Well, I was in a hurry this morning and ran out the door without my iPod.
You know what that means! Sotto voice: Another post about the radio.
When I started my car, the DJs were right in the middle of their conversation, so it took a while for me to catch up. Apparently they were discussing an e-mail that a listener had sent in.
The listener explained that she and her husband, who are in their late 30's, went to an "up and coming bar" downtown. The woman was shocked because there were drunk men groping and clutching on her booty, and her husband did nothing about it even after she asked him to protect her. The question posed by the DJs: "Should a man stick up for his lady?"
I couldn't believe it!
Where do I even start? I guess first and foremost: geez have we come a long way from Con Air. Chivalry certainly is dead if we have to ask if a man should stick up for his woman. We're not talking about jumping in front of a train or a bus, we're not talking about soiling his one good coat by throwing it across a mud puddle, we're not talking about challenging the bar bums to a duel. We're just talking about whether or not a man is supposed to intervene. Not necessarily say, "Hey, back off, buster," but even just put his arm around the chica possessively.
The female DJ was appalled for a different reason. She hopped up on her soapbox and declaimed, "I've always taken care of myself! I don't need NO MAN to protect me! [The e-mailer] is a wimp." Or words to that effect--probably some of her original eloquence is being lost in my translation. It was followed by a general discussion from the DJs and various listeners that called in. Some agreed that a woman should take care of herself, but for the most part the trend of the male DJs and male listeners was that the man should always protect his lady, and the woman tended to side with the female DJ. At one point they were discussing another listener's husband who did stick up for his woman by saying something, and they all cheered his bravery but cautioned, "With drunk men, you never know what will set them off."
Okay, fine, that's true, but still. I wasn't really listening because instead I was remembering my old bar days. Sure (back in the day), when I went out with the ladies sometimes we appreciated having a male species in the entourage that could ward off unwanted advances. But there were plenty of nights sans men in which I had to rely on the age-old deterrent that I thought all women knew about and employed:
The well-timed flail, a.k.a. the elbow to the gut disguised as exuberant dancing. And if that doesn't work, whatever happened to a good old fashioned toe stomp? I've used those techniques on men and women (sometimes a gal's got to defend her territory), and neither have ever failed me. In fact, now that I think about it, both techniques are actually just back ups to the plain and simple head shake.
Does that not work anymore? I confess the bar world isn't my scene now that I'm out of college, but it used to be. I remember being out, gettin' my groove on, and sometimes I'd accidentally make eye contact with some loser (in the midst of scoping for the hotties). And if he took it for invitation and came groovin' my way, I would just hold his gaze and shake my head. Probably about seventy-five percent of the time, that was enough to get him to go groovin' back the way he came. And it was only for the really persistent losers that I had to rely on flailing and stomping. Or, you know, the women who were getting into my neck of the woods, attempting to steal the men in my zone.
It's a rough world out there for single ladies.
And now that I'm not single: I guess I think, if she really needed him to protect her, well . . . why should should she have to ask? I remember that too: when I was single and we did take a man for protection, we never had to ask him to step in. He could always tell when we needed him--pushing the unwanted advancer away was the biggest red flag. So what was this e-mailer listener doing, or not doing, that her husband couldn't tell she needed him to step in?! If they were dancing together, how could he not see what was going on. If they weren't dancing together, well . . . why wouldn't they be dancing together? If she's out getting her hootchie on and her husband is slinking around at the bar, well . . . I guess I don't feel sorry for either of them! She could just leave the dance floor. He could start dancing.
It's the nature of the beast that if a woman is out on the dance floor by herself, guys are going to try hitting on her. Maybe their methods lack something in the way of finesse (ass-grabbing never made me want to "get to know" him better), but it's the way it's been for a long time. SURPRISE! Drunk guys in bars are inappropriate.
It's the same concept as the Wal-Mart staff never knowing where anything in the store is located. You don't get to be shocked about something if it's the way it's always been.
Showing posts with label Radio reflections. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Radio reflections. Show all posts
Monday, October 26, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Profound thoughts on a skibob
I've been writing this post in my head for weeks, but I'm only just getting around to getting it out of my head and putting it on the screen. I'm wondering what kind of direction this post will go? The reason I've been dilly-dallying is my thoughts are unorganized. I feel like I'm on the cusp of something very profound, but I'm afraid I'm going to miss the boat.
It's actually more like a skibob that I'm going to miss, rather than a boat (some people say skido. Same thing. It's a skibob to me). But whatever you call it, you know what I mean, right? The yellow, floaty, bullet thingy that you pull behind a boat for the people too chicken (or not athletic enough) to waterski. Yeah, that thing. Well, you know when you fall off and have to figure out how clamber back on while it's bobbing in the swell? You're floating awkwardly, lifejacket up around your ears and shivering violently, and you try to throw your leg over like you're getting on a horse. But since you're floating in the lake, and the skibob is on the lake, even getting your leg up six inches out of the water (and staying vertical while you do it) is a ridiculous challenge. More challenging then trying to get on a thoroughbred without a mounting block (it seems). You manage to catch the edge of the skibob with your foot, but as you're hanging there, trying to figure out what the heck you're supposed to do now, you start falling backward in slow motion, pulling it with you. Then all of a sudden you're horizontal and the skibob is scissored between your legs until your wet heel slips off the side and the skibob pops out and shoots away, taunting you with its serenity and lazy, drifting spin. Once . . . twice . . . after the third try and a lot of dramatic splashing to cover your swearing, you decide to switch tactics. Now you're trying to jump out of the water like a dolphin and land across the skibob on your stomach. But before trying it for the first time you have to debate how it will look less stupid: from the back or the side? You do some test runs and decide definitely the side. Thinking graceful, dolphiny thoughts, you LEAP! out of the lake. But you can only make it partway out of the water and cling to the skibob stubbornly a moment before sliding off, then rolling under. You keep your grip and the skibob is upside down when you flounder out from under it, and then you have to figure out how to get it turned back over. And all the while everyone is watching from the boat while waving that damnable red flag that seems to scream "Dummy over here!"
That's what this post has been doing in my head. Round and round the mulberry bush, eventually you have to side-stroke over to the boat, towing the skibob along, and use the ladder to get back on from the back of the boat. Although honestly, as a kid, once I got to that point I usually just kept going up the ladder and got back on the boat. "Are you done?" my mom would ask. And I would quake out, "Uh huh," between blue lips. Mindy was always much more of a skibobber than me (uh, but she can waterski too . . . that crack about not being athletic enough to waterski was just for me).
