Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally
“Idiots,” I mumbled under my breath as I saw yet another math-themed meme on my Facebook feed. This one read: “3+3x0+1=? ‘Like’ if 7! Comment if 4!” I mourned the wane of human intelligence and considered the simplicity of the order of operations and the beauty of the only pure science in the universe. The answer to this question wasn’t—would never be—either multiple choice or up for discussion!
“This’ll show them,” I thought as I entered the answer and prepared a tirade for anyone who might have considered themselves bright for doing anything other than dismissing this ridiculous game, especially those who engaged in arguments over why different answers might be correct. I took particular pleasure in insulting one person couldn’t even be bothered to type the full words “you” or “your.” After a smug and self-satisfying click of the post button, I went about my day.
It took less than an hour: throughout the higher functions of my morning, a thin doubt forced its way into my esoteric superiority and crumbled my confidence. In a panic, I went back to the comment to delete it, only to find that someone else had used it in their own tirade against my apparent ignorance. He took particular pleasure in using my words against me. His last insult to me was appropriately blistering: he called me an idiot.
* * * * *
This was meant to be a 55, but grew into something a little bigger. Enjoy!
Friday, September 14, 2012
55: Satisfaction
Sweaty and deliciously filthy, we finally lay still in the grass. “Oh my god,” she cooed, taking a long breath, “I haven’t been worked that hard in ages.” She smiled and closed her eyes, and I could almost see a golden orange glow lifting softly from her body like glorious steam.
Yardwork: sexiest chore EVER!
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XLV. Tell a story in exactly fifty-five words. Go see G-Man.
Friday, August 31, 2012
55: Viral
Two weeks on the island together and we’d nearly forgotten: the sun and the sand, the bikinis and the drinks have a way of wiping the mind of its troubles. After getting back home to a blizzard and picking up the kids, it was almost like it’d never happened, until our hotel video went VIRAL!
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XLIII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XLIII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
XJ Vision
I hereby propose a new English phrase:
XJ vision (eks-jey vizh-uhn) n. The propensity for owners of Jeep Cherokee (AMC/Chrysler designation "XJ") vehicles to see other Jeep Cherokees at a greater frequency than owners of other vehicle types, especially at great distances, areas of high car density such as parking lots and traffic jams, and while absentmindedly watching cross- or opposing traffic at a red light. Not to be confused with the Jeep wave.
* Other Chrysler Jeep designations (this list is by no means comprehensive and could contain errors):
ZJ Jeep Grand Cherokee ZJ (93-98) or
WJ Jeep Grand Cherokee (99+)
CJ Wrangler
KJ Liberty
All in favor say aye.
XJ vision (eks-jey vizh-uhn) n. The propensity for owners of Jeep Cherokee (AMC/Chrysler designation "XJ") vehicles to see other Jeep Cherokees at a greater frequency than owners of other vehicle types, especially at great distances, areas of high car density such as parking lots and traffic jams, and while absentmindedly watching cross- or opposing traffic at a red light. Not to be confused with the Jeep wave.
* Other Chrysler Jeep designations (this list is by no means comprehensive and could contain errors):
ZJ Jeep Grand Cherokee ZJ (93-98) or
WJ Jeep Grand Cherokee (99+)
CJ Wrangler
KJ Liberty
All in favor say aye.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Job Opening
Mother Nature wishes to fill a position recently vacated in the Department of Seasonal Services, Winter Office, for the southeast Michigan region. Job duties include facilitating snowfall, maintaining sledding conditions, and ensuring ice thickness suitable for fishing between the months of November and February. Ideal candidate will be proficient with precipitation and judicious with extremes.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XXX. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XXX. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
No Love For Narnia
(alternate title: I Am A Very Bad Man)
I'm ashamed to admit it, but...
I just can't find love for the Chronicles of Narnia.
I know--just stone me. As literature goes, this series is supposed to be universal, loved by young and old, generation after generation. As authors go, C.S. Lewis is supposed to be captivating, inspiring wonder and excitement in the deepest recesses of the reader's mind. As epic stories go, the Narnia series is arguably a modern Aeneid, missing only a visit to the Underworld (and possibly a tragic father/son power struggle). And I'm sorry. But I just can't get there. Believe me, I've tried.
I made it through The Magician's Nephew just fine. I started The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe only to get shut down by the kids with Lucy crying, "Mr. Tumnus! Mr. Tumnus!" I remember the very moment I read that line, feeling very goofy, completely unable to imitate what I'm sure Lewis meant to portray as a frightening and terrible moment. But the kids weren't having it. They'd given me twenty minutes of their bedtime ritual, and they were done. They politely requested I read something else.
I was genuinely aghast. Really, I knew *I* wasn't getting into it, but these little darlings were supposed to have been enchanted. Wasn't everybody when they first broke into this novel? I thought by that point they were supposed to be hanging on every word, knowing in their hearts that Mr. Tumnus, the tragic pawn of the White Witch's trap, had been caught and surely punished, but hoping with their last breath that he would somehow escape his inevitable fate. But they weren't. We opted for Brave Potatoes instead.
Eventually I finished the book out of principle, but it took me several weeks. I even started the Horse one after, but when the evil guy bargaining for the kid turned out to be everything he'd been presented as originally, with nothing either sincere or sinister beneath the surface waiting to be revealed at the last minute, I just gave up hope. I finished the chapter and re-shelved the book.
Now I'm trying again, this time working in the order in which the novels were written in an attempt to revive interest. Having Read Wardrobe, I'm now digging into Prince Caspian. I wasn't worried about missing anything in the long years between, because I made absolutely no emotional investment in the former. What I've found so far is what I remember experiencing before: a really good story told in a flat, linear, single-layered monotone. And every time Peter says, "By Jove!" I almost want to puke. The greatest value I can find overall are the colorful and wonderful passing descriptions Lewis makes of characters and landscapes, but he never stops telling the facts of the story long enough to let me, as a reader, enjoy the mental image he's just flashed before me before it's snatched away.
I don't know what my problem is. I am sure I'm missing something. I do, of course, realize that the story as a whole, in particular Wardrobe, is a Christian allegory. I also know that Lewis was a dear and respected friend of my very most favorite, J.R.R. Tolkien. And the people in my life who love books and stories and fantasy and literature love The Chronicles of Narnia. I've also read one of Lewis's earlier books, The Screwtape Letters, and I couldn't put it down. Not understanding the passion for this series is like stepping out of the theater for Snowcaps just as the key moment in the movie is about to occur. Everybody else is in awe by the time you get back, but it's simply too late for you.
Please, somebody help me. I want to find beauty and wonder in this series. I want to find what others say they love. I want these books to change me the way other classics have, but I guess I keep missing the mark. If anyone can offer some pointers, I'd really appreciate it. Don't worry though, I'm not giving up this time. I intend to finish Prince Caspian and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. And then I'll watch the movies. But after that, all bets are off.
