Caucasian

Have you ever seen the word Caucasian? Well, if you've ever had a questionnaire, you probably know that this word is used for the "white" race. The other day, I got to thinking that I've never been to Caucasia, so I wanted to find out about why white people are referred as Caucasian. I went to my good friend, Google, to find the answer, and here's what I came up with.

The origin is not Caucasia, but the Caucasus Mountains in Eastern Europe/Southwest Asia. Apparently, a German guy called Christoph Meiners used the term Caucasian in a 1785 book, and another German called Johann Friedrich Blumenbach picked up on this and expanded upon it. Caucasians, according to Meiners, had the "whitest, most blooming and most delicate white skin," while his other racial class (he only had two) were the Mongolians. Blumenbach wrote in his book, On The Natural Variety of Mankind:

"I have taken the name of this variety from Mount Caucasus, both because its neighborhood, and especially its southern slope, produces the most beautiful race of men, I mean the Georgian; and because all physiological reasons converge to this, that in that region, if anywhere, it seems we ought with the greatest probability to place the autochthones (birth place) of mankind."

Now, Blumenbach later tried to justify his classifications based on cranial structure or something like that, but his opinions were out there. Using the noggin and bone structure in addition to skin color, he decided that beauty was more than skin deep when it came to archetypes for the Caucasian race, but since he was considering a racial classification for himself, of course this race would be the best of the best while the others were Mongolians (never really a term I've heard in high regard).

Now, while we use Caucasian today, it turns out that the term used for awhile was Caucasoid along with a couple of others: Mongoloid (which I've mentioned) and Negroid. I really can't imagine why we don't use these classifications today.

So after some time, Caucasian came to refer to those of us who are generally of European descent, but it is worth noting, for those of you that care, that the Caucasian race was considered by those who originally named it to be the most beautiful of people and the parent race for all humanity. For that reason, I will have no problem marking Caucasian proudly from now on.

Happy Birthday to The Queen

Today is a very important day in the history of my world. On this day a certain number of years ago (law enforcement can be assured it was at least 18), the Queen was born. The heavens opened and the spirit of the Lord descended upon a hospital not far from where I work, looked upon an unassuming family, and said it was good. She would become the favorite of a being who was very old and very kind (when he wasn't a complete jerk) and a raving lunatic of a genius whose talents would someday be known far and wide. She would be the only one to understand him completely, and the only one that he trusted with his life and secrets. Without her, he would be utterly alone.

No, this isn't a guessing game.

That is how I feel about The Queen. I met her in high school (and possibly knew of her before then), and really became acquainted with her on a band trip to the Fiesta Bowl in Arizona. I spent a lot of time with her during our Washington DC trip when she was sort of fawning over the guy I refer to as Crackhead, but never had the courage to say anything at the time. Fast forward four years.

My brother asked if I wanted to go to the homecoming football game. I am not a fan of football, but I had nothing better to do, so I went. Best decision ever, because that's where I met her again. I recognized her immediately, of course, and had to negotiate my way across a locked gate (something that lasted exactly one game). Metaphorically, I was told that if I crossed that gate, I could never come back. She was waiting on the other side, and I wanted to be with her, so I agreed to never come back, and I passed through the gate.

I still don't regret it.

Happy birthday, gorgeous. Love you forever.

Male Fashion

So recently, there was this MTV award show where Miley Cyrus and Robin Thicke did a performance where this happened.

All the good jokes have been taken, and really, this is a big enough joke by itself.

Cracked actually did an excellent article already concerning their impressions of the symbolism of the show, but I would like to point out something that most people overlook. Once you get over what she isn't wearing, look at him. Compare the two. This is a quintessential example of the progression of fashion in our world. Women wear less and less, while the men kind of stay exactly the same.

While his suit would be out of place from a pattern perspective a hundred years ago, if you change the fabric alone to a plain blue or grey, he could walk into the 19th century and be fine. The tailoring of his jacket is definitely old school down to the notched lapels. It has been done to death already that it looks like Beetlejuice's suit.

By contrast, she is running about in her underwear.

This is the modern expectation. It makes me glad sometimes that I am male and I don't have to worry about anything changing...ever. Everything in my closet is in style, always has been in style, and always will be in style. I don't ever have to change my hair because hair styles for men also don't really change. Women's hair styles changed in the time it took me to write this article.

Now, I know there are some trends that change now and again, but there is a gauge one can use to determine whether it will be around tomorrow: was it here yesterday? This gauge only works for men stuff, though. As far as I know. I'm not a fashion expert.

What I do know is that when it comes to my simple, non-trendiness, I can pull anything out of my closet and wear it probably forever without it coming off as dated. Again, it's good to be a male.

It's also worthwhile that my stuff never changes since I'm in a house with four girls. Just like computers, their clothes are out of style as soon as they pay for them. Oh well.