Anyway. Back to my profound skibob thoughts. Thought. Whatever. Let's throw the analogies out the window and just see how it comes out.
First of all, I think this is going to be one of my last posts about the garbage I hear on the radio. Which is a little bit sad! I've been forced to listen to the radio for the past few weeks because my iPod has been broken. But Apple replaced it for me, so soon I'll be jamming to my own music or listening to books on tape. Sans DJs! Ah, heaven. The only glitch is that the computer that has our iTunes library on it is on the fritz, so I have to wait for Danny to work his magic.
That said . . . I was listening to the radio a couple of weeks ago, and the DJs were chattering about the annoying things people post on Facebook. As always, I have no clue what station I was listening to or who was speaking. But one of the DJs started ranting about how annoying he thinks it is when Facebook people post the lyrics of their favorite songs.
My first reaction was surprise. I guess I figured that, as a DJ, he would be appreciative about that kind of material in a Facebook post. Isn't that what being a DJ is all about? Enjoying, celebrating, promoting music (and music artists too, I suppose)? Isn't Facebook the perfect forum for lyric-posting? We all have enough Spam in our e-mail inboxes . . . if people are going to be posting lyrics somewhere, then I would prefer for them to be posted on something like Facebook; it's one less thing in my inbox.
However, I don't think the DJ cared or thought about song lyrics as potential spam. I think the point he was trying to make was his annoyance with the people who are posting song lyrics, and that they have no original thoughts of their own to post instead. He side-stepped around saying it explicitly, but he was basically accusing anyone who posts the lyrics of a song on Facebook--rather than writing their own--as plagiarizing, idiotic fools. He was annoyed at the decline of our society.
I wholeheartedly disagree.
Not about the fact that our society has declined. Ha freakin' ha . . . can we say: "Grammar musings"? I think I write about grammar (and lack thereof) enough that this next comment should not be a surprise: our society has totally declined.
So it's not the state of our society that I disagree with, but rather I disagree with the idea that people who post song lyrics are plagiarizing, idiotic fools. I think that is a completely unfair, inaccurate assessment. I do think it's sad, but for a wholly different reason that has nothing to do with the intelligence, supposed intelligence, or alleged lack of intelligence of the lyric-posters. Hey, if they include the songwriter or at least the person who sings the song, then they're obviously not plagiarizing. Plagiarizing is defined on Reference.com as "the unauthorized use or close imitation of the language and thoughts of another author and the representation of them as one's own original work." If the Facebook-lyric-poster is including someone else's name, even if the person doesn't know the songwriter, and even if their English teacher would have marked points off for incorrect bibliography format, I still give them an A for Effort. Because regardless of formatting issues, they're obviously not plagiarizing or trying to pawn the lyrics off as their own. I wish I could have said to the DJ: "Cut them some slack!"
Plagiaristic issues aside, I think that song lyrics have just become a new form of poetry for the masses. Back in the day, especially before television was around, poetry was a form of entertainment for all. Families would sit around the fireplace and read poetry by the light of kerosene lamps. Not just poetry, dur, but remember my whole point is that I'm talking about song lyrics. Other types of literature are a whole separate matter I'm not getting in to at this time!
Okay, okay, okay. It wasn't that long ago. My joke about television was an exaggeration, if only a slight one, about how long it's been since families and other groups would read poetry aloud to each other. Some families still do--mine, for one. But one can't deny it is dying out as a form of entertainment, and that (finally!) is what I think is so sad.
I don't think we should pick apart the citing method of Facebookers, nor should we crucify someone for sharing song lyrics instead of Emily Dickinson or Edgar Allan Poe. If people aren't reading the famous poetry anymore (aloud, at all, or as much), at least they're still getting some kind of pleasure from the written word. At least they're not just humming dumbly along, unaware of the words. At least they're doing some research outside of school. Sure it would be more culturally beneficial if people would read a little Shakespeare, perhaps post a sonnet to their Facebooks instead. But if song lyrics are all that we've got, then we should just be glad that people are still sharing and rejoicing in the words, even if now it's electronically instead of verbally.
I think it's a "take what you can get" type of sit'iation.
It's actually more like a skibob that I'm going to miss, rather than a boat (some people say skido. Same thing. It's a skibob to me). But whatever you call it, you know what I mean, right? The yellow, floaty, bullet thingy that you pull behind a boat for the people too chicken (or not athletic enough) to waterski. Yeah, that thing. Well, you know when you fall off and have to figure out how clamber back on while it's bobbing in the swell? You're floating awkwardly, lifejacket up around your ears and shivering violently, and you try to throw your leg over like you're getting on a horse. But since you're floating in the lake, and the skibob is on the lake, even getting your leg up six inches out of the water (and staying vertical while you do it) is a ridiculous challenge. More challenging then trying to get on a thoroughbred without a mounting block (it seems). You manage to catch the edge of the skibob with your foot, but as you're hanging there, trying to figure out what the heck you're supposed to do now, you start falling backward in slow motion, pulling it with you. Then all of a sudden you're horizontal and the skibob is scissored between your legs until your wet heel slips off the side and the skibob pops out and shoots away, taunting you with its serenity and lazy, drifting spin. Once . . . twice . . . after the third try and a lot of dramatic splashing to cover your swearing, you decide to switch tactics. Now you're trying to jump out of the water like a dolphin and land across the skibob on your stomach. But before trying it for the first time you have to debate how it will look less stupid: from the back or the side? You do some test runs and decide definitely the side. Thinking graceful, dolphiny thoughts, you LEAP! out of the lake. But you can only make it partway out of the water and cling to the skibob stubbornly a moment before sliding off, then rolling under. You keep your grip and the skibob is upside down when you flounder out from under it, and then you have to figure out how to get it turned back over. And all the while everyone is watching from the boat while waving that damnable red flag that seems to scream "Dummy over here!"
That's what this post has been doing in my head. Round and round the mulberry bush, eventually you have to side-stroke over to the boat, towing the skibob along, and use the ladder to get back on from the back of the boat. Although honestly, as a kid, once I got to that point I usually just kept going up the ladder and got back on the boat. "Are you done?" my mom would ask. And I would quake out, "Uh huh," between blue lips. Mindy was always much more of a skibobber than me (uh, but she can waterski too . . . that crack about not being athletic enough to waterski was just for me).
Anyway. Back to my profound skibob thoughts. Thought. Whatever. Let's throw the analogies out the window and just see how it comes out.
