ChristianTreubig.com

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Personalized Solutions in an Impersonal World

Cyberbullying’s no joke. I’m still reeling from when some monster hacked my Facebook account the day after my birthday and changed the birthday listed under About Me to ten days later, so people think I was trying to double-dip on gifts. My “friends” have been writing horrific anti-Semitic things about me even though my name’s Christian. I tried to bring my allegiance to Christ to my verbal assailants’ attention with carefully crafted replies accompanied by photos of my many oral Eucharist receptions, but to no avail. The Israeli-phobic assault continues to dismantle my Timeline.

My advice was initially going to be to not let little Geno learn how to read, which would solve the problem you posed. But a few days after kind of confidently reaching that verdict, I was chronologically sorting my many newspapers and prized periodicals to prep them for recycling, and realized that such a solution was absurd and untenable, and probably cruel. There are far more downsides to being illiterate than to being a little off in the mug. If I couldn’t read then I’d have to adlib my kids’ bedtime stories, which would repeatedly just be rip-offs of the sub-plots of Pulp Fiction and they’d see right through it. I’d wish no such shame upon Geno, should he find a uterus so desperate and willing.

The problem isn’t that little Geno will be able to read; it’s that he’ll be able to read English (assuming that is the lingua franca of the abuse being hurled his way).

Emigrate. Most of the world doesn’t speak English. Plenty of real estate to put down Jansen family roots. I’ve placed exploratory phone calls to important people in all 196 countries, and filtered them down to a final three. In ascending order of desirability:

Canada

Oh, Canada. The land of syrup-aficionados. I once asked for blueberry jam for my pancakes at a diner in Winnipeg and it took half the Mounties in Manitoba to quell the anti-Yank riots that ensued. But such angered fervor is atypical of our Canadian brothers. They’re a serene people usually, and quite nice. I accidentally hit one straight upside the head with a bottle of ’67 Laurent-Perrier when I was christening my new dinghy on the banks of the St. Lawrence and it didn’t seem to be a bother. They wouldn’t dare disparage your son for his unfortunate genetic configuration.

Winnipeg’s fucking great but you’ll have to make do in Montreal or its environs, where French is in the ascendancy. They do some English too but try to stay away from that.

It’s cold. Bundle up. A good ski mask will not only help keep little Geno warm, but also shield his face from the view of stray American tourists on weekend benders who might otherwise be tempted to sling some haughty slurs his way.

The principal drawback to Canada, besides the climate, is the lack of a vibrant economy. I believe the only full-time jobs available in Canada are Canadiens and Zamboni pilots, and everyone else commutes to either Tacoma or Rochester. Which brings us to a superior candidate…

China

Being white in China is about as awesome as, well, being white just about anywhere else, so pretty awesome. But the Chinese have some specials perks to make this Caucasian deal even sweeter-and-sourer.

Here in the States, one is often required to show up to work and then do things, like tasks. The Chinese, on the other hand, practice appropriate deference toward our virgin lily complexions, and thus require no such drudgery of Geno and his ilk. Honkies can simply stand around in China, looking white/competent, and get paid, while the genius Chinese magnates who bankroll them get major street cred just for being able to afford the services of such a storied race. Next to the definition of “win/win” in your Merriam-Webster you’ll see a drawing of Yao Ming handing some yuan to Michael Rapaport in business casual. It’s opportunities like this that make me wonder if life is as hard as some supposedly starving people make it seem.

The genetic hand dealer in the heavens may have dealt Geno a six-high with the skin shape, but more than earned himself a few chips worth of tip with a straight-flush on the skin color. Ante up where appropriate. Geno should take the job where he’ll hammer checks with his raw whiteness.

But if Geno is ambitious, he might feel restless in such an unchallenging gig. I see big things down the road for Geno. Avoid China…

Vatican City

The chance to lock down an altar boy gig at the top cathedral in the faith and get on the career fast-track to Pontifex Maximus, all the while being so hideous that molestation is off the table even by the friskiest of cardinals? Sign little Geno up.