I'm so sorry, Clive. You know, it could be worse: I absolutely hated Voltaire, and I didn't even feel bad about it.
I'm ashamed to admit it, but...
I just can't find love for the Chronicles of Narnia.
I know--just stone me. As literature goes, this series is supposed to be universal, loved by young and old, generation after generation. As authors go, C.S. Lewis is supposed to be captivating, inspiring wonder and excitement in the deepest recesses of the reader's mind. As epic stories go, the Narnia series is arguably a modern Aeneid, missing only a visit to the Underworld (and possibly a tragic father/son power struggle). And I'm sorry. But I just can't get there. Believe me, I've tried.
I made it through The Magician's Nephew just fine. I started The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe only to get shut down by the kids with Lucy crying, "Mr. Tumnus! Mr. Tumnus!" I remember the very moment I read that line, feeling very goofy, completely unable to imitate what I'm sure Lewis meant to portray as a frightening and terrible moment. But the kids weren't having it. They'd given me twenty minutes of their bedtime ritual, and they were done. They politely requested I read something else.
I was genuinely aghast. Really, I knew *I* wasn't getting into it, but these little darlings were supposed to have been enchanted. Wasn't everybody when they first broke into this novel? I thought by that point they were supposed to be hanging on every word, knowing in their hearts that Mr. Tumnus, the tragic pawn of the White Witch's trap, had been caught and surely punished, but hoping with their last breath that he would somehow escape his inevitable fate. But they weren't. We opted for Brave Potatoes instead.
Eventually I finished the book out of principle, but it took me several weeks. I even started the Horse one after, but when the evil guy bargaining for the kid turned out to be everything he'd been presented as originally, with nothing either sincere or sinister beneath the surface waiting to be revealed at the last minute, I just gave up hope. I finished the chapter and re-shelved the book.
Now I'm trying again, this time working in the order in which the novels were written in an attempt to revive interest. Having Read Wardrobe, I'm now digging into Prince Caspian. I wasn't worried about missing anything in the long years between, because I made absolutely no emotional investment in the former. What I've found so far is what I remember experiencing before: a really good story told in a flat, linear, single-layered monotone. And every time Peter says, "By Jove!" I almost want to puke. The greatest value I can find overall are the colorful and wonderful passing descriptions Lewis makes of characters and landscapes, but he never stops telling the facts of the story long enough to let me, as a reader, enjoy the mental image he's just flashed before me before it's snatched away.
I don't know what my problem is. I am sure I'm missing something. I do, of course, realize that the story as a whole, in particular Wardrobe, is a Christian allegory. I also know that Lewis was a dear and respected friend of my very most favorite, J.R.R. Tolkien. And the people in my life who love books and stories and fantasy and literature love The Chronicles of Narnia. I've also read one of Lewis's earlier books, The Screwtape Letters, and I couldn't put it down. Not understanding the passion for this series is like stepping out of the theater for Snowcaps just as the key moment in the movie is about to occur. Everybody else is in awe by the time you get back, but it's simply too late for you.
Please, somebody help me. I want to find beauty and wonder in this series. I want to find what others say they love. I want these books to change me the way other classics have, but I guess I keep missing the mark. If anyone can offer some pointers, I'd really appreciate it. Don't worry though, I'm not giving up this time. I intend to finish Prince Caspian and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. And then I'll watch the movies. But after that, all bets are off.
I'm so sorry, Clive. You know, it could be worse: I absolutely hated Voltaire, and I didn't even feel bad about it.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Close Call
When I was little, my dad stood with his head in the linen closet. “Can’t you hear that?” he asked, but by the time all us kids were upstairs, it was impossible for him to hear the tornado siren.
Light years away, a tentacled arm wiped a sweaty brow. “Þ∩Ħפ∩∟ך○Ŧ!” [Translation: “Phew, that was close!”]
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XXVIII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XXVIII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Sorry
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| Colin and Christine Weir, winners of the EuroMillions jackpot |
A Letter to my Future Admirers
Dear All,
First, let me thank you for the heartfelt congratulations offered by so many. Despite the fact that none of you ever paid much attention to my existence before I hit the jackpot, I am sure each of you is sincere in your regards. I'm sure you can imagine that this has been an extraordinarily busy and confusing time for me and my family as we try to sort out and secure our financial affairs, so all the support so generously offered has been much appreciated.
Now then, let me address those of you who have asked for a share of my winnings in the most concise possible way: NO EFFING WAY. Please take a moment, before your undoubtely angry reaction to my statement, to reflect on how you've dealt with (or not dealt with) your financial woes up to this point in your lives. I encourage you to continue this course of action--or not. After all, it's likely your personal financial habits that got you into trouble in the first place. (I know that--until last month--my own family's habits with money were what kept us from building wealth.)
Anyway, you've been satisfied with your existing arrangement for God knows how long; I can't imagine what sort of thing would change that would suddenly require my intervention, and I refuse to believe that, whatever thing has changed, the timing of this recent turn of events coinciding with my redemption of a winning lottery ticket is a random happenstance. I know you've probably described how your situation differs from my assumption wholly in all those letters you've been sending, but I admit I haven't read a single one of them. Be comforted, however, in the knowledge that I will be forwarding your letter in one of the many bundles I'm preparing to send to various charities, along with a check for some donation I'm making to each organization. Enclosed is my working list of the charities I'm considering; maybe they'll put you on their list of recipients.
You see, I'm not completely heartless. I'm not even partly heartless. I care a great deal for my fellow humans. Please understand that it is my personal belief that our creator gave each of us unique gifts and talents with which to sustain ourselves. The extent to which we have worked to discover and develop those gifts and talents is directly proportional to our personal success in this physical existence. It is not within my means, or anyone's means, to support those who have yet to discover his/her intended Path. Just ask the government; they've been trying it for decades, and their annually budgeted aid comes to a three-digit multiple of the amount on the check you've seen me holding on TV. Money, you see, cannot fix your problems, regardless of how much there is or who it comes from.
Also, please consider the fact that I myself have endured a solidly middle class, blue collar existence for my entire life excluding the last handful of weeks. I made the best of it. I was resigned to the fact that I would continue in that existence until the end of my days, and I was okay with that. Sure I had meager investments and a 401k and some plans to borrow on behalf of my children so they could educate themselves above such a life for themselves, but that was it; that was the Master Plan: to go to work every day, to take care of myself and my family, and spend a little and save a little. I admit there was a time when our family needed assistance--we swallowed our pride and asked for it. And got it. Then we were okay again, and it went to someone else. It's not exactly the American Dream, but it's a close version of it, and it facilitated my efforts in the meantime to discover aforementioned gifts and talents in the hopes that they could be used to increase (slowly, if need be) the material means by which I made my daily life. When I say to you "reflect on how you've dealt with" and "encourage you to continue", I'm saying that, whatever arrangement you have at the moment, you've got to find a way to make it work the same way 99% of the population, including me until last month, have always done.