First of all, I think this is going to be one of my last posts about the garbage I hear on the radio. Which is a little bit sad! I've been forced to listen to the radio for the past few weeks because my iPod has been broken. But Apple replaced it for me, so soon I'll be jamming to my own music or listening to books on tape. Sans DJs! Ah, heaven. The only glitch is that the computer that has our iTunes library on it is on the fritz, so I have to wait for Danny to work his magic.
That said . . . I was listening to the radio a couple of weeks ago, and the DJs were chattering about the annoying things people post on Facebook. As always, I have no clue what station I was listening to or who was speaking. But one of the DJs started ranting about how annoying he thinks it is when Facebook people post the lyrics of their favorite songs.
My first reaction was surprise. I guess I figured that, as a DJ, he would be appreciative about that kind of material in a Facebook post. Isn't that what being a DJ is all about? Enjoying, celebrating, promoting music (and music artists too, I suppose)? Isn't Facebook the perfect forum for lyric-posting? We all have enough Spam in our e-mail inboxes . . . if people are going to be posting lyrics somewhere, then I would prefer for them to be posted on something like Facebook; it's one less thing in my inbox.
However, I don't think the DJ cared or thought about song lyrics as potential spam. I think the point he was trying to make was his annoyance with the people who are posting song lyrics, and that they have no original thoughts of their own to post instead. He side-stepped around saying it explicitly, but he was basically accusing anyone who posts the lyrics of a song on Facebook--rather than writing their own--as plagiarizing, idiotic fools. He was annoyed at the decline of our society.
I wholeheartedly disagree.
Not about the fact that our society has declined. Ha freakin' ha . . . can we say: "Grammar musings"? I think I write about grammar (and lack thereof) enough that this next comment should not be a surprise: our society has totally declined.
So it's not the state of our society that I disagree with, but rather I disagree with the idea that people who post song lyrics are plagiarizing, idiotic fools. I think that is a completely unfair, inaccurate assessment. I do think it's sad, but for a wholly different reason that has nothing to do with the intelligence, supposed intelligence, or alleged lack of intelligence of the lyric-posters. Hey, if they include the songwriter or at least the person who sings the song, then they're obviously not plagiarizing. Plagiarizing is defined on Reference.com as "the unauthorized use or close imitation of the language and thoughts of another author and the representation of them as one's own original work." If the Facebook-lyric-poster is including someone else's name, even if the person doesn't know the songwriter, and even if their English teacher would have marked points off for incorrect bibliography format, I still give them an A for Effort. Because regardless of formatting issues, they're obviously not plagiarizing or trying to pawn the lyrics off as their own. I wish I could have said to the DJ: "Cut them some slack!"
Plagiaristic issues aside, I think that song lyrics have just become a new form of poetry for the masses. Back in the day, especially before television was around, poetry was a form of entertainment for all. Families would sit around the fireplace and read poetry by the light of kerosene lamps. Not just poetry, dur, but remember my whole point is that I'm talking about song lyrics. Other types of literature are a whole separate matter I'm not getting in to at this time!
Okay, okay, okay. It wasn't that long ago. My joke about television was an exaggeration, if only a slight one, about how long it's been since families and other groups would read poetry aloud to each other. Some families still do--mine, for one. But one can't deny it is dying out as a form of entertainment, and that (finally!) is what I think is so sad.
I don't think we should pick apart the citing method of Facebookers, nor should we crucify someone for sharing song lyrics instead of Emily Dickinson or Edgar Allan Poe. If people aren't reading the famous poetry anymore (aloud, at all, or as much), at least they're still getting some kind of pleasure from the written word. At least they're not just humming dumbly along, unaware of the words. At least they're doing some research outside of school. Sure it would be more culturally beneficial if people would read a little Shakespeare, perhaps post a sonnet to their Facebooks instead. But if song lyrics are all that we've got, then we should just be glad that people are still sharing and rejoicing in the words, even if now it's electronically instead of verbally.
I think it's a "take what you can get" type of sit'iation.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Observations from Winnie
This is another post starting out to be about the radio, but this time (hooray!) it's not a rant against idiots.
Really?!
Really.
It started out simply enough. The DJ was telling the news, and he was talking about organic food. Apparently there is new research to suggest that organic foods are actually not superior to non-organic food, despite it's superior costs and the superior attitudes of its consumers.* The DJ said something like, "The people who eat organic food think it makes them better."
*Wait for it . . . wait for it . . . this is going to link up later on. It's the first part.
It brought me back to a conversation I had with Danny the other day, and I thought it was really interesting. I'd like to write about it, but I'm a little stuck. I'm stuck because Danny and I can talk about anything, without regard to how our words will be perceived (you know, perhaps you might blurt something out that comes off prejudiced but you didn't really mean it that way?).
Well, "it's all good" between Danny and me . . . we don't worry about getting trapped by our words; we just spit it out as it comes into our heads. Git 'er dun! So I am going to consider re-capturing this particular conversation a writing challenge, because neither of us were being mean (per se) or judgemental (per se), but it totally would have come off that way in the car. And I don't want to sound like I'm being mean or judgemental . . . we were just talking.
Setting the scene first: it was a busy morning. We had a bunch of errands to do ("running" as some might say), and we planned to try out a new restaurant for breakfast when we were done with our runs.
Er, not diarrhea, that is. Just our errands. Anyhoo.
We trucked out to Elyria to go to the pool shop to get poison for our green pool, it wasn't open yet so we went to the bank first and then went back to the pool shop. We did something else too, but it's escaping me now.
By the time we were done with our tasks, it was getting on time for lunch, and since we hadn't had our breakfast yet, we were both starved. The restaurant we planned to go to was one we'd heard about at our Historical Society meeting (yes, we're nerds and we belong to our township's historical society--it's fun!). A person had come in to give a presentation, and he talked about this restaurant that his best-friend's-sister's-brother's-boyfriend's-dog walker's-hairdresser co-owns. Whatever, some kind of long drawn out string. He was really plugging the restaurant because of the linkage, and talked about what a great experience it was to go there. Since it's right in town, Danny and I thought we'd give it a try.
I should have been wary from the beginning, but I'm getting ahead of myself here.*
*That's another link-up for later on.
We pulled up to the restaurant, right on Main Street, and as soon as I saw it from the outside, I started getting a bad feeling. This was not going to be my scene, I could already tell. But I didn't say anything, put my brave face on, and in we went.
I took one look around and my suspicions were confirmed. This was not going to be good. Danny could tell by my face, but he was still game, we were both so hungry, so I figured there must be something on the menu that I'd eat. (Note, I didn't say enjoy). We sat down.
