"A kid died outsidda 'Cuddy's last night."
Rumors that I heard from several confused, drunk, imaginative college students are not normally rumors I would let sink into the mainframe of my thinking pattern.
Cue skepticism and my journalistic questioning process.
This rumor has had me waiting on the edge of my seat for some sort of news about the event, if the event really happened.
On my way over to the haunted and responsibility-ridden radio station I've made a second home at, I stumbled across something very interesting.
Something that is not commonly associated with hippie, activist swarmed New Paltz.
Certainly not anything I would even expect to show up in my suburban home town.
Huge, red and in my face, stared the Bloods graffiti.
To be completely honest and core-exposing, I am terrified to walk around campus alone now.
I am completely and utterly terrified.
It was bad enough I had just started to slightly jump after I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye; started to become afraid of things that aren't necessarily real.
Now this is real. It is really there, as plain as the 3 foot tall letters that spell out a notorious, fear instilling gang.
Bars in town are now using metal detecting wands on the people they let in, and not letting the people that look like they may be in a gang into the buildings.
Way to break free from those restricting stereotypes, 21st century.
You've really come a long way.
And that is now where my mind wanders tonight, as I have recently been a victim of slight stereotyping- while also being a hypocritical culprit myself.
As I was watching one of my favorite bands perform this weekend, a drunk girl looked at me and encouraged me to jump up and down with her.
When I smiled politely at the drunken mess and shook my head a bit, she stopped jumping around and a serious, concerned look took hold of her half closed eyes.
Examining my face, she mirrored my facial piercings by placing two index fingers on her face and said,
"You have these. You should jump!"
I smiled at her and said, "That makes no sense," and she was off again, jumping around and making out with her equally drunk male friend.
Feeling a little badly about being told how I should act according to my body modifications, I laughed it off.
Later that night, I ended up at a party where I felt as if I was slapped in the face with a stereotype.
Blow-outs, too much gel, acid washed jeans and a tribal tattoo stared me in the face and all I could think was, "Jaegerbombs!" (see: YouTube video, "My New Haircut")
I turned around and almost fell onto the floor laughing as I realized that a large canister of Muscle Milk mix was sitting on the kitchen counter.
Thinking back on it, only now do I realize how often people stereotype.
The more I think about it, the more it makes me sick.
When each of us get dressed in the morning, we make sure we are going to present ourselves to the world in the way we want to be perceived. Most want to be an individual with their own sense of style. But, at the end of the day, everyone that sees us walk by lumps us into a category in their minds. They do it without even thinking. A "guido," "gang banger," or "emo kid" - and if we do something that is out of the stereotype's norm, we are looked at funnily.
With such diversity and "acceptance" (more like ignoring) of multiple cultures in this country, it's just plain upsetting.
8 years ago