I know not all of you who read this will agree or understand. For those people, who would send me hate mail for not sending them money anyway, I have just one thing to say: [explitive deleted]. To all the rest, as I said before, I appreciate all your well wishes and congratulations, and thank you for your support and understanding in my desire to be left the hell alone.
Fond Wishes from Barbados,
Me and My Family
Friday, March 18, 2011
A Message to My Male Coworkers
Written long ago, but this message will never lose its relevance. (Edited for content.)
* * * * *
July 14th, 2006
Turns out they were right. Your mothers, sisters, wives and girlfriends all did know what they were talking about when they told you to put up the seat. Leaving your pee all over the place where someone else may have to sit (even you, imagine that) is nasty. NASTY. Even worse? Having to wipe up someone else's pee before placing your bare butt (up until then possibly the cleanest part of your body, provided you stayed dressed that day) on the seat of a communal toilet.
Big news: there's a urinal in the same room. On the off chance someone's using it when you walk in, and you can't wait, go right ahead and pee in the toilet. But don't be nasty: either prevent the mess or clean it up!
Guys, we all have to work together in the same building. Occasionally, we have to share the bathroom. Between two urinals and four toilets, there's plenty of capacity for everyone to do their business. Believe it or not, you aren't entitled to an easier bathroom experience than any of the the rest of us. Let's all take responsibility for our own business.
Thanks.
PS- Also, to all you gross individuals who don't wash their hands after peeing, I know who you are. You think you're alone because I don't make much noise behind the partition. But you're not. I recognize your shoes. Even you, Mr. Big Man Manager who sits near me and sneers at everyone with less experience and education than yourself...yes, you know who you are...you can wash your damn hands. Everone uses the same handle on their way out, and none of us (I'm wagering even you) want to get another man's germs and microscopic pee splatters on our hands on the way out. So find your way next to Godliness. Please. And don't make faces at me when I won't shake your hand; it's not me who's being rude.
* * * * *
July 14th, 2006
Turns out they were right. Your mothers, sisters, wives and girlfriends all did know what they were talking about when they told you to put up the seat. Leaving your pee all over the place where someone else may have to sit (even you, imagine that) is nasty. NASTY. Even worse? Having to wipe up someone else's pee before placing your bare butt (up until then possibly the cleanest part of your body, provided you stayed dressed that day) on the seat of a communal toilet.
Big news: there's a urinal in the same room. On the off chance someone's using it when you walk in, and you can't wait, go right ahead and pee in the toilet. But don't be nasty: either prevent the mess or clean it up!
Guys, we all have to work together in the same building. Occasionally, we have to share the bathroom. Between two urinals and four toilets, there's plenty of capacity for everyone to do their business. Believe it or not, you aren't entitled to an easier bathroom experience than any of the the rest of us. Let's all take responsibility for our own business.
Thanks.
PS- Also, to all you gross individuals who don't wash their hands after peeing, I know who you are. You think you're alone because I don't make much noise behind the partition. But you're not. I recognize your shoes. Even you, Mr. Big Man Manager who sits near me and sneers at everyone with less experience and education than yourself...yes, you know who you are...you can wash your damn hands. Everone uses the same handle on their way out, and none of us (I'm wagering even you) want to get another man's germs and microscopic pee splatters on our hands on the way out. So find your way next to Godliness. Please. And don't make faces at me when I won't shake your hand; it's not me who's being rude.
Friday, April 23, 2010
The Rules
This is something I've worked on intellectually for many years. When I was younger, I could tell you lots of these from memory. I think there were more. Obviously, they didn't all stick by the time I decided to write them down. Dated 28 October 2008.
The Rules
1. The Golden Rule: Treat others the way you want to be treated.
2. The Ketchup Rule: Even if a little is good, more may not necessarily be better, no matter how tempting it may seem. (May also be called the Peanut Butter Rule.)
3. The Iceberg Rule: If you see a bit of something, chances are good there may be a lot more to it than you can tell. Akin to the phrase 'where there's smoke there's fire.'
4. The No-Fault Rule: Don't use other people's mistakes to excuse or justify your own.
5. The Control Rule: You're the only (adult) person you can control. Period. End of story. Any efforts or expectations otherwise will only lead to disappointment. The basic premise behind this rule is RESPECT. The corollary of this is don't expect or allow anyone else to control you. Respect yourself and others enough to take care of your own business and keep it at home, without interfering with others' lives and/or their (in)ability to do the same.
6. The Reciprocation Rule: Don't expect someone else to do a thing for you just because you'd do it for them. This does not override the Golden Rule (#1) because of the Control Rule (#5).
The Rules
1. The Golden Rule: Treat others the way you want to be treated.
2. The Ketchup Rule: Even if a little is good, more may not necessarily be better, no matter how tempting it may seem. (May also be called the Peanut Butter Rule.)
3. The Iceberg Rule: If you see a bit of something, chances are good there may be a lot more to it than you can tell. Akin to the phrase 'where there's smoke there's fire.'
4. The No-Fault Rule: Don't use other people's mistakes to excuse or justify your own.
5. The Control Rule: You're the only (adult) person you can control. Period. End of story. Any efforts or expectations otherwise will only lead to disappointment. The basic premise behind this rule is RESPECT. The corollary of this is don't expect or allow anyone else to control you. Respect yourself and others enough to take care of your own business and keep it at home, without interfering with others' lives and/or their (in)ability to do the same.
6. The Reciprocation Rule: Don't expect someone else to do a thing for you just because you'd do it for them. This does not override the Golden Rule (#1) because of the Control Rule (#5).
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
One-Man Mob Mentality
Here's a good draft of something I realized a few days after writing that I'd heard before. Something about straws and a camel. I suppose by reinventing this wheel, I understand it better than the old model.
Everyone's heard stories of terrible events of human failure: the riots, looting, and general mass hysteria that can overtake an everyday, otherwise law-abiding member of any civilized culture. Wikipedia calls it 'herd behavior' and lists dozens of synonymous references, including bandwagon effect, crowd psychology, mob rule, swarm intelligence, and spontaneous [dis]order. But whatever anyone calls it, regardless of whether or not they've ever been caught up in it, everyone understands how it works.
I've run across a similar phenomenon that only requires a single person, and it works in a manner very similar to what we already understand. I'm calling it the One-Man Mob Mentality, or OMMM. It begins with a person being mildly annoying. If someone is grossly annoying, OMMM will not set in because any behavior that is obviously out of order will immediately draw attention to social boundaries no matter how vague or subtle. When the social offense is obvious, it is reacted to without acceptance. In order for OMMM to occur, it is important that no clear lines are crossed, and that annoying behavior is accepted on at least a probationary basis.
