As anybody will tell you, I simply adore the snow. One of the added perks of moving into this region had to do with the weather. All my life I’ve either lived tropical or desert; four seasons and a chilly winter is a major plus to me. You know, I get so sick of people who live in this area complaining every winter when it snows.
“I hate snow.”
“Oh, my God, it’s snowing.”
“Ugh. I can’t stand the snow.”
My Facebook and Twitter pages are full of friends who don’t like the inclement weather. I’m sorry they feel that way, but I pray faithfully every winter for a major snowstorm. So far, I’ve received two this season and I hope to go for a trifecta. That one right before Christmas was really top notch. We need one more like that, and I’ll find this winter to be absolutely perfect.
For these people who do not like the fluffy stuff, I urge them to move to Yuma, AZ. It doesn’t snow there. It doesn’t rain. It doesn’t do anything but be hot 361 days out of the year. There aren’t even any clouds in the sky to offer mercy from the relentless glare of molten sun burning out your corneas and scorching your flesh. Those other four days, you might get one little whiff of cloud. You can either live there, or you can live here. Deal with it. Because all the crying isn’t going to make the snow go away, if anything, it’ll make me just pray harder so you can be even more miserable.
My only gripe with the winter weather is that people seem to become automatically incompetent the minute the flakes start falling out of the sky. The state of Maryland must be run by mildly retarded four year olds. The weathermen–I’m sorry, meteorologists, or whatever they want to call themselves must be brainless mutants incapable of reading a weather map.
Look, I’m not a scientist, meteorologist, weather person, whatever… But I think I have the basic grasp of l0oking at a weather map. I understand, if very vaguely, the North Atlantic Current and the jet stream and shit like that. (Even though my expertise comes from watching disaster movies.) I have more than a passing interest in the weather; I sometimes sit and watch Weather Channel for hours on end. When I lived in Florida, it was for hurricane tracking (I’m into that sort of thing), but since I came up here, I pay close attention to the midwest, since whatever happens out there, usually winds up over here. How come no one else has figured this out yet?
So, I have the Weather Channel desk top thingie on my computer and I look at the weather every single day before I leave the house. I scrutinise it on Sundays when I pick out my work clothes. It wouldn’t be a good idea to pick out my most capable looking outfit if they’re expecting 10 inches of snow. Why doesn’t anybody else do this? How many of my friends say, “I didn’t know it was going to rain?” Okay, the weather isn’t going anywhere, people. It’s been affecting the planet since the Big Bang–I mean, since when God created the Earth. Why don’t people take this into account? I find that to be irritating.
Anyway, so I’ve been following this major midwestern storm since earlier this week and I figured, yeah, it looks like it’s headed this way. But the weatherman said it wasn’t. Every single day the forecast changed. First it was 70% chance of snow, then it was 30%, then it went back to 70%. As of LAST NIGHT, the weatherman said 40%.
FORTY FREAKIN’ PER CENT.
When I looked at the weather map, the snow line was clearly south of me, but knowing what I know about weather… these storm systems always travel north and east. It is very rare that they should go anywhere but that direction. The jet stream carries the systems out to sea. (Didn’t you guys watch The Perfect Storm, duh!) Since the weather was south of us, it has to come up! Why didn’t anybody else figure this out? I have nothing like these people’s experiences and degrees and even I could tell we were going to get more than the “light dusting” the stupid idiotic weatherman said we were going to get. I knew it, and that’s why I took my lunch break to go and buy groceries and some movies because I figured I was going to be in the house all weekend.
When I went to bed last night, the stupid forecast still said 40%, a possible accumulation of 1 to 2 inches.
Yeah, the fuck right.
EIGHT INCHES OF GODDAMN SNOW.
Not that I”m complaining because I love the snow, I just need these morons to get it together. You mean to tell me in this great technological age of ours, we are still incapable of predicting the weather less than 24 hours out? What are all these super computers and satellites and other bullshit for, then? I didn’t ask for you to tell me what the weather would be May 15, 2029. I just want to know what the weather will be THIS FREAKIN’ WEEKEND so I could make some plans. Yes, I did go to the store because I had that feeling, but there were other things I could have done earlier if the weatherman wasn’t a class A moron.
And then after the snow started this morning at 10AM, the forecast changed about six times. I wondered originally if this was going to be the “light dusting.” At 2, it was still snowing. Yeah, light dusting, my ass. At 4, still snowing. Six o’clock, still snowing. Every time I checked the weather for the end, they kept saying, “snow until this hour…” and that hour would pass and then they’d change it again.
Yea, I know you’re going to tell me that it isn’t an accurate science, and I’m sure it isn’t, but can we be a little bit closer than we are right now?
It’s 9PM and it is STILL GODDAMN snowing. You know what the forecast is saying now?
Snow until 2AM.
Seriously?
I mean, seriously. What frustrates me about the lack of clear understanding of weather patterns is that the incompetent state in which I live cannot plan well. I’m told the roads are horrible. Why? Because the weatherman said a light dusting. Why would you need snow plows and salt for a light dusting? I mean, really.
I just felt like bitching about something because I really haven’t bitched about anything in the past couple of weeks. I actually like the snow. Since it’s Saturday, I didn’t need to be anywhere. I just know it gets on everybody else’s nerves because they hate the snow. Oh well, too bad for you.
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Cubicle Death #10
Lately, I've been a lot more chummy at work than I normally am. Having my learned my lesson from working on the plantation--I mean, TSA, I have since taken a very "Swiss approach" to things. I sit in the corner, pretending I don't exist whilst proclaiming to be very neutral about everything. I try hard not to make friends or enemies. I just don't want to talk to anybody. I don't even want anybody to know my name.
This was kind of difficult at First Job After TSA because it was customer-service oriented. Second Job After TSA was easier to be unnoticeable. Third Job After TSA I didn't even start warming up to my co-workers until two weeks before I qut. Now, I'm six months into the job at Fourth Job After TSA, and I'm finally starting to learn some of my co-workers' names.
In my last Cubicle Death blog, I introduced you to some of my stranger co-workers. These guys are gads smarter than I'll ever be, but their personalities leaves much to be desired, as it does with most people of singular intelligence. Not to say they're assholes or anything like that, they're just... weird.
Creepy Stare At You From Over the Cubicle Wall Guy has been flirting with me in this bizarre manner. Never mind the fact that he's about 25 years older than me, but he also hints that he's gay. If he is gay, then why does he turn on the Super Wal-Mart Salesman Charm every time I see him? Then he lingers by my desk when I'm actually trying to work. He tells me repeatedly that I'm his hero and he wants to be like me when he grows up. Uhm, okay? Today, he showed up at my desk with a Lean Cuisine and asked me if I was going out to lunch. When I told him I didn't eat out to lunch on Fridays because I always have dinner out instead, he walked away a little bit disgruntled, but came back to my desk six more times trying to convince me that it would be a great day to have Thai food. I handed him the menu but he was like, "I wanted to go out to eat." I may go out and buy food a lot, but I don't actually sit in the restaurant when I order out to lunch. The only time I ever do that is with SF and this 6'4 knock-kneed, gap-toothed behemoth doesn't look anything like she does.
I guess I'm kind of cranky today because I didn't get to have my early morning nap. On days that I come to work early, I have myself a 15 minute power nap at my desk just to get charged up for the work day. The guys in my office like to come in late. Most of them don't arrive until 9. There's only one guy who beats me into the office, Mr. I Have A Body Function Control Problem. Seriously, this guy cannot control his bodily functions. First, he breathes like he's drowning. He sucks in his breath, holds it, and then lets it out in this great big whoosh and then sucks the air back up like he's been in outer space without a space suit. And he does this quite rhythmically. For breakfast he has several pieces of fruit: some pears, an apple and a few bananas, all of which he slurps and smacks up. I think he eats too fast because about 15 minutes later he'll start belching and farting.
Seriously.
And they aren't delicate belches. It's like BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRPPPPPPP! and then he'll pass gas at the same time and then say "excuse me," like he's surprised it came out, yet he does it almost every morning! What is wrong with you! That is the reason I couldn't have a nap because his rhapsody of bodily functions was particularly loud this morning. And then just when I was getting settled down, here comes I Like the Sound of My Own Voice and I'll Just Shout Down the Telephone So Everyone Can Hear How Poorly I Speak Guy.
Oh, my God, seriously. It is insane. The other day I was in a meeting with this guy and he had to give a presentation. He really likes listening to himself speak but he doesn't actually speak very well. He has a lot of "uhm....," "ehh," and "you know..." and then he's the type to laugh as if he's said something horribly funny, but it isn't a full laugh, it's more like a stifled chuckle like he's bemused at his own lack of intelligence. This guy comes into the office a little earlier than he normally does and he makes a phone call. At that hour of the morning, around 745, there's only me and Body Functions Guy. I Love My Own Voice calls up his colleague and has this unnecessarily loud telephone conversation for about 45 minutes. But the crazy thing is as more and more people started coming into the office, his voice actually got quieter. I'm thinking to myself, there were two people in this office who were working in relative quiet for the past hour (despite the punctuation of farts and burps) , don't you think we would appreciate the continued silence!? Thanks.
I'm also getting to know Strange Foreign Man Who Has Poor Command of English. I guess he's bored or something, and he's been wandering around the office staring over people's shoulders as they work. He started talking to me the other day; and it's really quit sad because I can't understand a word he's saying. I just smile and nod and hope he'll go away. Yesterday he told me that if he were president he wouldn't allow anybody to own guns. Then he said he would bomb all of Afghanistan so he could kill the bad guys. When I asked him about the good people, the innocent children that would be in the way, he said, "Oh, yeah... Uh, I don't know."
Yeah....
We started talking about politics and stuff because the conversation had taken a very heavy toll yesterday. We started talking about funerals and final wishes. I went to a funeral yesterday and it seemed kind of... I don't know. Anyway, I said that before we all die we should make sure that our final wishes are granted. My immediate co-worker Mr Personality So Funny Ha-Ha said that when he died he wanted his stomach turned into a mint bowl. He also wouldn't mind having a bowl of chips and dip placed in his hand. He said his would be the only funeral where the attendees would receive bats and they could take turns beating the corpse after the eulogy, just to get out any frustration. After the beating of the corpse, he would be wrapped in Saran and shot out of a canon.
These are the people I work with.
This was kind of difficult at First Job After TSA because it was customer-service oriented. Second Job After TSA was easier to be unnoticeable. Third Job After TSA I didn't even start warming up to my co-workers until two weeks before I qut. Now, I'm six months into the job at Fourth Job After TSA, and I'm finally starting to learn some of my co-workers' names.
In my last Cubicle Death blog, I introduced you to some of my stranger co-workers. These guys are gads smarter than I'll ever be, but their personalities leaves much to be desired, as it does with most people of singular intelligence. Not to say they're assholes or anything like that, they're just... weird.
Creepy Stare At You From Over the Cubicle Wall Guy has been flirting with me in this bizarre manner. Never mind the fact that he's about 25 years older than me, but he also hints that he's gay. If he is gay, then why does he turn on the Super Wal-Mart Salesman Charm every time I see him? Then he lingers by my desk when I'm actually trying to work. He tells me repeatedly that I'm his hero and he wants to be like me when he grows up. Uhm, okay? Today, he showed up at my desk with a Lean Cuisine and asked me if I was going out to lunch. When I told him I didn't eat out to lunch on Fridays because I always have dinner out instead, he walked away a little bit disgruntled, but came back to my desk six more times trying to convince me that it would be a great day to have Thai food. I handed him the menu but he was like, "I wanted to go out to eat." I may go out and buy food a lot, but I don't actually sit in the restaurant when I order out to lunch. The only time I ever do that is with SF and this 6'4 knock-kneed, gap-toothed behemoth doesn't look anything like she does.
I guess I'm kind of cranky today because I didn't get to have my early morning nap. On days that I come to work early, I have myself a 15 minute power nap at my desk just to get charged up for the work day. The guys in my office like to come in late. Most of them don't arrive until 9. There's only one guy who beats me into the office, Mr. I Have A Body Function Control Problem. Seriously, this guy cannot control his bodily functions. First, he breathes like he's drowning. He sucks in his breath, holds it, and then lets it out in this great big whoosh and then sucks the air back up like he's been in outer space without a space suit. And he does this quite rhythmically. For breakfast he has several pieces of fruit: some pears, an apple and a few bananas, all of which he slurps and smacks up. I think he eats too fast because about 15 minutes later he'll start belching and farting.
Seriously.
And they aren't delicate belches. It's like BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRPPPPPPP! and then he'll pass gas at the same time and then say "excuse me," like he's surprised it came out, yet he does it almost every morning! What is wrong with you! That is the reason I couldn't have a nap because his rhapsody of bodily functions was particularly loud this morning. And then just when I was getting settled down, here comes I Like the Sound of My Own Voice and I'll Just Shout Down the Telephone So Everyone Can Hear How Poorly I Speak Guy.
Oh, my God, seriously. It is insane. The other day I was in a meeting with this guy and he had to give a presentation. He really likes listening to himself speak but he doesn't actually speak very well. He has a lot of "uhm....," "ehh," and "you know..." and then he's the type to laugh as if he's said something horribly funny, but it isn't a full laugh, it's more like a stifled chuckle like he's bemused at his own lack of intelligence. This guy comes into the office a little earlier than he normally does and he makes a phone call. At that hour of the morning, around 745, there's only me and Body Functions Guy. I Love My Own Voice calls up his colleague and has this unnecessarily loud telephone conversation for about 45 minutes. But the crazy thing is as more and more people started coming into the office, his voice actually got quieter. I'm thinking to myself, there were two people in this office who were working in relative quiet for the past hour (despite the punctuation of farts and burps) , don't you think we would appreciate the continued silence!? Thanks.
I'm also getting to know Strange Foreign Man Who Has Poor Command of English. I guess he's bored or something, and he's been wandering around the office staring over people's shoulders as they work. He started talking to me the other day; and it's really quit sad because I can't understand a word he's saying. I just smile and nod and hope he'll go away. Yesterday he told me that if he were president he wouldn't allow anybody to own guns. Then he said he would bomb all of Afghanistan so he could kill the bad guys. When I asked him about the good people, the innocent children that would be in the way, he said, "Oh, yeah... Uh, I don't know."
Yeah....
We started talking about politics and stuff because the conversation had taken a very heavy toll yesterday. We started talking about funerals and final wishes. I went to a funeral yesterday and it seemed kind of... I don't know. Anyway, I said that before we all die we should make sure that our final wishes are granted. My immediate co-worker Mr Personality So Funny Ha-Ha said that when he died he wanted his stomach turned into a mint bowl. He also wouldn't mind having a bowl of chips and dip placed in his hand. He said his would be the only funeral where the attendees would receive bats and they could take turns beating the corpse after the eulogy, just to get out any frustration. After the beating of the corpse, he would be wrapped in Saran and shot out of a canon.
These are the people I work with.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Adventures at the Dentist
Yesterday, I was forced to attend the dentist because my orthodontist decided that I needed to have four teeth extracted in order to continue my treatment. Originally, she wanted me to have this "simple surgery" as she described it. When I went in for the initial orthodontic consultation, she told me that this surgery was "nothing at all" just an expansion of my jaw since it is too small to fit all of my adult teeth. "It's really no problem," she said in such a blase offhand manner.
When I went to the oral surgeon, however, he described a most horrible procedure that involved putting me into a coma and spending a night or two in the hospital. He also stated that because of the agonising pain I would be in, I wouldn't be able to work for at least a week. Since I have never had any surgery before, I am not keen into rushing into one. In addition, I don't fancy using my vacation time to be laid up in debilitating pain. No thanks. I thanked the oral surgeon for his time, and promptly let my orthodontist know that I was not interested. She was quite miffed, to say the least. She said, "Fine, you'll have to get your teet pulled." I've had my wisdom teeth removed and I know what I'm working with. With some invasive surgery, I don't know about that.
Anyway, I went to the dentist yesterday to get these teeth yanked out. I was under the impression that I would be able to get all four of them removed at once but he stared at me as if I were crazy. "Oh, no, it will be too much," he said, aghast. Fine. I'll just do two. Even that seemed like it would be considerable, according to his expression, but I don't want to have to come back week after week, getting teeth snatched out of my head. It's going to be painful regardless; there's nothing for it but to just have done with it.
So, he sticks me in the mouth with all the appropriate numbing medicines and while I'm sitting there, slowly losing the feeling in the left side of my face, there is another patient across the wall from me. The dentist is now consulting with him. The man is complaining about a small ache in his mouth, but otherwise "has had no problem."
"I can even eat nuts and steak," the man said.
"Sir, I'm sorry but there's really nothing that can be done. I am going to have to remove several teeth," said the dentist.
The man asks, "How many?"
"Offhand, I would say at least 10 or 12. You have seriously advanced gum disease. We're going to need to do something about that before we can proceed."
"Can't you just scrape some stuff off?"
"Oh, we are going to do an extensive amount of scraping, but some of these teeth... once I begin the deep scaling, they're going to fall apart because they've been seriously damaged. I would not allow this to continue or else you'll risk a major infection and possibly lose all of your teeth."
The man just did not want to hear that. Apparently this is his second or third trip to a dentist, and each dentist has given him the same bad news. I guess he's under the impression that they are all lying to him to get his money. Like they want to yank out 1o or 12 teeth for fun. I could see them fibbing for one or two, since it costs $200 per tooth, but 10? That's a stretch. Plus, this guy needed "deep scaling" and some other procedure to kill the gum disease that was basically rotting his mouth. And after all of that, he was going to need a set of dentures to replace the teeth he would be losing.
The man just did not want dentures. He said, "Dentures? I'm not old. I don't want that."
"Well, sir, you're going to have at least 10 teeth removed. Will you just leave those gaps then? Most of the bottom will have to come out. You will not be able to chew."
"Do I really have to get all those teeth removed?"
"Yes, possibly more, once I really study your x-rays."
"I might go back to that other dentist. He said only six teeth."
"When did you see that dentist?"
"Last year."
"That's why it's only six. The more you procrastinate getting this done, the more and more teeth will have to come out. I suggest that whoever you go to, you start your treatment immediately."
"Well, I'm definitely not getting anything done now. I was thinking mid to late summer."
"Sir, by mid to late summer, you probaby will not have any teeth to save."
Why is this guy being so hardheaded! I was sitting there with absolutely no feeling in my face, drooling down my chin and laughing my ass off. This guy has teeth that look like 20,000 leagues under the sea. That is why his teeth are rotting out. He probably was one of those kids that argued with his mother about brushing his teeth, and now look at him. The guy was probably in his mid-40s and he has to have TEN teeth snatched from his head and deep scaling. What is that? I'm scared to even know. I'm getting teeth pulled because my face is too small to fit everything, not because they're rotten. Ugh.
