Fire Sarah McGrath and Everyone Else: Oh My God, Which Way Is the Real World?

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Oh My God, Which Way Is the Real World?

Read this quick blurb about Misha Defonseca, the fucking liar behind "Misha: A Memoir of the Holocaust Years". Holy hell! Apparently publishers will fall for absolutely ANYTHING. And the bigger the lie, the better! There's absolutely no way in hell any rational, reasonable person would believe even the basic, general facts behind this story of surviving the Holocaust. Jesus Effing Christ.

Also this, which might be the most surreal thing I've ever read. I'm beside myself! I'm literally standing over there, beside myself, as I write this!

AND THIS!! Words can't describe this. Words cannot!

Just unbelievable. This is stupefying.

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An Actual Conversation About "Love and Consequences"

Angela: Greetings, homie.

me: hold on, I'm pouring out my 40

to all my dead homies serving life sentences on death row.

Angela: I was telling Joel about this shit today, and we were dying.

me: Calvert pulled a face and looked like she was going to vomit while I was telling her about it. Then I read her the first question from "Peggy's" interview, where she makes the "homies serving life sentences" statement . . . it was all downhill from there.

If I ever make a movie, one of my characters WILL be using that line at some point.

Angela: For some reason, this story has seriously captured my attention in a way that little else has lately.

I think I just love how everything that is stupid is encapsulated here.

me: All trenches of stupidity are ruthlessly plundered by these characters.

Angela: It's like I never need to look very far, ever again, for an example in a conversation about racism.

I've been involved in about five different online discussions about this in the last 24 hours.

It is AMAZING how quickly people rush to the defense of Sarah McGrath.

"But she's a victim here!"

NO, SHE'S THE FUCKING PROBLEM!

me: I can't believe the line of bullshit coming from the publisher right now . . ."we did all we could do." Unbelievable!

Angela: Well, they were diligent enough to confirm the existence of the prison where she claimed one of her foster siblings was locked up, Chris.

What more do you want?

me: So, I'm about to distribute a true story written by a former united states senator . . . I fact-checked it by asking them if they're sure they were a senator and confirming the location of the US Capitol Building . . . so I'm all set, right?

Angela: Yeah, as long as that building exists, you are in the clear.

me: Cool. Plus, he did point to some guy on the crosswalk and say "that's my friend who is also a senator."

Angela: I'm totally captivated by this aspect too: who was the dude in her house when the NYT came to interview her?

And did she have to lie to her daughter, or did she have to encourage her daughter to join the lie, or what?

me: You know, I didn't think about this previously, but it is true that there are volumes and volumes of works already out there about exactly the life Peggy Seltzer claimed to have lived, but they're all written by black people and they're only found in "African American Studies" or "African American Literature" or "African American History", and so white people aren't interested.

But when it's written by a white person, it goes straight to the best-sellers list and gets shelved in self-help or some shit, and becomes a pop sensation.

Angela: Exactly.

Angela: Can I get your opinion on something?

It's vaguely related to this honky and her nonsense, actually.

So, several new businesses opened on the same block as mine.

Since most of the new businesses were opened by women who had pre-existing associations with each other, we've all been kind of up each other's asses about the block revival that's going on.

It occurred to someone that we should have a block party, obviously, and so we are.

I haven't been involved in any of the planning, including the conception of the ad that's going into the CityPaper, and for some reason, though I have seen and approved the ad, it didn't occur to me until JUST NOW that no one asked the pre-existing businesses (all black-owned hair salons) or the two new businesses that are owned by black women to participate.

Or be part of the ad.

Which is shockingly gross, now that I'm contemplating it.

This is basically going to be a party to celebrate white women and how we've "revived" a block that had five existing, successful businesses on it, run by black women.

me: Yikes.

Honestly, I might try to get out in front of that.

Angela: I really have to, right?

Because life is long.

Meaghan suggested I hit every hair salon very soon with apologies for not including them and a request that they be part of things.

I am REALLY nervous about coming across condescending.

Not only am I white, but I'm a good decade younger than all these women.

me: You might soften the blow by telling them you're half Native American or something . . . just an idea.

Angela: I'll invite them on behalf of my homies serving life sentences.

me: They'll love that!

