Guaranteed to offend everyone

You've been warned. If you continue, you give up your right to bitch, whine, complain and hate me for what follows.

Because, if you know the reason behind it, then you have the right to say it.

That's right, get ready for an "Oh Eric" blog.

And I won't make you wait any longer for the "Oh Eric" moment.

Black people amuse me.

Really.

No matter what they do, or wear, or how they look, they can pull it off.

I cant get away with wearing a comb in my hair.

Or a winter parka in the middle of summer.

Hell, when I wore my light jacket over my t-shirt I looked like a homicide bomber looking for a crowd.

And I can never be so cool as to walk around rapping to myself and looking cool. When I walk around talking to myself, rhyming or not, I look like I'm confused, special or looking for a clocktower.

And there's nothing funnier than then living in a multi-cultural neighborhood like mine where I get to see the good and bad of all of us.

And laugh.

What got me started on this was Tony Sinclair. The gin guy. I know a lot of people, black and white. I don't know anyone like him.

He's a Blacka. That's a black cracker. There. I've made a new word. We have Wigga for the white guys that think they're black. And we used to have Uncle Tom's for blacks who were considered white. But really, that's so old there are probably few black people under the age of 40 who can tell you where the phrase came from.

So now they can just be Blackas.

And then there are those people, both black and white, who are just so ghetto there's no other word to define them.

That's what got me thinking about the title of this blog: Black People Amuse Me.

Because I saw the best thing, ever.

Saturday morning Kara and I were eating at Bob Evans before we headed up north to get my daughter and go see Cars before heading down to see Jeffrey Gaines in Pittsburgh.

And we're in line. And I'm looking at the people around me. At what they're wearing. Laughing at the shower shoes (sandals, okay. But generic cheap-ass shower shoes as fashion? Please.).

And big sunglasses. With bling. And various other "fashion" trends that amuse me.

Then I saw the best thing, ever. On the brother in front of me.

Below his Ohio State Buckeyes $400 leather jacket.

Below his $100 Fubu jeans.

He was wearing moccasins.

Crocheted moccasins.

Made of yarn.

Multi-colored yarn.

Oh, and it was raining.

So brother was wearing a leather fitted baseball hat (I didn't see the logo on the front. He was in front of us), Fubu jeans, a $400 leather jacket, and fucking crocheted yarn moccasins.

In the rain.

T

hat shit is funny. And he was just the first of many interestingly dressed people we saw this weekend.

See, I'm an observationalist.

I'm well aware of my surroundings.

And of the people who share my surroundings.

I see them. And I comment on them. I judge and classify people based entirely on my first impression of them.

Which is totally subject to change if I get to know them as anything more than a passing stranger.

Sometimes they become the total opposite of what I first saw in them, which is good.

Sometimes they become the total opposite of what I first saw in them, which is bad.

Because I see things about people that most of the planet doesn't see. Can't see. Or won't see.

Because I refuse to be politically correct.

I see the dark socks with white shoes and laugh just as much as I see the brother waiting for the bus in a bus stop sweating because its 80 degrees outside and hes wearing a parka. And laugh.

I see the woman walking down the street with a beer gut hanging out, no bra and shorts that leave nothing to the imagination.

Nothing.

And I laugh.

And then I wonder if people have mirrors in their houses.

See, because I'm an observer, and politically un-correct, and I like to think for myself, and laugh at others, I tend to find the humor and jokes in places that nobody else finds humor.

Which prompted the "Oh Eric" comment that is going to be a running joke in my life.

And I'll wear it like a badge.

Like my love of watching people.

Especially people who amuse me.

Like the guy in the ghetto moccasins.

And the fact that you will never, ever see two black women with the same hair. (Note: This does not apply to those who keep it natural with the natural afro. I'm talking about the updo's. You'll never see two of the same.)

And the fact that black women are among the most inattentive drivers.

Look around. See who cuts you off. See who tailgates you.

You might think I'm being racist.

And thats your right. I don't care.

Because when the facts support the argument then its true.

And stereotypes exist because they're mostly true.

Granted, not all black women are terrible drivers. Just most of them.

Granted, not all black women have different hair. Just most of them.

Granted, not all black people amuse me.

Just most of them.

So look around.

Observe.

And make your own decisions.

And if you see that brother with the yarn shoes, find out where he got them. I need a pair.