LMAO.
I need people to brush their teeth. That is all. Thank you.
When I went to the oral surgeon, however, he described a most horrible procedure that involved putting me into a coma and spending a night or two in the hospital. He also stated that because of the agonising pain I would be in, I wouldn't be able to work for at least a week. Since I have never had any surgery before, I am not keen into rushing into one. In addition, I don't fancy using my vacation time to be laid up in debilitating pain. No thanks. I thanked the oral surgeon for his time, and promptly let my orthodontist know that I was not interested. She was quite miffed, to say the least. She said, "Fine, you'll have to get your teet pulled." I've had my wisdom teeth removed and I know what I'm working with. With some invasive surgery, I don't know about that.
Anyway, I went to the dentist yesterday to get these teeth yanked out. I was under the impression that I would be able to get all four of them removed at once but he stared at me as if I were crazy. "Oh, no, it will be too much," he said, aghast. Fine. I'll just do two. Even that seemed like it would be considerable, according to his expression, but I don't want to have to come back week after week, getting teeth snatched out of my head. It's going to be painful regardless; there's nothing for it but to just have done with it.
So, he sticks me in the mouth with all the appropriate numbing medicines and while I'm sitting there, slowly losing the feeling in the left side of my face, there is another patient across the wall from me. The dentist is now consulting with him. The man is complaining about a small ache in his mouth, but otherwise "has had no problem."
"I can even eat nuts and steak," the man said.
"Sir, I'm sorry but there's really nothing that can be done. I am going to have to remove several teeth," said the dentist.
The man asks, "How many?"
"Offhand, I would say at least 10 or 12. You have seriously advanced gum disease. We're going to need to do something about that before we can proceed."
"Can't you just scrape some stuff off?"
"Oh, we are going to do an extensive amount of scraping, but some of these teeth... once I begin the deep scaling, they're going to fall apart because they've been seriously damaged. I would not allow this to continue or else you'll risk a major infection and possibly lose all of your teeth."
The man just did not want to hear that. Apparently this is his second or third trip to a dentist, and each dentist has given him the same bad news. I guess he's under the impression that they are all lying to him to get his money. Like they want to yank out 1o or 12 teeth for fun. I could see them fibbing for one or two, since it costs $200 per tooth, but 10? That's a stretch. Plus, this guy needed "deep scaling" and some other procedure to kill the gum disease that was basically rotting his mouth. And after all of that, he was going to need a set of dentures to replace the teeth he would be losing.
The man just did not want dentures. He said, "Dentures? I'm not old. I don't want that."
"Well, sir, you're going to have at least 10 teeth removed. Will you just leave those gaps then? Most of the bottom will have to come out. You will not be able to chew."
"Do I really have to get all those teeth removed?"
"Yes, possibly more, once I really study your x-rays."
"I might go back to that other dentist. He said only six teeth."
"When did you see that dentist?"
"Last year."
"That's why it's only six. The more you procrastinate getting this done, the more and more teeth will have to come out. I suggest that whoever you go to, you start your treatment immediately."
"Well, I'm definitely not getting anything done now. I was thinking mid to late summer."
"Sir, by mid to late summer, you probaby will not have any teeth to save."
Why is this guy being so hardheaded! I was sitting there with absolutely no feeling in my face, drooling down my chin and laughing my ass off. This guy has teeth that look like 20,000 leagues under the sea. That is why his teeth are rotting out. He probably was one of those kids that argued with his mother about brushing his teeth, and now look at him. The guy was probably in his mid-40s and he has to have TEN teeth snatched from his head and deep scaling. What is that? I'm scared to even know. I'm getting teeth pulled because my face is too small to fit everything, not because they're rotten. Ugh.
LMAO.
I need people to brush their teeth. That is all. Thank you.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The Afronista Rants #8: Black Folk Don't Tip!
When I was in my early twenties, I worked in an upscale hotel that had a pretty nice restaurant. I was officially the room service operator, but I ended up doing double duty as a hostess in the restaurant, as well as a server. One day I served a group of well-dressed black men. By overhearing (ear-hustling) their conversation, I would assume they were doctors, or something medicinal. Of course, it is only an assumption, but they seemed to be quite well-versed. They seemed to be much more than just some random guys talking about cancer and pharmaceuticals. Anyway, they ordered a pretty lavish lunch. They had several drinks from the bar, appetisers, salads, soups, main courses, and two of the guys had dessert. In the end, their bill came up to approximately $250. One man paid for the entire meal on his MasterCard.
The tip he left: $0.
Perhaps my service left much to be desired. I don't know. We were not particularly busy so I was able to give them as much attention as they needed. I brought their food promptly; I ran back to the kitchen a several times for steak sauce, hot sauce, ranch dressing, whatever, and it didn't take me two years to do it. I figured that I would get the standard 10%, no more, no less than what is deserved. I was SERIOUSLY annoyed that I got absolutely nothing.
When I went into the back, I told my co-workers, "Those cheap ass bastards didn't even leave a tip!" Billy, my white co-worker laughed and said, "No offense, but black people don't tip."
Uhm, I beg your pardon? I'm too broke to eat out much, but when I do, I tip and my parents are restaurant freaks and they always tip. What do you mean black people don't tip?
Steve, the Asian guy said, "Yeah, they never leave a tip. That's why I hate serving them. You bust your ass for nothing."
Determined to prove them wrong, I decided that every time a black person tipped me, I was going to rub it in their faces. So I really started paying attention, and I also upped my game to make sure that it wasn't my fault that I didn't get a tip. I slapped some Vaseline on my teeth and smiled till my face cracked. If I had to run from the kitchen to the floor with their food balanced on my head to ensure they got the hottest food possible, I would do it. Anything they could possibly desire, I would make sure that my customers got it.
Hah. He was right, hardly any of my black customers tipped me. The ones who did "tip" me merely rounded up their bills to even number. A $9.96 bill meant that I got four cents tip. Whoopee! By contrast, my white customers always tipped. Some were quite cheap, yes. A few times I got precisely ONE DOLLAR. One old white lady gave me two quarters with a big smile like she was doing me a favour. Gee, thanks. But for the most part, I got something. I noticed that Asians tipped quite well. We used to fight over who would serve the Asians that came into the restaurant. We were all broke college kids, okay? We had to do what we had to do.
Anyway, fast forward to my mid-20s. I can now afford to eat out more, better quality of restaurants too. I had just moved to Baltimore. A group of us, mostly black, went out to the club and decided to hit up an all-night diner afterwards. The diner had a strict "no check splitting" policy. There was about 10 of us. We kept the waiter busy with our annoying demands, mine included. "Can I get more hot sauce?" "Is it possible that you could put the gravy on the side?" "My fries are cold." "Can I get more ketchup?" I don't like my food to touch so I always ask for separate plates for everything. I am sure we got a heavy dosage of "special sauce" that night because it was really quite over the top.
When the bill came, it was in the 200s. First, we got into a fight trying to figure out who ordered what. I took control of the check and went around the table: Candace had pasta; Mike had chicken; Tonya had the burger... After figuring out who had what, I simply divided the tax by 10 instead of trying to calculate five percent by everybody's order. Too annoying. Because our party was larger than six, the gratuity was already added. That's where the fight broke out.
Candace had a pasta dish that was $10.99. When I told her $15.00, she shrieked, "Why do I have to pay $4 extra?" Uhm, cuz you have to tip him. "I don't want to." Too bad. It's on the bill. Then they started crying about being forced to tip someone who had basically been our slave for the past two hours. None of my black friends wanted to tip the waiter (who was also black). I thought it was exceptionally rude, and if the restaurant had been able to split the bill, I would have paid for my food, tipped him privately and walked off.
Instead, we sat there for another 30 minutes, screaming at each other about why they had to tip and why they didn't want to tip. To make it easier, I just divided the automatic gratuity by 10. It came out so that we were going to tip the guy about $2 each. Everybody ordered dinner, except one person who had dessert. And even that one person didn't even mind adding on $2 to her $6 dessert.
We did eventually come to some sort of conclusion, but some of us left the table looking at each other with that eye, you know... the side eye. I decided, "this is a group of people I will not eat out with again." I don't like it when people don't tip. A lesson I was taught as a kid, "If you can't afford to tip you can't afford to do whatever it is that requires tipping." I was taught to tip ALL service people: waiters/waitresses, bell hops, taxi drivers, beauticians, barbers, your tattoo artist, and the chick that waxes your bikini line, everyone that is doing you a service.
I came across an article just now, Does Race Play a Role in the Way We Tip? According to this study, I suppose it does. There are a lot of reasons cited why black people don't tip: not having enough money, not knowing the proper custom, etc. There was also some evidence in a bit of racism when black people enter a restaurant; nobody wants to serve them because they are notorious for not tipping. The person who did the study, whom I understood to be black, stated that she has never been treated poorly when in the company of her white friends and associates, but if it's an all black group, then the service becomes terrible. Presumably, because they are black and were automatically discounted to be shitty tippers. Since they probably won't tip, let's just treat them like crap. Who cares?
We do know that on the whole blacks make less, have less disposable income. That doesn't mean that they should never eat out to a restaurant; it just means they should hold off eating out until they can afford EVERYTHING, because tipping is apart of the American culture, and it's not something you do when you get exceptional service. In case you didn't know, 10% is the minimum you should tip. If your server gives you basic service, the basic tip is 10%. You give them more if they are exceptional. If they suck so bad that you don't want to give them a tip, you should report them because they deserve being disciplined.
It's not right that we have a stigma of not tipping, but hate to say it, if you don't tip and the whole population is generally seen as a group of people that don't tip, the only way to get rid of that, is to change the culture of our race. START TIPPING. Once again, if you can't afford to tip, then you can't afford whatever it is that requires tipping.
And let's not be cheap like the whites. Yes, they tip, but $1 for a $90 meal is a slap in the face and I'd rather not get a tip at all if that's the case. When I went out of town recently, the girl I went with told me that she didn't know how important tipping was until a few years ago. A teacher of hers had to let her know that it was important if you wanted to continue to receive exceptional service from someone. The teacher gave her some money so she could tip the service person. However, when we were out of town, I noticed that her tips were quite miserly. I'm not saying we need to break the bank. I'm also not saying we need to reward bad behaviour on the part of service personnel, but these people are doing you a service. If they do a good job, and not just a good job, but an excellent job, they deserve to be rewarded.
Candace from the diner disaster earlier said, "Why should I tip them? I didn't force them to be a waiter."
No, you didn't, but you did force the guy to run back into the kitchen THREE times because you needed more ketchup, mayonnaise, and ranch dressing. Then she complained that her food was cold because she wouldn't eat it because she didn't have enough ketchup. "That's his job," Candace said rudely. There's almost nothing you can say to that; it's that blatant stubborn idiotic streak I find in some black people that I just can't go up against.
That night in the diner, I paid $25 for everything, even though I only got a $6 egg sandwich and a $6 dessert. Not only was I exceptionally fussy, but the table was rude to the waiter (and he wasn't rude back to us) and he deserved it. I felt like I had to make up for their bad behaviour. When I went out of town, I put into my budget how much money I would need for tips: the cab driver, all the restaurants I would be eating in, the bellhop who carries my luggage to the room, even the maid (which most people always forget or ignore), a little something for the concierge guys who give me the dibs on all the local happenings. I tip based on how much I spend, how fussy I am and the quality of the service. I expect basic and good service, but when I get exceptional service (like the patisserie who made me my own dessert in Vegas), you will get an exceptional tip. I gave that woman $10 tip even though the dessert was only $5. I was SOOO pleased that she offered to make me anything I wanted, then it took me about 8 minutes just to figure out what I did want, and she brought it back very quickly. That was the best $15 ice cream sundae hot chocolate fudge caramel pecan brownie thingie I ever had in my life. Worth every penny.
I think the biggest reason black people don't tip is that they didn't know they needed to do so. In the article, one woman mentions that nobody ever told her, just like my friend. Secondly, some of us just don't have the funds for it. So here's the remedy. Teach your children why we tip, how to tip, when to tip, and if you can't afford to tip, then you can't afford whatever it is that requires tipping.
The tip he left: $0.
Perhaps my service left much to be desired. I don't know. We were not particularly busy so I was able to give them as much attention as they needed. I brought their food promptly; I ran back to the kitchen a several times for steak sauce, hot sauce, ranch dressing, whatever, and it didn't take me two years to do it. I figured that I would get the standard 10%, no more, no less than what is deserved. I was SERIOUSLY annoyed that I got absolutely nothing.
When I went into the back, I told my co-workers, "Those cheap ass bastards didn't even leave a tip!" Billy, my white co-worker laughed and said, "No offense, but black people don't tip."
Uhm, I beg your pardon? I'm too broke to eat out much, but when I do, I tip and my parents are restaurant freaks and they always tip. What do you mean black people don't tip?
Steve, the Asian guy said, "Yeah, they never leave a tip. That's why I hate serving them. You bust your ass for nothing."
Determined to prove them wrong, I decided that every time a black person tipped me, I was going to rub it in their faces. So I really started paying attention, and I also upped my game to make sure that it wasn't my fault that I didn't get a tip. I slapped some Vaseline on my teeth and smiled till my face cracked. If I had to run from the kitchen to the floor with their food balanced on my head to ensure they got the hottest food possible, I would do it. Anything they could possibly desire, I would make sure that my customers got it.
Hah. He was right, hardly any of my black customers tipped me. The ones who did "tip" me merely rounded up their bills to even number. A $9.96 bill meant that I got four cents tip. Whoopee! By contrast, my white customers always tipped. Some were quite cheap, yes. A few times I got precisely ONE DOLLAR. One old white lady gave me two quarters with a big smile like she was doing me a favour. Gee, thanks. But for the most part, I got something. I noticed that Asians tipped quite well. We used to fight over who would serve the Asians that came into the restaurant. We were all broke college kids, okay? We had to do what we had to do.
Anyway, fast forward to my mid-20s. I can now afford to eat out more, better quality of restaurants too. I had just moved to Baltimore. A group of us, mostly black, went out to the club and decided to hit up an all-night diner afterwards. The diner had a strict "no check splitting" policy. There was about 10 of us. We kept the waiter busy with our annoying demands, mine included. "Can I get more hot sauce?" "Is it possible that you could put the gravy on the side?" "My fries are cold." "Can I get more ketchup?" I don't like my food to touch so I always ask for separate plates for everything. I am sure we got a heavy dosage of "special sauce" that night because it was really quite over the top.
When the bill came, it was in the 200s. First, we got into a fight trying to figure out who ordered what. I took control of the check and went around the table: Candace had pasta; Mike had chicken; Tonya had the burger... After figuring out who had what, I simply divided the tax by 10 instead of trying to calculate five percent by everybody's order. Too annoying. Because our party was larger than six, the gratuity was already added. That's where the fight broke out.
Candace had a pasta dish that was $10.99. When I told her $15.00, she shrieked, "Why do I have to pay $4 extra?" Uhm, cuz you have to tip him. "I don't want to." Too bad. It's on the bill. Then they started crying about being forced to tip someone who had basically been our slave for the past two hours. None of my black friends wanted to tip the waiter (who was also black). I thought it was exceptionally rude, and if the restaurant had been able to split the bill, I would have paid for my food, tipped him privately and walked off.
Instead, we sat there for another 30 minutes, screaming at each other about why they had to tip and why they didn't want to tip. To make it easier, I just divided the automatic gratuity by 10. It came out so that we were going to tip the guy about $2 each. Everybody ordered dinner, except one person who had dessert. And even that one person didn't even mind adding on $2 to her $6 dessert.
We did eventually come to some sort of conclusion, but some of us left the table looking at each other with that eye, you know... the side eye. I decided, "this is a group of people I will not eat out with again." I don't like it when people don't tip. A lesson I was taught as a kid, "If you can't afford to tip you can't afford to do whatever it is that requires tipping." I was taught to tip ALL service people: waiters/waitresses, bell hops, taxi drivers, beauticians, barbers, your tattoo artist, and the chick that waxes your bikini line, everyone that is doing you a service.
I came across an article just now, Does Race Play a Role in the Way We Tip? According to this study, I suppose it does. There are a lot of reasons cited why black people don't tip: not having enough money, not knowing the proper custom, etc. There was also some evidence in a bit of racism when black people enter a restaurant; nobody wants to serve them because they are notorious for not tipping. The person who did the study, whom I understood to be black, stated that she has never been treated poorly when in the company of her white friends and associates, but if it's an all black group, then the service becomes terrible. Presumably, because they are black and were automatically discounted to be shitty tippers. Since they probably won't tip, let's just treat them like crap. Who cares?
We do know that on the whole blacks make less, have less disposable income. That doesn't mean that they should never eat out to a restaurant; it just means they should hold off eating out until they can afford EVERYTHING, because tipping is apart of the American culture, and it's not something you do when you get exceptional service. In case you didn't know, 10% is the minimum you should tip. If your server gives you basic service, the basic tip is 10%. You give them more if they are exceptional. If they suck so bad that you don't want to give them a tip, you should report them because they deserve being disciplined.
It's not right that we have a stigma of not tipping, but hate to say it, if you don't tip and the whole population is generally seen as a group of people that don't tip, the only way to get rid of that, is to change the culture of our race. START TIPPING. Once again, if you can't afford to tip, then you can't afford whatever it is that requires tipping.
And let's not be cheap like the whites. Yes, they tip, but $1 for a $90 meal is a slap in the face and I'd rather not get a tip at all if that's the case. When I went out of town recently, the girl I went with told me that she didn't know how important tipping was until a few years ago. A teacher of hers had to let her know that it was important if you wanted to continue to receive exceptional service from someone. The teacher gave her some money so she could tip the service person. However, when we were out of town, I noticed that her tips were quite miserly. I'm not saying we need to break the bank. I'm also not saying we need to reward bad behaviour on the part of service personnel, but these people are doing you a service. If they do a good job, and not just a good job, but an excellent job, they deserve to be rewarded.
Candace from the diner disaster earlier said, "Why should I tip them? I didn't force them to be a waiter."
No, you didn't, but you did force the guy to run back into the kitchen THREE times because you needed more ketchup, mayonnaise, and ranch dressing. Then she complained that her food was cold because she wouldn't eat it because she didn't have enough ketchup. "That's his job," Candace said rudely. There's almost nothing you can say to that; it's that blatant stubborn idiotic streak I find in some black people that I just can't go up against.
