The number of subcultures that exist in supposedly homogeneous English North America never ceases to fascinate me.
I get “But you don’t look Jewish!” I have red hair and grey eyes and look like I just got off the plane from the Ukraine. But, y’know, since I have red hair and grey eyes, I must be Irish. :rolleyes:
I will be recycling my cod on the next person who makes a “Bonanza” joke. Yes, I know my last name is Cartwright. The last time I checked, though, Pittsburgh is nowhere near Virginia City and as far as I know, my husband’s family has never seen a live cow, much less a whole herd of them.
Robin
Guh. At least that’s a *good * song. I get that Hall & Oates shitfest “Sara Smile”…usually when I am in a bad mood. And hearing a badly sung version (or any version) of this awful song makes things even worse.
Really.
Don’t worry! I’d never do that to you! 
What a coincidence! That’s the same lame song I get! 
And that awful one from the 80s with the storms brewing in my eyes. Awful.
I don’t even know a song about a Donna…
I am blonde with blue eyes. When approached by a Polish person, they swear I’m Polish. A German–I must have German ancestry. Austrian? must be etc.
I am English, Scots and Protestant Irish (whatever that means now–all I mean by it is that I’m not Catholic). I get a bit tired of being told I must be X when I know what my heritage is. Mostly, I’m American.
And suddenly I have Steely Dan’s “Hey Nineteen” running in my brain.
That reminds me. A Chinese friend and I were sitting near the front in a comedy club in a super-white, remote Canadian town. The comedian stops mid-joke, turns to my friend and says, “Do you live here, or are you up from Vancouver to fix someone’s computer?”
*I had a girl * Donna was her name…
youtube-y link above
I myself have the joy of “Ay-me-e-e, whatcha gonna (or is it wanna?) do-o-o”.
Ugh. Now when I hear it on the radio, I have to sing along.
My poor mother goes mad when The Beach Boys “Barbara Ann” plays.
May I amend the cod-slapping to include anyone who behaves in this manner?
Gimme a break! At least you people have normal names that someone put in a song, so what if some people are inclined to sing to you? I have a weird name that’s never been put in a song so you know what people sing to me instead? “Short People”.
Now if you will all just line up behind Randy Newman and the “Short People” singers while I ready the trout.
Also, it drives me nuts when people say:
“Well, to be honest, blah blah blah…”
What do you mean “to be honest”? Well, gee. Thanks. Thanks for being honest, and all. Much appreciated.
So, what, for the rest of the time when you fail to mention that you are being honest I can safely assume that you are approaching the conversation in the role of Lieutenant-Colonel Lying Douchebag?
Maybe you meant to use the word “frank”.
Ha!
I don’t mind racial stereotype jokes in most situations. My friends make them all the time - like, really inappropriate ones, ones that would probably be extremely insulting if they came from a stranger. Sometimes they’re stupid and make them in front of other people, which usually provokes a reaction along the lines of :eek: .
rigs, let’s just say you don’t want me balancing your checkbook. There’s a reason I’m an English teacher and not a math teacher. :smack:
Never heard the Donna song. Steely Dan? 
Hey, all you complaining about your song names etc–I freakin’ DIE in the song, unloved and ungrieved and forgotten. Although the Turtles liked my name enough to sing a song about it…
I don’t mind the songs. I hate the mispronunciations of my name–that and being told by old, old people–“I knew an Eleanor once–she’s been dead a long time!” as if any of that matters…
Pssst,** Hazel**–I figured as much. Never met an English major who could a lick of math, myself included (but I didn’t major in English…never mind!).
The one that gets me is “Gee, you’re tall.” No, really? I hadn’t noticed when I had to visit three stores to find one freaking shirt with 38" sleeves. Hand me that cod.
Luckily, I haven’t heard “How’s the weather up there?” since high school. My answer back then was, “Grow up and find out.” A friend of mine who’s six-foot-eight actually spit on someone’s head in response to that one and said, “It’s raining.”
The other one that gripes me is the little mini-lecture about the un-greenness of my pickup truck. I own a ranch, dude. You can’t haul a trailer full of cows with a Prius. I’m upgrading you to a yellowfin tuna. Stand still.
But the comments about how that big ol’ truck must mean I’m “compensating”? Stand back, I’m going to marlin-slap that dude.
Do I know you? 
That’s a big ol’ fish you got there, sir. Is it true what they say about people who buy big fish?
Yep. They’re very hungry people.
“I like your hair. Is that the real color?”
In the first place, if it isn’t, why do you want to know?
Are you planning on changing yours?
If so, just hang around a few more decades, and yours will look like mine.
It’s silver, grey, white.
Would anyone under 50 do that on purpose?
I was born in Korea, too. It’s inevitable that you’re probably in my handphone’s phone book already.
We were just wondering if the carpet matched the drapes.
::: Rick ducks a big fish being swung at his face:::
Once upon a time, lo these many moons ago, I was in high school - in a backwater county in Tennessee, where the rednecks grow thick on the ground, and stupidity is a pastime to which the natives must only aspire. Being a stubborn, angry outcast was my specialty. 
I thought one day that it would be the height of cool to wear the cloak I’d made for the renaissance festival the previous year to class. Screw you crazy people and your coats, I’ve got Style! (etc.) I walked in, and the first question I got was
“Is that a cloak?”
Fifteen seconds later:
“Is that a cloak?”
This went on All. Day. Long. Right up until fourth period (the last of the day), wherein the Paragon of Genius Amongst the Stunted Hinterlands of Academics asks me:
“Didja know you’ve got a cloak on?”
I swear to you, I could not make this shit up if I tried. I decided I’d wear the cloak every day until I went through a whole day without someone asking something completely dumb about it - and promptly wore it every day 'til the end of the school year. Ahhh, youth… On the bright side, the librarian took a shine to me that year, because I reminded her of a literary character instead of a modern miscreant.
(I have nothing to add on the topic of current things that make me want to slap people with trout, so you get that gem. Aren’t you excited?)