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Ten Years On

I found myself in the “Friends Circle” of the “Celebrate Brooklyn” concert series in Prospect Park on Friday night, the a cappella strains of Lady Blacksmith Mambazo in the air and the place awash in a sea of white, liberal guilt. Kids on annoying top-dollar push scooters abounded, many of the younger ones outfitted with noise-canceling airport runway headphones –  the latest in over-zealous eardrum protection for the Brownstone Brooklyn, pussified-parent set. They desire the multi-cultural broadening for their four year-old, but let Junior fall back on lip-reading as not to endure permanent cochlear damage from the sweet, harmonized South African vocals.

I’m no child psychologist but am pretty sure most of these kids are going to get their asses kicked at some point in life, and when they do they can blame their parents. It’s an odd experience to be as white as I am, yet with increasing frequency find myself thinking “man, I hate white people ..” I was a guest of my buddy Mark on Friday. He shelled out for the summer ‘Friends’ pass, entitling him to shorter lines, private restrooms, and a liquor tent. It was a rainy night and neither of us were inclined to make a rush for the stage, so we stayed in the tent sipping a few tall Becks and listening to the music from a distance. Angry old man observations not withstanding, it was a decent time.

This concludes a brief summer blog entry, 2013.

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