This Is Just My Opinion
Posted: August 27, 2012 Filed under: Culture | Tags: belief, culture, language, opinion, philosophy 3 CommentsThis is going to seem like an extremely petty post to some, perhaps most people, but I really need to get this out there. If I hear one more person conflate “opinion” with “belief” I am going to scream. I have very little rational basis for this; after all, if one relies on the Oxford English Dictionary definition of the two words (and I often do), they are almost functionally identical. OED, you have failed me for the last time. AGAIN!
But in many cases language is more about the connotation of words rather than their literal definition. When we speak of opinions the connotation is that there is a connection, however tangential, to the real, provable world of facts. That’s not to say all opinions are supported by facts; “in my opinion, vanilla ice cream is the best ice cream” is a valid opinion. It is not supported by facts, unless you consider the existence of vanilla ice cream to be factual support. But it at least has a direct connection to the world of provable facts (i.e. I can prove that vanilla ice cream exists.) Even professional opinions need to have some connection, no matter how tangential and tenuous (and hear I’m thinking of lawyers) to the world of real, provable facts.
Belief is a different matter. You can believe in anything you want, regardless of its relationship to the world of provable fact. “I believe in Santa Claus” is a valid statement of belief. “I don’t believe in love” is another. Neither has any connection to the world of provable fact (unless you put stock in either the official NORAD Santa tracker or the love tester at your local bar.)
Somewhat like the humble atom, the difference is small yet significant. When you claim it is your opinion that God exists, that is very different from saying you believe God exists. Your belief in the existence or non-existence of God is your own business, same as your belief in any entity that can’t be proven or disproven. But once you move it into the realm of opinion, you are asserting that it has at least a tangential relationship to the realm of provable fact, which it by definition does not. The same holds true for many other things that people state their “opinion” about.
This may seem like I’m “just arguing semantics”, and if you think I am, you’re right. And there’s another phrase I take umbrage with. Let’s see if the Oxford English Dictionary can redeem itself: “the branch of linguistics and logic concerned with meaning.” Ah, now that’s the OED I’ve come to depend on to back up my righteous claims to moral superiority. But in all seriousness, saying “you’re just arguing semantics” is like saying “you’re just arguing economics” or “you’re just arguing law.” Words have meaning. Using them incorrectly results in hash brown goes flipped nuclear sauce. When we already have enough trouble communicating even when we use the same word (“Do you like me, or do you, you know, LIKE like me?”), we’ve got to start using the right word at the right time. It won’t save the world, but it will change a small part of it. At least, I believe it will.
Famous Literature as Haiku
Posted: August 24, 2012 Filed under: Culture, Humor | Tags: comedy, culture, haiku, humor, literature, poetry, pop culture, popular culture 2 CommentsThe Illiad, by Homer
Damn, Helen is fine.
Whoops, started a big ass war.
Look, a giant horse.
The Odyssey, by Homer
Finished fighting war.
Got held up on the ride home.
House guests are a bitch.
The Inferno, by Dante Alighieri
Virgil leads the way,
Beatrice sent to guide me.
Can’t wait for next two.
Doctor Faustus, by Christopher Marlow
Summon a devil
I learn magic, lose my soul
Didn’t think that through
Hamlet, by William Shakespeare
Dad killed by uncle
A show to unveil the truth
Caught in the mousetrap
The Cthulhu Mythos, by H.P. Lovecraft
Inherit old books.
Nightmares full of tentacles.
Hastur Hastur Hast-
Death of a Salesman, by Arthur Miller
Meet Willy Loman.
He’s liked, but he’s not well liked.
This will not end well.
Waiting for Godot, by Samuel Beckett
Nothing must be done.
Wait is interminable.
End of line: no show.
Finnegan’s Wake, by James Joyce
Book rich with meaning.
Complex, deep, yet still has puns.
Bitter old author.
Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand
Too many moochers.
Let the country fall apart.
Get a job, hippie.
Nine Ravens
Posted: August 20, 2012 Filed under: Humor, Politics | Tags: America, culture, Edgar Allen Poe, humor, poetry, politics, pop culture, popular culture, Raven, satire, Supreme Court Leave a comment(With apologies to Edgar Allen Poe)
Once upon a web page I saw, that was dedicated to law,
Raven sitting on end of branch by Dave Menke, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service
(I do not recall if it was blog or wiki or something more,)
While I tried to keep from snoring (face it that stuff’s kind of boring),
There came a tapping, as of someone rapping at my study door.
” ‘Probably my wife,” I mumbled, “tapping at my study door;
Only this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was a bleak and cold November,
The High Court’s term starting on the first Monday month before.
Desperately I wished the morrow; foolishly I sought to borrow
From Jack Daniels surcease of sorrow, sorrow caused by culture war.
Caused by the endless bickering that had been dubbed the culture war,
Discussed here nevermore.
And the monitor light glowing with new lawsuits overflowing
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now to stop the throbbing of my head, I stood there sobbing,
“It’s just the puppy trying to get in at my study door,
It must be my little puppy pawing at my study door.
That must be it; nothing more.”
Eventually I took a nip, with liquid courage got a grip,
“Whoever’s there,” I said, “I hope you don’t mind about before;
But the truth is I was… napping, when you came so gently rapping,
When you came so gently tapping, tapping at my study door.
