Alisa: A Story of Race, Sex, Class, and Shame

“If home is where the heart is then there are stories to be told…” – Axl Rose             White privilege affords the recipient thereof the luxury of taking a shit in private. Sorry to sound so legalistic.             When Alisa dropped turds in her toilet, did it wake the befuddled drunk on her doorstep?             A Zen koan. Sasquatch hear the trees fall in the forest.             Did the North Jersey party animal wake up – with a leaden hangover - and say “Dude, what the fuck was that noise? It sounded like a plop! And what the fuck is that smell? I think someone inside that house just took a shit! Wait! This isn’t even my house! I better walk one block over and throw up in front of my own rental or that person inside who’s taking a dump might call ...

            Taco vendors dared not ply their trade on our end of Belmar Boulevard (lest they receive a hefty summons.) The people (all white) in our neighborhood would have issued a shriek worthy of Donald Sutherland at the very suggestion of a portable concession stand (let alone a Mexican one.)              Though as far as I know, not one person in our wealthy yet sparsely-populated ‘hood looked like the version of Donald Sutherland pictured above. Here he looks too urban, Jewy, and eccentric (though I do not believe Donald Sutherland is a Jew.) His appearance in this picture bears a resemblance to the hateful New York City child-killer Joel Steinberg (and most of the people in my neighborhood agreed that it was wrong to murder children, even for the sake of money or convenience.)             This Don...