Now, anyone over age 10 who's ever encountered another human being will tell you that folks can be annoying, and once a person has annoyed you, you begin to make certain allowances for them. Like a rude person in a crowd, you simply start moving out of their way as they approach. Because, as Frost wrote, good fences make good neighbors, good manners dictate that we simply put up with the things some folks dish out, and therefore pretend not to be annoyed at the small things people will sometimes do.
Before I go any further, let's put this right out there: everyone has benefited from this social tendency at one time or another. Every first impression makes use of this unspoken practice. Everyone has, at one time or another, depended on exactly this reaction by others to something they unwittingly say or do, or don't realize is offensive or disruptive.
A critical part of this human interaction is the understanding that everyone does it, on both sides, and so paying attention to what you might do that mildly annoys others becomes very important. It's how you give room back. By this constant give and take process, an equilibrium can be formed between two individuals, an individual and a group, or even a convergence of several groups. As each member gives and takes to find his or her place in a micro-society such as the workplace, a dinner table with strangers, a line for concert tickets or the Sears checkout, or even a family welcoming new members, they learn to put up with each other in a very necessary way.
And that, I think, is exactly why we react that way to others when we're mildly annoyed with them. It's a big world. If we don't make some room for each other, we eventually start killing each other.
So as we move through our day-to-day interactions with each other, we do make small bits of room for those people who we have yet to understand, or at least build a tolerance or appreciation for. Sometimes, however, this process doesn't come to its logical end. Sometimes, it cascades into a catastrophic loop of insanity that makes us want to tear someone's arms out. This is OMMM, and this is how it happens.
Small annoyances that do not push the envelope are tolerated. However, instead of participating in the mutual give-take process, the annoying person doesn't return that favor of giving a little back, curtailing the annoying behavior or at least making up for it with something likable or (in the absence of anything likable) respectable. (This could be a sense of humor, a willingness to help or learn, any amount of humility, or some kind of expertise that applies to the group.) A first offense is treated as an additional mild annoyance, and more space is usually afforded to the annoying person, usually with the same reaction. Occasionally, the Annoyer can not only fail to respond in a way that will gain his or her acceptance, but make it worse with a sense of entitlement. This usually manifests by reacting as though the social space made for him or her by others is deserved, and need not be either acknowledged or returned in any way. (People with Ph.D's are infamous for this social flaw*.)
Once the series of small annoyances begins without any return, we start to build a case for disliking everything else the person does, even if, when others do it, it is in no way annoying. Examples can be the way someone walks, wears their hair, writes or says a phrase, engages in a habit, or fidgets. In this way, that original list of annoyances that we made room for becomes like a mob, driving us in a way that only chanting and mass hysteria can. Our brains rail for any response, and before long, we realize we've crossed way into the space that defines the lines of acceptable boundaries, and beyond. It is here that we find ourselves in that virtual riot, abandoning all good social sense, looting anything that might have once been salvaged in the relationship between ourselves and the Annoyer. This, my friends, is the One-Man Mob Mentality.
* This remark does not apply to any of the wonderful doctorate-holding people with whom I share my work day, or may at one time have been related to. Thag you very buch.
* * * * *
Everyone's heard stories of terrible events of human failure: the riots, looting, and general mass hysteria that can overtake an everyday, otherwise law-abiding member of any civilized culture. Wikipedia calls it 'herd behavior' and lists dozens of synonymous references, including bandwagon effect, crowd psychology, mob rule, swarm intelligence, and spontaneous [dis]order. But whatever anyone calls it, regardless of whether or not they've ever been caught up in it, everyone understands how it works.
I've run across a similar phenomenon that only requires a single person, and it works in a manner very similar to what we already understand. I'm calling it the One-Man Mob Mentality, or OMMM. It begins with a person being mildly annoying. If someone is grossly annoying, OMMM will not set in because any behavior that is obviously out of order will immediately draw attention to social boundaries no matter how vague or subtle. When the social offense is obvious, it is reacted to without acceptance. In order for OMMM to occur, it is important that no clear lines are crossed, and that annoying behavior is accepted on at least a probationary basis.
Now, anyone over age 10 who's ever encountered another human being will tell you that folks can be annoying, and once a person has annoyed you, you begin to make certain allowances for them. Like a rude person in a crowd, you simply start moving out of their way as they approach. Because, as Frost wrote, good fences make good neighbors, good manners dictate that we simply put up with the things some folks dish out, and therefore pretend not to be annoyed at the small things people will sometimes do.
Before I go any further, let's put this right out there: everyone has benefited from this social tendency at one time or another. Every first impression makes use of this unspoken practice. Everyone has, at one time or another, depended on exactly this reaction by others to something they unwittingly say or do, or don't realize is offensive or disruptive.
A critical part of this human interaction is the understanding that everyone does it, on both sides, and so paying attention to what you might do that mildly annoys others becomes very important. It's how you give room back. By this constant give and take process, an equilibrium can be formed between two individuals, an individual and a group, or even a convergence of several groups. As each member gives and takes to find his or her place in a micro-society such as the workplace, a dinner table with strangers, a line for concert tickets or the Sears checkout, or even a family welcoming new members, they learn to put up with each other in a very necessary way.
And that, I think, is exactly why we react that way to others when we're mildly annoyed with them. It's a big world. If we don't make some room for each other, we eventually start killing each other.
So as we move through our day-to-day interactions with each other, we do make small bits of room for those people who we have yet to understand, or at least build a tolerance or appreciation for. Sometimes, however, this process doesn't come to its logical end. Sometimes, it cascades into a catastrophic loop of insanity that makes us want to tear someone's arms out. This is OMMM, and this is how it happens.
Small annoyances that do not push the envelope are tolerated. However, instead of participating in the mutual give-take process, the annoying person doesn't return that favor of giving a little back, curtailing the annoying behavior or at least making up for it with something likable or (in the absence of anything likable) respectable. (This could be a sense of humor, a willingness to help or learn, any amount of humility, or some kind of expertise that applies to the group.) A first offense is treated as an additional mild annoyance, and more space is usually afforded to the annoying person, usually with the same reaction. Occasionally, the Annoyer can not only fail to respond in a way that will gain his or her acceptance, but make it worse with a sense of entitlement. This usually manifests by reacting as though the social space made for him or her by others is deserved, and need not be either acknowledged or returned in any way. (People with Ph.D's are infamous for this social flaw*.)
Once the series of small annoyances begins without any return, we start to build a case for disliking everything else the person does, even if, when others do it, it is in no way annoying. Examples can be the way someone walks, wears their hair, writes or says a phrase, engages in a habit, or fidgets. In this way, that original list of annoyances that we made room for becomes like a mob, driving us in a way that only chanting and mass hysteria can. Our brains rail for any response, and before long, we realize we've crossed way into the space that defines the lines of acceptable boundaries, and beyond. It is here that we find ourselves in that virtual riot, abandoning all good social sense, looting anything that might have once been salvaged in the relationship between ourselves and the Annoyer. This, my friends, is the One-Man Mob Mentality.