Angela: Then I'll write a book about the party.

Angela: And my hardscrabble upbringing in the Poe Homes in West Baltimore.

And my tattoo of a weeping pigeon and the date of D'Angelo Barksdale's murder.

me: Ok, you won the award for funniest suggestion of all time . . . a tattoo of a weeping pigeon and the date of D'Angelo Barksdale's murder. Too good.

I'm really loving that LA Times article about cultural narcissism.

Angela: I love that too!

I like it when someone manages to actually get a coherent sentence together for something that I've felt vaguely infuriated by but can't explain.

me: Seriously (back to the tattoo) these ideas are PRICELESS. I really can't thank ol' Peggy "Big Mom" Jones enough.

Yeah, the point about the only credible expressions coming from victims is something I've been thinking about for a long time.

Angela: Me too... and when you roll with a bunch of middle class white feminists, you have a lot of opportunity to think on that shit.

I want to draw a comic strip based on all the hilarious conversations that have come out of this South Central Starbucks shit.

me: I don't doubt it. I always feel like the only way you can talk to people about poverty or crime is by prefacing everything with "I was poor" or "I once stole a shirt" or some shit.

Do you realize we are . . . right now . . .having two different conversations at the same time . . . and I just introduced a third!

Angela: Oh GOD DAMN: http://www.nytimes.com/ref/garden/first-chapter-love-and-consequences.html

me: I couldn't get past the

"Kall nine-one-one" part

disgusting.

I need a bath.

Angela: Kall, even.

"Is he gone live?" I asked as the car pulled away.

Man alive.

me: ANGELA!!!

Angela: "Naw, man. I ain seen shyt,"

Shyt?

me: She said "It tasted like burning".

Angela: What is shyt?

NO. WHAT?

WHAT?

me: I swear to God, you're almost there. Keep reading. The big homie pours her some Hennessey and it tastes like burning!

And I think she meant shite. They use a lot of scottish pronunciations in South Central.

Angela: They do?

Oh my god, she did say it tasted like burning. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

me: Ummm . . . no they don't. (I have to be clear on that.)

Angela: I thought that sounded a little suspect.

Me = Sarah McGrath

Angela: My foster sisters would be sitting on the sofa, watching cartoons and waiting for dinner — red beans or black-eyed peas, most likely.

Did an editor not go, "Why are the beans relevant?"

Also:

As I watched it, a glint of light caught my eye and I bent down and pinched a bullet shell between my fingers, rolling it back and forth a few times before slipping it into my jeans.

me: My dead homies on death row and I like to have a wee nip of scotch before we kick the arses of those Krips and shite.

Angela: Did an editor not go, "Why did the homicide detectives leave all the evidence?"

me: I was still wondering how they got actual detectives out to a drive by gangland shooting in the first place!

Angela: Well, in her Los Angeles, water gets turned back on the same day you pay the overdue bill, so maybe there's something we don't understand about the place.

me: No, not just the same day you pay the bill, but the same day you cook the crack! She must have just traded the rocks right in for running water.

Do they have that sort of barter system?

me: ANGELA! You've got to read this:http://www.jta.org/cgi-bin/iowa/breaking/107290.html

Oh My God.

Angela: I KNOW.

"This story is mine. It is not actually reality, but my reality, my way of surviving."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

me: No, OH MY GOD, look at this. http://www.feralchildren.com/en/showchild.php?ch=misha

me: Seriously, I might die from this.

Angela: RAISED BY WOLVES.

People bought this book??!!

me: I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS!!!!!!

I'M HAVING FULL SYNAPSE COLLAPSE!!!

RAISED BY WOLVES!!!!

WALKED FOR FOUR YEARS!!!!

Wolves . . . let this child . . . share their kill . . . I'm literally (LITERALLY!) dying.

(Well, not literally . . .)

Angela: But if you were, it'd make a hell of a book.

me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Angela: Raised.

By.

Wolves.

Raised by wolves!

She wrote that she was raised. By wolves!

And a publisher believed that.

And then people bought the book!

WHAT IS GOING ON HERE

me: I don't know, but I feel like we've crossed over into some bizarro universe!!!

That's it, I'm publishing a memoir.