The menu was a single sheet of paper that looked like it was taken to Kinko's (or wherever; we don't have Kinko's around here). Turns out it was taken to a copy store because they print it up every week with different menu items.
Trendy.
Not good in my world.
The problem is, I have a very plain palate. Food is not an adventure. It's a necessity. Stick with what works. Why branch out and possibly be disgusted when you can order something you know you'll like? Trying something new is not worth the risk of going hungry, or pissing off your waitress by sending back your food, or paying for two meals and only eating one.
If you were as crippled by your pickiness as I am, then you'd understand.
I frantically looked over the menu for anything that sounded appealing. Not much. I finally decided I could get the eggs and bacon (generic enough) with the Yukon golds. Those are just potatoes, right? Right.
We each ordered beverages with our meals, and when I got my Chai Tea, there was a BUG floating in it. Just a little one, the kind my dad says "won't eat much," but I didn't care. It was still a bug in my drink, and the food was yet to come.
So much for not pissing off the waitress by sending something back.
I was ready to leave at this point, but that was just too rude, so I sucked it up. I didn't even say anything to Dan (not that it matters; a blind person could read my facial expressions).
The food came out, and it was not my cup of tea. I was already grossed out by the bug, not in the mood to be forgiving, and the Yukon gold potatoes turned out to be horrible. They basically halved the order of potatoes and made up the difference with big cloves of garlic, smashed and still in the paper. That ain't right in my book! I tried a couple, but the garlic was too overwhelming and didn't mesh with the other seasonings, so I couldn't finish them. Basically I had two eggs and a few slices of bacon for breakfast/lunch.
Dan enjoyed his pancake, and finished off my Yukons, but his boat wasn't really floating either, and we decided that we wouldn't go back. We are just plain ol' Quick and Delicious type of folk. Quick and Delicious is a family-run, homestyle restaurant, also right in town.
(Fanfare!) The point of all this! (Cue: trumpets)
We talked about it in the car as we drove home, and I told Dan that I knew it wasn't "me" as soon as we walked in the door. Not because I smelled garlic (I didn't). Not because there were bugs flying around (there weren't). And not because there was dirt on the floor (there wasn't). Nope. It was because of the clientele.
Really, you can tell by the people? Dan asked.
Abso-friggin-lutely. Not always, but most certainly in this case. I hinted at it before with my trendy comment. And my "I should have known" comment about the guy that presented at our historical society meeting--he has the same look as what I'm going to attempt to describe without sounding like a brat.
The folks that were sitting there enjoying their meals were all the same, like a giant had cut them all from the same roll of dough.
Dan was fascinated.
At first I likened them to Birkenstock folks, but that isn't quite right. I tried to explain to Dan that they had an aura around them, and my aura is the polar opposite. Walking into the restaurant, I was able to make an observation and a judgement. An observation on the appearance of the clientele, which then made me pass judgement on the restaurant, but did not (I hope) come off that I was being judgemental about the people. They do, after all, put their khaki shorts on one leg at a time.
As soon as we walked in, I could see polo shirts and smell garlic and a faint hint of granola and other organic foods (there's your link-up to the beginning of the post when I was talking about the radio), coupled with the stench of metro-sexuality.
That's not right. It's not metro-sexuality, it's metro-trendy. Non-conformist kids that band together in old brick apartments in downtown (east side) Portland and go to Powell's to hang out (not Borders) and eat gourmet food at bistros (not Ruby from McMenamins) and go grocery shopping at Whole Foods (not Fred Meyer). What am I trying to say? I couldn't put my finger on it any better when I was talking to Dan--and now I'm using a lot of Oregon references, which is completely unhelpful to anyone in Ohio (or, er . . . anyone that is not in Oregon, I should say). The guys have tribal tattoos on the calf of their legs, the girls don't wear makeup. They go to concerts of bands no one has ever heard of . . . they look outdoorsey and eat organically, but never spend time outside (unless the bistro has outdoor seating). They would positively die if they went on a trail ride with me.
Dan, who happened to be wearing khaki shorts, skipped over my lack of ability to describe the auras of the people in the restaurant, and asked if he had the same aura as they did. Number One, we wouldn't be married if he did, but Number Two: absolutely not.
They (not being to sound like "them and us" but rather just talking about those specific people we had just seen in that restaurant) have a snobbiness about them. Their aura has a snobbiness, I mean.
It's a non-conformity thing, like they are better than all of us Fred Meyer people (there's the organic-superior-attitude thing again!). Don't know what a Fred Meyer is? It's pretty important to get this reference, so let me see. Fred Meyer is a big conglomerate One Stop Shopping store in Oregon, similar yet vastly different than a Wal-Mart. Different mainly because the products aren't so shitty. Imagine a Target with a really good grocery section. That's what a Fred Meyer. They have everything. Target has everything BUT groceries.
Anyway, the auras I'm trying to describe would be anti-Fred Meyer (if we had one here), because they like non-mass-produced products (unless they're organic and mass-produced). Alternative'y peeps that look down their noses at Fred Meyer, hang posters of Marilyn Monroe and wear ugly, brown plaid jackets. They talk about politics and art and use big words and eat sushi and always know what's going on in the world, but they don't know who Eddie Izzard is. They would never come to a bonfire at our house, or think it's funny to go skinny dipping in Lake Erie. They don't watch Friends because they don't think it was and still is The Greatest Show Ever. They think my constant Friends references are annoying and stupid. They don't appreciate old reruns of Roseanne. They watch CNN. They couldn't tell you who Bob Ross is, or comprehend why he would say that "happy little clouds live here."
So what aura do I have? asked Danny.
I looked at him, with his sunglasses and khakis, and without hesitation told him, You've got frat-boy aura. You're a go with the flow, nice boy.
Really? He looked doubtful, but not ready to disagree with my expertise.
Yes, certainly. You're nice, you get along with everyone, you are easygoing, sometimes you have not very bright ideas for what to do with your spare time. Remember when you and Max were setting off the fireworks on the 4th of July? You're very frat boy-ish, my love.
He still seemed dubious, so I continued. You act a little snobby sometimes, but it's not the same at all. You only do it when other people can't hear. And actually it's not snobbiness at all, it's a know-it-all attitude that you don't let anyone else see (except me). You would do it this way, not that way (that way is dumb, this way is smart). But never in the world would you look down on another person. Not even in front of me because you don't think that way. You don't think you're better than anyone else. It's just their actions and what some people say that you think is stupid, but they're still just people like you and me. You don't think you're better, you do think you're smarter sometimes.