Wasn’t really sure I heard you.” Then I opened wide the door;
Darkness there, and nothing more.
I don’t know how long I stood there, staring out at nothing but air
Questioning my sanity like so many who came before;
But there was no sound but silence, and my only sign of guidance
And the only words there spoken were the whispered words,
“Culture war?” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words,
“Five to four!” Just this, and nothing more.
Back into my study turning, all my heart within me burning,
Soon again I heard a banging, something louder than before,
“Huh,” I said, I thought that I’d seen something just above my flat screen.
It’s outside the study window, so this mystery I’ll explore.
Let me just chill out a minute, and this mystery explore.
“It’s the wind, and nothing more.”
So I opened up the window, and suddenly what do you know?
Right in comes these nine ravens that I had never seen before.
Not a word or gesture to me; not a single “An it please thee”;
But with mien of lord and lady, perched beside my study door.
Perched upon a bench that was sitting inside my study door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Decked with feathers black as robes, sitting with patience to match Job’s,
I attempted to establish some semblance of rapport.
“An unkindness some might call you, yes, and a conspiracy too,
To be honest that’s the sort of name-calling that I deplore.
Tell me, pray, how I should know you, oh great Scions of Baltimore.”
Quoth the ravens, “Five to four.”
I was stunned at these ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though their answer little meaning, use, or relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was given help by birds within their chamber door,
Birds or beasts sitting upon their bench within their chamber door,
With such words as “five to four.”
But the ravens, having spoken, would not let that be their token,
Instead they had to further discourse on matters more and more.
Topics timely and political; both trivial and critical;
Till my rage was near biblical, “I should show you to the door!
I want none of this, please, leave me be, get out of here, no more!”
Then the birds said, “Five to four.”
There’s nothing that they won’t debate, from abortion to speech of hate
Taking their sides from established ideologies of yore.
Though they might each strut and posture, give an enigmatic gesture,
Make us wonder if the outcome might be different from before
In the end there’s no cause for surprise about the final score;
The score is 5 to 4.
But the ravens still sat judging, so with grace ill and begrudging
I sat down, tried to ignore them and work as I was before.
But one thing there was no budging, no, never sufficient nudging
To shift the awful balance that had been previously foreswore–
That these awful birds of omen held over from the days of yore
Had doomed us with “Five to four.”
Each single word I was weighing, the game D.C.’s always playing,
Despite myself, taken in by the vile back and forth once more.
On this law there’ll be no bending, the back and forth is never ending,
Though we cry out for unity, it’s victory we look for,
But when that ugly fool’s gold is the prize that we all opt for
Then the prize is, “Five to four.”
Turning then to my oppressors, I became the new aggressor
Unleashing on them all the wrath I had pent up heretofore.
“Were you not all nine delighted when the citizens united
Or you sat in judgment o’er the case of Bush v. Gore?
Uninsured were not deplored, racial preferences galore?”
Quoth the ravens, “Five to four.”
“Jurists!” said I, “all divided!– never one, though sit united!
Whether Donkey sat or Elephant deposited before,
Determined though you are to lead us by example not at all–
In this land that’s so torn by strife– tell me truly, I implore:
What’s the chance for peace and brotherhood–tell me I implore!”
Quoth the ravens, “Five to four.”
Jurists!” said I, “still divided! Still deserve to be derided!
By that space that bends above us–by that God (that you won’t let His commandments be posted in a government building but somehow a six foot tall monument on government property is okay and how are those not blatantly conflicting rulings?) that we all adore–
Tell this soul with strife encumbered, if these days of pain are numbered,
Will the time come when we at last can put out the last flame war?
I beg you, can you tell me I will have the peace that I yearn for?”
Quoth the ravens, “Five to four.”
“Be that phrase our sign of parting, birds or fiends!” I shrieked, upstarting–
“Get thee back unto the night and to Baltimore’s polluted shores!
Leave no writ or other token of the cruel words you have spoken!
Leave my solitude unbroken!– quit the bench beside my door!
Take your damn conspiracy elsewhere and haunt me nevermore!”
Quoth the ravens, “Five to four.”
And the nation stands divided, never to be reunited,
Cursing politicians from north to south and from shore to shore,
Though we think they’ll keep us guessing, ain’t it really quite distressing
We’ve found out as Ackbar warned us that “it’s a trap!” to be sure,
We may all try to hope for change but we see forevermore
That the score stays 5 to 4.
Politeness for Impoliteness’ Sake
Posted: August 17, 2012 Filed under: Culture, Humor | Tags: culture, etiquette, humor, politeness, society 1 CommentAmong some of my family and friends I have a slight reputation as a know-it-all. Among the rest I have a huge reputation as an arrogant ass who thinks he has the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything. (It’s 42. I read Douglas Adams.) I’d like to think this is an unfair characterization born out of jealousy of my awesome awesomeness. I’d also like to think I have a face like Matthew McConaughey, a body like Brad Pitt, and the intellectual acumen of Stephen Hawking. So I’ll let you be the judge of which of us is right.
The point, however, is that regardless of my reputation in this regard, my family and friends are generally too polite to make an issue of it, even when I start to go off an one of my infrequent rants. I am of course using the colloquial definition of “infrequent”, that being “the length of time that casts the speaker in the best light, usually a modest one.” I particularly appreciate this as I have reached a much more mellow middle age (no, I am not using a colloquial definition of mellow, I really used to be worse) and have come to appreciate the value of politeness.