That night in the diner, I paid $25 for everything, even though I only got a $6 egg sandwich and a $6 dessert. Not only was I exceptionally fussy, but the table was rude to the waiter (and he wasn't rude back to us) and he deserved it. I felt like I had to make up for their bad behaviour. When I went out of town, I put into my budget how much money I would need for tips: the cab driver, all the restaurants I would be eating in, the bellhop who carries my luggage to the room, even the maid (which most people always forget or ignore), a little something for the concierge guys who give me the dibs on all the local happenings. I tip based on how much I spend, how fussy I am and the quality of the service. I expect basic and good service, but when I get exceptional service (like the patisserie who made me my own dessert in Vegas), you will get an exceptional tip. I gave that woman $10 tip even though the dessert was only $5. I was SOOO pleased that she offered to make me anything I wanted, then it took me about 8 minutes just to figure out what I did want, and she brought it back very quickly. That was the best $15 ice cream sundae hot chocolate fudge caramel pecan brownie thingie I ever had in my life. Worth every penny.
I think the biggest reason black people don't tip is that they didn't know they needed to do so. In the article, one woman mentions that nobody ever told her, just like my friend. Secondly, some of us just don't have the funds for it. So here's the remedy. Teach your children why we tip, how to tip, when to tip, and if you can't afford to tip, then you can't afford whatever it is that requires tipping.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Idiot Learns To Read #1: The List
A few years ago, I was in Columbia Mall in the Borders bookstore, and like most bookstores, it’s all set up by genre and whatnot. You know, like all the sci-fi over here and the romances over there, and self help in the corner, and children’s books in the back. They had one wall where they had all the classics. By classics, I mean all those books you were supposed to read in high school, the books that were on summer reading lists, stuff you should have before you went to college. I really liked that wall. There were a few books that I suffered through, but then there were so many I had yet to read. I decided that I was going to work my way through that wall.
I never did. I didn’t even start with book one. Back then I was heavily into the romance genre, and I still am, but I couldn’t see myself putting down a light-hearted useless book to pick up some serious intellectual reading. Reading is supposed to be relaxing, a way to unwind and to escape to some fantasy land. Who wants to do school type reading?
Maybe it’s because I’m getting on in years (hahaha) but suddenly I have that same desire to go back and read all the books I should have read, and re-read the books I did but didn’t do proper justice. I did read a lot of Shakespeare, but I also did quite a bit of Cliff’s Notes just trying to cram in time for an exam. Some books I gave up on because they escaped me: Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged and Anna Karenina by Tolstoy. Maybe now I’m of the right mindset to understand them.
I have comprised a list of 62 novels/books/collected works/poetry/whatever considered to be classic. I know that I might have left something important off the list, but I didn’t want to spend a year trying to compile the perfect list. If I’ve forgotten something, let me know and when I come back for part two, I’ll be sure to scoop it up. I figure I’m going to be having a lot of time on my hands very soon, and what better way to while away the hours than between the pages of a good book.
Although I’m probably wasting my breath, but if anybody wants to join me in this journey, let us do this together. We can read the same book and discuss what we love/hate about it. Even though I’m into movie watching and all that, I feel like our society is slowly degrading because nobody seems to read anymore. I do not mean the classics, necessarily, just anything. It is amazing to me how many people out there that don’t read at all. Anything, not even a comic book.
I am greatly disturbed by people who do not read and write well. How do you get on in life?
Anyway, here’s my list. Naturally, I will be blogging my life away, commenting on everything. They say the best way to become a good writer is to become a good reader. Let’s learn how to read together.
1984 by George Orwell
Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton
Animal Farm by George Orwell
Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
Antigone by Sophocles
Arabian Nights by Antony Galland
Beloved by Toni Morrison
Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer
Colour Purple by Alice Walker
Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
Crucible by Arthur Miller
Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson
Dracula by Bram Stoker
Emma by Jane Austen
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift
Hamlet by William Shakespeare
Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo
Iliad by Homer
Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde
Indian in the Cupboard by Lynne Reid Banks
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
King Lear by William Shakespeare
Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Lord of the Rings (the trilogy) by J.R.R. Tolkien
M. Butterfly by David Henry Hwang
Macbeth by William Shakespeare
Madame Bovary Gustave Flaubert
Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka
Moby-Dick by Herman Melville
Mutiny on the Bounty by Charles Nordhoff and James Hall
My Antonia by Willa Cather
Night by Elie Wiesel
Odyssey by Homer
Oedipus Rex by Sophocles
Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
Othello by William Shakespeare
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw
Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
Stranger by Albert Camus
Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams
Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
Tartuffe by Moliere
Tempest by William Shakespeare
Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas
Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Turn of the Screw by Henry James
Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
I never did. I didn’t even start with book one. Back then I was heavily into the romance genre, and I still am, but I couldn’t see myself putting down a light-hearted useless book to pick up some serious intellectual reading. Reading is supposed to be relaxing, a way to unwind and to escape to some fantasy land. Who wants to do school type reading?
Maybe it’s because I’m getting on in years (hahaha) but suddenly I have that same desire to go back and read all the books I should have read, and re-read the books I did but didn’t do proper justice. I did read a lot of Shakespeare, but I also did quite a bit of Cliff’s Notes just trying to cram in time for an exam. Some books I gave up on because they escaped me: Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged and Anna Karenina by Tolstoy. Maybe now I’m of the right mindset to understand them.
I have comprised a list of 62 novels/books/collected works/poetry/whatever considered to be classic. I know that I might have left something important off the list, but I didn’t want to spend a year trying to compile the perfect list. If I’ve forgotten something, let me know and when I come back for part two, I’ll be sure to scoop it up. I figure I’m going to be having a lot of time on my hands very soon, and what better way to while away the hours than between the pages of a good book.
Although I’m probably wasting my breath, but if anybody wants to join me in this journey, let us do this together. We can read the same book and discuss what we love/hate about it. Even though I’m into movie watching and all that, I feel like our society is slowly degrading because nobody seems to read anymore. I do not mean the classics, necessarily, just anything. It is amazing to me how many people out there that don’t read at all. Anything, not even a comic book.
I am greatly disturbed by people who do not read and write well. How do you get on in life?
Anyway, here’s my list. Naturally, I will be blogging my life away, commenting on everything. They say the best way to become a good writer is to become a good reader. Let’s learn how to read together.
1984 by George Orwell
Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton
Animal Farm by George Orwell
Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
Antigone by Sophocles
Arabian Nights by Antony Galland
Beloved by Toni Morrison
Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer
Colour Purple by Alice Walker
Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
Crucible by Arthur Miller
Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson
Dracula by Bram Stoker
Emma by Jane Austen
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift
Hamlet by William Shakespeare
Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo
Iliad by Homer
Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde
Indian in the Cupboard by Lynne Reid Banks
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
King Lear by William Shakespeare
Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Lord of the Rings (the trilogy) by J.R.R. Tolkien
M. Butterfly by David Henry Hwang
Macbeth by William Shakespeare
Madame Bovary Gustave Flaubert
Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka
Moby-Dick by Herman Melville
Mutiny on the Bounty by Charles Nordhoff and James Hall
My Antonia by Willa Cather
Night by Elie Wiesel
Odyssey by Homer
Oedipus Rex by Sophocles
Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
Othello by William Shakespeare
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw
Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
Stranger by Albert Camus
Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams
Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
Tartuffe by Moliere
Tempest by William Shakespeare
Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas
Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Turn of the Screw by Henry James
Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
Daily News January 26
Today is Tuesday, January 26, 2010. It is the 26th day of the year with 339 to go.
Today’s History
In 1837, Michigan became the 26th state.
In 2009, Nadya “Octomom” Suleyman gave birth to the world’s longest surviving set of octuplets.
Today’s News
Brain in a Bag
A New Mexico family is suing a funeral home, claiming their mother’s brain was sent home along with the rest of her personal effects. The family says it smelled a foul odour coming from the box which arrived from the funeral home after their mother’s burial. When they opened the box, they found some of her belongings along with the brain. The funeral home claims they are not the ones responsible for the mishap. The woman had died in a car crash in Utah back in September. Whoever handled the body in Utah is responsible, says the New Mexico funeral parlour.
Wow. New Mexico or Utah, does it really matter? How can you accidentally put a human brain in a box along with a wallet, car keys, jewellery, and other items you might find on the body of an accident victim? Who just picks up a soggy piece of grey matter throw it into a box? That is gross. I don’t think it was an accident; I think it was someone being nasty.
Joke’s On You!
A Transportation Security Officer has been fired after he decided to play a practical joke on a college student returning to school after the holidays. The girl’s bags had just gone through the X-ray when the TSO told her that he had to check her bags. After going through her laptop case, he pulled out a small baggie with white powder in it and demanded to know where she got the powder from. The passenger had never seen the baggie before and suddenly wondered if someone had tampered with her bag, either a drug dealer or a terrorist. The girl began crying, pleading that she did not know how the baggie got into her luggage. Then the TSO started laughing, claiming that the bag was his. He told her that he was helping to train co-workers on how to detect contraband. The passenger reported him and TSA states the employee has been disciplined and is no longer employed with the Agency.
Hah! What would you do if they opened up your bag because they found something that you honestly did not put in your bag? We used to get that line all the time, “I have no idea how that got in there,” or “this isn’t even my bag,” but in this case, it was true for her. She probably thought she was about to get waterboarded. Poor thing.
Now That’s Customer Service
Hate getting into a cold bed? Worried that an electric blanket might catch fire? Well, why don’t you hire a human bed warmer to put some heat in those sheets before you get in? Holiday Inn Hotels in Great Britain are offering such a service for anybody who is interested. If you want your bed to be warmed up, the hotel chain will have an employee lay in your bed to warm it up. The employee will be fully dressed in some kind of suit that covers him head to foot, but it was not immediately known if the employee would be required to shower first.
Wow, well, that is certainly bizarre. I’m not sure I’d want some random stranger laying in the bed directly before I got into it. I also don’t like how they don’t know whether the employee would be required to shower first. Who would want to get in bed behind some hot and funky? What if the employee “behaves improperly” in the bed—you know what I mean…. Uhm, I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.
Ass of 2010
Two high school seniors were suspended after their silly prank cost the school several hundred dollars. The class of 2010 was grouped together for a photo with several students wearing t-shirts that would have spelled out CLASS OF 2010. When the picture was about to taken, the students wearing the shirts “C” and “L” disappeared, leaving behind “Ass of 2010.” Nobody realized what happened until after the photos were ordered. The students wearing the shirts that spelled CLASS were all fined and “C” and “L” were suspended. The money they were fined was used to re-touch the photos.
That’s pretty hilarious. They’re high school seniors. What do you expect?
Video Games Don’t Kill People
An Italian man is recovering in hospital after his son stabbed him in the neck with a 15 inch kitchen knife. The two had been arguing over a Playstation game. Father and son were playing a game of FIFA 2009, a soccer game, when the father offered his son friendly advice on how to improve the boy’s game. The son apparently took exception to the advice and began an altercation with his father. Seeing how his son was acting, the father turned the game off and the kid, who is 16, ran into the kitchen, got a knife and stabbed his father in the neck. Then the kid took the knife back to the kitchen, cleaned it and put it out to dry, all while his mother was standing there, staring at him as if he had gone mad. When the police came to arrest him, he did not resist. The game was a present for his 16th birthday just a few days before. His mother said he was obsessed, and they had gotten the soccer game because they didn’t want him to have violent games.
Apparently he doesn’t need any video games if he’s getting that worked up over a computerized soccer match. If it’s that serious over FIFA, imagine what a lunatic he’d turn out to be if they let him play Grand Theft.
Today’s Thought
As long as men are free to ask what they must, free to say what they think, free to think what they will, freedom can never be lost, and science can never regress. ~J. Robert Oppenheimer
Today’s History
In 1837, Michigan became the 26th state.
In 2009, Nadya “Octomom” Suleyman gave birth to the world’s longest surviving set of octuplets.
Today’s News
Brain in a Bag
A New Mexico family is suing a funeral home, claiming their mother’s brain was sent home along with the rest of her personal effects. The family says it smelled a foul odour coming from the box which arrived from the funeral home after their mother’s burial. When they opened the box, they found some of her belongings along with the brain. The funeral home claims they are not the ones responsible for the mishap. The woman had died in a car crash in Utah back in September. Whoever handled the body in Utah is responsible, says the New Mexico funeral parlour.
Wow. New Mexico or Utah, does it really matter? How can you accidentally put a human brain in a box along with a wallet, car keys, jewellery, and other items you might find on the body of an accident victim? Who just picks up a soggy piece of grey matter throw it into a box? That is gross. I don’t think it was an accident; I think it was someone being nasty.
Joke’s On You!
A Transportation Security Officer has been fired after he decided to play a practical joke on a college student returning to school after the holidays. The girl’s bags had just gone through the X-ray when the TSO told her that he had to check her bags. After going through her laptop case, he pulled out a small baggie with white powder in it and demanded to know where she got the powder from. The passenger had never seen the baggie before and suddenly wondered if someone had tampered with her bag, either a drug dealer or a terrorist. The girl began crying, pleading that she did not know how the baggie got into her luggage. Then the TSO started laughing, claiming that the bag was his. He told her that he was helping to train co-workers on how to detect contraband. The passenger reported him and TSA states the employee has been disciplined and is no longer employed with the Agency.
Hah! What would you do if they opened up your bag because they found something that you honestly did not put in your bag? We used to get that line all the time, “I have no idea how that got in there,” or “this isn’t even my bag,” but in this case, it was true for her. She probably thought she was about to get waterboarded. Poor thing.
Now That’s Customer Service
Hate getting into a cold bed? Worried that an electric blanket might catch fire? Well, why don’t you hire a human bed warmer to put some heat in those sheets before you get in? Holiday Inn Hotels in Great Britain are offering such a service for anybody who is interested. If you want your bed to be warmed up, the hotel chain will have an employee lay in your bed to warm it up. The employee will be fully dressed in some kind of suit that covers him head to foot, but it was not immediately known if the employee would be required to shower first.
Wow, well, that is certainly bizarre. I’m not sure I’d want some random stranger laying in the bed directly before I got into it. I also don’t like how they don’t know whether the employee would be required to shower first. Who would want to get in bed behind some hot and funky? What if the employee “behaves improperly” in the bed—you know what I mean…. Uhm, I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.
Ass of 2010
Two high school seniors were suspended after their silly prank cost the school several hundred dollars. The class of 2010 was grouped together for a photo with several students wearing t-shirts that would have spelled out CLASS OF 2010. When the picture was about to taken, the students wearing the shirts “C” and “L” disappeared, leaving behind “Ass of 2010.” Nobody realized what happened until after the photos were ordered. The students wearing the shirts that spelled CLASS were all fined and “C” and “L” were suspended. The money they were fined was used to re-touch the photos.
That’s pretty hilarious. They’re high school seniors. What do you expect?
Video Games Don’t Kill People
An Italian man is recovering in hospital after his son stabbed him in the neck with a 15 inch kitchen knife. The two had been arguing over a Playstation game. Father and son were playing a game of FIFA 2009, a soccer game, when the father offered his son friendly advice on how to improve the boy’s game. The son apparently took exception to the advice and began an altercation with his father. Seeing how his son was acting, the father turned the game off and the kid, who is 16, ran into the kitchen, got a knife and stabbed his father in the neck. Then the kid took the knife back to the kitchen, cleaned it and put it out to dry, all while his mother was standing there, staring at him as if he had gone mad. When the police came to arrest him, he did not resist. The game was a present for his 16th birthday just a few days before. His mother said he was obsessed, and they had gotten the soccer game because they didn’t want him to have violent games.
Apparently he doesn’t need any video games if he’s getting that worked up over a computerized soccer match. If it’s that serious over FIFA, imagine what a lunatic he’d turn out to be if they let him play Grand Theft.
Today’s Thought
As long as men are free to ask what they must, free to say what they think, free to think what they will, freedom can never be lost, and science can never regress. ~J. Robert Oppenheimer
Monday, January 25, 2010
Mama Said There Would Be Days Like This
Army suicides are up according to all the statistics. Multiple deployments in an unnecessary lengthy war on two fronts, financial worries and marital problems are just some of the reasons leading some soldiers to take their own lives. The army has always bred a culture of "you are Army strong; therefore, you do not have problems." A common theme everywhere is "suck it up." If you do have problems, it is better to keep it to yourself. Don't even dream of seeking a mental health professional. That's pretty much a one way ticket to losing your livelihood. In the past, admitting any kind of mental issue automatically cut you out of some professions in the army.
The army is trying to change that. The number of soldiers shooting up their families and themselves is becoming disturbingly common. I guess it got to be too big of a problem to sweep under the rug. It was like the white elephant in the room that everybody talked around but never about. Because of this, we've been innundated with army suicide prevention courses. When I first joined the army, this was the army suicide prevention class:
If you need help, call this number. It's totally confidential but make sure you report it up the chain of command that you're going to see a shrink because they need to know if you're too crazy to do your job.
Seriously. Thankfully, I've always been of sound body and mind, but I did get the point that if I ever should become a lunatic, I had better not tell anybody or I'd be out on the street, quick, fast and in a hurry. A few years ago, I sat through one of the army's old suicide prevention courses. I was a new soldier to my unit and my new platoon sergeant approached me right after class. He asked me if everything was okay. I was having an issue with my civillian employer fucking around with my pay and seniority status right after AIT. I had several emotional moments when I got a paycheck for $310 one pay period and then $235 another pay period when normally I brought home much, much more than that. I didn't want to tell my new sergeant all of this. After all, I had to make that crucial first impression, so I just said, "Oh, everything's fine, sergeant. Don't worry about me. I'm not suicidal at all." I wasn't; I was homicidal (not really) but I was flaming hot mad with my employer and although I really had absolutley no intention of shooting up the place, I was in the mood to cause a scene. I was thinking more along the lines of running screaming into the building and perhaps vandalising a few things. But a normal person would be upset if their financial status was consistently disrupted by a thoughtless employer. What I could have used from my sergeant was some good military advice on how to handle my civillian employer--and I got it because I did wind up telling him what was going on, but not how I was feeling. I just got the impression that nobody really cares how I feel--not in the army.
Then a new statistic report came out citing how many army suicides there had been one year, and suddenly it's the "We care about you," "don't be afraid to get help," real men get counselling," bit, but it still felt kind of phoney to me. I felt like it was a trap. They wanted to lure out all the "lunatics," get rid of them so the army suicide rate wouldn't be so high. If you kick these loonies out of the army and then they commit suicide, it doesn't count as an army suicide. Something like that. We were subjected to these really long role playing video simulation things where we had to try and save a suicidal soldier's life. I've watched this video about four times now, and every time the whole class just sits and laughs at the actors in the story. One story is about a young soldier whose battle buddy gets killed and then his girlfriend back home cheats on him and gives all his money to her new boyfriend. Think of all the ribald jokes that could come out of that, and I laughed too because I thought it was so pathetic. What genius would have a joint account with a mere girlfriend, not even a wife.