Huh, he said. That's true.
I just think it's interesting, the different auras that people have, and how some go together and some don't. Just like some foods do or don't go together, some people do or don't mesh. It's the very core of our personalities that don't mix. It has nothing to do with them as a person, whether or not they're smart or nice or animal lovers or Friends watchers. It has everything to do with our auras.
I'm not a walking talking Chinese Calendar, just so we're clear. I was born in the year of the Horse (and Earth is my element). I think I'm supposed to say Yin Earth Horse. (PS: Dan is year of the Dog, and supposedly this is what they say about Horses and Dogs together: "Very happy and compatible union. Success and prosperity in love and partnership. Deep understanding and affinity for one another." It's true!).
Anyway, I'm totally sounding like an astrology freak, of which I am not. I don't mean aura they way someone speaking astrologically means it. I think I just mean soul.
I do believe that for whatever reason, some people just don't get along. And I think it's because to each person there are some auras that just stink. We're not talking about BO here--let's be grown ups. But just like an unpleasant odor can cause you to have a strong reaction, I think unconsciously a person's essence can make you have a negative (or positive, I suppose) reaction.
And that's the way I am with the uppity organics that were in this restaurant, eating their garlic golds and sipping their coffee and talking about what they heard on NPR. It's totally silly, but here's the funny thing (and I can't tell if it's my imagination or not): when I went in, it smelled almost like I was walking into a Subway (which is very gross to me). I (thought?) could smell deli-lettuce.
I think it was the auras in the room that I could smell, whether you believe it was my imagination or not. Maybe it was my aura that recognized the pungent scent of deli-lettuce.
What's your aura? Danny wanted to know.
Surprised that he hadn't guessed, I answered, Why, it's Winnie Cooper.
*As a side-note from me, personally I think Winnie Cooper would have grown up into a Kelly Kapowski, which is completely inaccurate as far as my popularity at school went. Now I can claim Kelly's personality, but certainly not in junior high, or even high school. I had a whole Ugly Betty phase to go through to get where I am today. And although I'm picking actresses that are similar in appearance to me, in that we're all brunette Caucasians, don't take that to mean that I think I especially look like any of them. I'm likening my personality to their personalities, up to and including Kelly Kapowski.
Really?!
Really.
It started out simply enough. The DJ was telling the news, and he was talking about organic food. Apparently there is new research to suggest that organic foods are actually not superior to non-organic food, despite it's superior costs and the superior attitudes of its consumers.* The DJ said something like, "The people who eat organic food think it makes them better."
*Wait for it . . . wait for it . . . this is going to link up later on. It's the first part.
It brought me back to a conversation I had with Danny the other day, and I thought it was really interesting. I'd like to write about it, but I'm a little stuck. I'm stuck because Danny and I can talk about anything, without regard to how our words will be perceived (you know, perhaps you might blurt something out that comes off prejudiced but you didn't really mean it that way?).
Well, "it's all good" between Danny and me . . . we don't worry about getting trapped by our words; we just spit it out as it comes into our heads. Git 'er dun! So I am going to consider re-capturing this particular conversation a writing challenge, because neither of us were being mean (per se) or judgemental (per se), but it totally would have come off that way in the car. And I don't want to sound like I'm being mean or judgemental . . . we were just talking.
Setting the scene first: it was a busy morning. We had a bunch of errands to do ("running" as some might say), and we planned to try out a new restaurant for breakfast when we were done with our runs.
Er, not diarrhea, that is. Just our errands. Anyhoo.
We trucked out to Elyria to go to the pool shop to get poison for our green pool, it wasn't open yet so we went to the bank first and then went back to the pool shop. We did something else too, but it's escaping me now.
By the time we were done with our tasks, it was getting on time for lunch, and since we hadn't had our breakfast yet, we were both starved. The restaurant we planned to go to was one we'd heard about at our Historical Society meeting (yes, we're nerds and we belong to our township's historical society--it's fun!). A person had come in to give a presentation, and he talked about this restaurant that his best-friend's-sister's-brother's-boyfriend's-dog walker's-hairdresser co-owns. Whatever, some kind of long drawn out string. He was really plugging the restaurant because of the linkage, and talked about what a great experience it was to go there. Since it's right in town, Danny and I thought we'd give it a try.
I should have been wary from the beginning, but I'm getting ahead of myself here.*
*That's another link-up for later on.
We pulled up to the restaurant, right on Main Street, and as soon as I saw it from the outside, I started getting a bad feeling. This was not going to be my scene, I could already tell. But I didn't say anything, put my brave face on, and in we went.
I took one look around and my suspicions were confirmed. This was not going to be good. Danny could tell by my face, but he was still game, we were both so hungry, so I figured there must be something on the menu that I'd eat. (Note, I didn't say enjoy). We sat down.
The menu was a single sheet of paper that looked like it was taken to Kinko's (or wherever; we don't have Kinko's around here). Turns out it was taken to a copy store because they print it up every week with different menu items.
Trendy.
Not good in my world.
The problem is, I have a very plain palate. Food is not an adventure. It's a necessity. Stick with what works. Why branch out and possibly be disgusted when you can order something you know you'll like? Trying something new is not worth the risk of going hungry, or pissing off your waitress by sending back your food, or paying for two meals and only eating one.
If you were as crippled by your pickiness as I am, then you'd understand.
I frantically looked over the menu for anything that sounded appealing. Not much. I finally decided I could get the eggs and bacon (generic enough) with the Yukon golds. Those are just potatoes, right? Right.
We each ordered beverages with our meals, and when I got my Chai Tea, there was a BUG floating in it. Just a little one, the kind my dad says "won't eat much," but I didn't care. It was still a bug in my drink, and the food was yet to come.
So much for not pissing off the waitress by sending something back.
I was ready to leave at this point, but that was just too rude, so I sucked it up. I didn't even say anything to Dan (not that it matters; a blind person could read my facial expressions).
The food came out, and it was not my cup of tea. I was already grossed out by the bug, not in the mood to be forgiving, and the Yukon gold potatoes turned out to be horrible. They basically halved the order of potatoes and made up the difference with big cloves of garlic, smashed and still in the paper. That ain't right in my book! I tried a couple, but the garlic was too overwhelming and didn't mesh with the other seasonings, so I couldn't finish them. Basically I had two eggs and a few slices of bacon for breakfast/lunch.
Dan enjoyed his pancake, and finished off my Yukons, but his boat wasn't really floating either, and we decided that we wouldn't go back. We are just plain ol' Quick and Delicious type of folk. Quick and Delicious is a family-run, homestyle restaurant, also right in town.