In my brash youth, I didn’t really see the value of politeness for its own sake. It always seemed to me to be more a matter of hypocrisy; after all, when you are being nice to someone you would rather spit in their eye, how is that NOT hypocritical? It was only after I had spent some serious time in the corporate world (and if you don’t think that’s a culture all its own, you’ve never lived in it) that I started to understand the value of politeness. I found there that politeness was a tool, nothing more and nothing less, and like any tool the value of it consists entirely in what you make with it.
Politeness doesn’t exist, as I thought it did when I was younger, for its own sake. Nor does it merely separate us from the animals, as I have heard some people assert. Rather, I have found that politeness is the oil that keeps society as frictionless as possible. It is the “civil” in “civil society.” Consider: polite conversation doesn’t allow for religion or politics as topics. I look around these days and realize that’s not a coincidence. Not to put too fine a point on it, politeness is what makes it possible for us to coexist with the people we would rather not have to coexist with. Whether it’s in the workplace or the marketplace, at school or at church, there’s always someone you just can’t stand, chances are they return the favor, and politeness is the only thing standing between the two of you and a date with destiny.
That’s not to say we always have to be polite. Sometimes it’s time to get impolite. After all, I would hardly refer to a good protest march as “polite.” Your typical rock concert hardly measures up to the realm of “polite”. And God knows any conversation with my close friends will never be within seven dirty words of being “polite.” But those are the stand out moments, the exceptions, not the rules, and should be cherished more for it, not less. But when we start turning every day into a protest, when every night is a concert, and every conversation would make George Carlin blush (bless his smutty departed self), we lose something priceless. It’s not just a matter of losing the “specialness” or those moments. We’re losing our dignity as a society.
Our current culture of brashness that seems to reward the braggart, the loudmouth, the shock jock and the bully-pulpit preacher both, the people who drag their politics and opinions out at every turn instead of confining them to opinion columns and blogs where they belong; it needs to stop. We need to – not step up, but step back. Not speak up, but quiet down. Take our fingers off the hyperbolic trigger and for once, don’t let our voices be heard. Just let it go. Stop feeding the trolls.
Even me.
Let’s Talk About Sex. Better Yet, Let’s Not.
Posted: August 13, 2012 Filed under: Culture | Tags: America, culture, entertainment, FCC, internet, movies, pop culture, popular culture, sex, television 5 CommentsQuick show of hands: how many of us are actually comfortable talking about sex? I don’t mean in a roundabout way, or in a joking way, or even in a clinical way. I mean an honest, open discussion about the kind of sex that happens every day, maybe even the kind of sex we are having on a regular basis (if we’re lucky). I’m not imagining a lot of hands are up right now, even among the health teachers out there, and there’s a good reason for that. Well, not good, as such, but a well-documented one at any rate.
There’s a puritan taboo in the American culture and psyche regarding sex. We can discuss violence, death, psychological trauma, divorce, even Pauly Shore movies with minimal discomfort (well, maybe not Bio-Dome, that thing scarred me), but we simply can’t have a frank discussion about sex. I can laugh about it with my friends, dance around it with my mom ever since THE TALK, and never, ever admit it happens when my in-laws are around. If I turn to the one source of knowledge that informed my youth, television, I discover that sex consists of two people wearing pajamas kissing goodnight and sharing a bed, with a soundtrack of “oooOOOOOOooohhh!!!” If I rely on its younger sibling, the internet… you know what, I can’t even repeat what the internet showed me. I just need to go wash my eyes out. With industrial strength cleanser.
Obviously I can’t step outside of my own cultural baggage and experiences to say whether or not this is “unhealthy” or “bad” or “disturbing as all hell”, especially in comparison to other countries, where they seem to serve soft-core porn with the soft-serve ice cream. All I can say with certainty at this point is there has to be some better way, some sort of middle ground that neither glorifies sex nor demonizes it. There’s so much that sex can be, any discussion or portrayal of it is by definition going to be incomplete. However, I can take a look at some of the portrayals of sex in American popular culture (no, I will not now nor in the foreseeable future consider the internet to be “popular culture”) and see what common pitfalls there are and if I think anyone is getting it close to right.
First, I think most of the shows on HBO and Showtime today are getting it wrong. The sex is gratuitous, which I couldn’t care less about, but more importantly it is irrelevant. Every time I see sex show up in one of these shows it seems to exist purely for titillation, rarely if ever to drive the plot forward. That’s not to say the characters’ sex lives don’t drive the plot forward, but the portrayal itself adds nothing. In particular I am thinking of True Blood, Game of Thrones, and House of Lies. At least when they do violence or politics (medieval or office) on those shows they get it right.
On the other end of the spectrum is broadcast television, which in spite of the FCC has gotten to the point of acknowledging that people do, if fact, have sex. Not on camera, of course, but at least it does occasionally get discussed. Even here though it is oblique, rarely referenced except in the most banal and inoffensive ways for fear of some octogenarian degenerate somewhere filing a complaint just to get their jollies off by telling everyone else what to do. I would cite examples, but really, just watch primetime TV.