The senior NCOs and officers tried to sternly tell us, "Take this seriously guys," but they laughed too. I've been in the army almost five years, but these guys have been in their whole lives. They "grew up" under the old regime where Army Strong, me big man have no feelings! You can't just "turn off" what you've had on all your whole career. It's an adjustment. Some of us are not taking it as seriously as we ought.
Last week, someone in my unit committed suicide. I have heard some rumours as to why he might have, and they're irrelevant for this particular blog. However, I feel like he was another victim of the system. Whatever his problems were, nobody really paid enough attention to notice that he was even having problems. Everybody is always wrapped up in their own problems, added to the fact that the culture of the army is designed to have you believe that you don't have problems and if you do, you're a loser.
I'm in the National Guard so our army "lifestyle" is a little bit different than those who are active duty. We see each other once a month, some of us more. Some of us actually hang out; because of our particular job, some of us in my unit actually work with each other in our civillian jobs. But that doesn't override rank, which controls everything once we get in uniform. Despite the fact that I am of the age of some of the senior NCOs, I'm a junior soldier and never the twain should meet. To my fellow junior soldiers I'm seen in a parental light because I am way older than they are. Some of them feel comfortable talking to me on a more intimate level, and I'm glad that I can be helpful where I can, even if I am a bit jaded and know-it-all. But when it comes to the soldiers who outrank me, for them I can do nothing. If I hear strange things that give me pause, there's nothing I can do. I can't go up to an E7 and say, "Are you all right? You know, if ever need to talk...." I also don't feel comfortable going up to another E7 and telling him, "You know that E7 over there doesn't seem himself." It's kind of like when you were a kid, "this is grown folks business." Although this soldier who died outranks me, I feel like I let him down. I heard some random things, but I never paid attention too closely because of our rank. If one of my fellow junior soldiers had said some of those things, I would have easily taken them to task and then got to the root of the problem. With him, I just shrugged and walked off, put it in the back of my mind only to glaringly recall it as soon as I got that phone call.
Hindsight is always 20/20 and now there is very little point in trying to figure out what we could have done to prevent this tragedy. We can only move forward to ensure that it does not happen again. If things continue on in the same vein, I do not see how this is possible; however, we must put forth some effort, particularly as individuals. The army as a whole is too large, too bogged down by tradition and bureaucracy to be effective. We must take it upon ourselves to "doctor" each other. These are depressing times. Not only are we at war, getting deployed every five minutes, but the economy is rough. People have lost their jobs, having trouble finding new jobs. We have to be vigilant as to how our fellow soldiers are feeling.
I always say that I do not care about others, and in general I don't, but life is very precious and not meant to be wasted, particularly on things outside our control. I look at everything as temporary. If your marriage sucks, get a divorce. You hate your kids, put them up for adoption. Hate your job, quit. If you're finances are out of order and you're going under, just let it happen, recover and regroup. You can always change your mind again. Suddenly you love your wife/husband, get married again. You want your kids back, go get them. If you decide you do like that job, apply again. Everything is so temporary. But life, once it's gone, it's gone. There's no coming back from that.
If you are in the army and you're feeling distressed:
Below are a few links and telephone numbers for Crisis Intervention Resources. The Army Suicide Prevention Office is not a crisis center and does not provide counseling services. If you are feeling distressed or hopeless, thinking about death or wanting to die, or, if you are concerned about someone who may be suicidal, please contact Military One Source at 1-800-342-9647.
Crisis Intervention Resources
Emergency - 911
Military OneSource Crisis Intervention Line - 1-800-342-9647
The Defense Center of Excellence (DCoE) - 1-866-966-1020
Suicide Prevention Lifeline - 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
Army G-1, Army Well Being Liaison Office - 1-800-833-6622
Wounded Soldier and Family Hotline - 1-800-984-8523
Real Warriors Campaign
Veterans Hotline & Online Chat Are you a veteran in emotional distress? Please call 1-800-273-TALK and press 1 to be routed to the Veterans Suicide Prevention Hotline. ORVeterans chat live with a counselor.
It may sound all kinds of corny, but you really aren't alone. And nothing is as bad as all that.
The army is trying to change that. The number of soldiers shooting up their families and themselves is becoming disturbingly common. I guess it got to be too big of a problem to sweep under the rug. It was like the white elephant in the room that everybody talked around but never about. Because of this, we've been innundated with army suicide prevention courses. When I first joined the army, this was the army suicide prevention class:
If you need help, call this number. It's totally confidential but make sure you report it up the chain of command that you're going to see a shrink because they need to know if you're too crazy to do your job.
Seriously. Thankfully, I've always been of sound body and mind, but I did get the point that if I ever should become a lunatic, I had better not tell anybody or I'd be out on the street, quick, fast and in a hurry. A few years ago, I sat through one of the army's old suicide prevention courses. I was a new soldier to my unit and my new platoon sergeant approached me right after class. He asked me if everything was okay. I was having an issue with my civillian employer fucking around with my pay and seniority status right after AIT. I had several emotional moments when I got a paycheck for $310 one pay period and then $235 another pay period when normally I brought home much, much more than that. I didn't want to tell my new sergeant all of this. After all, I had to make that crucial first impression, so I just said, "Oh, everything's fine, sergeant. Don't worry about me. I'm not suicidal at all." I wasn't; I was homicidal (not really) but I was flaming hot mad with my employer and although I really had absolutley no intention of shooting up the place, I was in the mood to cause a scene. I was thinking more along the lines of running screaming into the building and perhaps vandalising a few things. But a normal person would be upset if their financial status was consistently disrupted by a thoughtless employer. What I could have used from my sergeant was some good military advice on how to handle my civillian employer--and I got it because I did wind up telling him what was going on, but not how I was feeling. I just got the impression that nobody really cares how I feel--not in the army.
Then a new statistic report came out citing how many army suicides there had been one year, and suddenly it's the "We care about you," "don't be afraid to get help," real men get counselling," bit, but it still felt kind of phoney to me. I felt like it was a trap. They wanted to lure out all the "lunatics," get rid of them so the army suicide rate wouldn't be so high. If you kick these loonies out of the army and then they commit suicide, it doesn't count as an army suicide. Something like that. We were subjected to these really long role playing video simulation things where we had to try and save a suicidal soldier's life. I've watched this video about four times now, and every time the whole class just sits and laughs at the actors in the story. One story is about a young soldier whose battle buddy gets killed and then his girlfriend back home cheats on him and gives all his money to her new boyfriend. Think of all the ribald jokes that could come out of that, and I laughed too because I thought it was so pathetic. What genius would have a joint account with a mere girlfriend, not even a wife.
The senior NCOs and officers tried to sternly tell us, "Take this seriously guys," but they laughed too. I've been in the army almost five years, but these guys have been in their whole lives. They "grew up" under the old regime where Army Strong, me big man have no feelings! You can't just "turn off" what you've had on all your whole career. It's an adjustment. Some of us are not taking it as seriously as we ought.
Last week, someone in my unit committed suicide. I have heard some rumours as to why he might have, and they're irrelevant for this particular blog. However, I feel like he was another victim of the system. Whatever his problems were, nobody really paid enough attention to notice that he was even having problems. Everybody is always wrapped up in their own problems, added to the fact that the culture of the army is designed to have you believe that you don't have problems and if you do, you're a loser.
I'm in the National Guard so our army "lifestyle" is a little bit different than those who are active duty. We see each other once a month, some of us more. Some of us actually hang out; because of our particular job, some of us in my unit actually work with each other in our civillian jobs. But that doesn't override rank, which controls everything once we get in uniform. Despite the fact that I am of the age of some of the senior NCOs, I'm a junior soldier and never the twain should meet. To my fellow junior soldiers I'm seen in a parental light because I am way older than they are. Some of them feel comfortable talking to me on a more intimate level, and I'm glad that I can be helpful where I can, even if I am a bit jaded and know-it-all. But when it comes to the soldiers who outrank me, for them I can do nothing. If I hear strange things that give me pause, there's nothing I can do. I can't go up to an E7 and say, "Are you all right? You know, if ever need to talk...." I also don't feel comfortable going up to another E7 and telling him, "You know that E7 over there doesn't seem himself." It's kind of like when you were a kid, "this is grown folks business." Although this soldier who died outranks me, I feel like I let him down. I heard some random things, but I never paid attention too closely because of our rank. If one of my fellow junior soldiers had said some of those things, I would have easily taken them to task and then got to the root of the problem. With him, I just shrugged and walked off, put it in the back of my mind only to glaringly recall it as soon as I got that phone call.
Hindsight is always 20/20 and now there is very little point in trying to figure out what we could have done to prevent this tragedy. We can only move forward to ensure that it does not happen again. If things continue on in the same vein, I do not see how this is possible; however, we must put forth some effort, particularly as individuals. The army as a whole is too large, too bogged down by tradition and bureaucracy to be effective. We must take it upon ourselves to "doctor" each other. These are depressing times. Not only are we at war, getting deployed every five minutes, but the economy is rough. People have lost their jobs, having trouble finding new jobs. We have to be vigilant as to how our fellow soldiers are feeling.
I always say that I do not care about others, and in general I don't, but life is very precious and not meant to be wasted, particularly on things outside our control. I look at everything as temporary. If your marriage sucks, get a divorce. You hate your kids, put them up for adoption. Hate your job, quit. If you're finances are out of order and you're going under, just let it happen, recover and regroup. You can always change your mind again. Suddenly you love your wife/husband, get married again. You want your kids back, go get them. If you decide you do like that job, apply again. Everything is so temporary. But life, once it's gone, it's gone. There's no coming back from that.
If you are in the army and you're feeling distressed:
Below are a few links and telephone numbers for Crisis Intervention Resources. The Army Suicide Prevention Office is not a crisis center and does not provide counseling services. If you are feeling distressed or hopeless, thinking about death or wanting to die, or, if you are concerned about someone who may be suicidal, please contact Military One Source at 1-800-342-9647.
Crisis Intervention Resources
Emergency - 911
Military OneSource Crisis Intervention Line - 1-800-342-9647
The Defense Center of Excellence (DCoE) - 1-866-966-1020
Suicide Prevention Lifeline - 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
Army G-1, Army Well Being Liaison Office - 1-800-833-6622
Wounded Soldier and Family Hotline - 1-800-984-8523
Real Warriors Campaign
Veterans Hotline & Online Chat Are you a veteran in emotional distress? Please call 1-800-273-TALK and press 1 to be routed to the Veterans Suicide Prevention Hotline. ORVeterans chat live with a counselor.
It may sound all kinds of corny, but you really aren't alone. And nothing is as bad as all that.
Misadventures of the Village Idiot #40
Why is it when Monday morning rolls around I can never remember what I did on Friday? It's like a blur, and I don't even drink or participate in mind-altering drugs.
Friday
I left work early on Friday because it was just one of those days where I did not feel like being there. I was all cranky because I had a run-in with the mildly retarded four year old that works at the Ghetto Denny's in my neighbourhood. Every time that chick is on duty, there's some sort of altercation. I hate that Denny's but I go to it because it's in between my house and work. I got up quite early to try and cram in ten hours that I needed to make up. I call Denny's and order my food. The woman tells me 10-15 minutes. I finish getting dressed, play around on Twitter and Facebook for a few minutes, then I walk out the door. Took me about 15 minutes. It's a four minute drive up the road to the Denny's. So you would think my food would be ready by the time I got there. No, it isn't. the mildly retarded four year old asks me if I wanted to leave a tip. I told her no. While I'm an advocate for proper tipping, I do not generally tip when I get takeout service, unless I was provided with gold ingots or something. When I said I didn't want to tip, she gave me this snotty ass look. She said, "Are you sure you don't want to tip?" Yes, quite sure, thank you. "You don't want to leave a tip?" Isn't that what I just said! I especially do not like pushy people, especially since she is not even the woman who took my order over the phone and she wasn't even the woman who was getting my food ready in the bag. With unnecessary embellishment, she proceeds to swipe my card and ring me out. Fine.
The other woman gets my food out the window, puts it in a bag and with a nice smile, "here you go, honey." Mildly Retarded Four Year Old and the other woman were so busy talking that they weren't even paying attention to what they were doing, and unfortunately, neither was I. When I get to work, I discover that all they did was put my food in the box. No fork, no spoon, no condiments, no nothing. I ordered a waffle, so I was supposed to eat a dry ass waffle with my hands? I was so irritated. For some reason, that just really got on my nerves and put the whole day in a bad tone. I know, ditching work because I don't have a fork is a bit of an exaggeration, but I do what I want.
So I left, went to Wal-Mart to run my errands and then I came home to work out for a little bit. I called SF later that evening because we're still trying to see Sherlock Holmes. It must be a reason the Lord does not want me to see that movie because once again, we run our mouths so much that we missed the movie again. We wanted to go to dinner first, well, actually we wanted to go to dinner after the movie but I pointed out since the movie started so late there would be nothing open afterwards. We ate dinner at the Red Parrot and we sat in there until closing time; actually, after closing time because we were getting some annoyed looks from the wait staff. When I noticed the guy walking around, flipping all the chairs on to the table so he could sweep, I realised the place was closed. It was after 11 o'clock. The movie started at 10:20. Oh well. There's always next time.
Saturday
SF came over to the house Saturday afternoon for a movie marathon. There's all these movies she's been meaning to see. I would bring movies over her house, but I have blu-ray and a sound system. Her house is warmer, though. I always have to give her a blanket, a sweatshirt, a snow suit and a chinchilla muff so she can keep warm in my house. Hahaha. We watched Sense and Sensibility, Clueless, Gosford Park, and Interview with the Vampire. We started at 230 and finished at like 1 in the morning. Then we sat around talking until almost 3. We just talk too much, which is why we get on so well because we both never run out of things to say.
I meant to go to the club, but since we were in the middle of movie marathon, I could hardly kick her out of my house and besides, I was all warm and cosy.
Sunday
Sunday, I spent most of the day sleeping my life away. I did wake up for a little bit to wash my hair. I am now beginning a hair growing regimen. My hair grows quite well on its own, however, when it gets to a certain point it starts breaking off. Last week I came across some website about proper hair care maintenance for women who are natural. I had very long hair as a kid until I started abusing it. There's really no reason why my hair shouldn't grow all the way down to my feet like some black Repunzel. I spent about $200 on hair care products. I'm also trying to go natural as possible when it comes to hair care products. I have gotten rid of all my shampoos with sulfates in them. I learned how to make my own moisturiser and protein treatments. It's only been three days since I started doing this and already I see an upgrade to the quality of my hair. Hopefully it will stop breaking off. My number one problem is combing my hair like it's a piece of steel wool. I've always been very rough with it, mainly because I'm assured that it'll grow back.
After all that, I went back to sleep and slept until the late afternoon so I could watch the U.S. National Figure Skating Championships. Yes, I love figure skating. I wanted to be a figure skater when I was younger until I realised that you needed to be slim and in shape. Also, I was informed that you actually needed to know how to figure skate. Oh well for that dream.
SF invited me to a dinner given by some sorority/fraternity people. You know I'm not into the whole sorority/fraternity thing. It always seemed like you're buying friends. You pay a fee for a group of people to hang out with you and treat you like garbage. When I was at University of Maryland, a whole group of girls were parading around campus in fuzzy slippers, hideous night robes and curlers in their hair. I asked one girl what it was all about and she said she was a pledge for some sorority. Seriously? I have to walk around campus in my nightgown to prove I'm cool enough to hang out with you guys? Thanks, I can do that at home by myself.
Anyway, the party was fun. I guess these people used to do these Sunday dinners all the time, and that's all very pleasant. I met some nice people, watched the football game and just generally had a good time. I got to play a game of spades, and that was excellent because I don't often get to play. It's difficult to find three other people that know how to play and then get them all together. Naturally, I won, even though my partner was on another planet most of the time. It's all good. As long as I win. I tried to teach SF how to play chess, but I did end up ditching her so I could play spades. The guy had a very awesome hand-crafted chessboard.
Most of the people I met there were very nice and quite affable; however, there was one individual with an unpleasant attitude and another one who seemed to be desperately horny. You know, ladies, I've been single for quite some time. Part of that time, it was because I wanted to be and other times it was because I had no choice. There is very little to select from these days. Whatever the case may be, it is highly unattractive to display your desperation so prominently. She openly admitted that she was a cougar, and that's all well and good but she was overly flirtatious with a married man. He didnt' seem to be receptive, only polite. It was quite awkward, yet amusing because I don't think she realised that she was the butt of several jokes. It is perfectly well and good to be assertive, but it's quite another to be aggressive.
Since it was Sunday night and we all had to work in the morning, we decided to call it quits around 11. I went home and worked out for a little bit after gossiping on the phone with SF for a few minutes.
All's well that ends well.
Friday
I left work early on Friday because it was just one of those days where I did not feel like being there. I was all cranky because I had a run-in with the mildly retarded four year old that works at the Ghetto Denny's in my neighbourhood. Every time that chick is on duty, there's some sort of altercation. I hate that Denny's but I go to it because it's in between my house and work. I got up quite early to try and cram in ten hours that I needed to make up. I call Denny's and order my food. The woman tells me 10-15 minutes. I finish getting dressed, play around on Twitter and Facebook for a few minutes, then I walk out the door. Took me about 15 minutes. It's a four minute drive up the road to the Denny's. So you would think my food would be ready by the time I got there. No, it isn't. the mildly retarded four year old asks me if I wanted to leave a tip. I told her no. While I'm an advocate for proper tipping, I do not generally tip when I get takeout service, unless I was provided with gold ingots or something. When I said I didn't want to tip, she gave me this snotty ass look. She said, "Are you sure you don't want to tip?" Yes, quite sure, thank you. "You don't want to leave a tip?" Isn't that what I just said! I especially do not like pushy people, especially since she is not even the woman who took my order over the phone and she wasn't even the woman who was getting my food ready in the bag. With unnecessary embellishment, she proceeds to swipe my card and ring me out. Fine.
The other woman gets my food out the window, puts it in a bag and with a nice smile, "here you go, honey." Mildly Retarded Four Year Old and the other woman were so busy talking that they weren't even paying attention to what they were doing, and unfortunately, neither was I. When I get to work, I discover that all they did was put my food in the box. No fork, no spoon, no condiments, no nothing. I ordered a waffle, so I was supposed to eat a dry ass waffle with my hands? I was so irritated. For some reason, that just really got on my nerves and put the whole day in a bad tone. I know, ditching work because I don't have a fork is a bit of an exaggeration, but I do what I want.