(Fanfare!) The point of all this! (Cue: trumpets)
We talked about it in the car as we drove home, and I told Dan that I knew it wasn't "me" as soon as we walked in the door. Not because I smelled garlic (I didn't). Not because there were bugs flying around (there weren't). And not because there was dirt on the floor (there wasn't). Nope. It was because of the clientele.
Really, you can tell by the people? Dan asked.
Abso-friggin-lutely. Not always, but most certainly in this case. I hinted at it before with my trendy comment. And my "I should have known" comment about the guy that presented at our historical society meeting--he has the same look as what I'm going to attempt to describe without sounding like a brat.
The folks that were sitting there enjoying their meals were all the same, like a giant had cut them all from the same roll of dough.
Dan was fascinated.
At first I likened them to Birkenstock folks, but that isn't quite right. I tried to explain to Dan that they had an aura around them, and my aura is the polar opposite. Walking into the restaurant, I was able to make an observation and a judgement. An observation on the appearance of the clientele, which then made me pass judgement on the restaurant, but did not (I hope) come off that I was being judgemental about the people. They do, after all, put their khaki shorts on one leg at a time.
As soon as we walked in, I could see polo shirts and smell garlic and a faint hint of granola and other organic foods (there's your link-up to the beginning of the post when I was talking about the radio), coupled with the stench of metro-sexuality.
That's not right. It's not metro-sexuality, it's metro-trendy. Non-conformist kids that band together in old brick apartments in downtown (east side) Portland and go to Powell's to hang out (not Borders) and eat gourmet food at bistros (not Ruby from McMenamins) and go grocery shopping at Whole Foods (not Fred Meyer). What am I trying to say? I couldn't put my finger on it any better when I was talking to Dan--and now I'm using a lot of Oregon references, which is completely unhelpful to anyone in Ohio (or, er . . . anyone that is not in Oregon, I should say). The guys have tribal tattoos on the calf of their legs, the girls don't wear makeup. They go to concerts of bands no one has ever heard of . . . they look outdoorsey and eat organically, but never spend time outside (unless the bistro has outdoor seating). They would positively die if they went on a trail ride with me.
Dan, who happened to be wearing khaki shorts, skipped over my lack of ability to describe the auras of the people in the restaurant, and asked if he had the same aura as they did. Number One, we wouldn't be married if he did, but Number Two: absolutely not.
They (not being to sound like "them and us" but rather just talking about those specific people we had just seen in that restaurant) have a snobbiness about them. Their aura has a snobbiness, I mean.
It's a non-conformity thing, like they are better than all of us Fred Meyer people (there's the organic-superior-attitude thing again!). Don't know what a Fred Meyer is? It's pretty important to get this reference, so let me see. Fred Meyer is a big conglomerate One Stop Shopping store in Oregon, similar yet vastly different than a Wal-Mart. Different mainly because the products aren't so shitty. Imagine a Target with a really good grocery section. That's what a Fred Meyer. They have everything. Target has everything BUT groceries.
Anyway, the auras I'm trying to describe would be anti-Fred Meyer (if we had one here), because they like non-mass-produced products (unless they're organic and mass-produced). Alternative'y peeps that look down their noses at Fred Meyer, hang posters of Marilyn Monroe and wear ugly, brown plaid jackets. They talk about politics and art and use big words and eat sushi and always know what's going on in the world, but they don't know who Eddie Izzard is. They would never come to a bonfire at our house, or think it's funny to go skinny dipping in Lake Erie. They don't watch Friends because they don't think it was and still is The Greatest Show Ever. They think my constant Friends references are annoying and stupid. They don't appreciate old reruns of Roseanne. They watch CNN. They couldn't tell you who Bob Ross is, or comprehend why he would say that "happy little clouds live here."
So what aura do I have? asked Danny.
I looked at him, with his sunglasses and khakis, and without hesitation told him, You've got frat-boy aura. You're a go with the flow, nice boy.
Really? He looked doubtful, but not ready to disagree with my expertise.
Yes, certainly. You're nice, you get along with everyone, you are easygoing, sometimes you have not very bright ideas for what to do with your spare time. Remember when you and Max were setting off the fireworks on the 4th of July? You're very frat boy-ish, my love.
He still seemed dubious, so I continued. You act a little snobby sometimes, but it's not the same at all. You only do it when other people can't hear. And actually it's not snobbiness at all, it's a know-it-all attitude that you don't let anyone else see (except me). You would do it this way, not that way (that way is dumb, this way is smart). But never in the world would you look down on another person. Not even in front of me because you don't think that way. You don't think you're better than anyone else. It's just their actions and what some people say that you think is stupid, but they're still just people like you and me. You don't think you're better, you do think you're smarter sometimes.
Huh, he said. That's true.
I just think it's interesting, the different auras that people have, and how some go together and some don't. Just like some foods do or don't go together, some people do or don't mesh. It's the very core of our personalities that don't mix. It has nothing to do with them as a person, whether or not they're smart or nice or animal lovers or Friends watchers. It has everything to do with our auras.
I'm not a walking talking Chinese Calendar, just so we're clear. I was born in the year of the Horse (and Earth is my element). I think I'm supposed to say Yin Earth Horse. (PS: Dan is year of the Dog, and supposedly this is what they say about Horses and Dogs together: "Very happy and compatible union. Success and prosperity in love and partnership. Deep understanding and affinity for one another." It's true!).
Anyway, I'm totally sounding like an astrology freak, of which I am not. I don't mean aura they way someone speaking astrologically means it. I think I just mean soul.
I do believe that for whatever reason, some people just don't get along. And I think it's because to each person there are some auras that just stink. We're not talking about BO here--let's be grown ups. But just like an unpleasant odor can cause you to have a strong reaction, I think unconsciously a person's essence can make you have a negative (or positive, I suppose) reaction.
And that's the way I am with the uppity organics that were in this restaurant, eating their garlic golds and sipping their coffee and talking about what they heard on NPR. It's totally silly, but here's the funny thing (and I can't tell if it's my imagination or not): when I went in, it smelled almost like I was walking into a Subway (which is very gross to me). I (thought?) could smell deli-lettuce.
I think it was the auras in the room that I could smell, whether you believe it was my imagination or not. Maybe it was my aura that recognized the pungent scent of deli-lettuce.
What's your aura? Danny wanted to know.
Surprised that he hadn't guessed, I answered, Why, it's Winnie Cooper.