So what are some good examples? Not that I was ever a fan, but the few times I was forced to watch it, it seemed like Sex and the City got the balance right. The sex scenes, while sometimes graphic, always had a purpose and lent weight and credence to the situations and characters. In the same vein, I’m not loving Girls on HBO, but the few episodes I have watched have some very uncomfortable sex scenes that make very important character and story points I just can’t see being portrayed as clearly and compactly without just putting it out there, for lack of a better phrase. One show that I do like a lot that I think gets the balance right is Lost Girl on SyFy. Considering the protagonist is a succubus, there’s pretty much a guarantee of a lot of sex, but it is for the most part done tastefully and within context of the needs of the story. They don’t linger just for the sake of a few cheap thrills, but they don’t shy away either.
I don’t mean to give the impression that I’m some kind of prude who’s afraid or ashamed of sex. Not to go into too much detail, but I was once a twenty-something male with a credit card and access to the internet. There’s nothing wrong with cinema whose greatest contribution is the archetype of the Pizza Delivery Boy or the Pool Cleaner. But if that’s all you’re aiming for, then by all means don’t waste my time with dialogue and story. On the other hand, if you are attempting something a little more highbrow, don’t insult me by assuming I either can’t handle seeing naked skin or you have to have gymnastic bedroom exploits every five minutes. Focus on the story, and if sex is a natural part of that story, let it happen naturally. Maybe then we can start to treat it as something natural.
Customer Service: It’s Not Just For Sissies Anymore!
Posted: August 6, 2012 Filed under: Culture, Humor | Tags: comedy, culture, customer service, etiquette, reviews 4 CommentsSo today I’m going to sound off on a topic near and dear to my heart, having spent far too long (two months) suffering through a life of retail hell: customer service. I understand that actually having to deal with the common hoi polloi that inhabit this globe on a daily basis for no better reason than to keep body and soul together is a tragedy that befalls far too many people, but is it too much to ask that when your entire business model relies on people actually wanting to purchase your products, you maybe consider this to be something more than the awful afterthought that comes between “thanks for your money, sucker!” and “Welcome back, sucker, gonna give us some more of your money?”
A good example of customer service is Mattress Discounters. We bought a Temper-Pedic bed there. They delivered exactly when they said they would, and let me tell you, getting it into our bedroom at all was no easy feat. I highly recommend them to one and all. That’s great customer service, and it deserves to be rewarded.
Bad customer service, on the other hand, deserves to be called out in public, put in the stocks in the public square, pilloried and ridiculed, humiliated as they humiliate us.
As my case study, I will use a six month odyssey that recently befell my entire household. In order to avoid a potential lawsuit, the company involved will not be called on by name. I will simply mention that they are a retail home improvement store who rhyme with Beers and start with S. You may have seen their softer side in the Nineties. Anyway, my landlord prefers them for appliances (although I still hold out hope that this recent experience may sway him to consider changing to a more sane alternative. It’s not likely.) The whole story begins with the attempt to get the oven repaired. This required two trips, as the first trip involved finding out that the oven was, indeed, broken, but the repairman didn’t have the part with him. This trip took two weeks to arrange in the first place. The follow-up, with the correct part, took another two weeks. A week later, the oven broke again. This necessitated another two week wait, at which point we found out that the oven was, in fact, broken. This came as a shock to all and sundry, assuming that “all and sundry” is code for “only the Sbeers repairman.” He then informed us that the cost of repairing the oven at this point would be higher than replacing it, and I informed him that he could have come to this conclusion two visits ago. (Okay, maybe only in my head, but I thought it really hard.)
Believe it or not, this was one of the better interactions of our customer service experience with Sbeers in what I can only assume, from what you will see below, was a deliberate campaign of terror against us. Notice how he lured us in by being almost as helpful as someone who actually intends to be useful without actually making our lives better in any meaningful way. This set the standard for the following FOUR MONTHS. It all started with the new oven. The oven my landlord bought. I should note that my landlord lives in a different house than I do. This should come as no surprise to you kind folk, as I assume that all of my readers are intelligent, sagely, wise folk with reasoning powers that at least match those of gerbils. Apparently the same cannot be said for the people at Sbeers, who cannot distinguish between a billing address and a delivery address. This would be annoying once. It would be comical twice. It would be infuriating three times. Round about the fourth time in two months it got to seeming diabolical and deliberate.
What impressed me most of all was their utter failure to have any sort of coordination in their attempts to infuriate me, and yet they still did it with ease. It seems that nobody at Sbeers talks directly to anyone else, or even to the same customer more than once. I’m not entirely certain anyone in their customer service department works there more than once. After they got my street address connected to my landlord’s city and state, I found out that they didn’t even have one delivery company. No, Sbeers doesn’t deliver the stuff they sell, they subcontract it to people who are even more incompetent than they are.
This incompetence shines through in ways I can’t even describe, I can only report it. It begins with the first (yes I said first) attempt to install our new oven. After the oven was installed, there was a piece left. I wasn’t home at the time, so I have to rely on second hand reports from my wife, but as I understand it the conversation went something like this:
My Beautiful Wife: “Why is there a piece left?”
Installation Guy: “I dunno.”
My Incredibly Intelligent Wife: “What are you going to do about it?”
“Installation Guy: “I dunno.”
My Wonderful Wife Who Dealt With Sbeers Customer Service So I Wouldn’t Have To: “Shit.”