So I left, went to Wal-Mart to run my errands and then I came home to work out for a little bit. I called SF later that evening because we're still trying to see Sherlock Holmes. It must be a reason the Lord does not want me to see that movie because once again, we run our mouths so much that we missed the movie again. We wanted to go to dinner first, well, actually we wanted to go to dinner after the movie but I pointed out since the movie started so late there would be nothing open afterwards. We ate dinner at the Red Parrot and we sat in there until closing time; actually, after closing time because we were getting some annoyed looks from the wait staff. When I noticed the guy walking around, flipping all the chairs on to the table so he could sweep, I realised the place was closed. It was after 11 o'clock. The movie started at 10:20. Oh well. There's always next time.
Saturday
SF came over to the house Saturday afternoon for a movie marathon. There's all these movies she's been meaning to see. I would bring movies over her house, but I have blu-ray and a sound system. Her house is warmer, though. I always have to give her a blanket, a sweatshirt, a snow suit and a chinchilla muff so she can keep warm in my house. Hahaha. We watched Sense and Sensibility, Clueless, Gosford Park, and Interview with the Vampire. We started at 230 and finished at like 1 in the morning. Then we sat around talking until almost 3. We just talk too much, which is why we get on so well because we both never run out of things to say.
I meant to go to the club, but since we were in the middle of movie marathon, I could hardly kick her out of my house and besides, I was all warm and cosy.
Sunday
Sunday, I spent most of the day sleeping my life away. I did wake up for a little bit to wash my hair. I am now beginning a hair growing regimen. My hair grows quite well on its own, however, when it gets to a certain point it starts breaking off. Last week I came across some website about proper hair care maintenance for women who are natural. I had very long hair as a kid until I started abusing it. There's really no reason why my hair shouldn't grow all the way down to my feet like some black Repunzel. I spent about $200 on hair care products. I'm also trying to go natural as possible when it comes to hair care products. I have gotten rid of all my shampoos with sulfates in them. I learned how to make my own moisturiser and protein treatments. It's only been three days since I started doing this and already I see an upgrade to the quality of my hair. Hopefully it will stop breaking off. My number one problem is combing my hair like it's a piece of steel wool. I've always been very rough with it, mainly because I'm assured that it'll grow back.
After all that, I went back to sleep and slept until the late afternoon so I could watch the U.S. National Figure Skating Championships. Yes, I love figure skating. I wanted to be a figure skater when I was younger until I realised that you needed to be slim and in shape. Also, I was informed that you actually needed to know how to figure skate. Oh well for that dream.
SF invited me to a dinner given by some sorority/fraternity people. You know I'm not into the whole sorority/fraternity thing. It always seemed like you're buying friends. You pay a fee for a group of people to hang out with you and treat you like garbage. When I was at University of Maryland, a whole group of girls were parading around campus in fuzzy slippers, hideous night robes and curlers in their hair. I asked one girl what it was all about and she said she was a pledge for some sorority. Seriously? I have to walk around campus in my nightgown to prove I'm cool enough to hang out with you guys? Thanks, I can do that at home by myself.
Anyway, the party was fun. I guess these people used to do these Sunday dinners all the time, and that's all very pleasant. I met some nice people, watched the football game and just generally had a good time. I got to play a game of spades, and that was excellent because I don't often get to play. It's difficult to find three other people that know how to play and then get them all together. Naturally, I won, even though my partner was on another planet most of the time. It's all good. As long as I win. I tried to teach SF how to play chess, but I did end up ditching her so I could play spades. The guy had a very awesome hand-crafted chessboard.
Most of the people I met there were very nice and quite affable; however, there was one individual with an unpleasant attitude and another one who seemed to be desperately horny. You know, ladies, I've been single for quite some time. Part of that time, it was because I wanted to be and other times it was because I had no choice. There is very little to select from these days. Whatever the case may be, it is highly unattractive to display your desperation so prominently. She openly admitted that she was a cougar, and that's all well and good but she was overly flirtatious with a married man. He didnt' seem to be receptive, only polite. It was quite awkward, yet amusing because I don't think she realised that she was the butt of several jokes. It is perfectly well and good to be assertive, but it's quite another to be aggressive.
Since it was Sunday night and we all had to work in the morning, we decided to call it quits around 11. I went home and worked out for a little bit after gossiping on the phone with SF for a few minutes.
All's well that ends well.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Now Boarding: Panic Airlines
Yes, I’m very concerned about the potential threat for terrorism aboard an aircraft. I am a frequent flier and I have my beady little eye out, secretly surveilling my fellow passengers just in case they’re up to something nefarious. Inwardly, I’m hoping someone does do something untoward, not because I have a death wish but because I would relish an opportunity to beat somebody down and be lauded as a hero, rather than taken immediately to jail for assault.
We should all pay attention to our surroundings. Not just on the aircraft, but everywhere, and not just for terrorism, but for our own safety. But enough is enough! Sadly, I believe that if the terrorists really want to do something, they are going to do it and there’s no security force in the world that is going to prevent it. Short of arriving to the airport butt ass naked with no luggage, there’s not going to be any way of preventing a disaster. And even then, somebody just might be daring enough to stick something up parts unknown—ewww.
At any rate, the country has gone overboard in the weeks since the Christmas Day bomber. Every five minutes someone is being detained, arrested, molested, whatever because they were believed to be a terrorist. “That guy has a funny walk! He must be a terrorist.” “That woman has her face covered. She must be a terrorist.” “That little eight year old kid has the same name as a terrorist. He must be a terrorist.”
Seriously? I mean, seriously. Can we calm down please?
The latest story in this escapade is a young Jewish kid being detained because he was seen praying on an aircraft. Being Orthodox, the kid was wearing phylacteries, these little boxes that hold scripture. Some Jews tie them to various body parts, like the head and arms, while they complete their prayers. They are not weapons of mass destruction, but apparently some uneducated lackwit got nervous because the kid began praying, and added with those strange little boxes…. He must be a terrorist!
Last week I read a story about an 8 year old who happened to have the same name as a guy on the No-Fly List. Every time the kid goes to get on a plane, he’s practically molested for “security reasons.” His parents have tried talking to all kinds of security officials but nobody seems to be able to help them. It’s the lack of common sense that I’m appalled at. Yes, John Doe may be on the No-Fly List, but when John Doe, age 6 shows up, do you really think he’s on a No-Fly list? For what possible reason would an infant be on a No-Fly List? Think, people! Think.
Every time somebody bows their head in prayer, that isn’t a prelude to death. Every time you see someone babbling something you can’t understand, that doesn’t mean their discussing plans to take over the plane. Several weeks ago, two men were detained on a flight to Phoenix because they were speaking excitedly in Arabic to each other.
Ever hear of the story The Boy Who Cried Wolf? Well, if you cry wolf every five minutes, running to hit the panic button, the real wolf is going to get in. After all these false alarms, Mr. Wolf will walk right on up to the nearest fully loaded aircraft, take his seat and blow his pretty little ass up along with everybody else who got sick of all these panic attacks.
Calm down. Take a breath. Observe. Assess. Analyse. Conclude: A problem or not a problem.
Everything is not a fire. While you’re being distracted by Jewish teenager saying his morning prayer, the Big Bad Wolf is over there!
We should all pay attention to our surroundings. Not just on the aircraft, but everywhere, and not just for terrorism, but for our own safety. But enough is enough! Sadly, I believe that if the terrorists really want to do something, they are going to do it and there’s no security force in the world that is going to prevent it. Short of arriving to the airport butt ass naked with no luggage, there’s not going to be any way of preventing a disaster. And even then, somebody just might be daring enough to stick something up parts unknown—ewww.
At any rate, the country has gone overboard in the weeks since the Christmas Day bomber. Every five minutes someone is being detained, arrested, molested, whatever because they were believed to be a terrorist. “That guy has a funny walk! He must be a terrorist.” “That woman has her face covered. She must be a terrorist.” “That little eight year old kid has the same name as a terrorist. He must be a terrorist.”
Seriously? I mean, seriously. Can we calm down please?
The latest story in this escapade is a young Jewish kid being detained because he was seen praying on an aircraft. Being Orthodox, the kid was wearing phylacteries, these little boxes that hold scripture. Some Jews tie them to various body parts, like the head and arms, while they complete their prayers. They are not weapons of mass destruction, but apparently some uneducated lackwit got nervous because the kid began praying, and added with those strange little boxes…. He must be a terrorist!
Last week I read a story about an 8 year old who happened to have the same name as a guy on the No-Fly List. Every time the kid goes to get on a plane, he’s practically molested for “security reasons.” His parents have tried talking to all kinds of security officials but nobody seems to be able to help them. It’s the lack of common sense that I’m appalled at. Yes, John Doe may be on the No-Fly List, but when John Doe, age 6 shows up, do you really think he’s on a No-Fly list? For what possible reason would an infant be on a No-Fly List? Think, people! Think.
Every time somebody bows their head in prayer, that isn’t a prelude to death. Every time you see someone babbling something you can’t understand, that doesn’t mean their discussing plans to take over the plane. Several weeks ago, two men were detained on a flight to Phoenix because they were speaking excitedly in Arabic to each other.
Ever hear of the story The Boy Who Cried Wolf? Well, if you cry wolf every five minutes, running to hit the panic button, the real wolf is going to get in. After all these false alarms, Mr. Wolf will walk right on up to the nearest fully loaded aircraft, take his seat and blow his pretty little ass up along with everybody else who got sick of all these panic attacks.
Calm down. Take a breath. Observe. Assess. Analyse. Conclude: A problem or not a problem.
Everything is not a fire. While you’re being distracted by Jewish teenager saying his morning prayer, the Big Bad Wolf is over there!
A Song For My Mood #35: The Climb by No Doubt
The Climb
by No Doubt
Step by step
I’ve come closer to reaching the top
Every step must be placed so that I don’t fall off
Looking down to see ’bout how much higher I am
Another cool wind comes through and brushes my skin
The harder I push the tension does grow
I gather my thoughts the further and further I go
With some luck I just might keep on climbing
So better to climb than to face a fall
So high the climb
Can’t turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the clouds
So high the climb
Can’t turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the cloud
Pulling myself up by a rope
I better my view
The only thing in sight is what I must do
As I turned I could see myself falling
Which in return save me strength for the climb
So high the climb
Can’t turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the clouds
So high the climb
Can’t turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the clouds
Although many failed I must now prevail with no question
Have no time to stop
Onward to the top of the mountain
And I can’t turn back now
It’s so very high but I can’t turn back now
If I keep it up, I’m gonna make it
I’m so very close, can’t you see
So high the climb
Can’t turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the clouds
I’m getting closer
by No Doubt
Step by step
I’ve come closer to reaching the top
Every step must be placed so that I don’t fall off
Looking down to see ’bout how much higher I am
Another cool wind comes through and brushes my skin
The harder I push the tension does grow
I gather my thoughts the further and further I go
With some luck I just might keep on climbing
So better to climb than to face a fall
So high the climb
Can’t turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the clouds
So high the climb
Can’t turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the cloud
Pulling myself up by a rope
I better my view
The only thing in sight is what I must do
As I turned I could see myself falling
Which in return save me strength for the climb
So high the climb
Can’t turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the clouds
So high the climb
Can’t turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the clouds
Although many failed I must now prevail with no question
Have no time to stop
Onward to the top of the mountain
And I can’t turn back now
It’s so very high but I can’t turn back now
If I keep it up, I’m gonna make it
I’m so very close, can’t you see
So high the climb
Can’t turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the clouds
I’m getting closer
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Optional, For Use On Longer Entries #3
Isn’t it wonderful how we are all possessed of a difference of opinion?
Imagine how bland the world would be if we all thought in precisely the same manner. Perhaps in some ways, it would seem ideal: there would be no deaths in the name of religion, politics and creed. But then we would strip ourselves of the very thing, I think, that separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom.
We have free reign of thought. We get to choose.
Although some of us may be oppressed and cannot express ourselves freely, there is no force on earth that can control the mind. In your head, you can think whatever it is you want.
I think that is the most wonderful gift we could have been given.
Imagine how bland the world would be if we all thought in precisely the same manner. Perhaps in some ways, it would seem ideal: there would be no deaths in the name of religion, politics and creed. But then we would strip ourselves of the very thing, I think, that separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom.
We have free reign of thought. We get to choose.
Although some of us may be oppressed and cannot express ourselves freely, there is no force on earth that can control the mind. In your head, you can think whatever it is you want.
I think that is the most wonderful gift we could have been given.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Who Really Gives a Damn: Haiti
I'm sorry, but I just don't really give a damn about the Haiti situation. There, I said it. I'm the most hateful person in the world. I have no heart. I'm cruel. I'm an evil bitch.
Oh well.
Yes, I am saddened by the potentially catastrophic loss of life. I'm sorry that many people probably suffered cruelly in their final moments. I'm sorry that families have been torn apart. I am honestly sorry about all those things. However, death is a natural part of life. Although we try our hardest, we don't really get to control how we depart this sweet earth. Some Haitian was probably living a very healthful life, eating his vegetables, exercising daily only to have a poorly constructed building fall atop his head. There's nothing he can do about that. There's nothing any of us can do about dying, only hope that we go with dignity and that there isn't any unnecessary suffering in the end.
Having said all that, I admit that I could really give two shits for their suffering and agony right now. I didn't care before the earthquake, so why should I care now? Haiti is one of the poorest countries in the world. According to the CIA World Factbook, 80 per cent of the population lives in abject poverty. Approximately 2/3 of the population doesn't have a formal job. Unemployment is rampant. About half of the country is literate in its own language. The life expectancy is approximately 60 years of age. SIXTY. That means, the average person dies around that age. Of course, some live longer, some live shorter, but on average, at sixty, that's pretty much it. All of this was fact before the earthquake. Haiti is a country that has been plagued with a corrupt government and inept leadership for decades. Their problems did not begin with this devastating earthquake, but are merely compounded.
Knowing all of that, I didn't donate one brown penny to help them before this disaster and I can't see how giving them a penny now would be any different. I don't believe in throwing good money after bad.
Since last week's earthquake, I've been innundated with all these heartstring miserable stories about people dying in the streets, starving, orphans trapped beneath rubble, etc. etc. Cry me a freaking river. The only difference now is that all of their buildings have crumbled down around their feet. They were dying in the streets before. They were starving before. The only reason why orphans are trapped beneath rubble is because they were already orphans. Now there are more orphans, but what's the difference? How come Brangelina didn't donate $1 million a week before the earthquake? Why didn't Wyclef Jean have a charity concert last month? MSN reported that Sandra Bullock donated $1 million out of her own money. CNN reported that some Muslim American association has gathered up $800,000 so far. All the major powers of the world are sending doctors and nurses, military men, and all this aid to the country in their hour of need. They needed all of that before. Where was the outpouring of relief then?
I read on MSNBC that scientists knew that a bad earthquake could hit the Caribbean region. They published some report in some scientific journal. Well, if you knew that, why didn't some celebrity sponsor some architects to go over there and help build a better infrastructure for an area that could be devastated? What about foreplanning? Why does everyone act like they care after some major disaster? Just like Katrina. Afterwards, everyone was like, "Oh, yeah, we knew the levees wouldn't hold." Okay, if you knew that, why didn't you start planning? Why didn't some celebrity hold a bake sale to put money in some kind of savings in case something happens to the people? How come nobody ever thinks of anything until afterwards?
How come nobody cares beforehand but afterward, it's all like, "Oh, my God, help the people." That's why I said I don't care. Pre-earthquake, I could barely tell you where Haiti was located. Yeah, I do know because I'm good at geography, but like actually giving a damn? No, not at all, and I can't say that I care now. I don't blame Haiti for having an earthquake, of course, nobody causes earthquakes, but I do blame them for not taking care of themselves. Their government is a piece of shit, and now that crappy ass government is holding its hand out. I bet they are actually grateful something happened because now the spotlight is on them. The president of Haiti has already said they would need long-term assistance in order to get back right. Well, you weren't right in the first place, and everybody would be shamed if they got Haiti back to the exact position it was before: a piece of shit. But no, you know you can't do that, you have to build it better. So, in effect, Haiti is getting a free ride, something it would not have gotten if this earthquake had never happened.
What if we went in and rebuilt all those shitty ass buildings back to the same sorry standard in which they were built? That's all you had before, so why should we make it better, especially since we never had any intention of doing anything for you? We were scarcely away of your existence the night before the earth shook.
I read that the nation's only prison collapsed. It was a 95 year old dilapidated building and it fell to the ground and now all the criminals are free. So now somebody has got to go in and build Haiti a brand new fancy prison with state of the art everything and round up all the criminals for them because they can't do it themselves. According to reports, Haiti's police force has been diminshed to approximately 1500, down from 4000. So now, the U.S. and other first world counries need to send in their own militaries to help keep the peace. And until Haiti's police force can get back right, our soldiers have to stay over there. News flash: we already have a shit ton of soldiers in other places they don't need to be.
When does it end? How come none of the celebrities were over there getting the Haitians to learn how to read and write in their own language? Half of them are illiterate, which is almost the basis of a poor nation. If you're uneducated, chances are, you're going to be dirt poor. How come none of the celebrities were trying to build jobs for the Haitians to work? How come nobody was adopting Haitian orphans before?
How come Haiti wasn't helping Haiti? How come Haiti isn't helping Haiti now?
You know what I just read? I read an article about the tent towns that have cropped up in the parks because most of the homes are destroyed. The reported stated that there was a decided sense of hopelessness in the tent towns. He wrote "men sit around staring off into space, milling around and praying."
Milling around and praying. Really? Really. While Israelis, Chinese, French, Americans, Brazilians, etc are out busting their asses trying to clear rubble, rescue survivors and distribute aid, and the Haitians who did survive are milling around and praying? How about you get off your ass, stop milling around and help out. Why don't you organise the wounded into one location so the Doctors Without Borders can find them easily to do what they do best? How about you try to figure out what to do with the trash that is piling up? How about you organise yourselves so you can keep the peace in your little tent town neighbourhood, protect all the orphans? Or get the dead situated so they can be buried. Search for food and water. Help clear rubble so the aid can reach you.
It may not be much in the grand scheme of things, but it will give you an occupation and take your mind off the hopelessness that is pressing down upon you. It will empower you and let you know that you are in charge of your own destiny. Even in the face of disaster, there are still some things you can control. Milling around accomplishes nothing. Don't sit around waiting for someone to save you, save yourself!
In Italy last year there was a devastating earthquake. It was 6.3 on the Richter scale compared with 7.0 in Haiti. There are some major differences. Approximately 300 people died in Italy but that's because they didn't live in dilapidated unsafe buildings. Tens of thousands of people were left homeless, but they quickly organised into tent cities and a week after the earthquake, their children were back in school (tent schools). Different "neighbourhoods" in the tent cities formed little associations with a leader just to keep things organised, to keep people occupied so they wouldn't go crazy. The media did report on this earthquake, but you didn't see dead people lying all out in the street, homeless kids wandering around looking all devastated and all the other sad depressing images we're seeing out of Haiti.