Winnie Cooper: sheltered, good-clean-fun, goody-goody, Jordache jeans and banana seat bike with streamers on the handle bars. A valley girl. Childish as an adult, smart as a child. Teacher's pet, follows the rules.Oh, yeah, he said. You're completely right.
*As a side-note from me, personally I think Winnie Cooper would have grown up into a Kelly Kapowski, which is completely inaccurate as far as my popularity at school went. Now I can claim Kelly's personality, but certainly not in junior high, or even high school. I had a whole Ugly Betty phase to go through to get where I am today. And although I'm picking actresses that are similar in appearance to me, in that we're all brunette Caucasians, don't take that to mean that I think I especially look like any of them. I'm likening my personality to their personalities, up to and including Kelly Kapowski.
Monday, July 27, 2009
This time it was the DJ
When will I ever learn?
Listening to the radio (again) and not enjoying it (again). This time it was the DJ that ticked me off.*
*It's not just one station. Obviously if there was just one station that made my veins pop I'd just remove it from my pre-programmed list. Unfortunately, that is not the case. I'm a flipper, and half the time I don't even know which station I'm even listening to.
He was complaining about his wife. He said she dresses up nice for work, but as soon as she gets home she changes out of the nice clothes and into sweats or lounge pants or whatever.
Now, I know the radio is all about razzing people, razzing yourself, and razzing in general. This not going to be a post about a DJ complaining. Ha, I was going to say "complaining about his wife," but really any DJ complaining about anything is not post-worthy. All they do is complain!
But no, it's the content of his complaint; that's what I have a beef with. I wanted to call in and give him the what-for, but . . . only hillbillies do that.**
**No, really I just didn't have the phone number or the motivation to find the number. I'd rather complain about it in a post. Har har.
Now, I'm just a TAD sensitive to this topic, having been accused of the exact same thing by my husband. The difference is I don't change into sweat pants, and I don't really dress up that much for work either. So changing out of khakis into jeans, or (on occasion) into my pajamas a little early, doesn't seem to me to be that big of a deal. I went out and got some leggings though, which look much cuter than PJ bottoms, and allow me feel more comfortable in my own home.
Anyway, my own life isn't really the point here. We've worked it out; I just got all fired up because the DJ was just so unrealistic about life.
I wanted to ask him: how much do you fix yourself up for her?
Am I wrong? This seems to be a common theme for the men species: they like to complain about the ladies not fixing ourselves up, but what on earth do they ever do to fix themselves up for us? I think, grammatical paroxysms aside, it's a fair question.
He said something about the kids (an obviously insincere token toward fairness that her baggy clothes are somehow justified by her taking care of the kids)(he totally didn't mean it), but I really wanted to ask him: when was the last time you took your wife out on a date? When was the last time he took her on an official, pre-planned, not on a non-work day, the babysitter has been arranged, "Let's go to dinner at This Particular Well Known Fancy Restaurant" type of date? I mean, good grief, buddy. Get a clue.
That's the other difference between this DJ's asshole comment and my wonderful husband: at least he takes me out on a date every once in a while. We're both homebodies, so we don't go out a lot, but we prefer doing things on the cheap, so it's not a problem. But the DJ's wife obviously cares about her appearance enough to make an effort for her coworkers; why doesn't the DJ turn the pointing finger on himself and ask why she isn't putting the effort in for him? What could he do to make her want to put the effort in?
I don't think bitching about it on the radio is the appropriate solution here. Take some responsibility, bucko.
What a tool.
Listening to the radio (again) and not enjoying it (again). This time it was the DJ that ticked me off.*
*It's not just one station. Obviously if there was just one station that made my veins pop I'd just remove it from my pre-programmed list. Unfortunately, that is not the case. I'm a flipper, and half the time I don't even know which station I'm even listening to.
He was complaining about his wife. He said she dresses up nice for work, but as soon as she gets home she changes out of the nice clothes and into sweats or lounge pants or whatever.
Now, I know the radio is all about razzing people, razzing yourself, and razzing in general. This not going to be a post about a DJ complaining. Ha, I was going to say "complaining about his wife," but really any DJ complaining about anything is not post-worthy. All they do is complain!
But no, it's the content of his complaint; that's what I have a beef with. I wanted to call in and give him the what-for, but . . . only hillbillies do that.**
**No, really I just didn't have the phone number or the motivation to find the number. I'd rather complain about it in a post. Har har.
Now, I'm just a TAD sensitive to this topic, having been accused of the exact same thing by my husband. The difference is I don't change into sweat pants, and I don't really dress up that much for work either. So changing out of khakis into jeans, or (on occasion) into my pajamas a little early, doesn't seem to me to be that big of a deal. I went out and got some leggings though, which look much cuter than PJ bottoms, and allow me feel more comfortable in my own home.
Anyway, my own life isn't really the point here. We've worked it out; I just got all fired up because the DJ was just so unrealistic about life.
I wanted to ask him: how much do you fix yourself up for her?
Am I wrong? This seems to be a common theme for the men species: they like to complain about the ladies not fixing ourselves up, but what on earth do they ever do to fix themselves up for us? I think, grammatical paroxysms aside, it's a fair question.
He said something about the kids (an obviously insincere token toward fairness that her baggy clothes are somehow justified by her taking care of the kids)(he totally didn't mean it), but I really wanted to ask him: when was the last time you took your wife out on a date? When was the last time he took her on an official, pre-planned, not on a non-work day, the babysitter has been arranged, "Let's go to dinner at This Particular Well Known Fancy Restaurant" type of date? I mean, good grief, buddy. Get a clue.
That's the other difference between this DJ's asshole comment and my wonderful husband: at least he takes me out on a date every once in a while. We're both homebodies, so we don't go out a lot, but we prefer doing things on the cheap, so it's not a problem. But the DJ's wife obviously cares about her appearance enough to make an effort for her coworkers; why doesn't the DJ turn the pointing finger on himself and ask why she isn't putting the effort in for him? What could he do to make her want to put the effort in?
I don't think bitching about it on the radio is the appropriate solution here. Take some responsibility, bucko.
What a tool.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Another tool on the radio
I think the same jackass that I posted about who called into the radio after Michael Jackson died just called in about the 75-year-old woman who beat a fawn to death with a shovel.
Personally, I don't get all the hubbub. It's sick, sick, sick. And wrong, wrong, wrong. And I wouldn't have done it if the fawn was in my garden--I just would have felt blessed. But there are a lot of people out there that are sick and wrong do things I wouldn't do. It makes me sad that I'm saying that, because I think it means there are so many sickos out there, when someone does something sick I don't think it's newsworthy anymore. You know, it's not like she held a baby over the edge of a balcony (what are we going to do for news now that MJ's gone?).
