 |
||||
| Tint Revival Finding a Quick and Easy Way to Tell Who's Hue. |
||||
You heard me right. Al Gore is a "Petunia," Jesse Jackson is a "Coca Mocha," and George W. Bush is a "Strawberry Flip." Allow me to explain. These revelations came to me one day--not after consuming magic mushrooms or smoking an illegal herb, as you might be thinking--but after a visit to my neighborhood paint store. I didn't go to the paint store looking for revelations. Painting not being one of my favorite activities, I almost didn't go there at all. But since the walls of my kitchen had begun to resemble George Hamilton on a bad day, I decided the time had come to paint. I had considered hiring someone to paint it for me but was haunted by the words of my late Uncle Floyd: "Never pay anyone to do something you can do yourself." So it was Floyd's advice, and a determination to do it myself that brought me to the paint store that day. Little did I realize it would change my whole outlook on life. Being the kind of person for whom choosing between "regular" and "extra crispy" at Kentucky Fried Chicken represents a Major Life Decision, I asked the clerk to pick out a color for me. A light shade--something nice and cheerful. An easy enough task, right? Wrong. Instead, he plopped a paint sample book in my hand and told me to pick my own shade. I flipped through the long, narrow book and found myself faced not with a dozen or so choices but with hundreds of colors--page after page of postage stamp-sized paint samples arranged in rows, with each shade minutely different from the one next to it. What's even worse is every shade had its own cute little name like "Apricot Buff," "Hot Ginger," and "Rusty Velvet." They sounded more like strippers than paint colors. After what seemed like hours turning through the sample book, trying to discern the all-too-subtle difference between "Sugar Cookie" (a light beige), "Tropic Sand" (also a light beige), and "Peach Glow" (you guessed it, a light beige), I went into a state of "decision lock." At this point I was seeing spots before my eyes ("Frosty Fern" spots, to be more specific) and had to call it quits. The clerk sympathetically patted me on the back and said I could take the sample book home with me. Stumbling away from the paint store frustrated and in a latex-induced state of shock (I could almost hear the ghost of Uncle Floyd laughing at me), the last thing I wanted to think about was color. But a funny thing happened as I was driving home. I looked up at the "blue" sky and was seized by a sudden urge to find out exactly what shade of blue it was. I pulled over and began hurriedly flipping through the sample book until I found what appeared to be a perfect match. The sky wasn't blue after all. It was "Wild Chicory." Intrigued by this new view of the sky, I began looking up other things. Checking my clothes I discovered that my "brown" shoes were actually "Oregano," my "tan" pants were "Crushed Curry," and my "yellow" shirt was "Cinnamon." I suddenly felt like a walking spice rack. When I got home I kind of went crazy, dashing about the house, samples in hand, looking up colors. My newfound vocabulary gave me a whole different way of looking at things, some of which I had long since stopped even thinking about. An old pale-green couch was now an exotic "Island Lagoon." That lamp given to me by my Aunt Della went from being a ho-hum gray to a mysterious "Shadow Cloud." The walls of my bedroom were transformed from an ordinary off-white to an intergalactic "Star Jasmine." My whole view of color was changing right before my very eyes. Then I decided to see what color I was, and I discovered that I wasn't "white" at all. Not by a long shot. Flipping through the book, I found that I was actually "Sugar Cookie." I grabbed a group photo taken at a company picnic. My boss, it turns out, is a "Bo Peep" and a "black" co-worker is actually a "Toasted Almond." Suddenly I had a whole new way of looking at people. I ran to the television and turned on the news. Dan Rather, I learned, is a "Golden Muffin." Tony Blair is a "Tiger Lily." And Vladimer Putin is a "Peruvian Peach." Slumping into my "Winter Whisper" chair to catch my breath, I began to ponder the significance of my discovery. What would happen if other people looked at the world this way? Then it hit me: This new way of thinking about people could be the solution to racism. Faced with so many colors to keep up with, bigots would become too confused to hate. They'd forget whether it was "Lemon Chiffons" or "Mangos" they didn't like. Whether it was the "Harvest Crackles" or "Azalea Blossoms" they didn't trust. "Chili Peppers" would work hand-in-hand with "Magnolia Petals." "Dutch Dainties" would live in harmony next to "Venus Creams." Cries of "Say it loud, I'm a 'Persian Plum' and I'm proud" would echo across the land. People would join together in a world filled with so many colors that it would make Jesse Jackson's Rainbow Coalition look downright frumpy by comparison. But then the doubts set in. I wondered if this new way of looking at one another could backfire. Maybe, rather than vanishing, prejudice would instead get incredibly specific. "Nutmegs" would discriminate against "Barleys." "Trifle Delights" and "Apple Fritters" would gang up on the "Belgium Teacups." "Mayflowers" would harrass the "Misty Morns." But I'm an optimist. I prefer to think that maybe once and for all people would put aside their petty skin color differences and focus on the one difference that truly matters: shoe size. Photoillustration by Barry Willis |
||||