The difference is that Italy is established and prepared before disaster strikes and afterwards, they took matters into their own hands. Most Italians can read their own language; most of them are employed. That country is not impoverished. They can take care of themselves. There was relief and aid sent in, but American celebrities didn't have to hock their jewels and hold charity concerts in order for them to get back on their feet.
Some people may see that as comparing apples to oranges, but my point is, if somebody actually cared about Haiti in the first place, there wouldn't be all of this right now.
I don't like the hypocrisy that is coming out of this. I don't like the exploitation. All of my friends on Facebook and Twitter are talking about donating and whatnot. Did you donate before? Did you even know where Haiti was? Did you even care? Why do you care now? Because you're trying assuage the guilt you feel? You see these tragic looking battered children in a broke down palace and you feel guilty because you just threw out a half eaten prime rib? You think that by texting YELE to make a wack ass $5 donation on your cell phone bill, you will suddenly feel vindicated? Get real and get over yourself.
Once the media stops exploiting the tragedy you will forget about it.
Just like Katrina, the tsunami of 2004, and ever other great disaster. Nobody cared before and nobody cares now.
Oh well.
Yes, I am saddened by the potentially catastrophic loss of life. I'm sorry that many people probably suffered cruelly in their final moments. I'm sorry that families have been torn apart. I am honestly sorry about all those things. However, death is a natural part of life. Although we try our hardest, we don't really get to control how we depart this sweet earth. Some Haitian was probably living a very healthful life, eating his vegetables, exercising daily only to have a poorly constructed building fall atop his head. There's nothing he can do about that. There's nothing any of us can do about dying, only hope that we go with dignity and that there isn't any unnecessary suffering in the end.
Having said all that, I admit that I could really give two shits for their suffering and agony right now. I didn't care before the earthquake, so why should I care now? Haiti is one of the poorest countries in the world. According to the CIA World Factbook, 80 per cent of the population lives in abject poverty. Approximately 2/3 of the population doesn't have a formal job. Unemployment is rampant. About half of the country is literate in its own language. The life expectancy is approximately 60 years of age. SIXTY. That means, the average person dies around that age. Of course, some live longer, some live shorter, but on average, at sixty, that's pretty much it. All of this was fact before the earthquake. Haiti is a country that has been plagued with a corrupt government and inept leadership for decades. Their problems did not begin with this devastating earthquake, but are merely compounded.
Knowing all of that, I didn't donate one brown penny to help them before this disaster and I can't see how giving them a penny now would be any different. I don't believe in throwing good money after bad.
Since last week's earthquake, I've been innundated with all these heartstring miserable stories about people dying in the streets, starving, orphans trapped beneath rubble, etc. etc. Cry me a freaking river. The only difference now is that all of their buildings have crumbled down around their feet. They were dying in the streets before. They were starving before. The only reason why orphans are trapped beneath rubble is because they were already orphans. Now there are more orphans, but what's the difference? How come Brangelina didn't donate $1 million a week before the earthquake? Why didn't Wyclef Jean have a charity concert last month? MSN reported that Sandra Bullock donated $1 million out of her own money. CNN reported that some Muslim American association has gathered up $800,000 so far. All the major powers of the world are sending doctors and nurses, military men, and all this aid to the country in their hour of need. They needed all of that before. Where was the outpouring of relief then?
I read on MSNBC that scientists knew that a bad earthquake could hit the Caribbean region. They published some report in some scientific journal. Well, if you knew that, why didn't some celebrity sponsor some architects to go over there and help build a better infrastructure for an area that could be devastated? What about foreplanning? Why does everyone act like they care after some major disaster? Just like Katrina. Afterwards, everyone was like, "Oh, yeah, we knew the levees wouldn't hold." Okay, if you knew that, why didn't you start planning? Why didn't some celebrity hold a bake sale to put money in some kind of savings in case something happens to the people? How come nobody ever thinks of anything until afterwards?
How come nobody cares beforehand but afterward, it's all like, "Oh, my God, help the people." That's why I said I don't care. Pre-earthquake, I could barely tell you where Haiti was located. Yeah, I do know because I'm good at geography, but like actually giving a damn? No, not at all, and I can't say that I care now. I don't blame Haiti for having an earthquake, of course, nobody causes earthquakes, but I do blame them for not taking care of themselves. Their government is a piece of shit, and now that crappy ass government is holding its hand out. I bet they are actually grateful something happened because now the spotlight is on them. The president of Haiti has already said they would need long-term assistance in order to get back right. Well, you weren't right in the first place, and everybody would be shamed if they got Haiti back to the exact position it was before: a piece of shit. But no, you know you can't do that, you have to build it better. So, in effect, Haiti is getting a free ride, something it would not have gotten if this earthquake had never happened.
What if we went in and rebuilt all those shitty ass buildings back to the same sorry standard in which they were built? That's all you had before, so why should we make it better, especially since we never had any intention of doing anything for you? We were scarcely away of your existence the night before the earth shook.
I read that the nation's only prison collapsed. It was a 95 year old dilapidated building and it fell to the ground and now all the criminals are free. So now somebody has got to go in and build Haiti a brand new fancy prison with state of the art everything and round up all the criminals for them because they can't do it themselves. According to reports, Haiti's police force has been diminshed to approximately 1500, down from 4000. So now, the U.S. and other first world counries need to send in their own militaries to help keep the peace. And until Haiti's police force can get back right, our soldiers have to stay over there. News flash: we already have a shit ton of soldiers in other places they don't need to be.
When does it end? How come none of the celebrities were over there getting the Haitians to learn how to read and write in their own language? Half of them are illiterate, which is almost the basis of a poor nation. If you're uneducated, chances are, you're going to be dirt poor. How come none of the celebrities were trying to build jobs for the Haitians to work? How come nobody was adopting Haitian orphans before?
How come Haiti wasn't helping Haiti? How come Haiti isn't helping Haiti now?
You know what I just read? I read an article about the tent towns that have cropped up in the parks because most of the homes are destroyed. The reported stated that there was a decided sense of hopelessness in the tent towns. He wrote "men sit around staring off into space, milling around and praying."
Milling around and praying. Really? Really. While Israelis, Chinese, French, Americans, Brazilians, etc are out busting their asses trying to clear rubble, rescue survivors and distribute aid, and the Haitians who did survive are milling around and praying? How about you get off your ass, stop milling around and help out. Why don't you organise the wounded into one location so the Doctors Without Borders can find them easily to do what they do best? How about you try to figure out what to do with the trash that is piling up? How about you organise yourselves so you can keep the peace in your little tent town neighbourhood, protect all the orphans? Or get the dead situated so they can be buried. Search for food and water. Help clear rubble so the aid can reach you.
It may not be much in the grand scheme of things, but it will give you an occupation and take your mind off the hopelessness that is pressing down upon you. It will empower you and let you know that you are in charge of your own destiny. Even in the face of disaster, there are still some things you can control. Milling around accomplishes nothing. Don't sit around waiting for someone to save you, save yourself!
In Italy last year there was a devastating earthquake. It was 6.3 on the Richter scale compared with 7.0 in Haiti. There are some major differences. Approximately 300 people died in Italy but that's because they didn't live in dilapidated unsafe buildings. Tens of thousands of people were left homeless, but they quickly organised into tent cities and a week after the earthquake, their children were back in school (tent schools). Different "neighbourhoods" in the tent cities formed little associations with a leader just to keep things organised, to keep people occupied so they wouldn't go crazy. The media did report on this earthquake, but you didn't see dead people lying all out in the street, homeless kids wandering around looking all devastated and all the other sad depressing images we're seeing out of Haiti.
The difference is that Italy is established and prepared before disaster strikes and afterwards, they took matters into their own hands. Most Italians can read their own language; most of them are employed. That country is not impoverished. They can take care of themselves. There was relief and aid sent in, but American celebrities didn't have to hock their jewels and hold charity concerts in order for them to get back on their feet.
Some people may see that as comparing apples to oranges, but my point is, if somebody actually cared about Haiti in the first place, there wouldn't be all of this right now.
I don't like the hypocrisy that is coming out of this. I don't like the exploitation. All of my friends on Facebook and Twitter are talking about donating and whatnot. Did you donate before? Did you even know where Haiti was? Did you even care? Why do you care now? Because you're trying assuage the guilt you feel? You see these tragic looking battered children in a broke down palace and you feel guilty because you just threw out a half eaten prime rib? You think that by texting YELE to make a wack ass $5 donation on your cell phone bill, you will suddenly feel vindicated? Get real and get over yourself.
Once the media stops exploiting the tragedy you will forget about it.
Just like Katrina, the tsunami of 2004, and ever other great disaster. Nobody cared before and nobody cares now.
Misadventures of the Village Idiot #39
Thank goodness for three day weekends. They always seem to come at just the right time, right when you really need one. The only problem with three day weekends, though, is that you are always sorry to see them go. Mondays can be bad enough, but the Tuesday following a three day can loom like hell on the horizon. Then the damn thing goes by so fast. You get that sense of "wasn't it just Friday 10 minutes ago?" but the cruel reality is that no, it really is Tuesday morning, so get your ass to work.
Friday
Geez, what did I even do on Friday? I think I might have slept my life away. Yeah, I did. I remember that I was thinking about going to Bound because they were having a burlesque themed night. I have never been there and I was kind of eager to check it out. I was also thinking about Eclipse up in Baltimore. I haven't been to Club Orpheus since Kele-De stopped Ascension. Some new guy, DJ Umbris started up Eclipse and from the pictures it looks entertaining. For a third option, I was thinking about going to a late night showing of Sherlock Holmes. In the end, I wound up not doing anything. It was freakishly cold and I was kind of not in the mood to leave my warm house. Instead, I worked out and watched Jurassic Park. Oooh, very exciting.
Saturday
On Saturday, I got up early and did a bit of a workout, cleaned the house because it was a pigsty and then I got ready to go over to Ceciley's jewellery party down in Waldorf. I had an excellent time. An ex-co-worker of mine, Princess, sells Silpada jewellery. I already kind of knew that I wasn't going to buy anything because most of the jewellery was outrageously expensive and it looked like something old white women would wear. I wanted to support her, of course, a black woman, because we're always in need of support, but I had to really scour the book for something that wouldn't break the bank and for something that I might actually consider wearing. I did find some earrings that I can wear in my second hole. I was annoyed that they were $32, but I guess it's for a good cause. I did admire some bracelets, but not for $165. I took SF along with me and she wound up buying $200 worth of stuff. I think Princess was glad of it, because most of the women there felt like I did: too expensive and not in our taste range.
After the party was over, most people were in the mood to go out. It was quite early and we hadn't eaten properly. Some of us were in the club mode, while some of us just wanted to enjoy a good meal and sit down somewhere. Trying to get 10 black women to agree on any one thing is the prelude to peace. When we decided on one spot, it turned out the place was too full and couldn't accommodate us. Then we settled on another location and that place couldn't fit all of us either. Then we walked across the street and they had an hour wait, then we went back across the street and it was dead over there. So we drove around the corner to a different place. It had a stanky smell to it, like old eggs and sewage, and unfortunately, that was the place we settled on. The only place that could seat such a large party. The food was not good and I didn't want to spend money on sub-standard food. I wanted to hang out with them though because I rarely see them because they live too far away.
After a suitable period, SF and I decided to leave because we had such a long drive back and we were hungry. We went to the diner around the way from my house and we sat in there for THREE HOURS trying to think up commercial jingles. Yeah, don't ask. For some reason, whenever we get together, it's always an exercise in absurdity. We sat in the booth most of the night singing jingles.
Have a good night's rest on us.... Mattress Discounters!
What would you dooooo-oooo for a Klondyke bar?
You're not fully clean unless you're Zestfully clean!
Yeah, serious issues.
Other serious issues included our waitress. She felt it was a personal affront that the customer should be overcharged for anything. When I placed my order she told me how expensive it was going to be because I basically ordered two breakfasts. I wanted a waffle but it came with eggs and meat, and then I wanted an omelette and that came with a bagel and potatoes. I told her to skip all the side dishes and just give me the main course. She offered to give me strawberries in place, but she said, "Don't tell anybody because I have to charge you." Apparently, a teeny bowl of strawberries is $2.49. When she brought them to the table, she made me hide them behind the dessert menu.
She said, "I'm giving them to you for free, because I don't play that shit. Ripping the customer off. No way."
Then she walked off and came back with a handful of grape jelly packets. Since nobody ordered toast, I was like, "What is this for?" She told me to put them in my purse. She said, "That's why I take stuff from them because they are always overcharging the customer. Fuck that shit."
She was completely spazzed. She kept bouncing from table to table, talking too fast; I could hardly understand her. I was like, Yeah, time to switch to decaf. When she brought our food, SF had ordered eggs scrambled with onions, except they just threw some onions on top, not really scrambled with onions. When the waitress saw that she got mad. "Those assholes, that's why I steal the jelly. Cuz they don't know what the fuck they are doing." She also told us that she didn't understand the Geico caveman commercials. SF had to explain it to her.
A very strange evening.
Sunday
I woke up very early Sunday morning to go get my car serviced. In need of a major oil change, some new windshield blades and there was this annoying ass squeak. It was so loud that you could hear me arriving from six miles away. The place opened at 9AM. I was the second person in line because I was standing outside waiting for them to open. I'm quite tired because I got home at 2 in the morning and then I stayed up watching Star Trek.
I went early so I could be in and out. Why did I not leave until noon? Seriously. The guy was like it was going to take about 45 minutes. Thirty minutes for the oil change and some extra to look at the belt that was squeaking. My car sat in the lot for an hour before they even pulled it in to work on it. Then they kept bullshitting me.
First they were going to replace the belt. Then they didn't have a belt. Then they were going to put the same belt back on, but then they couldn't find where he put the belt. Seriously? He would say one thing and then go away for 30 minutes and then come back with something else, go away for 30 minutes and come back with some more bullshit. On top of that, these two jackasses came in making all this racket in the little waiting area. It was nice and quiet. Me, some Filipino lady, and some other guy. Everybody was being nice and quiet, minding their own business, listening to iPods and these two ass clowns come in and they want to strike up a conversation with everybody. I was sleepy, so I kept drifting off and then one guy was like, "Look, look at her, she so tired, she been in the club all night. What... what... you was at Crossroads?"
Leave me alone!
Then the other guy was like, "Oh, she has bedroom eyes. Sniper eyes." Yeah, too bad they don't shoot lasers.
The first guy who was in the waiting room offered to buy me a drink. That was nice of him but I don't take drinks from strange men. Anyway, they finally finished my car. I go home; eat breakfast, which by now is really lunch and then I went to sleep for the rest of the day. I didn't get back up until like 6PM. I did a little work out, watched the second Jurassic Park and then I decided to go out to check out DJ Javier's new spot III in Dupont Circle.
First of all, I hate going down to DC because the parking is always a bitch. I hate Adams Morgan, Dupont Circle, those areas where they are over crowded with bars, restaurants and night spots because the parking is an atrocity. It took me 25 minutes to even find somewhere to park, and not just me trolling for a nice parking space, just to find any parking space at all. I don't live in DC, so I don't take the metro because I would first have to drive to the Metro before I got on the train, which defeats the purpose. People in DC should not have cars so they can make room for visitors who do have cars.
I did eventually luck out and find a decent parking space and that's only because someone left out. I told myself that if I didn't find a parking space in 5 more minutes I was leaving and I found one. The Lord provideth.
Anyway, the club itself was just okay, but the music was great. I love goth/80s goth and it was a welcome change from EBM/Industrial that I always hear in other spots. Kele-De was wrong when she said that the scene couldn't support an all goth night. There were quite a few people there. It was nice. The club itself was just... weird. Support beams oddly placed in the middle of the floor. A strange half-way constructed look like they hadn't finished building the place quite yet. A bathroom that is actually on the dancefloor with an open floor plan so anybody that is too tall might be able to peek inside while you're pissing. Very awkward.
Monday
Monday I got up and finished cleaning my pigsty of a house. I just couldn't take it anymore. I bought new bathroom ornamentation but I wanted to super scrub the bathroom before I put in the new stuff. That was like two months ago and I'm finally getting around to doing that.
I made plans with SF to go over her house and cook dinner and then go see Sherlock Holmes. I swear I am destined to not see that movie! Every time we make plans, something happens. Last time it was the unplanned Ugly Betty marathon. This time it was because we just sat around talking and the time escaped us.
I was really in the mood for some fried chicken. I had been craving it for quite some time. When we went out on Saturday night, I had some chicken wings but they tasted like air. Absolutely no seasoning whatsoever. It was like they opened up a pack of chicken, threw it in the oven and then voila! I didn't even get the added benefit of dirty oil. A travesty.
So I fried up some proper chicken, French fries, sweet potatoes and baked a pan of brownies. SF said she was surprised that I intended to cook a full meal. Did you think I was just going to make chicken and that's it? What to eat with it? Can't just eat chicken! I cooked, she cleaned and we sat down to eat and then we started up with the commerical jingles again, and then we talked about why I'm too good to shack up with somebody, why black women are single, Faceboko drama, and Oscar movies, blockbusters, independent films, and the life and times of Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England. I told you, it's always very random when we get together. We just jump from one topic to another. I think that's why we get along so well, because we both like to talk. Doesn't even matter about what; just talking.
I stayed over there until 1030, went home, power walked for a mile and then watched Futurama.
Here it is Tuesday and I wish it was the weekend all over again.
Friday
Geez, what did I even do on Friday? I think I might have slept my life away. Yeah, I did. I remember that I was thinking about going to Bound because they were having a burlesque themed night. I have never been there and I was kind of eager to check it out. I was also thinking about Eclipse up in Baltimore. I haven't been to Club Orpheus since Kele-De stopped Ascension. Some new guy, DJ Umbris started up Eclipse and from the pictures it looks entertaining. For a third option, I was thinking about going to a late night showing of Sherlock Holmes. In the end, I wound up not doing anything. It was freakishly cold and I was kind of not in the mood to leave my warm house. Instead, I worked out and watched Jurassic Park. Oooh, very exciting.
Saturday
On Saturday, I got up early and did a bit of a workout, cleaned the house because it was a pigsty and then I got ready to go over to Ceciley's jewellery party down in Waldorf. I had an excellent time. An ex-co-worker of mine, Princess, sells Silpada jewellery. I already kind of knew that I wasn't going to buy anything because most of the jewellery was outrageously expensive and it looked like something old white women would wear. I wanted to support her, of course, a black woman, because we're always in need of support, but I had to really scour the book for something that wouldn't break the bank and for something that I might actually consider wearing. I did find some earrings that I can wear in my second hole. I was annoyed that they were $32, but I guess it's for a good cause. I did admire some bracelets, but not for $165. I took SF along with me and she wound up buying $200 worth of stuff. I think Princess was glad of it, because most of the women there felt like I did: too expensive and not in our taste range.
