Update — this may be a spectacular example of trolling Salon.com. note the woman’s name is Schickel, as in Schickelgruber!
Second update, James Ellroy is the man. He wrote LA Confidential (made into a movie) and a book I read, “Blood’s a Rover.” I highly recommend this author.
He’s been a guest of Michael Savage before, by the way.
White nationalism has absolutely penetrated American culture, and made it our bitch! Yeee haaaa!
The term mudshark originated, as best I know, as far back as 2001. I heard it from recent high school grads in the Boston area. It may very well go back farther, but I peg it at 13 years ago.
I remember hearing the term, and saying to Curtis, who told me the term and explained it, one day this word will reach escape velocity and become a well known term in the culture.
Now it has. Now it’s on salon.com Wow. Do you feel the power?
She spent years with a man whose views I despised? Well there must have been something about him you liked! They used to take women like you and shave their heads!
How is Erika Schickel not a racist herself? She was putting out for a racist, knowing he’s a racist, when she was young and hot. But hey, she’s a girl, so it’s A-OK folks. Now she can meet a nice non-racist chump to marry her, after she rode the carousel with a rich racist!
I remember the moment I discovered my lover was a racist. I was madly, deeply in love with a rich man 16 years my senior. We were about a month into our affair, sweet-talking each other on the phone late one night, when I mentioned I had long admired the comedian Dave Chappelle. My lover drew in his breath, and his tone ran to ice. “You’re not a mud shark are you?”
I had never heard the term “mud shark,” but I guessed its ugly meaning (a white woman who only dates black men), and I was nearly speechless with horror. I grew up in an ultra-liberal family, and I had never encountered such blatant racism before. It knocked the wind out of me. I sputtered, objected and reasoned with him. What I did not do that night was leave him.
As Roissy Heartiste says, a woman will rationalize her hamster, and try to reform the bad boy. Check and check.
I wonder if V. Stiviano went through the same twisted moral negotiations I did as I continued in my relationship. Encountering my boyfriend’s bigotry was like wading into a dark, murky pond. It was cold and unfamiliar, and the bottom was icky and scary. But I convinced myself if I kicked hard enough I could swim above it and never touch the muck. The thing that buoyed me was my own sense of loyalty. I may be in love with a racist, I told myself, but I was also standing by my man. It was my sacred mission to bring him over to love and acceptance. I would change him. But secretly I wondered if, in fact, he was changing me. Did loving a racist make me a racist as well?
As women we often measure our self-worth in terms of what we give to others. We think we can love our bad boys into goodness and by doing so, we will redeem ourselves from the notion that we are not enough on our own. So we strive to patiently teach our man-boys how to grow up to be people of character. That’s what I wanted more than anything – to save this bad man from the trauma that had wounded him and made him a racist. If I could do that, then my life would have meaning and impact. But of course, my lover, like Don Sterling, was no child; it was way too late for significant change.
Non-racist goodboys everywhere wept bitter tears!
This guy sounds awesome! He hates pop culture! He needs to comment here! No rap or Katie Perry allowed!
My man was jealous not just of black men, but any man who came into my orbit. So I began to limit my sphere, avoiding behaviors and encounters that might trigger him. He thought dancing was sex, and forbade me to so much as tap my toe to a beat. So I danced alone in my apartment when no one was looking. I stopped painting my nails, because he said it was cheap and horrifying, and I made sure to turn off my devil music before he came to my house. He insisted on either perfect silence or Beethoven. In these many small ways I erased myself in order to keep the peace.
He threatens to leave her, another Game principle for dealing with a hot young thing who wants to leave:
The real kryptonite was the threat of abandonment. Just like Sterling, my man would tell me our relationship was going to break apart. As a person who suffered abandonment as a child, I found his leaving a failure too painful to concede, so I played along, sacrificing my values, beliefs, identity and agency – just to make him stay.
I really thought I was nothing without him. How I got there, how any woman gets into that position is a long story that often begins with emotional abuse or abandonment in childhood. Maybe our mothers taught us to do this, or maybe our culture did. But we will do almost anything to be loved and we are willing to barter ourselves in increments, if it means being important to an important man.
Maybe this is one of the Roissy writers himself! It sounds just like Roissy!
The cherry on top of the Sundae? She didn’t break up with him! He broke it off with her, and she still pines for him! You got to wonder if Salon has not been virtuousically trolled!
I’d like to say I finally got wise, that I stood up for myself and walked out on my racist lover. I’d like to be the Norma Rae of codependent, put-down women everywhere. But in the end, he finally said, “I don’t want to change. This is who I am and I refuse to be inconvenienced by you any longer. It’s over.” By then I was an exhausted, heartbroken, demoralized shadow of my former self. And yet I still loved him. In fact, a small, broken piece of me yearns for him even now, and I cannot shake the feeling that I somehow failed him, even though I know, intellectually, that I only failed myself.