Some of you may not know, but the co-creators of this blog are both lifelong sufferers of an identical, uncommon disease. No, it's not alcoholic liver failure. Nor is it feline leukemia. No, you see, for all of their youngish lives Bryan and Brandon have lived with a severe psychological identity crisis, stemming from the fact that they are each half Mexican. But if you look at them, you'll see that they don't look Mexican at all. They both just look like a couple of whiteboys.
So what's the problem, you say? It's the best of both worlds, right? Tacos AND burgers? Hip shaking rhythm AND white privilege? A green card AND a credit card? What's to bitch about? Well, let us tell you, it's not all that easy being a bleached tortilla. And here's why.
When you grow up in a largely uneducated farm town that's roughly 50% white folks and 50% brown folks, you learn pretty quickly that racism is easily accessible on both ends of the spectrum. And rather than serving as a happy medium that everyone on both sides can learn from, the result is that everybody hates you, at least a little bit.
But really, it's weird not quite fitting in to either "group." We're not very hip on Mexican culture, but for being as pale as paper, we both suck at being white people. We think Starbucks coffee is awful, and that Taco Bell is neither Mexican food nor is it actual food. You won't catch us dead in cardigan sweaters or polo shirts. And we didn't think Friends was funny... at all.
In other words, we are the worst white guys ever.
Sorry, guys, but our skin color betrays us. Tennis is boring, neither of us have ever baked a tuna casserole, and we both agree that Iggy Azalea sucks major ass.
But alas, that doesn't mean we're any better at being Mexican. No, in fact, we're pretty shitty Mexicans, too. Instead of tanning into bronze gods, we awkwardly burn until we look like blister-covered lobsters. We both love spicy foods, but neither of us have the intestinal fortitude to handle it, and even the medium-est of salsas is enough to make us feel like we got punched in the stomach by God himself.
And worst of all? We can't speak a word of Spanish.
In other words, we suck at this whole "race" and "culture" thing, but at least we have our own club, chock full of spicy hot enchiladas and American craft beer, simultaneously broadcasting hockey and Mexican weather forecasts. And for us, it's pretty damn awesome.
We're sure we can't be alone. Does anyone else suck at their own culture? Does your skin color betray you?
Cheers and stay classy, esés,
Music: Juan Mayer