After the party was over, most people were in the mood to go out. It was quite early and we hadn't eaten properly. Some of us were in the club mode, while some of us just wanted to enjoy a good meal and sit down somewhere. Trying to get 10 black women to agree on any one thing is the prelude to peace. When we decided on one spot, it turned out the place was too full and couldn't accommodate us. Then we settled on another location and that place couldn't fit all of us either. Then we walked across the street and they had an hour wait, then we went back across the street and it was dead over there. So we drove around the corner to a different place. It had a stanky smell to it, like old eggs and sewage, and unfortunately, that was the place we settled on. The only place that could seat such a large party. The food was not good and I didn't want to spend money on sub-standard food. I wanted to hang out with them though because I rarely see them because they live too far away.
After a suitable period, SF and I decided to leave because we had such a long drive back and we were hungry. We went to the diner around the way from my house and we sat in there for THREE HOURS trying to think up commercial jingles. Yeah, don't ask. For some reason, whenever we get together, it's always an exercise in absurdity. We sat in the booth most of the night singing jingles.
Have a good night's rest on us.... Mattress Discounters!
What would you dooooo-oooo for a Klondyke bar?
You're not fully clean unless you're Zestfully clean!
Yeah, serious issues.
Other serious issues included our waitress. She felt it was a personal affront that the customer should be overcharged for anything. When I placed my order she told me how expensive it was going to be because I basically ordered two breakfasts. I wanted a waffle but it came with eggs and meat, and then I wanted an omelette and that came with a bagel and potatoes. I told her to skip all the side dishes and just give me the main course. She offered to give me strawberries in place, but she said, "Don't tell anybody because I have to charge you." Apparently, a teeny bowl of strawberries is $2.49. When she brought them to the table, she made me hide them behind the dessert menu.
She said, "I'm giving them to you for free, because I don't play that shit. Ripping the customer off. No way."
Then she walked off and came back with a handful of grape jelly packets. Since nobody ordered toast, I was like, "What is this for?" She told me to put them in my purse. She said, "That's why I take stuff from them because they are always overcharging the customer. Fuck that shit."
She was completely spazzed. She kept bouncing from table to table, talking too fast; I could hardly understand her. I was like, Yeah, time to switch to decaf. When she brought our food, SF had ordered eggs scrambled with onions, except they just threw some onions on top, not really scrambled with onions. When the waitress saw that she got mad. "Those assholes, that's why I steal the jelly. Cuz they don't know what the fuck they are doing." She also told us that she didn't understand the Geico caveman commercials. SF had to explain it to her.
A very strange evening.
Sunday
I woke up very early Sunday morning to go get my car serviced. In need of a major oil change, some new windshield blades and there was this annoying ass squeak. It was so loud that you could hear me arriving from six miles away. The place opened at 9AM. I was the second person in line because I was standing outside waiting for them to open. I'm quite tired because I got home at 2 in the morning and then I stayed up watching Star Trek.
I went early so I could be in and out. Why did I not leave until noon? Seriously. The guy was like it was going to take about 45 minutes. Thirty minutes for the oil change and some extra to look at the belt that was squeaking. My car sat in the lot for an hour before they even pulled it in to work on it. Then they kept bullshitting me.
First they were going to replace the belt. Then they didn't have a belt. Then they were going to put the same belt back on, but then they couldn't find where he put the belt. Seriously? He would say one thing and then go away for 30 minutes and then come back with something else, go away for 30 minutes and come back with some more bullshit. On top of that, these two jackasses came in making all this racket in the little waiting area. It was nice and quiet. Me, some Filipino lady, and some other guy. Everybody was being nice and quiet, minding their own business, listening to iPods and these two ass clowns come in and they want to strike up a conversation with everybody. I was sleepy, so I kept drifting off and then one guy was like, "Look, look at her, she so tired, she been in the club all night. What... what... you was at Crossroads?"
Leave me alone!
Then the other guy was like, "Oh, she has bedroom eyes. Sniper eyes." Yeah, too bad they don't shoot lasers.
The first guy who was in the waiting room offered to buy me a drink. That was nice of him but I don't take drinks from strange men. Anyway, they finally finished my car. I go home; eat breakfast, which by now is really lunch and then I went to sleep for the rest of the day. I didn't get back up until like 6PM. I did a little work out, watched the second Jurassic Park and then I decided to go out to check out DJ Javier's new spot III in Dupont Circle.
First of all, I hate going down to DC because the parking is always a bitch. I hate Adams Morgan, Dupont Circle, those areas where they are over crowded with bars, restaurants and night spots because the parking is an atrocity. It took me 25 minutes to even find somewhere to park, and not just me trolling for a nice parking space, just to find any parking space at all. I don't live in DC, so I don't take the metro because I would first have to drive to the Metro before I got on the train, which defeats the purpose. People in DC should not have cars so they can make room for visitors who do have cars.
I did eventually luck out and find a decent parking space and that's only because someone left out. I told myself that if I didn't find a parking space in 5 more minutes I was leaving and I found one. The Lord provideth.
Anyway, the club itself was just okay, but the music was great. I love goth/80s goth and it was a welcome change from EBM/Industrial that I always hear in other spots. Kele-De was wrong when she said that the scene couldn't support an all goth night. There were quite a few people there. It was nice. The club itself was just... weird. Support beams oddly placed in the middle of the floor. A strange half-way constructed look like they hadn't finished building the place quite yet. A bathroom that is actually on the dancefloor with an open floor plan so anybody that is too tall might be able to peek inside while you're pissing. Very awkward.
Monday
Monday I got up and finished cleaning my pigsty of a house. I just couldn't take it anymore. I bought new bathroom ornamentation but I wanted to super scrub the bathroom before I put in the new stuff. That was like two months ago and I'm finally getting around to doing that.
I made plans with SF to go over her house and cook dinner and then go see Sherlock Holmes. I swear I am destined to not see that movie! Every time we make plans, something happens. Last time it was the unplanned Ugly Betty marathon. This time it was because we just sat around talking and the time escaped us.
I was really in the mood for some fried chicken. I had been craving it for quite some time. When we went out on Saturday night, I had some chicken wings but they tasted like air. Absolutely no seasoning whatsoever. It was like they opened up a pack of chicken, threw it in the oven and then voila! I didn't even get the added benefit of dirty oil. A travesty.
So I fried up some proper chicken, French fries, sweet potatoes and baked a pan of brownies. SF said she was surprised that I intended to cook a full meal. Did you think I was just going to make chicken and that's it? What to eat with it? Can't just eat chicken! I cooked, she cleaned and we sat down to eat and then we started up with the commerical jingles again, and then we talked about why I'm too good to shack up with somebody, why black women are single, Faceboko drama, and Oscar movies, blockbusters, independent films, and the life and times of Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England. I told you, it's always very random when we get together. We just jump from one topic to another. I think that's why we get along so well, because we both like to talk. Doesn't even matter about what; just talking.
I stayed over there until 1030, went home, power walked for a mile and then watched Futurama.
Here it is Tuesday and I wish it was the weekend all over again.
Monday, January 18, 2010
The Afronista Rants #7: Sorry, MLK, the War Ain’t Over Yet
Today is Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. day.
Today is Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. day.
I would say it again, but you get the point. So, my question is, what precisely does that mean? I got a day off, thanks to Congress, because some people rallied together and thought we should have the day off. We celebrate a lot of white people, why not this guy who gave some speeches and got killed for his efforts? That’s their argument, not mine; I’m just trying to give you the basic premise.
At any rate, today my aunt posed a question “do white people celebrate MLK day like black people do.” My response was, “black people celebrate MLK day?” Oh, really? Yeah, there’s some parades and stuff, but they have parades for anything these days. How precisely do you celebrate MLK day? Do we stand around and talk about the meaning of being black and oppressed? What do we do? Somebody let me know because I might feel like celebrating.
I told my aunt that today is just like any other day. This is one of those partial holidays, where some people get it and some people don’t. Those that get the day off are glad they don’t have to succumb to Monday morning blues. MLK day is just like any other “holiday” we have where people only “celebrate” half-heartedly. I told my aunt to look at how Christmas is celebrated in this country and she would get her answer. If supposed Christians hardly give a damn about the alleged birth of Jesus Christ, the Saviour of mankind, why would anybody give a damn about a black man who got shot 40 years ago?
At any rate, I hate this day more than any other holiday that we have. It’s so phony to me. All my black friends on Twitter and Facebook are posting their “I’m black and proud” posts, most of them have had to do with President Obama and how cool it is we have a black president. There’s lot of posts talking about our freedom and how we’ve won against the oppressors and whatever else. I’m sure that’s all wonderful and everything, but seriously… what precisely do you think you’ve won? How free are you exactly? Where did you get these idiotic ideals? Are you even on the same planet as I am?
NEWS FLASH: THE WAR AIN’T OVER YET!
We might have won a battle, a major battle, but the war is not over yet. And just in case you didn’t know, much like the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, there has been a total shift in focus: we no longer fight The Man; we’re fighting ourselves.
I do not think we’ve made a significant victory in the war against racism and oppression. Sure, legally, we’re not allowed to discriminate and all that jazz, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen. Does it make it any less criminal just because we can’t see it? But I won’t even turn this into a black versus white charade. Let’s talk about black versus black. We’re our own worst enemy. We oppress ourselves far greater than the white man ever could.
Talking white, acting white, Uncle Tom, etc. all these things that black people say to other black people to make them feel guilty for succeeding in what they have decided is a white world. Why not just be happy that somebody is successful at something, anything? Why alienate your own kind because you can’t play the game, failed the game, or don’t even know there’s a game going on?
Black people segregate themselves far worse than the Jim Crow laws. How many black people would never consider dating outside their race? Black people won’t even listen to “other people’s” music because they “didn’t grow up around it” (whatever that means). And the reason they didn’t grow up around it is because black people sit in their own crummy neighbourhoods generation after generation without a thought in the world to moving out to something better. Just because you were born and raised in the hood doesn’t mean you have to stay in the hood. With each new generation there is less and less determination to try and do something with oneself.
Black people want to be rappers and football players like other black people who supposedly have made it. Never mind the fact that the chances of becoming such is slim to none. So when you can’t be a rapper or a sports star, what is there left to do? Black men don’t think of college. They take the easy way out. Drugs on the corner, sold to their own black brothers and sisters. And when they get locked up, it’s the white man’s fault. “They’re keeping us down.”
Oh, are they? I don’t recall seeing any white people parading through your hood with a gun to your head forcing you to have hopeless dreams of celebrity. They didn’t force you not to think of your own future. They didn’t force you to start selling drugs, your ass, your mother’s pearls to make ends meet. They don’t even force you to stay in your ghetto trashy neighbourhood, the one you call home. You did that on your own because “that’s all you know.” You didn’t even dare to dream of something else. Because you’re afraid of being “too white.” If being successful, comfortable and in charge of one ownself is being white, then what is being black? Being a loser?
That’s what we say to ourselves day in and day out. And when January 20 (or the closest Monday) rolls around, these same fools get up on a soap box and talk about how far we’ve come. “Look, we got ourselves a black president. Ain’t we proud, mammy?”
You can’t even spell president. Out of every thing to be counted that is important in the United States, black people come up last. Is this how you honour Martin Luther King’s legacy? By being a race of illiterate drug dealers and video hoes? Is this how you want to follow up President Obama’s presidency? We have a black president now, but when will the next one be? Who’s following in his footsteps? Who’s inspired by this?
As long as we continue to oppress ourselves, this “holiday” is utterly meaningless. You got your right to vote (that you only utilised just recently). You got your right to drink from the white water fountain. You got your right to ride in front of the bus. You got your right to attend college (which you only use some of the time, and maybe if it’s so you can play pro sports). You got your right to whatever is out there that’s available to everybody else, but you haven’t gone out there to get it. I guess you thought that right along with the reparations, somebody was gonna come knocking on your door to hand you your due.
Black people today, particularly young black people, need to realise that you haven’t won shit. The war is not over; in fact, it’s just getting started. Hate to say it, but you’re losing this one. And once it’s gone, it’s gone.
Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream. Where is yours?
Today is Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. day.
I would say it again, but you get the point. So, my question is, what precisely does that mean? I got a day off, thanks to Congress, because some people rallied together and thought we should have the day off. We celebrate a lot of white people, why not this guy who gave some speeches and got killed for his efforts? That’s their argument, not mine; I’m just trying to give you the basic premise.
At any rate, today my aunt posed a question “do white people celebrate MLK day like black people do.” My response was, “black people celebrate MLK day?” Oh, really? Yeah, there’s some parades and stuff, but they have parades for anything these days. How precisely do you celebrate MLK day? Do we stand around and talk about the meaning of being black and oppressed? What do we do? Somebody let me know because I might feel like celebrating.
I told my aunt that today is just like any other day. This is one of those partial holidays, where some people get it and some people don’t. Those that get the day off are glad they don’t have to succumb to Monday morning blues. MLK day is just like any other “holiday” we have where people only “celebrate” half-heartedly. I told my aunt to look at how Christmas is celebrated in this country and she would get her answer. If supposed Christians hardly give a damn about the alleged birth of Jesus Christ, the Saviour of mankind, why would anybody give a damn about a black man who got shot 40 years ago?
At any rate, I hate this day more than any other holiday that we have. It’s so phony to me. All my black friends on Twitter and Facebook are posting their “I’m black and proud” posts, most of them have had to do with President Obama and how cool it is we have a black president. There’s lot of posts talking about our freedom and how we’ve won against the oppressors and whatever else. I’m sure that’s all wonderful and everything, but seriously… what precisely do you think you’ve won? How free are you exactly? Where did you get these idiotic ideals? Are you even on the same planet as I am?
NEWS FLASH: THE WAR AIN’T OVER YET!
We might have won a battle, a major battle, but the war is not over yet. And just in case you didn’t know, much like the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, there has been a total shift in focus: we no longer fight The Man; we’re fighting ourselves.
I do not think we’ve made a significant victory in the war against racism and oppression. Sure, legally, we’re not allowed to discriminate and all that jazz, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen. Does it make it any less criminal just because we can’t see it? But I won’t even turn this into a black versus white charade. Let’s talk about black versus black. We’re our own worst enemy. We oppress ourselves far greater than the white man ever could.
Talking white, acting white, Uncle Tom, etc. all these things that black people say to other black people to make them feel guilty for succeeding in what they have decided is a white world. Why not just be happy that somebody is successful at something, anything? Why alienate your own kind because you can’t play the game, failed the game, or don’t even know there’s a game going on?
Black people segregate themselves far worse than the Jim Crow laws. How many black people would never consider dating outside their race? Black people won’t even listen to “other people’s” music because they “didn’t grow up around it” (whatever that means). And the reason they didn’t grow up around it is because black people sit in their own crummy neighbourhoods generation after generation without a thought in the world to moving out to something better. Just because you were born and raised in the hood doesn’t mean you have to stay in the hood. With each new generation there is less and less determination to try and do something with oneself.
Black people want to be rappers and football players like other black people who supposedly have made it. Never mind the fact that the chances of becoming such is slim to none. So when you can’t be a rapper or a sports star, what is there left to do? Black men don’t think of college. They take the easy way out. Drugs on the corner, sold to their own black brothers and sisters. And when they get locked up, it’s the white man’s fault. “They’re keeping us down.”
Oh, are they? I don’t recall seeing any white people parading through your hood with a gun to your head forcing you to have hopeless dreams of celebrity. They didn’t force you not to think of your own future. They didn’t force you to start selling drugs, your ass, your mother’s pearls to make ends meet. They don’t even force you to stay in your ghetto trashy neighbourhood, the one you call home. You did that on your own because “that’s all you know.” You didn’t even dare to dream of something else. Because you’re afraid of being “too white.” If being successful, comfortable and in charge of one ownself is being white, then what is being black? Being a loser?
That’s what we say to ourselves day in and day out. And when January 20 (or the closest Monday) rolls around, these same fools get up on a soap box and talk about how far we’ve come. “Look, we got ourselves a black president. Ain’t we proud, mammy?”
You can’t even spell president. Out of every thing to be counted that is important in the United States, black people come up last. Is this how you honour Martin Luther King’s legacy? By being a race of illiterate drug dealers and video hoes? Is this how you want to follow up President Obama’s presidency? We have a black president now, but when will the next one be? Who’s following in his footsteps? Who’s inspired by this?
As long as we continue to oppress ourselves, this “holiday” is utterly meaningless. You got your right to vote (that you only utilised just recently). You got your right to drink from the white water fountain. You got your right to ride in front of the bus. You got your right to attend college (which you only use some of the time, and maybe if it’s so you can play pro sports). You got your right to whatever is out there that’s available to everybody else, but you haven’t gone out there to get it. I guess you thought that right along with the reparations, somebody was gonna come knocking on your door to hand you your due.
Black people today, particularly young black people, need to realise that you haven’t won shit. The war is not over; in fact, it’s just getting started. Hate to say it, but you’re losing this one. And once it’s gone, it’s gone.
Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream. Where is yours?
Friday, January 15, 2010
Senseless Scribbling of an Idiot #30
It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Loses Some Money
Following Tuesday’s, 7.0 earthquake in Haiti, everyone around the world is eager to do their part. Help these tragic suffering people who didn’t have much in the first place, who now have absolutely nothing at all, not even each other.
It seemed like the ground hadn’t even stopped shaking yet before the Twitter-verse lit up with “Help Haiti Now” tweets and instructions on how to send money to these impoverished victims. Facebook chimed in with a fan page where you can make donations. All my email accounts got the same six emails urging me to donate immediatley. I must have received 17 text messages, forwards from friends telling me that I could text some number and it would donate $5 in my name. Yeah, right.
It’s not that I don’t give a damn, and actually I don’t. You can say I’m the worst person in the world, and I probably am, but that is not the focus of this particular blog. I’ll save my evil bitching for another more appropriate time, when there aren’t still bodies laying in the street. The point of this blog is that people are so eager to help that they couldn’t spot a scam if it slapped in the face. You can do Haiti, and all your friends, a bigger favour by actually paying attention to what you’re reading before you advise all your friends to text, Tweet, or Facebook away their live savings. Don’t just mindlessly send on some email chain letter that you got this morning telling you that all donations will help Haiti’s children. Isn’t it amazing that suddenly all these fly-by-night charity organisations are cropping up moments after a disaster? Where were these people the day before the earth shook? Haiti has always been one of the poorest countries in the world. They didn’t just suddenly lose everything that Tuesday; they never had anything to begin with, and now some random charity wants you to help and you’re such a bleeding heart that you’re ready to squander away the few pennies that you have to some avaricious asshole.