And for the details, I'm just going to cull random bits of legend from Americana . . .

I once traveled the earth spreading apple seeds . . . with my blue ox

and I was nine feet tall!

and I cut down a cherry tree

Angela: And married John Smith.

me: And then I rode through town shouting "The British are coming!"

And you know it's true, because . . . well . . . SOMEONE did it.

And I do like . . . stuff.

Angela: Plus, as your editor, I can verify the existence of Great Britain.

me: And there are a couple of people hanging around that seem like they know me . . . or at least can confirm my existence.

Angela: If you just show Sarah McGrath a picture of a dude in a powdered wig and tell her he was your foster brother, that should suffice.

me: Angela, seriously, what the hell is going on here? I'm reading this http://archive.southcoasttoday.com/daily/11-97/11-12-97/c01lo080.htm

It defies description. Who are these people that believe these things?

I can actually feel myself at once becoming infinitely more cynical, but also a great cosmic shift, as if we now have to redefine the word "cynical", because what I previously thought was cynicism is actually so ridiculously far flung from what I now understand to be naivety, and apparently "normal" is so unbelievably naive . . . I'm fucked! I'll never be the same.

In order to be "naive", compared to these "normal" professionals, whose very livelihoods are based on finding and selling "the truth", one must actually be locked up.

Angela: Honestly, this news is really calling my worldview into question.

I'm not saying that in a hyperbolic way, at all.

I think that I really do not understand the world the way I thought I did.

I feel like I must be naive, because I'm as shocked at this as I am.

Like, am I insane, or is everyone else?

me: I always knew there was a deep chasm between white, upper-middle class schlubs and working class or poor people and minorities, but I honestly NEVER thought it was so vast. I'm stupefied.

Angela: "Respectfully, she moves the animal's body to the side of the road because animal corpses still remind her of the Holocaust."

I WOULD NEVER HAVE BELIEVED THAT SHIT.

WHAT?!

If someone said that to me, I would have gone, "Give me a fucking break."

me: Seriously, that's stuff I was rolling my eyes at in like fifth grade.

Couldn't they have hired a 12 year old to "reality" check this bullshit?

apparently the spectrum between naivety and cynicism is actually circular . . . like at some point, you can be so cynical that you're actually naive, and so naive that you're actually cynical.

I'm so fucked up about this.

Angela: That is EXACTLY it. WHAT is that?

I'm so confused!

me: You're so naive that you'd believe even the worst, most horrific and offensive bullshit ever spewed (but that sounds like cynicism), and so cynical, you'd never expect anybody to believe anything so outlandish (and that's just plain naive).

Angela: Like, I feel like I'm too un-jaded to have seen that this is the world I live in. And then on the other hand, I'm so jaded, apparently, that I never would have bought one word that either of these crazy bitches wrote.

How can these things be simultaneously true?

me: In order to actually be cynical, one must, in fact, not believe anything they are told, and expect everyone else to believe everything they're told.

Angela: I have a headache now.

me: In order to be naive, one must, in fact, believe everything they are told, and also expect everyone else to believe everything they're told.

But we're a lot closer than we might have thought!

Angela: "The real me still sleeps in the woods with my furry friends. I have buried my past life for 50 years."

SLEEPS IN THE WOODS WITH HER - JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

me: furry friends. For the love of Pete.

Angela: Rejected by mainstream society after the war because she '"stank like a dog" and was too wild, she worked in a convent.

dead

I'm dead!

I have died.

me: What if she'd taken a shower?

Her whole story might have changed!

Angela: Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha

me: What did she do that made her too wild? Barked? Hunted small animals? Growled at intruders? WHO COULD BELIEVE THIS?

Angela: Oh god.

I have to read that book too, now.

me: Yeah, seriously, that sounds like a true laugher . . . even more preposterous than "Love and Consequences"

Shit, Ranj, I have to bolt. I'm due home soon.

The only thing that could ever stir me more than this crap would have to be an alien landing. I've got my own wild pack with whom to share a fresh kill.

Angela: A'ight, homie.

Hahahahahaha

Watch out for Nazis and wolves on your way home.

me: Pour one out for me, OG. Peace.

Angela: Word.