I hate this term. Wigger. It's a sick play on nigger, of course, a term used to identify white folks who think they are, in fact, black folks. Typically, my reaction to this type of person is "OK, whatever, fine. To each his own." And maybe, if I'm in a bad mood, it's "pull you pants up."
But there is this dude who is now basically living in our building that fits this term perfectly, and I can think of no other way to describe him then as a skinny, weak white dude who desperately wants to be black. Now, Vincent and Rolondo and Cornelius, the three black brothers next door, know this and they play off of it constantly. In all of my dealings with them, I've discovered that they can immediately tell if someone is affraid of them because of their skin color. Vincent in particular likes to play off of this, esspecially with women. VIncent will see a woman 4 blocks away and begin shouting at the top of his lungs at her "come 'ere!" like Scorpion in Mortal Kombat. It's an advantage he and his brothers have, and they exploit it.
Consequently, they also know when someone is deriving personal worth from their presence. Vincent and Rolondo both feel this way when around me, as is evidenced by the fact that when we hang out at bars or on the street, they're always pointing me out to their friends and girls as "our hacker dude," despite my protests. I am not a hacker.
But this dude who's now living in V's old apartment... This wigger gives Vince and Rolondo silly confidence. The actual person living up in apartment 8 is named Travis, and while Travis certainly wishes to be black, he's not what I'd call a wigger. He's pre-med at Berkeley, and yes, he does like to play up the fact that he lives in the ghetto a bit too much. And yes, his dad pays the rent, thus vaguely ruining his ghetto cred...
But this dude who's now living with Travis is driving me nuts. First of all, he takes up yet another of our vanishing parking spaces with his tiny Honda. Second, he wears lots of bling bling and black clothing. Third, he keeps his seat tilted way back in the car. Fourth, he blasts bad rap music outside my window when I'm trying to write. Fifth, he makes Vincent feel over confident and thugish, a bad mix since Vincenet is sometimes right on the edge of slipping back into his gangsterish past.
Chief among these offenses is the rap music this wigger plays. I don't mind rap when it's good. Jay-Z, Black Eyed Pees (eh... they're OK, but dancey), Blackalicius, Bus Driver, even Big Punisher, Biggie Smalls, and Tupac. But I cannot abide by 50 Cent and other half-assed, using the same word over and over again to rhyme with itself, no-talent, I-got-shot-and-was-in-jail-so-therefore-I-am-a-good-rapper, busters. Maybe I am overly sensative, and maybe I am indicting a decent rapper with this rant, but this wigger only plays one song in his Honda, and he only plays it at full volume when I am trying desperately to meet a deadline.
The contents of this song are basically about a neighborhood, belonging to the singer, and being defended against outsiders by caps which will be busted. And the rapper says these things repeatedly, particularly the parts about how this is his neighborhood. His hood. And this wigger walks around rooting in his trunk, fixing his car, and such, all while this one song plays. He seems to be working at the shelter for homeless kids on the corner, a place that is inhabited by teenaged urban youth. Great, I admire his commitment to this excellent non-profit, but I can't help but feel that he's presenting himself there as some sort of reformed gangster, and showing off this block as his own particular hood.
Look, white dude, this ain't yer hood. Yer sleeping on the floor of a pre-med honors student who's one of three white folks in mixed race building. You've only just started coming to this area, and just because yer crashing on a counch in Oakland does not mean that yer little white-bread Orinda ass is now ghetto and reputable. Give it a rest, and stop playing that damn "my neighborhood" song over and fucking over agin. I'm working on a book here, ass hat. Some people actually have paying jobs, instead of volunteer positions where we can work on our street cred fulltime.
As Bill Cosby said, pull yer pants up and speak English.