* This remark does not apply to any of the wonderful doctorate-holding people with whom I share my work day, or may at one time have been related to. Thag you very buch.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
My Wife's World-Saving Discovery
That's a lot of people getting busted, and if the iceberg rule applies, it means there are millions more who contemplate crimes that would lead to imprisonment. Fortunately, my wife has stumbled upon a product that can help save our nation from this dilemma, not only halting the rapid increase in prison population, but ultimately reducing it to record low numbers.
What is this product, you might ask? Nothing complicated, nothing expensive--nothing short of a miracle, I say. It's simply this: Kroger brand toilet paper. Every bathroom in our house is currently stocked with this product, and I can tell you with great assuredness that I need not spend the weekend with beer and burritos to fear its use. The abrasive quality of this bathroom tissue is second only to 80 grit sandpaper, and the effect it would have on a prison population forced to use it exclusively would be excruciating.
This is a breakthrough tantamount to Bentham's panopticon. Faced with the prospect of wiping one's tender ass with this and only this paper ought to be enough to make any would-be perpetrator think twice about committing a crime. Think of the affect it would have on our mounting prison population. Replacing every roll of bath tissue currently in the prisons with this generic and abundant product could be done at nearly no cost to taxpayers while simultaneously boosting local economies as more of the paper is produced for a population currently numbering 1.3 million.
Utilizing a series of scientific and statistical techniques, it's my estimation that this simple change in the prison system could yield an overall population decrease of over 92% in the next 18 years. My conclusions are based on the following assumptions:
- the prison population will have grown at the current average between 2004 and 2009
- the new toilet paper will be introduced at some time during 2009
- as word spreads about this new deterrent, the population will begin to decrease
- initial decrease will be at the current average level of increase (5.86%)
- as the horror stories are circulated, average population decrease will get 10% greater each year
So now's the time to take action. Write your state governments and show them the numbers. Purchase and send a roll to your congressman for good measure. With enough good people doing the right thing, we can change the world, folks, and it begins with a single wipe.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Quick Note to my Coworkers
If you'll take a look, you'll notice there are yellow lines painted on the ground outside our building. A quick estimate and you'll probably find that the spaces between the lines conveniently fit most automobiles. In fact, you could say there are a 'lot' of such 'spaces' you could probably use to place, or let's say 'park,' an automobile in. I've noticed many of you driving automobiles here each day, and wanted to point this out to you. Because, it seems, nobody understands this.
Sure, yes, I know there are big piles of snow at the ends of each row of this 'parking lot.' Some of the yellow lines are covered, and some of the 'parking spaces' aren't big enough for an automobile anymore. But that's really no cause to ignore all the other yellow lines, or the full-width spaces, is it?
Of course not. Have a nice day.
Sure, yes, I know there are big piles of snow at the ends of each row of this 'parking lot.' Some of the yellow lines are covered, and some of the 'parking spaces' aren't big enough for an automobile anymore. But that's really no cause to ignore all the other yellow lines, or the full-width spaces, is it?
Of course not. Have a nice day.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Welcome, Old Man Winter
CNN Story: 'Nasty' winter storms cause traffic deaths, delays
Of course by now, everyone knows we in the northeast-midwest US had our first real winter storm over the weekend. And let me tell you...it was wasn't a doozey. It wasn't extraordinary. It wasn't anything different than what I've been waiting for the past six weeks.
Deaths are terrible and delays are regrettable, and accidents, sometimes tragic ones, certainly do happen. But this is winter. Can everyone above the 40th parallel PLEASE stop complaining about:
(1) the inevitable winter weather,
(2) the first sign of the season that the Earth is tolerating the dramatic change we're inflicting,
(3) a wonderful gift of beauty and fun for kids of all ages, and
(4) a fantastic excuse not to have to pick up semi-frozen dog poop from the yard?
Is it just me, or have the last 10 years or so been rank with whining about summer heat, spring rains, and winter snow and ice? Disasters notwithstanding, it seems to me that natural seasonal changes do nothing but piss people off, causing them nothing but inconvenience because they might actually sweat while working in the garden, or have to shovel the walk in winter. What is wrong with these people? Californians put up with how many months of drought (and then wildfires), Katrina victims are still living in fermaldehyde-ridden FEMA trailers, and we're upset because we've forgotten how to drive on a slippery road, or our flight was (for safety reasons, remember) delayed? Puh-lease.
Driving past the near-million-dollar homes I see on my way to work today, I saw no less than three luxury vehicles stuck halfway out of their professionally plowed driveways, and yesterday during the end of the snowstorm, I watched numerous 4-wheel drive vehicles with high-end brand names (including a Hummer) spinning wheels in the snow because the well-manicured ladies or silk-shirt businessmen behind the wheels haven't a clue how to operate them. Am I missing something, or has expectation of nature to conform to human comfort zones become the norm?
There are lots of things to be upset about, and lots of legitimate problems we have as individuals, communities, and a species in general, but it strikes me as counterintuitive when part of everyone's solution is the exact opposite of trying to fit into a natural order with the world. It's nice to have air conditioning and a furnace to keep the house comfortable, but when the ambient air temp falls outside your ±5° tolerance, do us all a favor and complain elsewhere. Even the French are probably less whiny than you.
As for me, what I'll remember most about this weekend's storm will be my little kids all bundled up with their kid-sized snow shovels, helping me in the driveway (or shoveling the grass around the tree, depending on their mood), little bootprints inside my own because the depth of the snow was higher than my daughter's legs, snow angels and giggling, red chapped cheeks smiling at me through the window because my son, cold as he was, was having too much fun to care about hot chocolate, and the slightly-achy feeling in my shoulders and back, and very satisfied feeling in my heart, after hanging my snow shovel on the garage hook and coming in myself. These memories will remain and feed my soul long, long after whatever might come of the activities I would have otherwise engaged in without the gift of snow we received.
Of course by now, everyone knows we in the northeast-midwest US had our first real winter storm over the weekend. And let me tell you...it was wasn't a doozey. It wasn't extraordinary. It wasn't anything different than what I've been waiting for the past six weeks.
Deaths are terrible and delays are regrettable, and accidents, sometimes tragic ones, certainly do happen. But this is winter. Can everyone above the 40th parallel PLEASE stop complaining about:
(1) the inevitable winter weather,
(2) the first sign of the season that the Earth is tolerating the dramatic change we're inflicting,
(3) a wonderful gift of beauty and fun for kids of all ages, and
(4) a fantastic excuse not to have to pick up semi-frozen dog poop from the yard?
