Profiling: Or things that set Leslie off

Saturday afternoon, standing in the alley at my brother's house, a young man passed me wearing shorts with one half of them pulled down to reveal his (underwear covered) right buttcheek.  Upon seeing this, I involuntarily said "Seriously?!?"    My brother responded with glee at my apparent racism and said he was almost proud of me.  He told me I was 'profiling'.

No, not really.  I indicating my dislike of his choice of fashion.  I was not detaining him for questioning based on the fact that he was a young black man with his buttcheek hanging out.  I was not calling the cops because I saw a young man with his buttcheek hanging out in my neice's neighborhood.   I was expressing my dislike of his style of clothing.

This is not profiling.   If I it profiling it is also profiling when I tell my nephew to pull his damn pants up.  It's profiling when I cringe at the sight of a mullet.  I don't care, by the way, if that mullet is on a man, a middle aged lesbian (lesbians my age do not wear mullets except as halloween costumes), or a kid whose parents sadly think they are funny. I hate mullets.  I have to resist the urge to pull out a pair of scissors and committ assault on that thing on their head.   I have a mental problem with things like that.  For the record, on the subject of 'big jeans', I didn't like them when my younger brother wearing them either.   I just don't like them.  At least when Jim was wearing them, he didn't actually pull them down to reveal an entire right buttcheek's worth of underwear.   I think it's probably because our dad would have profiled him into next week over it.

If he was a girl and something bad had happened to him, the neo-cons would say he was asking for it.

Seriously.

Profiling.  That word does not mean what you think it means.