I Donated My Farfisa Organs to Science

Diplomacy has always been something I sincerely believed in. There are very few conflicts you can't solve with a good talk. This is why I haven't been in a fight since eighth grade. I have personally talked my way out of fights (as well as out of terminations and into getting raises). I like to talk, I like to argue, and sometimes, I'm pretty good at it. Two recent incidents, however, taught me that there are different kinds of diplomacy: the kind that works, and the kind that doesn't.

Halloween night wasn't really one for the record books. All the parties I went to sucked. What the hell, Austin? I never had to worry about this in NOLA. If you have a party ON HALLOWEEN NIGHT, you have a mandate to make it rule. You don't do that by having shitty food, trashcan kool-aid and no music. Also, if you're loaded with money and wanna throw a bad-ass Halloween jam, having a ping pong table, pool table, two Foosball tables and an air hockey table are pretty cool, but it's all for naught when the live music is a high school-level heavy metal cover band.

As I was standing in line for a beer while listening to the band absolutely butcher Zeppelin classics, this stumpy, angry fella decided to plant himself well into my comfort zone, and began deliberately swaying himself into me. Back and forth, he'd methodically lean his shoulder into mine, not hard, but definitely intentional. I looked over at him, and all the while he'd been looking straight ahead. It should also be noted that this guy wasn't in line at all. If he had been, he'd be behind me. However, he was directly to my side, trying to goad me into reacting.

I stepped to my left a little, just out of reach the human pendulum. He followed suit and continued his bumping. I stepped back, and sure enough, with his gaze still affixed straight ahead, so too did he also shift back, never losing a step in planting the seeds for a classic pointless party fight. I finally stepped further back and on the other side of him. I'd now taken myself out of line in an experiment to see just how far this guy would take himself. When he looked over and obviously adjusted himself to be next to me once again, I finally put my arm up, blocking his sway, and said,

"Dude, c'mon, cut it out".

Seeing the in he'd been looking for, he bats at my hand and says with a pair of confused, crazy eyes,

"Get the fuck out my way!"

He could've said anything, but saying what he said made absolutely no sense. I replied back with a rather bewildered,

"I'm not in your way".

The guy was about to make a move when out of nowhere came the oversized paw of comedian Rey Soto. Rey turned the stumpy guy completely around, got in his face and basically told him that if he was going to fight me, his first challenge was taking down Rey Soto. Needless to say the guy took the right path, and disappeared into the crowd.
Not much diplomacy was needed, but Rey's case was tough to argue with. Any further aggression would've clearly been pretty stupid.

The other incident happened last night at Common Interest, a kareoke bar I frequent due to its proximity to the comedy club, and because I love kareoke. Common Interest is also no stranger to drama.

I was in front of the bar chatting with some friends when suddenly, sure enough, some drama broke out. A guy, who we'll refer to as Beard (because he has one) sang a song on stage, but alledgedly ignored the lyrics on the prompt and instead sang his own hate-filled verses, making public his disdain for "niggers and faggots".

Now, I wasn't inside when this happened, but I would not put it past Beard to do this. In my experiences with him, he has been a completely unlikable douchebag. However, I don't know exactly what he said, so I will neither defend him nor accuse him of anything. All I was concerned with was the black guy he pissed off. We'll call him Defense, because he got pretty fucking defensive when Beard sang his controversial version of an otherwise intolerable Red Hot Chili Peppers tune.

Defense, who was quite Carlton-esque, was furious. He was light skinned and very nerdily dressed. Donning a blue oxford button-up tucked into his khaki dockers, Defense paced back and forth in the parking lot, screaming his case to anyone who'd hear him. He certainly looked like he wanted to fight, but perhaps wasn't entirely committed to the idea. If he was, he would've attacked Beard already, but in all honesty, I think he knew he'd lose the fight, as Beard had the combination of girth and stupidity on his side. While I was watching all this happen, I said out loud but to myself, "I'd like to go talk to Defense. I think I can rationalize things for him."

