Ever since we implemented civil rights legislation many and many a year ago, I have had to check a little race box on any kind of application or information form that I’m submitting to some .gov, .org, or even .com entity that wants to know about who I am, and why I am applying for their this/that/orthe/other. The little box typically asks me to identify my race. A person of my pale pigmentation is expected to check the box called Caucasian.
And I’m like, whaddup widdat?
What have I to do with thee, oh mountains of Caucasus?
If I chech the Causasian ethnicity, does that identify me as some wild-eyed cave-dweller from the far side of those mountains that the tectonic earth had long ago so carelessly slung up between Black Sea and Prince Caspian?
Surely not! I beg to differ.
On the other hand, if I am being so contentious about such a small box-chechin’ matter, maybe I am a little bit of a Chech.
That is to say: a rebel.
Them doggone Chechens!–can’t do a thing with ’em, as they say in Moscow.
I suppose that in Russia, when the good citizens of that country fill out forms, they are likewise expected to chech little ethnicity boxes, so the bureaucrats in the Kremlin or wherever can know what little categories to place the people in, very much like here in the land of the free and home of the brave, aka Washington SMSA.
Now when I say Chech, I’m not talking about Czechs. Them Czechs are great, especially like, Vaclev Havel. But I must also point out that they too, have a history of not taking any sh-t from the Russians, just like those upstart startups in Boston wouldn’t tolerate any taxation without representation from wiggy ole King George III, back in the day, the revolutionary day, when the Patriots decided to have a Tea Party.
But that was then, and this is now. We’re all Russians now! Dosvidanya. Reminds me of some old Beatles nonsense, where Georgia’s always on my mind.