Is it just me, or have the last 10 years or so been rank with whining about summer heat, spring rains, and winter snow and ice? Disasters notwithstanding, it seems to me that natural seasonal changes do nothing but piss people off, causing them nothing but inconvenience because they might actually sweat while working in the garden, or have to shovel the walk in winter. What is wrong with these people? Californians put up with how many months of drought (and then wildfires), Katrina victims are still living in fermaldehyde-ridden FEMA trailers, and we're upset because we've forgotten how to drive on a slippery road, or our flight was (for safety reasons, remember) delayed? Puh-lease.
Driving past the near-million-dollar homes I see on my way to work today, I saw no less than three luxury vehicles stuck halfway out of their professionally plowed driveways, and yesterday during the end of the snowstorm, I watched numerous 4-wheel drive vehicles with high-end brand names (including a Hummer) spinning wheels in the snow because the well-manicured ladies or silk-shirt businessmen behind the wheels haven't a clue how to operate them. Am I missing something, or has expectation of nature to conform to human comfort zones become the norm?
There are lots of things to be upset about, and lots of legitimate problems we have as individuals, communities, and a species in general, but it strikes me as counterintuitive when part of everyone's solution is the exact opposite of trying to fit into a natural order with the world. It's nice to have air conditioning and a furnace to keep the house comfortable, but when the ambient air temp falls outside your ±5° tolerance, do us all a favor and complain elsewhere. Even the French are probably less whiny than you.
As for me, what I'll remember most about this weekend's storm will be my little kids all bundled up with their kid-sized snow shovels, helping me in the driveway (or shoveling the grass around the tree, depending on their mood), little bootprints inside my own because the depth of the snow was higher than my daughter's legs, snow angels and giggling, red chapped cheeks smiling at me through the window because my son, cold as he was, was having too much fun to care about hot chocolate, and the slightly-achy feeling in my shoulders and back, and very satisfied feeling in my heart, after hanging my snow shovel on the garage hook and coming in myself. These memories will remain and feed my soul long, long after whatever might come of the activities I would have otherwise engaged in without the gift of snow we received.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Free Lunch
There is such a thing; believe it. Especially when you go into Jet's for a slice and pop (who can beat that at $2.75?) and they're out. Well, except for one cold, lonely slice which was by far not the best example of what I've found to be the greatest pizza ever. They offered me the cold slice for free while I waited for a fresh one, but I declined. So I sat and messed with my phone for eight whole minutes, and when it came time to pay for my steaming, saucy, foil-wrapped treasure, the counter guy waved me off. "You're all set," he said, "thanks for waiting."
Who am I to argue?
Who am I to argue?
Sunday, September 16, 2007
The IKEA Conspiracy
This is a warning for all civilized humankind. I have discovered a clandestine group of otherworldly beings who've infiltrated our society with the intention of overthrowing it. They will do this by flooding our homes with their devices which, initially, seem harmless and even useful, but will suddenly rise one day and overwhelm us through their numbers despite their size and cuteness.
The name of this group is the Intergalactic Kingdon of Euseless Accesorizing, or more simply: IKEA.
They have begun landing starbases all over the globe. Beginning in Denmark, IKEA spread rapidly throughout Europe and recently crossed the pond to the US of A. Maybe you've seen these starbases: large, gaudy things beside highways near shopping centers, they require a huge landing area painted with yellow lines. Once settled, the public flocks to these places of shininess and space-saving utility, eagerly entering the tens of thousands of square feet of neat little gadgets and cute little things, shelling out sometimes hundreds of dollars each* to bring these trinkets into their homes--INTO THEIR HOMES!
Even my own modest home has begun this transformation. What started with a new cutting board quickly became a completely new set of silverware (which wasn't really needed, we were only missing a few things after the move) and has recently included new salt-and-pepper shakers (we sure weren't missing either of these) and some kind of cute little sugar dispenser (my ceramic bowl thing was working just fine, thank you very much). We also have cork trivets, spiral-wire laundry hampers and closet organizing things, these big butterfly-shaped hooks for kids' backpacks, and a plethora of furniture and accoutrements for my daughter's room.
The IKEA conglomerate has discovered our culture's penchant for their wares and is making solid use of it. They seem to focus their marketing efforts on our wives and daughters, offering quick, cheap solutions to little bothersome household mainstays and shiny, new alternatives to things we already have.
What we do not yet realize is that once IKEA have completely replaced all our furniture and kitchen tools and shelving and entertainment centers, these items will somehow be used against us to force our wills to do IKEA's bidding. This is when the mothership will arrive, and then we'll all regret replacing our very fine spoons and salt shakers and sugar bowls with the cute little glass-and-steel contraptions we have been duped into acquiring. Mark my words: we will all be sorry!
There is only one way to stop this infiltration of our relatively peaceful consumerist existence. We must rise up and fight this force that so many of us have so willingly allowed to take over our lives and fill up our homes. Go back to your old silverware, even if there are a couple spoons missing. Take your kids' shoes out of the hanging spiral thing and put them on the floor where they used to be just fine. Accept that you have to take the top off the sugar container and put a spoon in to get it out, rather than simply tipping the little chimney over your cereal. In short--rough it a little, folks, or one day we will all be commiserating in an intergalactic chain gang with the dozens or hundreds (who knows at this point?) of other civilizations the IKEA have overtaken.
This is my final appeal to humankind before it is too late. I already fear retribution for my discovery, already the cutting board and knife set are suspicious. I will do my best to update you on the fight, but I make no guarantees as I will be operating in the IKEA-free wilderness of traditional kitchen wares and big bulky entertainment centers without matching shelves for my media. Let's remember what makes our species great, and let's all fight to preserve it.
Yours Sincerely,
etc.
* IKEA is also an huge economic power. I will explore this later, but I think they are working with the Chilean Mafia.
The name of this group is the Intergalactic Kingdon of Euseless Accesorizing, or more simply: IKEA.
They have begun landing starbases all over the globe. Beginning in Denmark, IKEA spread rapidly throughout Europe and recently crossed the pond to the US of A. Maybe you've seen these starbases: large, gaudy things beside highways near shopping centers, they require a huge landing area painted with yellow lines. Once settled, the public flocks to these places of shininess and space-saving utility, eagerly entering the tens of thousands of square feet of neat little gadgets and cute little things, shelling out sometimes hundreds of dollars each* to bring these trinkets into their homes--INTO THEIR HOMES!
Even my own modest home has begun this transformation. What started with a new cutting board quickly became a completely new set of silverware (which wasn't really needed, we were only missing a few things after the move) and has recently included new salt-and-pepper shakers (we sure weren't missing either of these) and some kind of cute little sugar dispenser (my ceramic bowl thing was working just fine, thank you very much). We also have cork trivets, spiral-wire laundry hampers and closet organizing things, these big butterfly-shaped hooks for kids' backpacks, and a plethora of furniture and accoutrements for my daughter's room.
