I remember working for a company, 2012-ish, and every morning the leadership of the company would have their “Princes of the Universe” coffee meeting. Truth be told, it felt good to be invited to that meeting, to sit down, and grab a cup of Joe. If you were on the outside of that congregation, it was a bad feeling. I found myself on the outs for reasons that are completely my own—I earned my exile. One morning, I hear them talking about the song “Friday” by Rebecca Black, and how the youth didn’t care for the song. White men, between forty, and eighty, discussing pop music as if they had influence on popular culture. Now, I may have still been raw from being frozen out, but the concentration of audacity felt like it was going to give me tumors. Those men were completely oblivious to the fact they were no longer relevant. I was about twenty-eight years old, and I felt irrelevant from having an opinion on what influenced popular culture. There probably should have been a nurse at those meetings, to determine if it was testicular cancer, or just ego.
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