I may have gotten the details slightly wrong, but that was the basic gist of it. So for the next month and a half, we had a piece of oven sitting in our kitchen while my wife tried to get Sbeers to send someone out to correct the situation. This resulted in three aborted attempts, one because they were trying to go to the wrong state (again), one because they wanted me to pay for the visit(!), and then there was my personal favorite…
You see, the best the original delivery guy could come up with was that we had the wrong part for the oven. The part that came in the box. With the oven. That he had just installed. The solution of course was to simply deliver a completely different oven and install that one. Now, one Saturday (after they had rescheduled for the third time that week) I got a call from the delivery guy telling me he had an oven to deliver. I said, “You mean install, right?” No, no, no. They only deliver. The installation guy comes later.
Bullshit.
I actually called bullshit on him, right there and then. And he, poor guy, had to have his supervisor call me, ’cause his job is just to drive the truck and drop off the appliances. And I called bullshit on his supervisor, too. When he asked me point blank if I wanted the oven or not, I asked him, “Would you want an oven sitting in your living room?” He had the grace to admit he would not. “Nor would I.” That pretty much ended that conversation.
And here’s how the story ends: two weeks later (after two more reschedulings), a guy came out to deliver and install the new oven… and he installed the “leftover” part correctly.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
So yeah. Customer service. Just get it right. If you do, you get a nice blurb and a free product endorsement. If you get it wrong, you get a 1,000 word rant talking about how much you suck. And yeah, I’m talking to you, Sbeers.
Save The Drama For Your Mama
Posted: August 3, 2012 Filed under: Culture, Humor | Tags: children, culture, etiquette, parenting, parents 10 CommentsIf you have kids, let’s save you and me both some time and aggravation right now: please go to Facebook and see what your friends are up to. Come back in a couple days when I’ve posted something else. Anything else.
No, really. I’m not joking. You’re just going to make both of us very unhappy if you don’t leave right now.
Okay, either they left or they completely ignored me the same way they’re busy ignoring their children right now, and either way I refuse to take responsibility for their bad decisions. The reason I told them (you) to leave is because I’ve decided it’s time I call them (you) out on some of the horrible, reprehensible, idiotic behavior that used to be considered inappropriate in bachelors and now passes for modern parenting. This is not to say all parents do these things, or that all parents who do some of these things do all of these things; but the fact is that any of these things make me wonder (a) why people are allowed to even have children and (b) how our species has managed to evolve past the level of flinging poo at each other (which is one of the behaviors I have been observing of late, so….)
The first thing I need to call out is the new parents who come into work acting bewildered at how tired they are. They come in looking like soldiers straight out of a really bad WWI film, shell-shocked look and all, and if you dare even so much as a “How you doin’?” you get treated to the vacant stare and “The baby kept me up… ALL… NIGHT. AGAIN.” They say this as if it comes as a shock to them, like nobody ever prepared them for this eventuality. Really? That’s funny. Because ever since I was, oh, nine years old stand-up comics have been pretty much giving me a preview of the sorts of things I can expect from fatherhood, and I’m pretty sure it involves not sleeping from the day the baby is born until his or her fifth birthday. This is also the sort of parent who acts like the baby just happened to them, and there’s nothing they could have done about it. No, no, it’s cool, I can understand that. Nothing you could have done. You had no power in this situation. It’s not like you brought it on yourself by HAVING SEX OR ANYTHING.
Contrast this with the stolid parent, the one who more closely resembles the sergeant in my WWI analogy. This is the one who comes in, maybe looking a bit haggard, a little rough around the edges, but still functional. They grab a cup of coffee, and if you ask how they are, they may give you a bit of a look, but the worst answer you get will be a curt “fine.” Dig a little deeper at your own risk, but that’s the same with anyone. If you do, you might hear “the baby kept me up last night.” Usually in a monotone. Not as a complaint, but a simple statement of fact.
The next one I need to rip on is parents who make excuses for their kids. I know I’m jumping on a bandwagon here, but I just have to get it out there. I’m not talking about parents who say things like “Junior is very sweet, he’s just a little slow” when their kid has serious neurological problems. I’m talking about parents who say “Junior is just very exuberant” when he’s busy setting fire to the curtains. I’m not saying you need to grab a switch and beat his ass, but maybe taking the lighter out of his hand would be a good place to start. Scold him a little. Sit him down and explain the difference between right and wrong. Then when he’s not looking, grab a switch and beat his ass. It’ll do him a world of good.
How about parents who take their kids’ word over, well, ANYONE else? I don’t even need Bill Cosby to explain to me that kids lie, although he does do a very humorous job of it. Know why I don’t need The King of Coke to lay this one out for me? Because faster than you can say “Pudding Pop”, I remember being a kid. That’s right, just one little flashback and suddenly I’m fully aware of the fact that “scrupulous veracity” wasn’t only beyond me as a spelling challenge as a child, it was beyond me as an ethical challenge as well, and the truth is (if you’ll pardon the egregious pun) most kids have the same problem. And yet most parents will believe their own children not only in a case of “he said, she said” over another child, but over an adult and even over a crowd. Some will even stand next to their own kids in the face of physical evidence to the contrary. That’s not loyalty; that’s insanity.
And hey, speaking of insanity, when did people start growing their own friends? Parents who want to be “buddies” with their kids at any age, whether it is as little kids or (even worse) teenagers, make me want to spray them down with a hose. When did it become acceptable to stop raising children and start treating them as equals? The parents I respect are the ones who are tough but fair, they love their kids but make it clear that the relationship goes one way, and you can have all the autonomy you want when you’re eighteen and you get a job, join the military, or get your ass in college. You want something cuddly you can alternate between cleaning up after and treating like your best friend for the next ten years? Get a dog. That’s what I did.
