Newsweek (which used to be a magazine, I think) has a cover story about the plight of white men in these tough economic times. Although I didn’t actually read it, it seems a simple concept – white guys, having been repressed for years now, are suffering more than any other group. As a white guy, I can, of course attest to this fact. David Sirota (a traitor to both his race and gender), on the other hand, begs to disagree. Sirota tosses out all kinds of statisticy-sounding things, such as that while the unemployment rate for “white workers dropped below the overall national average to 7.9 percent, the unemployment rate among black workers increased from 15.3 to 15.5 percent.”

There’s no mention of gender there, so I can only assume that the huge number of unemployed white men is balanced out by all the white women who have taken all our jobs, by virtue of the fact that they have a huge advantage in the workplace – namely, that you only need to pay them 77% of what you’d pay a man. Now how can we compete with that?

On a serious note, if you want to even begin to address wage inequality for women and minorities, organize the workforce.

The union wage benefit is greatest for people of color and women. Latino union workers earn almost 51 percent more than their nonunion counterparts. Union women earn almost 34 percent more than nonunion women. For African Americans, the union advantage is 31 percent.

Anyhow, back to us downtrodden white guys (more persecuted in this country than Christians, even, if you can believe that).

The disappointing thing about being a white guy in this day and age (particularly for men of my generation), is the knowledge that just a short while ago, we were the unquestioned #1 and had it all. Oh, sure, we’ve still got most of it, but what good is “most” when your forefathers had it ALL?

I mean, everything I learned, I learned from TV, and when I was a kid, white guys could expect to have cool jobs like astronauts or cops or advertising executives, and have a hot blonde wife that wore a harem outfit, who would call you “master” and you could stick in a bottle when you wanted a break from her (except for Joe Friday, who never seemed to be much for the ladies – I mean, Col. Potter and his wife kept trying to set him up, but he never seemed to show much interest. If they’d have had gay people back in those days, I might have suspected he was a little, well…nah, not Joe. He was just too busy serving the people, and I think maybe be was a closet member of the he-man women-hater’s club with Alfalfa and Spanky and maybe even Darla Hood, who I think was actually a little dude in drag). Ah, those were the days.

Now? Bah. You not only get stuck with the lousy jobs like snaking out the septic line in a damp, freezing cold basement standing up to your ankles in human waste and rotted toilet paper, but you have to be “sensitive” about it.

And of course there’s a touchiness and double-standard you have to put up with, too. For instance, I was watching The Colbert Report with Caroline Kennedy hawking some book of freakin’ “feel good” poetry or something ( :yawn: ), which she described as being poems of “men celebrating women and women celebrating themselves.” When I muttered to myself, “oh, boy, that sounds great,” I was immediately met with a response of “oh, you hate women.”

Clearly the only obvious conclusion. 🙄

Now, had, oh, I dunno, Andrew Dice Clay been on hawking a book about women celebrating men and men celebrating themselves (though he might phrase it a bit differently), he’d have been derided as being a sexist pig.

Why? Because he’s a white guy, that’s why. Also, he’s a has-been who wasn’t actually ever funny. But mostly because he’s a white guy.

Plus, the poem she picked to read was pretty crappy and sappy. I prefer poetry by people like Sylvia Plath, Edgar Allen Poe, Dorothy Parker or Ezra Pound. You know, depressed, neurotic, alcoholic, and/or suicidal poets with names beginning with ‘P.’

Now, did I have a point? No, I don’t think I did. Mostly, I’m really tired because the thunderstorms started at about 2:30 this morning and the dogs were freaked, so, being the sensitive, downtrodden white guy that I am, I finally decided to just get the hell up and bring the dogs with me, so at least one of us could get a little sleep.

But if I did have a point, it would be that it’s hard being a white man in a white man’s world, no matter what David Sirota thinks.

I mean, what does he know? He’s just a dumb old white guy.