The O-town Scene - Oneonta, NY
Issue link: https://www.ifoldsflip.com/i/20734
Jennifer Tighe What’s that, boy? Grandma’s caught in a well!? Do you ever wonder what it would be like if our pets could talk? As I write this, my 70-pound English Setter is shoulder deep in my hamper licking one of my towels. I’d ask him what the hell he’s doing, but I’m not entirely sure I’d want to know. See, most of you might find that disturb- ing, but somehow I find it to be an impres- sive display of affection and loyalty. But seriously, I want to know what they’re thinking. Do they actually like Kibbles and Bits? How messed up do they really get from catnip? Is peeing outside in front of everyone while feeling absolutely no shame as liberating as it seems? And how do they feel about the fact that they get to sleep in those awesomely fuzzy little miniature beds? I need to know. Let’s face it, pets have it all. They get to sleep all day, they don’t have to go to school, they get treats just because they can plop their butts on the ground when we ask them to, and most of all, they get to chase the mail man _ and we have a cute mail man so you better believe I’m jealous. All they have to do is lay there and be adorable, and they can have anything they want. I try that and people just look at me funny and tell me to get off the floor. And for the record, the last time I tried greet- ing someone by sticking my nose in their crotch, I got arrested. But seriously, why do they do that? I wonder if they’re simple- minded or if they actually form coher- ent thoughts because honestly, as much as I love positive reinforce- ment and what it does The last time I tried greeting someone by sticking my nose in their crotch, I got arrested. to my ego I don’t want to hear my dog say “I love you” every other second. But at the same time I wouldn’t want him outsmarting me, because I’m almost positive my mom loves him more than me, and I think his intelligence might push her to actually give him my room instead of just threaten- ing to do it like she does now. I think I’m just going to have to accept the fact that I can’t have in-depth conversations with Mr. Fluffalupagis. And by the way, if pets could talk, would we have to stop giv- ing them such blatantly ridiculous names? I’m just not willing to make that sacrifice. But if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to my weekly yoga class. I’ve been trying to mas- ter that scratching thing my dog does with his leg behind his ear. My mom tells me if I ever want to get married I might want to learn a thing or two from him about flex- ibility. Jennifer Tighe is a senior at SUNY Oneonta majoring in English. Wow! Sam Spokony I had my first anti- Semitic experience Sunday. I need to make it clear that I don’t believe what I heard was excessively malicious. But as a suburban, unobservant Jew who has never before felt that kind of affront, at least not on a personal level, I feel the need to speak. While I was driving back to Oneonta from my hometown in Rockland County that afternoon, I was involved in a brief and confusing misunderstanding at a New York State Trooper checkpoint in Roscoe, and was asked to pull over. Being a 20-year-old college student with a car full of packed bags and guitar cases, I was, of course, immediately searched for drugs. Regarding this I have no complaints; apart from being an easy target, I was simply being introduced to one of many standard procedures State Troopers tend to follow in similar situations. In my case, the bags were clean, but with the pos- sibility of a prize looming, the officer leading the search continued to sniff around. Upon opening my backpack, he discovered a small, unopened box of novelty Hanukkah cookies, a gift from my aunt that, sad to say, encapsulates the essence and full extent of my “Jewishness.” Think you’d be a good columnist? Great! E-mail Cassandra at editor@otownscene.com 4 O-Town Scene Dec. 2, 2010 However, as the officer repeatedly turned it over in his hands, it seemed as if the box of cookies began to define something weightier than my own failed religious faith. Next, he opened my duffel bag. It was filled with books I had brought home over the Thanksgiving break to complete my all-im- portant “big” academic papers, another goal that I had failed to make good on. Isn’t it funny that incidents in which we blame others tend to reveal our own subtle shortcomings as well? And as I stood there taking pity on myself, he asked: “You got any religious books in here?” While I was explaining to him the real na- ture of those books, I realized that, in haste, I had packed a pair of black dress shoes in the same bag, and at that point something else dawned on me. My beard, the black shoes, the Chanukah paraphernalia, the “religious” books: This guy thought I was an Orthodox Jew. I was being profiled. At the risk of sounding shameful, I’ll share my initial mental reaction. Photo by Scott Schleiff And not a “Wow!” of outrage or defensive- ness. I was a little excited. I have been trying to re- connect with my roots by immers- ing myself in Jewish- American fiction all se- mester, and, on some strange level, felt I was a real Jew, not of my own volition but because someone else had chosen to label me as one. at that moment as if I had gained access to some select club. I had been remade. I was a real Jew, not of my own volition but because someone else had chosen to label me as one. I was subsequently placed in the peculiar situation of the persecuted: trying to make sense of conflicting feelings while simultane- ously having to profess my innocence. After several exchanges, the officer finally said something that gave me closure. “Why won’t you tell me where the drugs are? Because you don’t trust the goyim?” It’s difficult to immediately and rationally assess a comment like that when it’s addressed to you, in a serious tone, by a dominant authority figure. But now, I will say this: Reacting to anti- Semitic (or anti-whatever) statements can’t be done in a “me first” way. My strange and naive initial feeling of enlightenment, that’s “me first.” To unnecessarily play the victim, to use emotional pain in order to rationalize a violent or thoughtless backlash _ that’s “me first.” That’s not to say that I can really empa- thize with those who’ve had it worse, and it’s not to say that this trooper’s comments should be accepted or rationalized. I ask: Why was that final jab a question of trust? Not between him and me, or between the law and me, or between God and me, but between his “people,” the goyim, and mine, the Jews? I can’t bring this to a neat conclusion. There are ways to respond to the questions, but, then, can you trust those answers? In 2010, the world is so small that it fits on a silicon chip. Think about this, and remove yourself from the equation. If there were no “me firsts,” if each individual retaliation was, like a bad circuit, plucked, unsoldered and thrown away, one by one, would there be anything left to distrust? What would be left? Sam Spokony is a junior at SUNY Oneonta majoring in English and music industry.