Finally, I need to get serious for a moment and talk about an issue close to my own heart. Lots of people are coming out against bullying these days. It’s all the rage, and everyone is against it. Kind of hard not to be, right? Being “for” bullying is like being in favor of kicking puppies. But the kids who are doing the bullying aren’t orphans, they’re not robots, and they weren’t grown in a vat somewhere. Every one of them has a parent or even two who have either ignored or, even worse, encouraged the very behavior they publically denounce. Whether you realize it or not, your kids see everything you do and say, and they pick up on things you didn’t even know they were paying attention to. More to the point, it’s not up to the school, the teachers, the police, or someone else to stop your kid from being a bully. It’s up to you. When you see them picking on another kid, step up. Be a parent. You might save another kid’s life. You might save your own kid’s life.
Disappointing Delights
Posted: July 30, 2012 Filed under: Culture | Tags: culture, food, guilty pleasures, popular culture, reviews, television 2 CommentsI’m a huge fan of guilty pleasures. Whether it’s the horrors of eighties hair bands or watching cartoons from my childhood just for the pure nostalgic value of them (“…and knowing is half the battle!”), I feel neither guilt nor shame for indulging myself in these decadent delights. What I do regret however is when I delve into what should be a guilty pleasure and find that it doesn’t live up to my expectations of it. Such is the case for two pleasures I have tried recently, only one of which I will go back for again and can recommend to others.
The first is Burger King’s Bacon Sundae. You heard me right. I actually tried that monstrosity, and damn proud to say it. Why shouldn’t I? It’s everything I should love in a desert: bacon, vanilla soft serve, bacon, chocolate fudge, bacon, caramel, and best of all it’s got bacon. Nothing that has bacon can be all bad, right? And that’s the worst part: it wasn’t all bad. It was meh. I’ve had better, I’ve had worse. I should not be able to walk away from any sundae and think “sure, it was okay, but I could have had a vanilla cone”, let alone one with bacon.
To be fair, I didn’t eat it right as the guy handed it to me because I got it from the drive-thru, but seriously, who’s gonna eat this monstrosity in the restaurant with everybody watching? I will say this for it, though: that first bite was a special kind of magic. I may just have to get some bacon powder and sprinkle it on my next bowl of vanilla ice cream, or maybe even bacon bits. Or both. Mmmmm, bacon. All things considered, I would give this one a pass.
The other recent disappointment for me is Aaron Sorkin’s The Newsroom. I had high hopes for this one at the outset. The writing seemed sharp, witty, and vibrant, the characters seemed fully realized, and the idea of challenging the status quo of both right and left Big Media™ by Taking a Stand and Speaking Truth to Power actually appealed to me. Sure, I was aware going in that Sorkin was the brainchild behind The West Wing, arguable the most lefty show on the airwaves in the past twenty years that didn’t star Jon Stewart or Bill Maher, but a guy can dream. Then I actually watched the show. I won’t criticize the politics of the show, but you can read an interesting piece I mostly agree with here that does. I will however address its other shortcomings.
Despite all the desperate defenses and protestations to the contrary, the show is one-sided. Balance in news coverage is not (or does not have to be) equivalency, despite Sorkin’s assertions in this show; it is simply the admission that not everyone believes the same thing and giving reasonable people a chance to air their opinions. There is no balance here, and I’m not suggesting there should be, although when you say things like (and I’m paraphrasing) “we’ll include intelligent opposing views” in your very first episode but you never do, the implication is that either (a) you don’t believe there is such a thing as an intelligent opposing view, or (b) you are unable to even acknowledge opposing views. Both are common flaws in major media today, but I was really hoping for something more. That same lack of balance makes all the characters horrible caricatures. The good guys are shining good, the bad guys might as well be twirling their mustaches. It borders on being clown shoes.
Which is a damn shame, because despite all of that, it’s still a damn good show. The actors rise above the source material to deliver powerful, compelling performances. I actually care about their characters, and I want to see them grow. When they aren’t busy lecturing me (although I do love to hear them lecture each other) they manage to be witty, or tragic, or just fun. There are more moments that make me laugh, cry, and cheer in one hour than a whole night of network television. Most of all, there is sex and violence and foul language, but it is tasteful, meaningful, and drives the plot rather than being driven by it. There is nothing gratuitous here; I am shocked, not by the simple fact that Sam Waterston’s character dropped the F-bomb, but by the fact he would have the gall to stand up to his boss in that manner. And that is compelling television.
My advice to Aaron Sorkin is set your politics aside and do what you do best: write witty, adult television. Until he does, my advice to everyone else is to set your politics aside, just like I do, and watch The Network so you can get a dose of witty, adult television. Best case scenario, everybody else gets the message and it raises the bar. Worst case scenario, you see some good TV.
Oh, and get me some vanilla ice cream with bacon sprinkles while you’re at it.
UPDATE: SInce I mentioned 80s cartoons, this seemed like the best place for this, even if it is a bit of a downer. I just found out that Roger Slifer, a major creative force in a lot of 80s cartoons including “The Transformers”, is in a bad way. If you are interested in helping, they are accepting donations here.
