On Being A Token
On Being A Token
While it is not going to cause me to up my Zoloft dose, I have recently realized I am a token.
Not a token like the little coin thing previously used to pay for subway rides unless you didn't have one and had to jump the turnstile just as the train arrived. Not that.
Not a token, like a game token, like in Monopoly where arguments would break out over who was going to get stuck with the iron or the thimble, both of which have now been replaced by hipper things like penguins and dinosaurs which is an abomination the Parker Borthers would never have tolerated. Not that.
Not a member of the Tokens, the do-wop group with the 1961 #1 hit "The Lion Sleeps Tonight"* the backing vocal of which (or so I thought for years) is built on the phrase, "Weema WHAPPA," as in, "we're going to whappa the crap out of you.") Turns out there is only one Token left, and I am not he.
And DEFINITELY not "token" as apparently used in AI/cryptocurrency/blockchain/cybersecurity language. "Apparently," because I'm not gong to spend time learning new meanings of words when the old meanings have worked just fine, at least pretty well, for decades. I do realize new words may help me to communicate with younger generations, like if I were to walk into a bar and say, "Hi, I'm Biff, all my tokens are fungible, wanna have sex?" That would sound really cool for the few seconds it would take for the response, "fuck off, asshole" to arrive. (Rule #312 for life happiness: do not spend time learning vocabulary unlikely to result in carnal entanglement (or free drinks. Much better doing things you already do well, like playing Monopoly and listening to songs about whapping.)
None of these are the token I've become. Not even close. My tokenism is of a much more sociologic/neurotic flavor.
I'm the token, let's say at a party, about whom others might say, "he doesn't really belong here, but we're gonna let him stay so we look more accepting." You heard it right--I'm a mercy invite with altruistic benefits for the hosts! Ouch! Cmon, guys! I'm still occasionally clever and charming and rarely, if ever, get drunk and throw up and when I do I usually do it out by the pool so clean-up is easy. How can I be a token!?
Response: "Dude (boy do I hate that word) you're our token old guy. And the fact that you are white male cisgender somewhat Christian with no outer signs of childhood abuse? You're a classic! A fucking gold mine of tokenism! Just walk around and talk about the Beatles and JFK and the moon landing. Sooner or later someone is going to say, ‘Oh, how nice, they invited their grandfather' and we'll look cool and open to diversity and other shit we haven't even thought of yet. Just don't sing any Beatles songs or walk around spouting, 'you know, you've got to fight for your right to party.' Just smile and nod your head and share pictures of your pets. Oh, and no tie dye. Not that.
Realization: Bruce Springsteen could call me to the stage to sing "Born To Run" and I'd still be stale white bread I'm the yes of the alphabet generations.
I will not be a token.
I will not be a token.
I will not be a token.
That's it--I won't be a token. And to prove it, I'm leaving now, right this second, on a rock and roll road trip. Turns out the last surviving Token is playing in NJ, tickets as low as $84. And none of you gets to come. Because once I've had a few drinks and I'm out on the dance floor doing the frug or the Watusi which were cool long before Gangnam Style, I am likely to lose track of my limbs and WHAP the crap out of YOU.
You get the thimble. I'm taking T. Rex.
Fuck off.
*The Lion Sleeps Tonight: