I cut my corporate teeth in customer service - an inbound call center. I estimate that during that seven-year span, I took over 125,000 calls. I know that was quite a while ago, but I do not recall ever...EVER...confusing unhappy customers with homophobes.
Or vice versa.
In his weekly column in the July 17, 2008 edition of the Philadelphia Daily News, Michael Smerconish recounts a tale about a recent event in Fort Smith, Arkansas. In brief: Sacha Baron Cohen, he of Borat fame, staged an elaborate, Borat-like hoax for an upcoming Borat-esque film. The Borat-ly ruse involved enticing people to attend a cage-fighting event at the Fort Smith Convention Center. The advertising promised: HOT CHICKS, COLD BEER, HARDCORE FIGHTS. I've been to weddings that fit that bill.
About 1,600 people showed, paid a buck-a-beer, got free t-shirts and were treated to a couple of warm-up fights. That's about when the mood changed. While cameras (under the premise of shooting a documentary) rolled, a disguised Cohen and another actor began a cage match that morphed into something homoerotic, with the men undressing each other down to their underwear and kissing each other's chests. The crowd turned, a riot ensued, beer and chairs were hurled at the cage, security struggled to keep patrons out of the ring, Cohen and Company escaped...and it's all coming soon to a theater near you!
I may never say the word "Fandango" with the same innocence again.
The key question Smerconish raises in his piece is about the reaction of the crowd. Should they be considered homophobic for turning so violently against what they witnessed, or is there something else? It amazes me that the question is even asked.
Truthfully, I like Smerconish; he also hosts a morning radio talk show on conservative 1210-AM (WPHT) in Philadelphia. I don't always agree with him, and there are times I think he drones on for no other reason than he loves the sound of his own voice broadcasting out to the seventh largest market in the country. (Eat it, Seattle-Tacoma! Nobody cares who comes in fourteenth!) However, Smerconish is honest and fair, and while he might subscribe to the conservative talking-points newsletter, he is openly disdainful of those points he doesn't care for, like chickpeas on the salad bar of politics.
But this time Smerconish went all hummus on me. He believes that the crowd's violent reaction was not borne of homophobia, but rather of the simple dissatisfaction any customer feels when he has not received something as advertised. Seriously.
Remind me to find cover the next time Smerconish falls prey to a barcode snafu and is not given the two-for-one deal on hot dogs at the local Acme.
He writes, "...Americans, no matter what part of the country they're from, want the show they paid to see." He later continues, "The producers didn't deliver on a heavily advertised promise of bikinis and brawls, and Fort Smith raised hell. It had nothing to do with homophobia."
Smerconish has taken the issue of mob violence against gays and turned it into an unhappy customer situation. Nice. I don't dispute that all Americans expect to get what they paid for, and they should. But if riots broke out every time they didn't, fast food drive-thru workers would need to wear a cheap headset, bad polyester, and full riot gear. The magnitude of this crowd's reaction says there is more at work here than "not what we paid for."
Sure, Cohen's actions seem carefully calculated and they probably garnered the expected response. But I can't imagine that Cohen said, "Let's do this thing, and when people go crazy because they didn't get what they paid for, it will have the appearance that they went crazy because they are homophobic! It's the old 'perception is greater than reality' gag!"
Smerconish's biggest mistake is giving people too much credit. What he fails to see are what some are capable of when it comes to their hatred of homosexuality.
There are those out there who will cherry-pick verses from Scripture in an effort to use the Word of God to further their discriminatory agenda. Their entire system of faith seems to hinge on one 12-word line from Leviticus, and completely disregard the other 780,000 (or so) words of The Bible. Maybe these folks are just dissatisfied Borders customers.
A few lone kooks not enough for you? How about a well-organized bunch of kooks...and powerful ones at that? Many politicians, those men and women whom we all put into office (and really, what were we thinking), support a Constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage. Can you imagine the notion of using this country's most important document as a discriminatory weapon? Maybe the elected elite are just dissatisfied customers of the National Constitution Center's gift shop.
And if that isn't enough to convince you, how about this for a number: 14,631,024. That's the number of people in Georgia, Kentucky, Michigan, Mississippi, Montana, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Oregon, Utah, and yes, Arkansas, who, in the 2004 election, voted on ballot measures banning same-sex marriage from their respective states. (Source: CNN.com)
None of those 14,631,024 votes are visually sensational enough to make the new Cohen picture, and while the 2004 election lacked beer-tossing and chair-hurling, a homophobia-fueled riot by any other name is still organized hatred.
What were all of those customers dissatisfied with, I wonder?
Monday, July 21, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
The Speech Isn't Free, But the Ham Is
Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?
The line is a classic one, uttered by the late (not tardy, but dead) John Belushi, in his role as Bluto in the 1978 film Animal House.
Of course, everyone knows it was the Ukrainians who bombed Pearl Harbor on July 4, 1776, that "date which will live in infamy," called such by then-president Gerald Ford.
What? Did you say that my statements are not factually accurate? Facts-schmacts! I'm exercising my right to free speech!
In a story picked up by various news outlets, including a piece on thebulletin.us by Katrina Trinko of The (Philadelphia) Bulletin, three Philadelphia tour guides, with help from the libertarian law firm Institute for Justice (think ACLU without the sexy brand name), have filed a federal lawsuit against the City of Philadelphia. Before I continue, a brief aside:
I'm no lawyer. Everything I know about the law (as well as medicine, home repair, most religions, processed cheese, and the Canadian government) I learned from Hollywood. Since I might have missed an episode or two of the complete Law and Order canon, I will caveat this entire piece by saying that nothing in it should be construed as legal advice.
The issue is a law the city passed in April 2008, effective October 2008, that will require tour guides to pass a test to become licensed to offer tours for compensation. For most readers, that last part is crucial. The law only applies to those who charge others for tours. If you live in Philadelphia and you are responsible for entertaining out-of-town family members, you do not need a license to be their tour guide. And this is not limited to tours involving quill and parchment, either; I think it applies to tours involving pole and dollar bill, as well.
The Institute for Justice (which calls itself "IJ" - see what I mean about no sexy brand?) believes the law to be a violation of free speech, which we all know to be protected by the First Amendment. (If you didn't know that, and you are older than, like, twelve, consider evening classes in something, please.) According to a release on their website (IJ.org), IJ's suit seeks to "...overturn a law enacted in April that will make it illegal for anyone like [the tour guides] to give a tour of much of the city’s downtown area without first passing a test and obtaining a government license—without, in essence, getting the government’s permission to speak."
I know. It reads like an episode of Law and Order: Test Pattern. Hang in there.
IJ's site goes on to say: "The government cannot be in the business of deciding who may speak and who may not...." It adds, "The Constitution protects your right to communicate for a living, whether you are a journalist, a musician or a tour guide."
It comes as no surprise that the suit - with its Constitutional subtext and its Cradle of Liberty locale - was filed days before July 4th, the anniversary of our nation's independence. Is the timing hammy? Of course it is. Is it as hammy as, say, Apollo Creed dressing as George Washington and throwing money at people before the fight? Oh, IJ can only dream.
But would IJ care if, instead of historic tours in Philadelphia, the complaint was about Tennessee tour guides being required to pass a test about the Backwoods Barbie Tour coming soon to Dollywood? I cannot say, but a Dollywood issue would lack the quality ham the Philly issue brings.
To me, this is not a free speech issue. The government already can, and does, restrict speech in at least one workplace: public schools. The state tells teachers what they can and cannot teach, at least to some degree. Should we change that? Should we simply hire the cheapest labor and let teachers say what they want? Consider the potential consequences: One day, your child comes home and asks you to help her study history. She pulls out her study guide and reads aloud, "The Ukrainians bombed Pearl Harbor on July 4, 1776." When this happens, will you call for heads to roll, or will you shrug your shoulders and say, "Oh well! Free speech!"
(Okay. I can't take it anymore. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. Yes, it was called the "date which will live in infamy," but not by President Ford; it was President Franklin D. Roosevelt.)
In the real world, we require testing of plumbers and stockbrokers and doctors and teachers. Why not of tour guides? Why not of those who have chosen as a vocation the art of passing along the oral history of this great nation? Why not of those who have before them a classroom of new students every day; students who have traveled great distances; students who are not there because they have to be, but because they want to be; students who yearn to be there because they are eager to learn about this country's infancy? Is it so bad to want to ensure that the knowledge imparted upon these students is accurate?
Tour guides, you should not only welcome this law, you should embrace it! Tour guides, when you are at a party and you are asked what you do for a living, you should hold your head high with arrogance and say, "I'm a tour guide, and I'm SO good at what I do, I'm licensed by the government to do it!" Tour guides, you should dress as George Washington and throw money at people!
Oops. I got a little hungry for some ham there. Sorry.
The line is a classic one, uttered by the late (not tardy, but dead) John Belushi, in his role as Bluto in the 1978 film Animal House.
Of course, everyone knows it was the Ukrainians who bombed Pearl Harbor on July 4, 1776, that "date which will live in infamy," called such by then-president Gerald Ford.
What? Did you say that my statements are not factually accurate? Facts-schmacts! I'm exercising my right to free speech!
In a story picked up by various news outlets, including a piece on thebulletin.us by Katrina Trinko of The (Philadelphia) Bulletin, three Philadelphia tour guides, with help from the libertarian law firm Institute for Justice (think ACLU without the sexy brand name), have filed a federal lawsuit against the City of Philadelphia. Before I continue, a brief aside:
I'm no lawyer. Everything I know about the law (as well as medicine, home repair, most religions, processed cheese, and the Canadian government) I learned from Hollywood. Since I might have missed an episode or two of the complete Law and Order canon, I will caveat this entire piece by saying that nothing in it should be construed as legal advice.
The issue is a law the city passed in April 2008, effective October 2008, that will require tour guides to pass a test to become licensed to offer tours for compensation. For most readers, that last part is crucial. The law only applies to those who charge others for tours. If you live in Philadelphia and you are responsible for entertaining out-of-town family members, you do not need a license to be their tour guide. And this is not limited to tours involving quill and parchment, either; I think it applies to tours involving pole and dollar bill, as well.
The Institute for Justice (which calls itself "IJ" - see what I mean about no sexy brand?) believes the law to be a violation of free speech, which we all know to be protected by the First Amendment. (If you didn't know that, and you are older than, like, twelve, consider evening classes in something, please.) According to a release on their website (IJ.org), IJ's suit seeks to "...overturn a law enacted in April that will make it illegal for anyone like [the tour guides] to give a tour of much of the city’s downtown area without first passing a test and obtaining a government license—without, in essence, getting the government’s permission to speak."
I know. It reads like an episode of Law and Order: Test Pattern. Hang in there.
IJ's site goes on to say: "The government cannot be in the business of deciding who may speak and who may not...." It adds, "The Constitution protects your right to communicate for a living, whether you are a journalist, a musician or a tour guide."
It comes as no surprise that the suit - with its Constitutional subtext and its Cradle of Liberty locale - was filed days before July 4th, the anniversary of our nation's independence. Is the timing hammy? Of course it is. Is it as hammy as, say, Apollo Creed dressing as George Washington and throwing money at people before the fight? Oh, IJ can only dream.
But would IJ care if, instead of historic tours in Philadelphia, the complaint was about Tennessee tour guides being required to pass a test about the Backwoods Barbie Tour coming soon to Dollywood? I cannot say, but a Dollywood issue would lack the quality ham the Philly issue brings.
To me, this is not a free speech issue. The government already can, and does, restrict speech in at least one workplace: public schools. The state tells teachers what they can and cannot teach, at least to some degree. Should we change that? Should we simply hire the cheapest labor and let teachers say what they want? Consider the potential consequences: One day, your child comes home and asks you to help her study history. She pulls out her study guide and reads aloud, "The Ukrainians bombed Pearl Harbor on July 4, 1776." When this happens, will you call for heads to roll, or will you shrug your shoulders and say, "Oh well! Free speech!"
(Okay. I can't take it anymore. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. Yes, it was called the "date which will live in infamy," but not by President Ford; it was President Franklin D. Roosevelt.)
In the real world, we require testing of plumbers and stockbrokers and doctors and teachers. Why not of tour guides? Why not of those who have chosen as a vocation the art of passing along the oral history of this great nation? Why not of those who have before them a classroom of new students every day; students who have traveled great distances; students who are not there because they have to be, but because they want to be; students who yearn to be there because they are eager to learn about this country's infancy? Is it so bad to want to ensure that the knowledge imparted upon these students is accurate?
Tour guides, you should not only welcome this law, you should embrace it! Tour guides, when you are at a party and you are asked what you do for a living, you should hold your head high with arrogance and say, "I'm a tour guide, and I'm SO good at what I do, I'm licensed by the government to do it!" Tour guides, you should dress as George Washington and throw money at people!
Oops. I got a little hungry for some ham there. Sorry.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
A Mickey Mouse Education
In the Style section of the Saturday, June 21, 2008 edition of The Washington Post, the lead story, written by Laura Yao, is a fluff piece on 15-year-old Demi Lovato, star of Disney's latest made-for-kiddivision pabulum, Camp Rock. For those of you clueless as to what Camp Rock is, it's the place where you spend your summers during High School Musical, unless you need to go to Crooner Summer School, or your Dad makes you work all summer at his Hip Hop Hardware Store.
Lovato is another in a long line of Village of the Damned-like child stars churned out by the Disney Pop-Grinder, and when features like Yao's mention previous Disney successes such as Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Justin Timberlake, et al., they always neglect to mention those near-misses who weren't so lucky (or determined) to make it, and whose forfeited souls now heat the outdoor pool at the Grand Floridian.
The article itself is forgettable, but I'll let Yao slide because the assignment seems to have played like one of those painted carnival cut-outs, where the bodies of cartoon mermaids or monkeys in suits on roller skates are missing their heads, and people stick their faces in the holes where the heads should be; only here, the body is that of a generic pop tart, and the interchangeable head is Lovato's. Take a picture, kid. It'll last longer.
While Camp Rock is nothing more than cheese puffs for children's minds, aspiring hope-to-be's might glean a few things from the Post piece; an education on how they should NOT behave if they find themselves on the brink of stardom (and if not stardom, at least on the brink of being voted Most Popular). There are some hidden lessons there, too. From the the article:
Lovato's apparent maturity is born of experience in learning how to deal, as the kids say. In middle school, Lovato says, "I went through a really hard time at school with girls bullying me. I blamed it on myself at the time, but looking back I guess it was out of jealousy." One day, upset and frustrated, she called her mother and said, "I want home school." The next week, they were out buying home-schooling materials.
WRONG LESSON 1 - HOW TO DEAL (as the kids say): At the first sign of trouble, immediately phone the one-woman SEAL team known only by a palindromic codename - MOM - to extract your blossoming diva butt from the harrowing crisis of being assaulted by Middle Eastern ter...I mean, middle school bullies. THE HIDDEN LESSON: Withdrawing from middle school before completing the education can be seen as defeatist, and might embolden the bullies.
WRONG LESSON 2 - HOW TO HANDLE YOUR PEOPLE: First, ignore all manners. Manners don't put faces on lunch boxes. Second, ignore the fact that the person you are bossing around is the person who made you...not your career, but your actual physical self. Third, keep it simple. All you need is a noun, a verb, and a subject (namely, something you covet). "I want home school." "I want car." "I want boy." "I want girl." "I want boob job." THE HIDDEN LESSON: Just because you suspect that when mom looks at your baby pictures she only sees a little naked dollar sign on a bearskin rug, doesn't mean she actually sees that, thus giving you the right to treat her like some lowly groupie...although she probably does see the dollar sign.
Again from the article, which quotes Lovato on the subject of being a role model to girls (barely) younger than she is:
"The way I want to be a role model is not by not making mistakes."
That is not a typo. The irony here, of course, is that she makes an egregious grammatical mistake in stating that she doesn't not want to not be the one not being a role model by not not making mistakes...or not.
WRONG LESSON 3 - CONSIDER WHAT YOU SAY: It's no secret that you have the shelf life of a loaf of bread, and every career move you make is in the interest of grabbing as quick a buck as possible, before the next 15-year-old soon-to-fade kicks you to the curb and you find yourself taking Vicodin with shots of tequila...and you're 19. What you don't want is to be perceived as having the intelligence of a loaf of bread. THE HIDDEN LESSON: Your lips are like your legs: consider the consequences of opening either too recklessly.
Of course, I wish nothing but the best for...what was that girl's name again?
Lovato is another in a long line of Village of the Damned-like child stars churned out by the Disney Pop-Grinder, and when features like Yao's mention previous Disney successes such as Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Justin Timberlake, et al., they always neglect to mention those near-misses who weren't so lucky (or determined) to make it, and whose forfeited souls now heat the outdoor pool at the Grand Floridian.
The article itself is forgettable, but I'll let Yao slide because the assignment seems to have played like one of those painted carnival cut-outs, where the bodies of cartoon mermaids or monkeys in suits on roller skates are missing their heads, and people stick their faces in the holes where the heads should be; only here, the body is that of a generic pop tart, and the interchangeable head is Lovato's. Take a picture, kid. It'll last longer.
While Camp Rock is nothing more than cheese puffs for children's minds, aspiring hope-to-be's might glean a few things from the Post piece; an education on how they should NOT behave if they find themselves on the brink of stardom (and if not stardom, at least on the brink of being voted Most Popular). There are some hidden lessons there, too. From the the article:
Lovato's apparent maturity is born of experience in learning how to deal, as the kids say. In middle school, Lovato says, "I went through a really hard time at school with girls bullying me. I blamed it on myself at the time, but looking back I guess it was out of jealousy." One day, upset and frustrated, she called her mother and said, "I want home school." The next week, they were out buying home-schooling materials.
WRONG LESSON 1 - HOW TO DEAL (as the kids say): At the first sign of trouble, immediately phone the one-woman SEAL team known only by a palindromic codename - MOM - to extract your blossoming diva butt from the harrowing crisis of being assaulted by Middle Eastern ter...I mean, middle school bullies. THE HIDDEN LESSON: Withdrawing from middle school before completing the education can be seen as defeatist, and might embolden the bullies.
WRONG LESSON 2 - HOW TO HANDLE YOUR PEOPLE: First, ignore all manners. Manners don't put faces on lunch boxes. Second, ignore the fact that the person you are bossing around is the person who made you...not your career, but your actual physical self. Third, keep it simple. All you need is a noun, a verb, and a subject (namely, something you covet). "I want home school." "I want car." "I want boy." "I want girl." "I want boob job." THE HIDDEN LESSON: Just because you suspect that when mom looks at your baby pictures she only sees a little naked dollar sign on a bearskin rug, doesn't mean she actually sees that, thus giving you the right to treat her like some lowly groupie...although she probably does see the dollar sign.
Again from the article, which quotes Lovato on the subject of being a role model to girls (barely) younger than she is:
"The way I want to be a role model is not by not making mistakes."
That is not a typo. The irony here, of course, is that she makes an egregious grammatical mistake in stating that she doesn't not want to not be the one not being a role model by not not making mistakes...or not.
WRONG LESSON 3 - CONSIDER WHAT YOU SAY: It's no secret that you have the shelf life of a loaf of bread, and every career move you make is in the interest of grabbing as quick a buck as possible, before the next 15-year-old soon-to-fade kicks you to the curb and you find yourself taking Vicodin with shots of tequila...and you're 19. What you don't want is to be perceived as having the intelligence of a loaf of bread. THE HIDDEN LESSON: Your lips are like your legs: consider the consequences of opening either too recklessly.
Of course, I wish nothing but the best for...what was that girl's name again?
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The Greatest Gift
The I-Pod FM transmitter that Baby gave me for Father's Day was a great gift.
The Tiger Woods PGA Tour 08 for Nintendo Wii that The Girls gave me for Father's Day was a greater gift. (It's also the reason why I didn't post this until the Thursday after Father's Day. I've been busy...at Pebble!)
But the greatest gift I received this Father's Day came not from MY family, but from a family of strangers sitting behind me in a movie theater. The greatest gift I received was the gift of moral superiority. That's one you don't need the receipt for, kids.
By now you've probably guessed out the set-up: I'm with The Girls in a movie theater, having just forked over the cash equivalent of Ukraine's GDP for the privilege of spending 90 minutes in the dark with strangers and junk food. The trailers end. The lights dim. Fade In.
Wait! What's that noise behind me?
Is it a cell phone? No. I can't dance to it.
Is it a candy wrapper? No. I don't have the urge to hurl a knife towards the noise in hopes of...well...helping to cut open the candy wrapper, of course.
Is it labored breathing through a gaping pie-hole that has been hazardously jammed to capacity with butter-flavored cud? No. As a natural defense mechanism, my pores seep a protective sheen of Purell whenever the threat of someone violating the "Say It, Don't Spray It" article of the Geneva Conventions comes within a six-foot radius of my personal space. That wasn't happening.
Oh! I know that sound! It's an infant...wailing! How did he get in here? He's not even tall enough to reach the buttons on the Fandango kiosk! Man, that kid is good!
Oh. He didn't come in alone, did he? His parents brought him. How thoughtful.
I hate them.
You see, when Baby and I decided to have The Girl, we knew we would have to make sacrifices in all aspects of our lives: from personal and professional to financial and social. One of those sacrifices involved ending our weekly jaunts to the movies. We knew that without a sitter (add Guam's GDP to the above price tag), movies were not an option. When we had The Girl II, The Girl I was big enough to go to the movies. But while the dynamic changed, the dilemma didn't. The Girl II was too young to go the movies, so one of us would go with The Girl I while the other stayed home with The Girl II.
If we had brought either of The Girls-as-Infants to the movies, we would have negatively impacted the movie-going experience of the other 298 people around us simply because (at best) we foolishly thought that The Girls-as-Infants would have remained asleep despite the sound system having been cranked to 11, or (at worst) we just didn't care. And there's where my hatred comes screaming in like a hawk, followed by, on the wings of doves, my moral superiority.
Why the former? Because people actually do this today. Why the latter? Because I never did such a thing. Neither did Baby. We never even considered it. We never once thrust either of The Girls-as-Infants into a situation that could have ruined it for others. We were better than that. We were...and still are...morally superior, because we were...and still are...considerate of others at the simplest and basest of levels.
As for the idiots behind me, and this applies to any other parents reading this who have done the same thing, I ask: At what point in the planning stage did one of you say, "But what if the baby gets too loud in the theater?" And at what point in the planning stage did the other one say, "Who cares?"
Actually, one answer satisfies both questions. Simply label yourself as being patently stupid, to which I will respond with, "Oh. That." I will then direct you to the nearest Miss Manners column.
Not up for looking in the mirror? Maybe your response is, "Screw you. We'll do what we damn well please, and if that ruins your time, that's your problem, not ours. Why should we have to miss out on going to the movies as a family unit on Father's Day?"
To that, I will, on your behalf, counter by labeling you as patently stupid. I will follow-up with, "Because that's what you signed up for when you had kids, you moron. You give up the small things like going to the movies - which is not a permanent sacrifice, by the way - and in return you get the great joy that your child brings you...EVERY DAY!" Is it really that hard to figure out?
I guess it is...when you're patently stupid.
Thanks for the ego boost, family of strangers behind me. To express my gratitude, I can recommend a babysitter.
The Tiger Woods PGA Tour 08 for Nintendo Wii that The Girls gave me for Father's Day was a greater gift. (It's also the reason why I didn't post this until the Thursday after Father's Day. I've been busy...at Pebble!)
But the greatest gift I received this Father's Day came not from MY family, but from a family of strangers sitting behind me in a movie theater. The greatest gift I received was the gift of moral superiority. That's one you don't need the receipt for, kids.
By now you've probably guessed out the set-up: I'm with The Girls in a movie theater, having just forked over the cash equivalent of Ukraine's GDP for the privilege of spending 90 minutes in the dark with strangers and junk food. The trailers end. The lights dim. Fade In.
Wait! What's that noise behind me?
Is it a cell phone? No. I can't dance to it.
Is it a candy wrapper? No. I don't have the urge to hurl a knife towards the noise in hopes of...well...helping to cut open the candy wrapper, of course.
Is it labored breathing through a gaping pie-hole that has been hazardously jammed to capacity with butter-flavored cud? No. As a natural defense mechanism, my pores seep a protective sheen of Purell whenever the threat of someone violating the "Say It, Don't Spray It" article of the Geneva Conventions comes within a six-foot radius of my personal space. That wasn't happening.
Oh! I know that sound! It's an infant...wailing! How did he get in here? He's not even tall enough to reach the buttons on the Fandango kiosk! Man, that kid is good!
Oh. He didn't come in alone, did he? His parents brought him. How thoughtful.
I hate them.
You see, when Baby and I decided to have The Girl, we knew we would have to make sacrifices in all aspects of our lives: from personal and professional to financial and social. One of those sacrifices involved ending our weekly jaunts to the movies. We knew that without a sitter (add Guam's GDP to the above price tag), movies were not an option. When we had The Girl II, The Girl I was big enough to go to the movies. But while the dynamic changed, the dilemma didn't. The Girl II was too young to go the movies, so one of us would go with The Girl I while the other stayed home with The Girl II.
If we had brought either of The Girls-as-Infants to the movies, we would have negatively impacted the movie-going experience of the other 298 people around us simply because (at best) we foolishly thought that The Girls-as-Infants would have remained asleep despite the sound system having been cranked to 11, or (at worst) we just didn't care. And there's where my hatred comes screaming in like a hawk, followed by, on the wings of doves, my moral superiority.
Why the former? Because people actually do this today. Why the latter? Because I never did such a thing. Neither did Baby. We never even considered it. We never once thrust either of The Girls-as-Infants into a situation that could have ruined it for others. We were better than that. We were...and still are...morally superior, because we were...and still are...considerate of others at the simplest and basest of levels.
As for the idiots behind me, and this applies to any other parents reading this who have done the same thing, I ask: At what point in the planning stage did one of you say, "But what if the baby gets too loud in the theater?" And at what point in the planning stage did the other one say, "Who cares?"
Actually, one answer satisfies both questions. Simply label yourself as being patently stupid, to which I will respond with, "Oh. That." I will then direct you to the nearest Miss Manners column.
Not up for looking in the mirror? Maybe your response is, "Screw you. We'll do what we damn well please, and if that ruins your time, that's your problem, not ours. Why should we have to miss out on going to the movies as a family unit on Father's Day?"
To that, I will, on your behalf, counter by labeling you as patently stupid. I will follow-up with, "Because that's what you signed up for when you had kids, you moron. You give up the small things like going to the movies - which is not a permanent sacrifice, by the way - and in return you get the great joy that your child brings you...EVERY DAY!" Is it really that hard to figure out?
I guess it is...when you're patently stupid.
Thanks for the ego boost, family of strangers behind me. To express my gratitude, I can recommend a babysitter.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
I wonder...
I wonder...why do men wear camouflage?
I'm not talking about soldiers or hunters; I get that. I mean guys like the one I saw in aisle 12 at the supermarket the other day, in his camouflage t-shirt. Where I live, camouflage-as-fashion-statement is so popular, I would dare say that camouflage is the new black. However, I wanted to go up to the guy and say, "You know I can still see you, yes?"
I wonder...how do the dead feel about being immortalized with stickers?
Joining the automotive pop-cultural ranks of bumper stickers and "Baby on Board" signs are decal memorials to the deceased. Most of these stickers begin with "In Loving Memory of..." and include at least a name, and dates of birth and death. When I see these tombstone-like messages on rear windows, I want to flag down the driver and ask him if he had hit the decedent with that car, or if the departed were perhaps interred somewhere in the vehicle. I begrudge no one their right to grieve, but placing a memorial next to a sticker of that little brat peeing on Tony Stewart's #20 kind of cheapens the sentiment.
I wonder...have Bluetooth users looked in the mirror lately?
For those of you over the age of 30, wearing a Bluetooth device in your ear makes you look like you're on your way to the STAR TREK convention, which is NOT A COMPLIMENT. And for you professionals out there in your pinstripes or your Jimmy Choos, accessorizing your power-appearance with a glowing gizmo hanging from the side of your head makes you look no less ridiculous than if you showed up to the board meeting in a tube top.
I wonder...where are the losing children?
At the youngest levels of youth athletics, all children get participant trophies and all games end in ties. Sure, we want to shelter our kids from the ills of the world, but as much as life is about how you play the game, it is also about winning or losing - in all areas of life. Not every kid will go to the prom with head cheerleader, not every job promotion will be given, and not every home pregnancy test will show...well, insert YOUR desired result here. The sooner kids learn this, the better prepared they will be to handle life's setbacks. So I ask you, where are the losing children? I went to school with losers. Surely they have bred.
I wonder...does that make you look fat?
Yeah, it does. Sorry.
I'm not talking about soldiers or hunters; I get that. I mean guys like the one I saw in aisle 12 at the supermarket the other day, in his camouflage t-shirt. Where I live, camouflage-as-fashion-statement is so popular, I would dare say that camouflage is the new black. However, I wanted to go up to the guy and say, "You know I can still see you, yes?"
I wonder...how do the dead feel about being immortalized with stickers?
Joining the automotive pop-cultural ranks of bumper stickers and "Baby on Board" signs are decal memorials to the deceased. Most of these stickers begin with "In Loving Memory of..." and include at least a name, and dates of birth and death. When I see these tombstone-like messages on rear windows, I want to flag down the driver and ask him if he had hit the decedent with that car, or if the departed were perhaps interred somewhere in the vehicle. I begrudge no one their right to grieve, but placing a memorial next to a sticker of that little brat peeing on Tony Stewart's #20 kind of cheapens the sentiment.
I wonder...have Bluetooth users looked in the mirror lately?
For those of you over the age of 30, wearing a Bluetooth device in your ear makes you look like you're on your way to the STAR TREK convention, which is NOT A COMPLIMENT. And for you professionals out there in your pinstripes or your Jimmy Choos, accessorizing your power-appearance with a glowing gizmo hanging from the side of your head makes you look no less ridiculous than if you showed up to the board meeting in a tube top.
I wonder...where are the losing children?
At the youngest levels of youth athletics, all children get participant trophies and all games end in ties. Sure, we want to shelter our kids from the ills of the world, but as much as life is about how you play the game, it is also about winning or losing - in all areas of life. Not every kid will go to the prom with head cheerleader, not every job promotion will be given, and not every home pregnancy test will show...well, insert YOUR desired result here. The sooner kids learn this, the better prepared they will be to handle life's setbacks. So I ask you, where are the losing children? I went to school with losers. Surely they have bred.
I wonder...does that make you look fat?
Yeah, it does. Sorry.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
On Second Thought, Don't Say Cheese
I am the father of two girls who are not yet teens, but the fact that I am still alive to compose this column, considering what I read mere minutes ago and might have to someday deal with as a father of girls who are not yet teens, is not so much a testament to my health as it is confirmation that there is truth to the adage "God protects children and fools." (I would be the latter.)
In a June 4, 2008 story, dateline Hartford, CT, Associated Press reporter Stephanie Reitz opens with the following paragraph:
"Passing notes in study hall or getting your best friend to ask a boy if he likes you or, you know, LIKES you, is so last century. Nowadays, teenagers are snapping naked pictures of themselves on their cell phones and sending them to their boyfriends and girlfriends."
Check please!
The story goes on to describe how incidents like this are occurring in schools across the country; how scorned lovers exact revenge by posting private pictures to the Internet; how this type of behavior complicates law enforcement investigations; and how one enterprising young man attempted to sell DVDs containing photographs he had amassed. Really. Ah, capitalism.
As much as I loathe cliché, this appears to be a chicken-or-egg situation, and it goes something like this:
Chicken: Have teens always been this monumentally stupid, but today's technology affords them the opportunity to showcase their stupidity on a global scale? Or...
Egg: Has technology's convenience and prevalence led teens to a level of apathy so great in scope, it has made them de facto imbeciles?
Reitz writes, "Psychologists said the phenomenon reflects typical teenage hormones and lack of judgment, with technology multiplying the potential for mischief. It also may reflect a teenage penchant for exhibitionism, as demonstrated on MySpace and countless other Web sites and blogs." In the realm of the cliché, the answer is, "The chicken appears to have come first, with the egg helping it to become a bigger chicken." Or something like that. Forgive me. I told you I loathe cliché. Besides, I'm still coming off that near-death experience.
I agree with the psychologists. Teens have always been exhibitionistic hormones on feet, and snapping camera phone pictures in the 21st century is no different than taking digital photos in the '90s, filming "home movies" on VHS in the 80s, taking Polaroids in the '70s, shooting on Super 8 in the '60s, and so on, all the way back to scratching out cave drawings in the Millions-BC. (Oh come on. You know that some cave teen, in an effort to impress his cave buddies, drew two very large circles on a cave wall and grunted, "No really! Her boulders are THIS BIG.")
One key difference between today's situation and the situations of yesteryear, other than sheer convenience, is the ease of access to the photos...by anyone. What today's teens forget, or fail to consider in the first place, is that just as easily as they share with global friends and lovers every pore of their skin via the Internet, they unintentionally share the same with the billions of strangers who know how to use Google. And since they aren't thinking about those strangers, they aren't thinking about who those strangers might be; not just creepy bad guys and vengeful social enemies, but college administrators...military recruiters...prospective employers...and even potential love interests.
Suzy: "Johnny! Why are you dumping me? I thought we were falling in love."
Johnny: "Sorry, baby. But if you show up on websites looking like THAT, I have wonder how many 'hits' you've had, if you catch my drift."
The other key difference between today's and yesterday's scenarios, and the difference with perhaps the greatest significance, is the permanency of cyberspace. Sure, many of today's foolish actions carry no long-term consequences, but cyber-shamelessness can. And pictures on the Internet aren't like juvenile criminal records that are sealed when you turn 18, or tattoos that can be removed or covered, or substance-fueled overindulgences that sleep and aspirin help mitigate. They will be there for as long as there is an Internet, so the youthful indiscretion of today can wreak havoc with the opportunity of tomorrow...or 20 years from tomorrow.
Now, if you will excuse me, I have some old VHS tapes that need erasing.
In a June 4, 2008 story, dateline Hartford, CT, Associated Press reporter Stephanie Reitz opens with the following paragraph:
"Passing notes in study hall or getting your best friend to ask a boy if he likes you or, you know, LIKES you, is so last century. Nowadays, teenagers are snapping naked pictures of themselves on their cell phones and sending them to their boyfriends and girlfriends."
Check please!
The story goes on to describe how incidents like this are occurring in schools across the country; how scorned lovers exact revenge by posting private pictures to the Internet; how this type of behavior complicates law enforcement investigations; and how one enterprising young man attempted to sell DVDs containing photographs he had amassed. Really. Ah, capitalism.
As much as I loathe cliché, this appears to be a chicken-or-egg situation, and it goes something like this:
Chicken: Have teens always been this monumentally stupid, but today's technology affords them the opportunity to showcase their stupidity on a global scale? Or...
Egg: Has technology's convenience and prevalence led teens to a level of apathy so great in scope, it has made them de facto imbeciles?
Reitz writes, "Psychologists said the phenomenon reflects typical teenage hormones and lack of judgment, with technology multiplying the potential for mischief. It also may reflect a teenage penchant for exhibitionism, as demonstrated on MySpace and countless other Web sites and blogs." In the realm of the cliché, the answer is, "The chicken appears to have come first, with the egg helping it to become a bigger chicken." Or something like that. Forgive me. I told you I loathe cliché. Besides, I'm still coming off that near-death experience.
I agree with the psychologists. Teens have always been exhibitionistic hormones on feet, and snapping camera phone pictures in the 21st century is no different than taking digital photos in the '90s, filming "home movies" on VHS in the 80s, taking Polaroids in the '70s, shooting on Super 8 in the '60s, and so on, all the way back to scratching out cave drawings in the Millions-BC. (Oh come on. You know that some cave teen, in an effort to impress his cave buddies, drew two very large circles on a cave wall and grunted, "No really! Her boulders are THIS BIG.")
One key difference between today's situation and the situations of yesteryear, other than sheer convenience, is the ease of access to the photos...by anyone. What today's teens forget, or fail to consider in the first place, is that just as easily as they share with global friends and lovers every pore of their skin via the Internet, they unintentionally share the same with the billions of strangers who know how to use Google. And since they aren't thinking about those strangers, they aren't thinking about who those strangers might be; not just creepy bad guys and vengeful social enemies, but college administrators...military recruiters...prospective employers...and even potential love interests.
Suzy: "Johnny! Why are you dumping me? I thought we were falling in love."
Johnny: "Sorry, baby. But if you show up on websites looking like THAT, I have wonder how many 'hits' you've had, if you catch my drift."
The other key difference between today's and yesterday's scenarios, and the difference with perhaps the greatest significance, is the permanency of cyberspace. Sure, many of today's foolish actions carry no long-term consequences, but cyber-shamelessness can. And pictures on the Internet aren't like juvenile criminal records that are sealed when you turn 18, or tattoos that can be removed or covered, or substance-fueled overindulgences that sleep and aspirin help mitigate. They will be there for as long as there is an Internet, so the youthful indiscretion of today can wreak havoc with the opportunity of tomorrow...or 20 years from tomorrow.
Now, if you will excuse me, I have some old VHS tapes that need erasing.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Hey Kasey Kahne, Can I Get a Lift to Work?
In the interest of full disclosure, let me tell you that NASCAR does nothing for me.
I've never been to a live race, nor do I have the desire.
I've watched parts of races on TV enough times to know that the coverage seems quite good.
I don't understand the appeal of the sport, but I do understand the appeal of the brand-loyalty that comes with the sport.
I open with this so you recognize that, while I've been known to take shots at the NASCAR Nation with the intent of getting some laughs (which usually involves a Days of Thunder reference), I really don't care either way about the sport, and I wish its fans great joy in participating in whatever way they want to participate.
I am curious, though.
I ride the bus to work now; not in an effort to spare the environment my car's exhaust, but in an effort to spare my wallet further exhaustion. And as I rode the bus this morning, I wondered,
"What kind of MPG do the NASCAR cars get?"
The answer? According to a variety of internet sources, about five miles per gallon. You read that right. Five. As in half of ten.
At that rate, a 40-car, 400-mile race taking place in…oh, let's say Dover…will consume approximately 3,200 gallons of gas.
In one day.
I would never be so pretentious as to suggest that any one sport discontinue its activities simply because of the frivolity of the nature of that sport.
Nor would I be so misguided as to suggest that one sport's frivolity is…well, more frivolous…than any other sport's.
Sport, by its very nature, is frivolous; fun, but frivolous. However, sport is also, at most levels, a business, and who am I to tell an organization how to conduct their business? Particularly a business as well-run as NASCAR?
What I will say, though, is that the gas used in one 400-mile NASCAR race is enough gas to get me, in my modest 25 MPG car, to-and-from work (round trip about 60 miles), accounting for days-off taken for holidays, vacation, and sick time…for almost six full years.
I'm not sayin'.
I'm just sayin'.
I've never been to a live race, nor do I have the desire.
I've watched parts of races on TV enough times to know that the coverage seems quite good.
I don't understand the appeal of the sport, but I do understand the appeal of the brand-loyalty that comes with the sport.
I open with this so you recognize that, while I've been known to take shots at the NASCAR Nation with the intent of getting some laughs (which usually involves a Days of Thunder reference), I really don't care either way about the sport, and I wish its fans great joy in participating in whatever way they want to participate.
I am curious, though.
I ride the bus to work now; not in an effort to spare the environment my car's exhaust, but in an effort to spare my wallet further exhaustion. And as I rode the bus this morning, I wondered,
"What kind of MPG do the NASCAR cars get?"
The answer? According to a variety of internet sources, about five miles per gallon. You read that right. Five. As in half of ten.
At that rate, a 40-car, 400-mile race taking place in…oh, let's say Dover…will consume approximately 3,200 gallons of gas.
In one day.
I would never be so pretentious as to suggest that any one sport discontinue its activities simply because of the frivolity of the nature of that sport.
Nor would I be so misguided as to suggest that one sport's frivolity is…well, more frivolous…than any other sport's.
Sport, by its very nature, is frivolous; fun, but frivolous. However, sport is also, at most levels, a business, and who am I to tell an organization how to conduct their business? Particularly a business as well-run as NASCAR?
What I will say, though, is that the gas used in one 400-mile NASCAR race is enough gas to get me, in my modest 25 MPG car, to-and-from work (round trip about 60 miles), accounting for days-off taken for holidays, vacation, and sick time…for almost six full years.
I'm not sayin'.
I'm just sayin'.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)