with ice cream, to a ridiculous degree. I’ll sit with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and in one sitting destroy the entire carton. I could sit with a stranger (something I’m not as fond of) and have an hour’s conversation about why Blue Bell Cookies and Cream is the best flavor ever made. I show up to neighborhood BBQs already indulging my sweet-tooth. So, naturally, when I received my digital invite to the event from Roy I felt as though I’d been invited personally. Plus, no bands!
I showed up maybe an hour late. The place was initially nearly empty. Roy was working the bar and blender, mixing beer floats and shakes. I’d shown up initially skeptical and curious about having a shake made from beer and ice cream, but I was determined to give it a shot. So I bellied up and had myself a Rogue Chocolate Stout with vanilla ice cream. And Holy Shit it was delicious. Smooth, creamy, with a bare hint of the stout finish. Mix in the whipped cream and the taste became even creamier. First graders would love this.
It was then that the night took a momentary detour into the strange, my favorite kind of detour. There was some unknown person at the bar, sitting next to me. His said his name was Sam. He had apparently arrived and immediately bought a round for the whole bar. Which meant he was either already wasted or he was a maladroit whose only means of connecting was via generosity with alcohol. He made quite a few paranoid comments about people ignoring him up until cornering me to ask me if I’d heard TSOL. I hadn’t, naturally. The Sons Of Liberty, they were called. They were a “right-wing punk band” (his words). He asked me what kind of punk I liked and seemed to have a very divisive line in mind when discussing their left- or right-leaning stances. Dead Milkmen? Left! B-52s? That’s not even punk according to this guy. (Allow me to disagree some other time.)
He then asked me what music I liked, a question I’m almost always too dumbfounded to answer. When I kinda gasped for an answer to his totally loaded question, he asked an easier one to answer: “What do you wanna listen to right now?” I could answer that. I wanted to listen to the new Shabazz Palaces album. Of course, some republican punk isn’t going to know who that is. So I just told him I wanted to listen to some weird hip hop music. “Black music??” He was incredulous, as though the idea of a white boy listening to hip hop was unthinkable. And let me tell you, if it weren’t for white boys, Snoop Dogg would not be the cultural force he is today. I have a long-standing opinion about America’s cultural debt to African American culture. I didn’t have time to go into it, so I just said, “Yeah, basically. I love black music.”
He shook his head in stern disagreement and pumped his fist on his chest. “No, brother. Aryan.” Aryan?! Are you fucking kidding me?! He commenced to tell me that there was a coming race war, and that I was backing the wrong side. He told me that minorities are obviously ruining this country. He told me that I was running from the truth and that it would bite me in the ass. After listening to his white-power recruitment speech for a minute, I must have displayed open amusement/disgust because he stopped and apologized for pissing me off. I told him I wasn’t pissed off and that as Americans we both had rights to our own opinions. He then told me that was true, but that my opinion is wrong. That may have offended me the most.
So I decided I better mosey on along, while I could still enjoy my beer shake. Ended up having a straight float with Abita root beer (which they had on tap). Later, Roy even gave me a big Dixie cup of just ice cream. He knew why I showed up. My predilections for ice cream aside, I hope they do this again. It was a nice time, overall. Drink and revelry ensued, the bar gradually filled up, and Mr. Aryan Bro became a highlight of conversation and the punchline he deserved to be.
Honestly, this is the 21st century! We have phones that connect to the the Internet, order pizzas, and tell us when to make the next left. Lesbians can adopt children. Why is this guy fooling himself about his race’s heritage and every other’s overt attempt at undermining it? Why does anyone give that much of a fuck about anything? I could have launched into my usual diatribe about white Christians ruining every culture they encounter but only after gleaning whatever they find useful of it first. Atheists didn’t start the Spanish Inquisition. White people did not invent rock’n’roll. But what’s the point? I can’t argue with anyone ignorant enough to consider any opinion “wrong,” or anything other than an individual’s opinion. It’s too bad I don’t believe in Hell, because white supremacists like that guy belong there. Also, anyone who forces animals to fight for sport. Also, Port Wine Stain. Go to hell, Port Wine Stain.
LAWL