The IKEA conglomerate has discovered our culture's penchant for their wares and is making solid use of it. They seem to focus their marketing efforts on our wives and daughters, offering quick, cheap solutions to little bothersome household mainstays and shiny, new alternatives to things we already have.
What we do not yet realize is that once IKEA have completely replaced all our furniture and kitchen tools and shelving and entertainment centers, these items will somehow be used against us to force our wills to do IKEA's bidding. This is when the mothership will arrive, and then we'll all regret replacing our very fine spoons and salt shakers and sugar bowls with the cute little glass-and-steel contraptions we have been duped into acquiring. Mark my words: we will all be sorry!
There is only one way to stop this infiltration of our relatively peaceful consumerist existence. We must rise up and fight this force that so many of us have so willingly allowed to take over our lives and fill up our homes. Go back to your old silverware, even if there are a couple spoons missing. Take your kids' shoes out of the hanging spiral thing and put them on the floor where they used to be just fine. Accept that you have to take the top off the sugar container and put a spoon in to get it out, rather than simply tipping the little chimney over your cereal. In short--rough it a little, folks, or one day we will all be commiserating in an intergalactic chain gang with the dozens or hundreds (who knows at this point?) of other civilizations the IKEA have overtaken.
This is my final appeal to humankind before it is too late. I already fear retribution for my discovery, already the cutting board and knife set are suspicious. I will do my best to update you on the fight, but I make no guarantees as I will be operating in the IKEA-free wilderness of traditional kitchen wares and big bulky entertainment centers without matching shelves for my media. Let's remember what makes our species great, and let's all fight to preserve it.
Yours Sincerely,
etc.
* IKEA is also an huge economic power. I will explore this later, but I think they are working with the Chilean Mafia.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
The Color of Love
This morning, per my habit, I looked at a couple news items online. Like most internet users, I grow increasingly immune to the various means of advertising placed on websites of all kinds. My eyes scan past the banners, the Flash animation, the cute little games, and the free iPod offers with automatic precision. Today, however, one ad did catch my eye.
It was a Sprint ad, and the first frame said something like "the colors of love." What followed were pictures of phones in the three prominent colors. I shall detail them for you:
"Forgot our anniversary" silver
"Spent too much on golf clubs" pink
"Thursday is poker night" espresso
...
So what have we seen here? Nice phones, yes, in admittedly attractive colors.
And what have we learned?
First, we need to assume that these phones are being marketed to men with female partners. Then we can make the following conclusions:
1) only men make such mistakes as forgetting anniversaries, or do so with characteristic frequency
2) one good way to make up for spending too much on one thing is to make a completely unplanned additional purchase
3) it is a bad thing for a man to plan to spend an evening away from his partner
4) men can make up for their boyish folly by buying their partners stylish and expensive gifts
5) women will accept such gifts as restitution for the named transgressions, and possibly many others
This is yet another example of our social understanding of men as simplistic baboons and women as fawning materialists. Is it wrong to be disgusted at these assumptions? Yes, we are all simple creatures with primal urges and instincts. But if we're going to communicate on that level, let's not pretend it's all we are. If you want to sell me a phone, I'm more likely to listen if you begin appealing to my sense of utility (a basic male quality in my opinion) than the guilt I feel at having 'wronged' my wife.
This ad is funny in the way that the Super Bowl Snickers ad was funny. There's enough media attention on this issue that I needn't go into why it was inappropriate. I admit I didn't notice any distasteful content, being the straight middle-class WASP that I am, but reading comments and thinking more I realize the truth. It's not exactly gay-bashing, but how many boys who might be questionong their sexuality were sitting on couches with their fathers, brothers, uncles, and friends, and had it confirmed that yes, being gay is an awful thing, to be remedied only by stupid acts of "manly" prowess? How many of them laughed with the crowd and were secretly crushed at seeing how the men who love them would react to a possibly inevitable truth? (And just how manly is it to rip out one's chest hair, anyway?)
Disclaimer: This whole rant might be one more example of me taking myself too seriously. If it is, then I have misjudged the world around me and the lot of you may continue living your lives, no matter how superficial, judgmental, consumerist, or shallow I might think they are.
It was a Sprint ad, and the first frame said something like "the colors of love." What followed were pictures of phones in the three prominent colors. I shall detail them for you:
"Forgot our anniversary" silver
"Spent too much on golf clubs" pink
"Thursday is poker night" espresso
...
So what have we seen here? Nice phones, yes, in admittedly attractive colors.
And what have we learned?
First, we need to assume that these phones are being marketed to men with female partners. Then we can make the following conclusions:
1) only men make such mistakes as forgetting anniversaries, or do so with characteristic frequency
2) one good way to make up for spending too much on one thing is to make a completely unplanned additional purchase
3) it is a bad thing for a man to plan to spend an evening away from his partner
4) men can make up for their boyish folly by buying their partners stylish and expensive gifts
5) women will accept such gifts as restitution for the named transgressions, and possibly many others
This is yet another example of our social understanding of men as simplistic baboons and women as fawning materialists. Is it wrong to be disgusted at these assumptions? Yes, we are all simple creatures with primal urges and instincts. But if we're going to communicate on that level, let's not pretend it's all we are. If you want to sell me a phone, I'm more likely to listen if you begin appealing to my sense of utility (a basic male quality in my opinion) than the guilt I feel at having 'wronged' my wife.
This ad is funny in the way that the Super Bowl Snickers ad was funny. There's enough media attention on this issue that I needn't go into why it was inappropriate. I admit I didn't notice any distasteful content, being the straight middle-class WASP that I am, but reading comments and thinking more I realize the truth. It's not exactly gay-bashing, but how many boys who might be questionong their sexuality were sitting on couches with their fathers, brothers, uncles, and friends, and had it confirmed that yes, being gay is an awful thing, to be remedied only by stupid acts of "manly" prowess? How many of them laughed with the crowd and were secretly crushed at seeing how the men who love them would react to a possibly inevitable truth? (And just how manly is it to rip out one's chest hair, anyway?)
Disclaimer: This whole rant might be one more example of me taking myself too seriously. If it is, then I have misjudged the world around me and the lot of you may continue living your lives, no matter how superficial, judgmental, consumerist, or shallow I might think they are.