This Isn’t an Office, It’s a Warzone
Posted: July 23, 2012 Filed under: Culture | Tags: culture, etiquette, men, office, women 12 CommentsI’ve been privileged to work in and around offices for the better part of the last twenty years, and in that time I’ve developed somewhat of a philosophy on appropriate office decorum. I call it a philosophy because, like most kinds of philosophy, it doesn’t seem to have any place in the world today or really any bearing on the world as it actually exists. But I’m going to share it with you anyway. Attire, attitude, and behavior; made simple, these are the three elements to appropriate office decorum. The subtleties and complexities of each are what seem to elude so many people in the modern American office.
First let’s cover attire, and I chose that wording deliberately. Ladies, I’m looking at you. Hell, I can’t help it, it’s not like you leave me many other options. I have no idea when it became de rigueur to wear the most revealing outfit you can get away with (or can’t…), but believe me when I say you aren’t doing your career any favors. Look at it this way: when you are delivering that presentation you spent weeks putting together, do you want me paying attention to your work or your – ahem − assets? Think about it, because the choice you make will define how you’re viewed for a long time to come.
Guys, don’t think I don’t have something to say to you as well. Just because “Casual Friday” has turned into “I Never Have to Wear a Suit Ever Weekday” doesn’t mean you can get away with murder. Buy a button-up shirt, consider wearing khakis now and again, and make damn sure you actually DO own a suit that fits and looks good, because the day is going to come you have an important meeting and you want to look like you showed up for it. On that note, keep a neutral tie in your desk. It doesn’t take long to put it on, and it dresses up almost any outfit. Even a basic button down shirt and jeans looks better with a tie.
Here’s a couple dressing hints that cut both ways. First, if you aren’t sure how to dress, overdress a little; people will rarely fault you for it, and they will always fault you for being underdressed. Besides, some of the best advice I ever got was “it’s a lot easier to take off a jacket you don’t need than to pull one out of thin air when you do need it.”
Next, LOSE THE DAMN FLIP FLOPS. Yes girls, that includes you. I don’t care how cute they are, they’re impractical and unprofessional. Guys who wear flip flops to work deserve to be hauled off to the nearest stocks and beaten on their improperly protected feet. Grow up, frat boy. Only one step up from this noxious practice is people who wear sneakers to the office on a regular basis. When you own the company you may feel free to wear whatever you want. Until then, try putting on some adult shoes when you leave the house in the morning.
The next step is attitude. When I was younger I used to do some acting, and there was an adage that went something to the tune of “leave your baggage at the stage door.” This is a wonderful notion that was never respected but often should have been, and would benefit the world of business greatly. Because here’s the great big secret of business that they never tell you in school, and I’m going to share it with you right now, so pay close attention: nobody cares. Not a morning person? Guess what cupcake, nobody cares. Boyfriend broke up with you? Sorry sunshine, nobody cares. Feeling hung over from partying all night? Sing it with me in the key of C, nobody cares!
What’s even worse is that most of the time even if somebody seems like they care, they’re just being polite, which gives you the false impression that it’s okay to bring your personal problems to work with you. It’s really not. This isn’t a therapy office, unless you work in a therapist’s office, in which case you aren’t getting paid to be in therapy so please wait your turn. The proper attitude at work is one of engaged interest. Try to show up every day ready to be an active participant, whether you really feel it or not, and give it an honest effort.
Finally, proper office behavior. I could do an entire post on proper (or improper) office behavior and still not cover even the most offensive behaviors. So I’ll just touch on the ones that bother me the most:
Gossip is not a valid means of communication. At best it is confusing and misleading. At worst it is divisive, cruel, and hurtful. If you don’t believe me, ask any girl over the age of five. I’m not saying don’t chat with others, and I understand that some information has to be kept in confidence. But consider it like this: would you say what you just said to anybody who has a right to hear it to their face? If not, then why did you say it?
Use your indoor voice. If I can hear you from down the hall, you are speaking too loudly. If I can hear you from the next room, you are still speaking too loudly. If someone can hear you from down the hall and I am sharing an office with you, you won’t be speaking at all very soon.
Forming cliques. I know some people say this is inevitable, and maybe it even is, which is a sad statement about the nature of humanity. I like to believe that those people just aren’t considering all the facts. For my money a clique is a group of people who shut out others and begin to make important decisions (either socially or politically within the organization) amongst themselves. If there’s no chance for anyone else to get into this group, that makes it a clique. If others can join over time, it’s just folks who have known each other a long time. It’s a fine distinction, but where cliques are poisonous, forming long-term associations gives longevity to an organization.
Careless office romances. Note that I said careless office romances. Truth is any careless romance is bad, it’s just that when you work in the same office you have to run into each other every day, which makes it that much worse if things go south. Not to mention the car pool gets awkward. You can still have romance at the office, just be smart about it.
Don’t whine. Trust me when I say nobody’s job is anywhere near as much fun as you think it is. Even the guy whose job it is to play with puppies all day is probably allergic by now. If you think someone else is getting to do everything you want to do, maybe they are. They also have to do all kinds of things you either don’t want to do or have no idea how to do, mostly owing to the fact that you’re too busy whining about how you don’t get to do the “fun stuff” to bother learning it. There’s also a zero percent chance anyone will want to work with you when their perception of you is the guy who won’t do the things that need doing, but instead will always have his eye on the things he wants to do.
