once upon a time i was unjustly profiled, but first some commentary on a current event

turns out michael jackson just died. who knew? i didn't. seems to me that the death of the king of pop would have garnered a bit more attention than it did. but what do i know?

needless to say, i am in mourning over his passing. in case you were unaware, michael was once a member of the jackson five. that's right, the cooperfive isn't the only surname/five phenomenon making its way in the world today. as such, i feel a special closeness to all things mj and from one family of five to the next, i say: go on moonwalking in that oh-so faimlar falsetto bellowing of yours to that grand neverland ranch in the sky. you're bad.

upon hearing of michael's death, my thoughts immediately turned to my white "beat it" muscle shirt that i owned as a child. it was the prize possession of my overwhelming wardrobe. it had a rather large picture of michael on the front in his signature red leather jacket with plenty of zippers on display along with his tight black pants in which he was striking a vintage mj dance pose. and of course in large block letters, next to mr. jackson were the words "beat it." i was bad.

i wore my shirt as often as possible and usually with my black parachute pants that also had about 5 zippers too many. every once in a while, i would throw down with the red and white striped wrist bands. i was bombs when i rocked that get-up. i could have had a dance-off with any kid on the block and not embarrassed myself unless of course i was describing myself in this very situation in said apparel some 23 years later... in which case i should probably be slightly embarrassed. nah, not even a little. what's more is i had learned how to moonwalk at a church activity and i knew a few breakdancing moves (backspin, worm, among a few others) back from when breakdancing was cool the first time around, the combination of these very things made me a force to be reckoned with... i knew what time it was.

sad thing is, one day at my art class, when i was wearing my beat it shirt for probably the third day in a row, i spilled some ink or paint of something on it that i couldn't get off no matter how hard i scrubbed. it was tragic. i probably cried. my beautiful white shirt now shown a large clump of brown smudge not far from mr, jackson's nether region. i think a joke or two was made about michael having the runs. it was never funny to me. i was so devastated over the loss of my shirt, my dear mum bought me a new one and all at once my confidence was restored. the moonwalking thus continued back while michael was still black... once he morphed into a white dude, it just wasn't the same.

speaking of black and white, recent newsworthy events for which i do not know the full facts compel me, dare i say: leave me no choice, but to refrain from commenting on them except that not commenting on them would be stupid of me. therefore, i will comment and state that, as a matter of fact, i have personal experience in prejudicial profiling as i was once the subject of such treatment not many years ago.

the event to which i refer took place one ordinary afternoon in the frequently referred to town of provo, utah. at the time of the happening, i was a student and i was married to my dear wife, mrs. blogmaster. it just so happens that mrs. blogmaster has parents, who i will affectionately refer to as the in-laws,and would you believe that the blogmaster's in-laws... incidentally... have a house in the very same provo, utah i just referred to. this is important, because that's where the incident took place.

here we go...

once upon a time, big kim (as a reminder, kim is my father in law and not my mother in law) bought a home alarm system from one of the six bazillion kids selling alarm systems (along with pest control, noni juice, girl scout cookies, brazilian berry juice, make-up, etc) in utah county. seemed like a good idea at the time, but what big kim inconveniently (or conveniently) forgot was that he had a free-loader son in law who would drop by periodically unannounced, make his way into the house to get some food from the kitchen, watch some tv, rummage through his wallet, etc. whether or not anyone was at home.

fortunately, that son in law lived in kansas at the time, so, naturally, i don't think it was a major concern of kim's, so i'll cut him some slack. i, on the other hand, usually gave the in-laws a good two days notice before coming over during which visits i would commonly bring fresh baked bread to share, laundry detergent, and a small, but generous donation, to put towards the cost of utilities and other costs i would consume/generate while visiting. i said "usually".

unfortunately, on one occasion, i forgot to give the in-laws the accustomed notice of arrival after injuring myself playing basketball (the injury has no real relevance to the story, i just want you all to know that i am active and athletic to the point where i sometimes get injured). as such, i made my way over to the in-laws to ice the ankle, watch some tv, and have a little lunch to pass the time; however, upon arrival, i was somewhat disappointed to find that no one was home which meant i was going to have to walk all the way from the front door to the garage to get in (on my bad ankle). not a big deal seeing as how i knew the code to the garage (something i think the in-laws still regret having ever revealed to me). oh well.

so, i anxiously and gimpingly made my way through the garage and into the house to get the treatment i was in need of, but little did i know that the alarm system had been set-off when i opened the door to the house. no big deal, right? maybe. stay tuned.

if i recall correctly, i got a bag of ice, microwaved a frozen chimichanga and popped down in a chair in the living room right under the family portrait. i was set, but as i sat there i heard someone enter the house through the front door. who could that be i thought. maybe someone who will wait on me? maybe my wife? maybe ed mcmahon back when he was alive and handing out checks? nope. none of the above.

i was actually a little startled to see that the uninvited guests were in fact some of provo's finest: the police (no, not the band and, no, not the hot cops). these guys were the real deal. they had guns and badges, handcuffs, mace, and billy clubs. they weren't messing around and neither was i when they asked me what i was doing in the house. at first i was appalled. how dare they ask me what i am doing in a house that is not my own? don't they know who i am (actually, i should have cut them a break since this was long before the days of blogging and the cooperfive), but, i was a college student and i had a right to be in that house as evidenced by the student id i showed them. but no, that wasn't good enough for them.

apparently, that's how a non-utahn is treated in utah county. was it that obvious that i was from las vegas? just because i'm from sin city that gives the police the right to assume i am committing a sin in someone else's house? i guess so since they subsequently asked me to step outside. as if. i refused to leave and pointed to my ankle telling them they were cityists and that i would be calling their commanding officer to inform them of their cityism.

unbelievable. i felt wronged. i felt discriminated against. i couldn't care less if they were just trying to do their job and i was being uncooperative. i mean, they're just the police... the guys endowed with the authority to maintain order and peace throughout the county. i, on the other hand, never got a fair shake as a las vegan in happy valley and, as such, anything that didn't go my way in that town could only logically be attributed to cityism. i'd had enough of such treatment and i'll just leave it at that since this post has gone on long enough and i am certain to have offended many of my readers by now.

but, before i go, let me just say that the story was true right up until the point where i started to become defiant and belligerent. what actually happened is that the cops just asked me for my id, which wasn't really helpful since it was nevada id, but when i pointed to the family portrait just above my head and said "see, that's me," i was in like flynn. this seems to have worked better than pulling the cityism card probably would have. note to self and others who may or have recently found themselves in a similar situation: when breaking into someone's house (even if it's your own) bring a family portrait with you to hang on the wall (or already have hanging on your wall) in case you are rudely interrupted by the police... that should get them off your back.

in closing, i'm looking at the man in the mirror and asking him to change his ways... don't get your hopes up.