Hannah and Papa J

Hannah and Papa J

Monday, December 15, 2014

In defense of the word "thug"

Dear Hannah,

I've lived many places throughout my life, and this most recent one, situated in the South, happens to be the worst.  And I say this because, on the right side of me and on the left, I'm neighbored by a racist and a redneck.  The latter parks his trucks on the grass, plays his Luke Bryan well past ten at night, and enjoys getting into fights with his girlfriend -- who I'm starting to think is his sister.  The racist, on the other hand, presents a different kind of problem.  He hates everything to do with any race except his own, which is unfortunate for me because I'm a half-bred Hispanic.  He believes everyone other than his own race is against him.  The Asians have taken his child's place at college because they study harder.  The Mexicans have taken his job because they charge less and they work better.  And lastly, perhaps worst of all, he believes that whenever something bad happens between black people and white people in the national news, the black people are innocent, and the white people, whose minds he cannot read, are racists.  Oh -- I've forgotten to mention something.  This racist neighbor is black.

Monday, December 8, 2014

Hitler's art and functional alcoholism

Dear Hannah,

Walk through any bookstore in the United States, find the history section, shuffle your way toward "Germany," and you'll be treated to almost nothing but information about the Nazis.  It shouldn't be too surprising why.  Most of the Protestants I know aren't smart enough to study Martin Luther, and Hitler was the most exciting supervillain to have happened only yesterday.  Aside from these two periods, and maybe World War 1 and the invasion of Rome by the Goths, the rest of German history is a gigantic void to Americans. 

Sunday, December 7, 2014

The cheerful worker



Dear Hannah,

I don’t care what people say — I refuse to believe that a man who’s a drag at work is a good man in whole.  Eight hours a day are spent at work, at the very least; eight hours are spent at home, and eight hours, if you know what's good for you, are spent sleeping.  Work may only be a third of a man’s entire day but it's half of his waking hours, and if a man’s a drag to be around for half a day I say he’s entirely bad — especially if that’s the only portion of the day I see him.