Friday, February 2, 2007
Dirty Ball Blues
An original song by me:
Oh, I got the dirty ball blues
Every time I move my mouse
It gets stuck on the desk
If I use a pad it don't help
Makes me feel so bad
Chorus:
Oh I got the blues
Yeah the dirty ball blues
It's been such a long time
Think I been paid my dues
Used to be I could mouse
All around that pad
Don't matter how much or where I went
I di'n't ne'er feel so bad
Refrain:
Well now I bang my mouse
up and down
on the desk
I go to town
with that thang
don't do no good
seems to me
like it should
[Chorus]
Can't make no good man
Put up with such a po', po' thang
So I fin'ly got to Best Buy
Spent me a little twang
Now my mouse is happy
It's got a lil red light
It glides around the mousepad
And feels so, so right
[Chorus]
Oh, I got the dirty ball blues
Every time I move my mouse
It gets stuck on the desk
If I use a pad it don't help
Makes me feel so bad
Chorus:
Oh I got the blues
Yeah the dirty ball blues
It's been such a long time
Think I been paid my dues
Used to be I could mouse
All around that pad
Don't matter how much or where I went
I di'n't ne'er feel so bad
Refrain:
Well now I bang my mouse
up and down
on the desk
I go to town
with that thang
don't do no good
seems to me
like it should
[Chorus]
Can't make no good man
Put up with such a po', po' thang
So I fin'ly got to Best Buy
Spent me a little twang
Now my mouse is happy
It's got a lil red light
It glides around the mousepad
And feels so, so right
[Chorus]
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Get Your Coffee Off My Car
I'd just like to remind Dr. Michael J. Fugle, DO that it's rude to put your cup down on someone else's car while you unlock your own.
I can say this to him because yesterday he did just this as I sat inside the car listening to the final moments of TAL #106, Father's Day '98, before my physical therapy appointment. I heard two men talking as they walked out, and thought nothing of it. I saw one was in a white coat, the other an older guy. Some kind of professional, to be sure, but perhaps a salesman, vendor, landlord, maybe even a patient. He was carrying a styrofoam cup and some papers. My car was parked next to this big silver SUV.
Older guy waves off the younger white coat and walks to the rear of the SUV. Then he sets his cup on my deck lid. I assumed he'd pick it back up immediately, even if he hadn't noticed me sitting there. But he didn't. He fumbled with some keys or such, then walked between the two vehicles and unlocked his. At first I thought he'd leave it there, which definitely would have made me brave enough to vocalize my displeasure as he reversed out of the spot. "Excuse me," I'd say politely, "you left your coffee ON MY CAR." Really, the embarrassment on his part would have been plenty to justify a lack of well-deserved rudeness on my part. But he didn't leave it; he remembered, collected it, and moved off. All through the ordeal, which lasted all of about twelve seconds, I tried to make eye contact with the guy. I'd have smiled and nodded (see aformentioned embarrassment/rudeness tradeoff), but it never happened. All I could see were his jacket and his papers.
Margot, the therapist, was watching from inside, I found out a few moments later, and told me who the guy was. She said he did apparently notice that my car was NOT unoccupied before pulling away. "I kind of don't give a damn," I told her, "about his coffee, I mean. What would he have done with it if I hadn't been parked there?"
Really, the nerve of some folks.
I can say this to him because yesterday he did just this as I sat inside the car listening to the final moments of TAL #106, Father's Day '98, before my physical therapy appointment. I heard two men talking as they walked out, and thought nothing of it. I saw one was in a white coat, the other an older guy. Some kind of professional, to be sure, but perhaps a salesman, vendor, landlord, maybe even a patient. He was carrying a styrofoam cup and some papers. My car was parked next to this big silver SUV.
Older guy waves off the younger white coat and walks to the rear of the SUV. Then he sets his cup on my deck lid. I assumed he'd pick it back up immediately, even if he hadn't noticed me sitting there. But he didn't. He fumbled with some keys or such, then walked between the two vehicles and unlocked his. At first I thought he'd leave it there, which definitely would have made me brave enough to vocalize my displeasure as he reversed out of the spot. "Excuse me," I'd say politely, "you left your coffee ON MY CAR." Really, the embarrassment on his part would have been plenty to justify a lack of well-deserved rudeness on my part. But he didn't leave it; he remembered, collected it, and moved off. All through the ordeal, which lasted all of about twelve seconds, I tried to make eye contact with the guy. I'd have smiled and nodded (see aformentioned embarrassment/rudeness tradeoff), but it never happened. All I could see were his jacket and his papers.
Margot, the therapist, was watching from inside, I found out a few moments later, and told me who the guy was. She said he did apparently notice that my car was NOT unoccupied before pulling away. "I kind of don't give a damn," I told her, "about his coffee, I mean. What would he have done with it if I hadn't been parked there?"
Really, the nerve of some folks.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Sexism is Funny
Here's some dandy amusing spam. Trouble is, the Spanish word for computer IS ACTUALLY FEMININE. Why is it so funny for everyone to bash men, but so sexist for anyone to bash women? In any case, enjoy.
* * * * *
A Spanish teacher was explaining to her class that in Spanish, unlike English, nouns are designated as either masculine or feminine.
"House" for instance, is feminine: "la casa."
"Pencil," however, is masculine: "el lapiz."
A student asked, "What gender is 'computer'?"
Instead of giving the answer, the teacher split the class into two groups, male and female, and asked them to decide for themselves whether "computer" should be a masculine or a feminine noun.
Each group was asked to give four reasons for its recommendation.
The men's group decided that "computer" should definitely be of the feminine gender ("la computadora"), because:
1. No one but their creator understands their internal logic;
2. The native language they use to communicate with other computers is incomprehensible to everyone else;
3. Even the smallest mistakes are stored in long term memory for possible later retrieval; and
4. As soon as you make a commitment to one, you find yourself spending half your paycheck on accessories for it.
The women's group, however, concluded that computers should be Masculine ("el computador"), because:
1. In order to do anything with them, you have to turn them on;
2. They have a lot of data but still can't think for themselves;
3. They are supposed to help you solve problems, but half the time they ARE the problem; and
4. As soon as you commit to one, you realize that if you had waited a little longer, you could have gotten a better model.
The women won.
* * * * *
* * * * *
A Spanish teacher was explaining to her class that in Spanish, unlike English, nouns are designated as either masculine or feminine.
"House" for instance, is feminine: "la casa."
"Pencil," however, is masculine: "el lapiz."
A student asked, "What gender is 'computer'?"
Instead of giving the answer, the teacher split the class into two groups, male and female, and asked them to decide for themselves whether "computer" should be a masculine or a feminine noun.
Each group was asked to give four reasons for its recommendation.
The men's group decided that "computer" should definitely be of the feminine gender ("la computadora"), because:
1. No one but their creator understands their internal logic;
2. The native language they use to communicate with other computers is incomprehensible to everyone else;
3. Even the smallest mistakes are stored in long term memory for possible later retrieval; and
4. As soon as you make a commitment to one, you find yourself spending half your paycheck on accessories for it.
The women's group, however, concluded that computers should be Masculine ("el computador"), because:
1. In order to do anything with them, you have to turn them on;
2. They have a lot of data but still can't think for themselves;
3. They are supposed to help you solve problems, but half the time they ARE the problem; and
4. As soon as you commit to one, you realize that if you had waited a little longer, you could have gotten a better model.
The women won.
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