Last night on Facebook, a very good friend of mine updated her status to read that doctors and nurses were receiving free flights to Haiti so they could lend their medical expertise. My friend urged everyone to update their statuses to read the same thing. Not that any of us are doctors, but get the word out that medical professionals will be flown willy-nilly into a destruction zone so they can perform surgeries in the street. When I saw that, I was quite surprised. Free flights? In a time when the airlines are practically going bust? Yeah, I know, everyone wants to help, but most companies still have business plans and money to make. They might be willing to give one or two free flights, but I highly doubt I could just walk up to BWI and say I’m a nurse and hop a plane to Port-au-Prince, especially since the airport there has suspended operations. From watching the news, I already knew that only military craft is being permitted into the country at this time.
This morning, one of the first articles on CNN is the free flights scam. I was also seeing tweets about UPS shipping anything under fifty pounds for free. This is also a scam. UPS has donated money because the infrastructure in Haiti is so fucked up that they couldn’t ship anything over there anyway, free or not.
There’s also an email going around that claims to be from the British Red Cross. This is also a scam. Unfortunately, since most people do not read or write well, they didn’t notice all of the misspellings and typos in the email. That should have alerted you right away. The Red Cross is quite reputable, and they have public relations people whose primary job is to get the word out on how to donate. They don’t hire illiterate non-English speaking second graders to type up their press releases. The British Red Cross is a real agency, but the email did not come from them. They ask you to respond with your credit card information so they can process a donation in your name. Anybody who has done this is a dummy. Call your credit card company immediately and have your card cancelled, then go kick yourself in the ass.
If you really would like to help go to a charitable organisation’s website. Do not follow links that you receive in your email. Be wary of texting to some number to donate. There are a few out there that are legitimate but do you really have a way of verifying if that number is real? Wyclef Jean started up this thing and you can text YELE to this number, but what if I started sending out a text message that said, “Text YELE to [some random number that is really my bank account].” How would you know the difference? Do not open any attachments that you receive in emails. Some people have reported receiving emails supposedly containing photos of the disaster in Haiti. When you click on these photos, it’s nothing but a virus. If you go to a website and that website contains a whole bunch of numbers, it might be fake. Non-profit charity organisations tend to end in .org, not .com. If they start asking for social security number and pin number, it’s probably fake. If they were legit, they don’t need all that to process a payment. Just because a website looks all fancy with a bright red DONATE button, that doesn’t mean it’s the real thing. Any mildly retarded four year old can build a website these days. According to USA Today, more than 400 new websites related to Haiti have been registered since the earthquake. Suddenly, everybody is all “Go Haiti?” Organisations don’t just pop up overnight to help; they’ve been in existence because they were already helping.
Be smart with your money. You’re donating because you care, because you have the means to do so. You don’t want that money in some greedy bastard’s pockets, getting rich off other people’s suffering. Don’t get swept up in the cause. All it takes is a few seconds’ rational thinking and half a minute to do a proper investigation of the website, text, tweet, or email. If you pay attention, you’ll feel good about yourself for helping out and someone who actually needs the money will get it.
Barring that legitimate organisation isn’t corrupt… but, like I said, that’s for another blog.
Following Tuesday’s, 7.0 earthquake in Haiti, everyone around the world is eager to do their part. Help these tragic suffering people who didn’t have much in the first place, who now have absolutely nothing at all, not even each other.
It seemed like the ground hadn’t even stopped shaking yet before the Twitter-verse lit up with “Help Haiti Now” tweets and instructions on how to send money to these impoverished victims. Facebook chimed in with a fan page where you can make donations. All my email accounts got the same six emails urging me to donate immediatley. I must have received 17 text messages, forwards from friends telling me that I could text some number and it would donate $5 in my name. Yeah, right.
It’s not that I don’t give a damn, and actually I don’t. You can say I’m the worst person in the world, and I probably am, but that is not the focus of this particular blog. I’ll save my evil bitching for another more appropriate time, when there aren’t still bodies laying in the street. The point of this blog is that people are so eager to help that they couldn’t spot a scam if it slapped in the face. You can do Haiti, and all your friends, a bigger favour by actually paying attention to what you’re reading before you advise all your friends to text, Tweet, or Facebook away their live savings. Don’t just mindlessly send on some email chain letter that you got this morning telling you that all donations will help Haiti’s children. Isn’t it amazing that suddenly all these fly-by-night charity organisations are cropping up moments after a disaster? Where were these people the day before the earth shook? Haiti has always been one of the poorest countries in the world. They didn’t just suddenly lose everything that Tuesday; they never had anything to begin with, and now some random charity wants you to help and you’re such a bleeding heart that you’re ready to squander away the few pennies that you have to some avaricious asshole.
Last night on Facebook, a very good friend of mine updated her status to read that doctors and nurses were receiving free flights to Haiti so they could lend their medical expertise. My friend urged everyone to update their statuses to read the same thing. Not that any of us are doctors, but get the word out that medical professionals will be flown willy-nilly into a destruction zone so they can perform surgeries in the street. When I saw that, I was quite surprised. Free flights? In a time when the airlines are practically going bust? Yeah, I know, everyone wants to help, but most companies still have business plans and money to make. They might be willing to give one or two free flights, but I highly doubt I could just walk up to BWI and say I’m a nurse and hop a plane to Port-au-Prince, especially since the airport there has suspended operations. From watching the news, I already knew that only military craft is being permitted into the country at this time.
This morning, one of the first articles on CNN is the free flights scam. I was also seeing tweets about UPS shipping anything under fifty pounds for free. This is also a scam. UPS has donated money because the infrastructure in Haiti is so fucked up that they couldn’t ship anything over there anyway, free or not.
There’s also an email going around that claims to be from the British Red Cross. This is also a scam. Unfortunately, since most people do not read or write well, they didn’t notice all of the misspellings and typos in the email. That should have alerted you right away. The Red Cross is quite reputable, and they have public relations people whose primary job is to get the word out on how to donate. They don’t hire illiterate non-English speaking second graders to type up their press releases. The British Red Cross is a real agency, but the email did not come from them. They ask you to respond with your credit card information so they can process a donation in your name. Anybody who has done this is a dummy. Call your credit card company immediately and have your card cancelled, then go kick yourself in the ass.
If you really would like to help go to a charitable organisation’s website. Do not follow links that you receive in your email. Be wary of texting to some number to donate. There are a few out there that are legitimate but do you really have a way of verifying if that number is real? Wyclef Jean started up this thing and you can text YELE to this number, but what if I started sending out a text message that said, “Text YELE to [some random number that is really my bank account].” How would you know the difference? Do not open any attachments that you receive in emails. Some people have reported receiving emails supposedly containing photos of the disaster in Haiti. When you click on these photos, it’s nothing but a virus. If you go to a website and that website contains a whole bunch of numbers, it might be fake. Non-profit charity organisations tend to end in .org, not .com. If they start asking for social security number and pin number, it’s probably fake. If they were legit, they don’t need all that to process a payment. Just because a website looks all fancy with a bright red DONATE button, that doesn’t mean it’s the real thing. Any mildly retarded four year old can build a website these days. According to USA Today, more than 400 new websites related to Haiti have been registered since the earthquake. Suddenly, everybody is all “Go Haiti?” Organisations don’t just pop up overnight to help; they’ve been in existence because they were already helping.
Be smart with your money. You’re donating because you care, because you have the means to do so. You don’t want that money in some greedy bastard’s pockets, getting rich off other people’s suffering. Don’t get swept up in the cause. All it takes is a few seconds’ rational thinking and half a minute to do a proper investigation of the website, text, tweet, or email. If you pay attention, you’ll feel good about yourself for helping out and someone who actually needs the money will get it.
Barring that legitimate organisation isn’t corrupt… but, like I said, that’s for another blog.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Cubicle Death #9: Meet My Co-Workers
So I’ve been on my new job for a few months now, and seriously, compared to jobs I’ve had in the past, I have almost no complaints. My father even made note of this. He asked me how I was getting on at my new position, and I said it was fine. He said, “It must be, because you never talk about it.” I guess he’s comparing it to the time when I worked on the plantation–I mean, TSA, and cried on the phone to him almost every night about how I wanted to commit public suicide.
I just finished reading a CareerBuilder article about strange things overheard in the office and wacky co-workers. It doesn’t matter what type of job you have, whether you’re a manual labourer or a white collar worker, you’re always going to have wacky ass co-workers. Hell, you might even be the wacky ass co-worker. I think I am, sometimes.
I currently work in an office with rows of cubicles. My co-workers are all techies. They do computer stuff with computer things, most of which I do not have a hope of understanding. Many of them are technically smart. I would say this group of co-workers is not as colourful and interesting as my fellow field hands–I mean, co-workers from TSA. They are not assholes like some of the jerks I worked with at That Other Job, though. I ‘ll say that. But they are an interesting group. I am one of three females in the office; the other two I don’t see very much.
So, let’s see, let me introduce you to these people. Although there are four cubes in my row, there’s only one other co-worker. That’s Loud-Talking, Everything Is Funny, Super Laugh Out Loud guy. Seriously, he talks like we’re on a flight line in the middle of a windstorm and a full-on orchestra is playing in the background. From shouting down the telephone to giving instructions to his subordinates, everything is shouted. When he laughs, the entire room shakes, because it’s so boisterous and loud.
Across from me is Smacky Lip, Loud Talking So In Love With His Wife. He’s a nice Jewish guy, but he also talks unnecessarily loud, particularly when he is on the phone with his wife. When he calls her he sounds like he’s in a Hallmark commercial. I would swear to God that it’s totally fake and it’s all an act, but he comes to the office VERY early in the morning, when everybody else comes in quite late. I walked in one morning and nobody else was here; he was already on the phone with his wife, still talking in that sweet, sugary, tooth-decaying voice. I call him Smacky Lip because he eats several pieces of fruit for breakfast each morning, and even though I cannot see him, I can hear him from across the cubicle wall. He slurps up each piece of fruit and then smacky, smacky, smacky until he is done eating. He also has a tendency to sigh repeatedly like he just found a dead puppy.
Next to him is Black Lung Cancer Cough of Death Overly Obese Man. This guy really cracks me up. He is quite overweight, poor thing. No, this is not a harrangue against fat people, but he is obviously is very poor health. He coughs like he was a coal miner for 15 years before he took an office job. He coughs so hard that I really feel like a black lung is about to pop out of his chest. Sometimes I feel like I need to call 911, because he will start coughing and just keep going, until he turns purple and I’m like, “Oh God, I don’t know CPR, so please don’t die.” So you would think a guy of his immense stature and obvious poor health would try to do something to improve upon his circumstances, but no, everyday he talks about the quality of the food in the cafeteria. I don’t care where you work, cafteria food is never that good. He’s always going on about how they use sub-standard cheese, and they only give you two pepperoni on the pizza and why do they mix lima beans and corn together. If the food is that bad, maybe you should bring your own. It might help you lose a little bit of weight and maybe that rancid cough will go away.
There is also Really Angry, Disgruntled Co-Worker Man. I’m seriously scared this guy is going to shoot up the office. Okay, maybe not that drastic but this guy does need a shrink, stat. He is always angry about something. Everything is a major catastrophe and a personal affront to his character. He comes to work with an expression like he just beat his wife, or maybe she beat him and that’s why he’s mad. He stares at his computer screen like it just whispered an ethnic slur at him. He bangs away at his keyboard all day long, shouts into his telephone at some “incompetent” worker. When they decided to move our desks around, he took it as a personal attack. Then he ranted throughout the office at how people were always out to get him. On Thanksgiving Eve, he called his daughter and told her he was working until 9PM. I heard from another co-worker that he does this all the time, but it’s not really necessary because we’re not swamped like that. I have no idea what this guy’s problem is, but he is a time bomb ready to blow.
Across from his Foreign Brand New to USA and Civilisation Guy. This guy is a trip. He’s from some obscure country in Asia and his English is quite terrible. I can understand him but other people in the office have a difficult time. Apparently Foreign Brand New to USA and Civilisation Guy thought that Hallowe’en occurs EVERY Thursday. He’s been going around the office repeating dirty jokes someone told him, without a clue that some of the things he’s been saying were really offensive. He has no idea that some things are not said in mixed company. Someone had to take him aside and let him know. I was dying laughing because he looked really embarrassed. Apparently, he’s been telling his pervy jokes to a number of people everywhere and no one has bothered to clue him in. Guess you didn’t get the memo, buddy. He also told Black Lung Cancer Cough of Death Overly Obese Man that he didn’t have to worry about being cold because he had an extra layer of insulation. Black Lung Cancer Man of Death Overly Obese Man said, “Are you trying to insinuate something about my weight?” Foreign Brand New to USA and Civilisation Guy says, “Yes, you have some extra to keep you warm.” Another guy in the office had to tell him that people don’t usually go around pointing out that people are extra fat. Foreign Brand New to USA and Civilisation Guy said, “Why not? He is fat. It’s okay to tell him because he already knows.”
These are the most amusing in the office, the people I get quite a laugh at everyday, but there’s also I Drive a Ford Focus So Everybody Listen to Me Guy, and Trekkie Gamer Nerd Computer Genius Social Life Loser Kid and his sidekick I’m Only Cute Because I Have a British Accent Guy and Pervy Stare Across the Room and Imagine You Naked Man. Yeah, I work with an interesting bunch.
Never a dull moment for me.
I just finished reading a CareerBuilder article about strange things overheard in the office and wacky co-workers. It doesn’t matter what type of job you have, whether you’re a manual labourer or a white collar worker, you’re always going to have wacky ass co-workers. Hell, you might even be the wacky ass co-worker. I think I am, sometimes.
I currently work in an office with rows of cubicles. My co-workers are all techies. They do computer stuff with computer things, most of which I do not have a hope of understanding. Many of them are technically smart. I would say this group of co-workers is not as colourful and interesting as my fellow field hands–I mean, co-workers from TSA. They are not assholes like some of the jerks I worked with at That Other Job, though. I ‘ll say that. But they are an interesting group. I am one of three females in the office; the other two I don’t see very much.
So, let’s see, let me introduce you to these people. Although there are four cubes in my row, there’s only one other co-worker. That’s Loud-Talking, Everything Is Funny, Super Laugh Out Loud guy. Seriously, he talks like we’re on a flight line in the middle of a windstorm and a full-on orchestra is playing in the background. From shouting down the telephone to giving instructions to his subordinates, everything is shouted. When he laughs, the entire room shakes, because it’s so boisterous and loud.
Across from me is Smacky Lip, Loud Talking So In Love With His Wife. He’s a nice Jewish guy, but he also talks unnecessarily loud, particularly when he is on the phone with his wife. When he calls her he sounds like he’s in a Hallmark commercial. I would swear to God that it’s totally fake and it’s all an act, but he comes to the office VERY early in the morning, when everybody else comes in quite late. I walked in one morning and nobody else was here; he was already on the phone with his wife, still talking in that sweet, sugary, tooth-decaying voice. I call him Smacky Lip because he eats several pieces of fruit for breakfast each morning, and even though I cannot see him, I can hear him from across the cubicle wall. He slurps up each piece of fruit and then smacky, smacky, smacky until he is done eating. He also has a tendency to sigh repeatedly like he just found a dead puppy.
Next to him is Black Lung Cancer Cough of Death Overly Obese Man. This guy really cracks me up. He is quite overweight, poor thing. No, this is not a harrangue against fat people, but he is obviously is very poor health. He coughs like he was a coal miner for 15 years before he took an office job. He coughs so hard that I really feel like a black lung is about to pop out of his chest. Sometimes I feel like I need to call 911, because he will start coughing and just keep going, until he turns purple and I’m like, “Oh God, I don’t know CPR, so please don’t die.” So you would think a guy of his immense stature and obvious poor health would try to do something to improve upon his circumstances, but no, everyday he talks about the quality of the food in the cafeteria. I don’t care where you work, cafteria food is never that good. He’s always going on about how they use sub-standard cheese, and they only give you two pepperoni on the pizza and why do they mix lima beans and corn together. If the food is that bad, maybe you should bring your own. It might help you lose a little bit of weight and maybe that rancid cough will go away.
There is also Really Angry, Disgruntled Co-Worker Man. I’m seriously scared this guy is going to shoot up the office. Okay, maybe not that drastic but this guy does need a shrink, stat. He is always angry about something. Everything is a major catastrophe and a personal affront to his character. He comes to work with an expression like he just beat his wife, or maybe she beat him and that’s why he’s mad. He stares at his computer screen like it just whispered an ethnic slur at him. He bangs away at his keyboard all day long, shouts into his telephone at some “incompetent” worker. When they decided to move our desks around, he took it as a personal attack. Then he ranted throughout the office at how people were always out to get him. On Thanksgiving Eve, he called his daughter and told her he was working until 9PM. I heard from another co-worker that he does this all the time, but it’s not really necessary because we’re not swamped like that. I have no idea what this guy’s problem is, but he is a time bomb ready to blow.
Across from his Foreign Brand New to USA and Civilisation Guy. This guy is a trip. He’s from some obscure country in Asia and his English is quite terrible. I can understand him but other people in the office have a difficult time. Apparently Foreign Brand New to USA and Civilisation Guy thought that Hallowe’en occurs EVERY Thursday. He’s been going around the office repeating dirty jokes someone told him, without a clue that some of the things he’s been saying were really offensive. He has no idea that some things are not said in mixed company. Someone had to take him aside and let him know. I was dying laughing because he looked really embarrassed. Apparently, he’s been telling his pervy jokes to a number of people everywhere and no one has bothered to clue him in. Guess you didn’t get the memo, buddy. He also told Black Lung Cancer Cough of Death Overly Obese Man that he didn’t have to worry about being cold because he had an extra layer of insulation. Black Lung Cancer Man of Death Overly Obese Man said, “Are you trying to insinuate something about my weight?” Foreign Brand New to USA and Civilisation Guy says, “Yes, you have some extra to keep you warm.” Another guy in the office had to tell him that people don’t usually go around pointing out that people are extra fat. Foreign Brand New to USA and Civilisation Guy said, “Why not? He is fat. It’s okay to tell him because he already knows.”
These are the most amusing in the office, the people I get quite a laugh at everyday, but there’s also I Drive a Ford Focus So Everybody Listen to Me Guy, and Trekkie Gamer Nerd Computer Genius Social Life Loser Kid and his sidekick I’m Only Cute Because I Have a British Accent Guy and Pervy Stare Across the Room and Imagine You Naked Man. Yeah, I work with an interesting bunch.
Never a dull moment for me.
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