Twenty minutes or so passed, and after a group car-bonging session, I was ready to put things into perspective for Defense, and possibly make him feel better about the possibility of not fighting. Something about him told me that he didn't like fights, but he probably had also never heard the word nigger on a karaoke stage. He was more shocked than angry, but he was definitely angry.

Defense was alone and further away from the entrance of the bar, ostensibly contemplating his next move while pounding on the hood of his minivan. I approached him, because it seemed like he really wanted attention.

"Hey man, something on your mind?"

"Yeah. Some dumb motherfucker in there...I dunno man, I wanna kick his ass."

"Are you talking about the guy in there who sang that song and-"

"Yea, talked shit about niggers and faggots. What the fuck? Who the fuck does that? That's so fuckin' stupid! And nobody gave a shit but me!"

That last point I think was what was really riling him up. He was hoping white people would give a fuck, and apparently he was disappointed.

I said to him, "I know, dude. But let me be the devil's advocate here. That dude that sang is a pretty unlikable guy. His doing that isn't shocking. People have come to ignore him. They expect him to be like that, and so they don't pay him any attention."

He contemplated my point, and nodded in acknowledgment and even a little bit of agreement. He then presented his best argument for beating Beard's ass.

"Yea, but maybe nobody has beaten his ass yet."

Suddenly, I felt my support for a fight begin to grow. However, I continued my point.

"Perhaps he does deserve a beating, and frankly if it comes to that, I won't lose any sleep, but I think you're stooping a bit too low to do it. He sang that shit because he's incredibly ignorant, not because he hates you. He's just clueless."

Still, Defense couldn't think of any other solution than to make Beard pay with his blood. At that moment, I met his main motivator for that train of thought. Cody.

Cody was Defense's buddy, obviously. Cody was my height, but huge. He was also white. Whiter than me. He came up to us out of nowhere (how do huge guys do this?) and asks what my deal was. Defense instantly introduced me to Cody and assured him that I was "cool". Then Cody gave me a gigantic handshake, and began to speak his mind.

"Defense is my buddy. Probably my best friend. I can say the word 'nigger' whenever I want. I can say 'nigger' over and over again, and Defense don't give a fuck."

I don't quite know why he felt the need to tell me this, and I doubt it was true, but Defense seemed to be okay with it. In reply, I offered,

"That's completely irrelevant, Cody. You're his friend. Of course when you say it it's not an issue. The word has no weight if it has no intent." My point originally was that Beard also had no intent, that he was just an idiot. I think they took it the wrong way.

Defense heard this and said "Yes! Exactly! Thank you! It has no weight if it has no intent!"
He repeated this phrase a few more times, resembling Johnny Cochran's "If the glove don't fit, you must acquit", but far more articulate.

Cody acknowledged my point as well, saying, "yea, that motherfucker deserves a beat-down. Tell me everything you know about him."

I could tell now that Cody was part of the conversation, Defense was all offense. I was no longer a voice of reason, I was their informant. Cody asked me everything I knew about Beard. Since I knew nothing, all I said was,

"He's in the bar right now. Defense knows as much as I do. He's got a beard and green shirt."

Cody then inexplicably replied, with crazy intensity, "Seth, I don't give a fuck about his shirt. Where does he live?"

I'm really glad I didn't know the answer. I told Cody that I gave him all the info I had. After Defense further reassured Cody that I was indeed telling the truth and that Beard and I were anything but friends, the conversation was over. Cody mentioned something about camping out and waiting for Beard. Before I made my way back to my car, I made one last plea.

"Don't fight this chump unless you have to. Try a little diplomacy and he may never sing a racist, homophobic rant on stage again."

"Diplomacy?", Cody asked incredulously.

He then looked at me with a big smile, raised his sleeve to reveal a giant tattoo and said,

"I'm a United States Marine. Fuck diplomacy."

I then got in my car and drove away feeling more like Jimmy Carter than I ever have in my life.