So what is proper office behavior? Put short, do what I did: find someone you want to be and try to be like them. Don’t ignore their flaws, just don’t emulate them. If you ever find yourself growing out of that role, find a new role model. And no matter what, don’t wear flip flops to work.
Don’t Hate the Player, Hate the Played
Posted: July 13, 2012 Filed under: Culture, Dating | Tags: culture, dating, men, relationships, women Leave a commentI’ve already given guys a blast of bile for their pathetic attempts at making women the source of their perpetual dating woes, so I feel it’s only fair that I turn the petty hate machine (dodged that copyright bullet!) on the gentler sex. One of the biggest issues I have with women, and this is not all women but a significant enough minority to be worth mentioning, is the ones who engage in the following pattern:
- Date “the wrong guy”.
- Insist on making an issue out of it/complaining about it. Loudly.
- Go back to him for more. Repeatedly.
- Finally break up with him.
- Rinse and repeat.
“How do I always find myself in this position?” is a refrain I have often heard. Let me answer that bluntly: by opening your eyes after you have already put yourself in that position. No, I’m not trying to blame the victim here, I’m trying to get everybody, men and women alike, to start taking responsibility for the choices they make and the consequences of those choices. Let me play Jacob Marley for a moment and introduce you to the Ghosts of Your Choices Past, Present, and Future. They may help shed some light on the reasons you end up reliving the same “relationships” over and over.
Going to clubs and bars to meet men. I’ve heard that women go to clubs to dance and have a good time. This is a foreign concept to me and every straight man in existence (I can’t speak for the gay men, although the ones I have known generally favored clubbing as a means of picking up guys as well.) That’s the first strike against meeting someone at a club; you’re there for two completely different reasons. You may want to meet someone to hang out with; he’s there to meet someone to hook up with. Even if you are both interested in more than a one night – if that – stand, consider the environment of a club. It’s crowded, loud, dark except for the flashing lights, and oh yeah, you and everybody else is likely to be drunk. So your expectation is that… he’s going to be charmed by your rapier wit? The depth of your knowledge on the Crimean War? Or the tattoo of Mickey Mouse on your thigh? Speaking of which…
Dressing like a whore. Dave Chappelle covered this one already in Killin’Them Softly, so I’m just going to quote him verbatim: “The girl says ‘Oh uh-uh, wait a minute! Wait a minute! Just because I’m dressed this way does not make me a whore!’ Which is true. Gentlemen, that is true. Just because they dress a certain way doesn’t mean they are a certain way. Don’t ever forget it. But ladies, you must understand that is fucking confusing. It just is. Now that would be like me, Dave Chappelle, the comedian, walking down the street in a cop uniform. Somebody might run up on me, saying, ‘Oh, thank God. Officer, help us! Come on. They’re over here. Help us!’ ‘Oh-hoh! Just because I’m dressed this way does not make me a police officer!’ See what I mean? All right, ladies, fine. You are not a whore. But you are wearing a whore’s uniform.”
Showing no respect for yourself. This goes well beyond where you go or how you dress. This goes into how you approach your entire life. Simply put, when 90% of your time in a given situation is misery, and you stay in that situation, you are not respecting yourself. I don’t care if this is a relationship, a job, a housing situation, time with a “friend” (why do we even need the term “frienemy” anyway?), or anything else. No, life is not perfect, and sometimes you have to suck it up. But just because 10% is great does not justify the other 90% being misery. Stand up for yourself, treat yourself right, and don’t let others treat you differently.
Showing no respect for the men you date. Ever wonder why you can’t keep a good man? Take a look at the way you treat them. There are women who take advantage of men, use them as walking credit cards, ignore their emotional needs, dump on them all the time, screech at them and deride them. My favorite is the physical abuse double standard. “Gentlemen don’t hit ladies.” “It was just a little tap.” “Oh, get over it you big baby.” And then they wonder why he left. Here’s a hint: spend one day letting a guy treat you the way you treated him. Be honest. See if you can make it a full twenty-four.
At the end of the day, you picked them. Here’s a hint: if you have ever uttered the words “you’re a nice guy, but…” to a guy who has asked you out, you are part of the problem, not the solution, and I’ll tell you why. Option one is you lied to him. He’s not a nice guy, you would never date him, and in fact you are looking for someone to recue you at this moment. Unless you are in fear for your physical health, this is a cheap cop-out. Option two is that you do mean it, he is a nice guy, but you just can’t see yourself dating him. But then you really don’t have a good answer for the follow-up question; you think you do, but you don’t, because you ask the same question yourself in a different form all the time.
Here’s that question, and you need to think about it in solitude, when you’re not under emotional pressure from some guy trying to hook up with you: “Why?” Why can’t you see yourself dating him? You just admitted he’s a nice guy. Or to flip it around, you so often ask “Why can’t I find a nice guy to date?” There he is. He came to you, and you turned him away. But you said yes, time and again, to the guy who was bad to you and for you.
Life is not simply what happens to us as we are passive recipients; life is the result of our active choices. As Geddy Lee sang, “If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.” Your love life is the same way. It does not happen to you; it is the accumulation of the choices you have made, and will continue to be exactly that. When you want to have something better, you will need to make it for yourself, or at the very least recognize it when it comes along.
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My Not So Humble Opinion 