Anyway, this guy called into the radio and said, "Would it have made a difference if she shot it instead?" The DJ asked where he was going with that, and then asked the caller, "Well, would you just shoot baby rabbits for no reason?" And this horrible, awful man responded, "Well, they're pests. If they're eating your garden . . . [and trailed off implying he was thinking If they're eating your garden, who cares? Or perhaps, they deserve it]." And then he said something that absolutely horrified me: "They're just animals. God meant for people to have power over animals. It says so in the bible."
EXCUSE ME?!
Correct me if I'm wrong, but this bastard thinks it's okay to just run out and shoot or kill or beat animals to death if they're "inconvenient" because God said so? Pardon me, but what the BLEEPIN' hell? Really, that's what he thinks? Really that's his interpretation of the bible?! Really, he said that on the radio?
"Really?!" I exlaimed in a high, squeaky voice.
Why isn't there a stronger word to express my feelings? I'm appalled. I'm mortified. I'm infuriated. I'm thunderstruck. I'm scandalized. I'm revolted. I'm stupefied. I'm traumatized. These are all true, but none are quite right because I'm EFFIN' PISSED!
I'm disgusted.
So disgusted in fact, that I changed the station. Now I have no clue what kind of response the DJ had. Was he appalled too? Did he (oh horror!) agree? What kind of world am I living in that people can call into the radio and say that it's okay to beat animals to death with a shovel because God said so?!
I have so many outraged thoughts rolling around in my little brain that I don't even know where to start or how to get them all down. I wish I could talk to that chump, but honestly it's probably better that I not. He thinks he's entirely justified; we've got small town folk here, with small town thoughts. That's blunt, and mean, and a total stereotype. And I don't care! I'm mad, and I'm blaming small town mentality. Put that in your butt and smoke it.
Why do close-minded hillbillies* with small town mentality get to run around spouting their uneducated, ignorant thoughts, while I'm stuck being PC and educated and bottling up my feelings?
*Hillbillys? As a practically made-up word, I would have thought it retained the Y, but Blogger spell check says "ies" -- who am I to argue?
So go ahead, call me a snob for letting it all hang out there. Call me pretentious for saying a stereotype out loud (or, er . . . writing it, I suppose). Or, go the other way and call me a close-minded hillbilly for lumping one close-minded jerk in with all hillbillies and then saying all hillbillies are close-minded.**
**Doesn't that just make me a poor mathematician in an "If A equals B and B equals C, then A must equal C" type of way? Remember the overlapping circles in algebra class, and how the MUST was the killer of the sentence? Was I the only one awake in that class?
Calling me names isn't going to change the fact that the guy that called into the radio is the Bad Guy here, and the barbarity of his statement is far worse than any supposed, uppity, negative character points I may be racking up for generalizing. I'm a hillbilly, you're a hillbilly, we're all hillbillies . . . but he's the only creep that called into the radio and said ON AIR that it's okay for a 75-year-old lady to beat Bambi to death with a shovel because God said so.
I mean, how can I keep quiet about this? Just for fear of coming off as un-PC or arrogant? I'm not going to tacitly condone the beating of a baby deer to death just because of the anti-PCness of saying that hillbillies are close-minded.
I could be PC and not say it, but doesn't that just turn "being PC" into meaning that you don't get to say what you're thinking? Or, to the umpth extreme, that the only people who get to say what they think are the close-minded hillbillies? That's positively ridonkulous. I know, I'm deliberately misinterpreting and over-generalizing and uber-facetious-izing and whatever else, but I'm just so furious. I want nothing more than to tell this guy he's a debilitated burro rectum (that's PC for sicko asshole).
I'm just calling it as I see it.
Personally, I don't get all the hubbub. It's sick, sick, sick. And wrong, wrong, wrong. And I wouldn't have done it if the fawn was in my garden--I just would have felt blessed. But there are a lot of people out there that are sick and wrong do things I wouldn't do. It makes me sad that I'm saying that, because I think it means there are so many sickos out there, when someone does something sick I don't think it's newsworthy anymore. You know, it's not like she held a baby over the edge of a balcony (what are we going to do for news now that MJ's gone?).
Anyway, this guy called into the radio and said, "Would it have made a difference if she shot it instead?" The DJ asked where he was going with that, and then asked the caller, "Well, would you just shoot baby rabbits for no reason?" And this horrible, awful man responded, "Well, they're pests. If they're eating your garden . . . [and trailed off implying he was thinking If they're eating your garden, who cares? Or perhaps, they deserve it]." And then he said something that absolutely horrified me: "They're just animals. God meant for people to have power over animals. It says so in the bible."
EXCUSE ME?!
Correct me if I'm wrong, but this bastard thinks it's okay to just run out and shoot or kill or beat animals to death if they're "inconvenient" because God said so? Pardon me, but what the BLEEPIN' hell? Really, that's what he thinks? Really that's his interpretation of the bible?! Really, he said that on the radio?
"Really?!" I exlaimed in a high, squeaky voice.
Why isn't there a stronger word to express my feelings? I'm appalled. I'm mortified. I'm infuriated. I'm thunderstruck. I'm scandalized. I'm revolted. I'm stupefied. I'm traumatized. These are all true, but none are quite right because I'm EFFIN' PISSED!
I'm disgusted.
So disgusted in fact, that I changed the station. Now I have no clue what kind of response the DJ had. Was he appalled too? Did he (oh horror!) agree? What kind of world am I living in that people can call into the radio and say that it's okay to beat animals to death with a shovel because God said so?!
I have so many outraged thoughts rolling around in my little brain that I don't even know where to start or how to get them all down. I wish I could talk to that chump, but honestly it's probably better that I not. He thinks he's entirely justified; we've got small town folk here, with small town thoughts. That's blunt, and mean, and a total stereotype. And I don't care! I'm mad, and I'm blaming small town mentality. Put that in your butt and smoke it.
Why do close-minded hillbillies* with small town mentality get to run around spouting their uneducated, ignorant thoughts, while I'm stuck being PC and educated and bottling up my feelings?
*Hillbillys? As a practically made-up word, I would have thought it retained the Y, but Blogger spell check says "ies" -- who am I to argue?
So go ahead, call me a snob for letting it all hang out there. Call me pretentious for saying a stereotype out loud (or, er . . . writing it, I suppose). Or, go the other way and call me a close-minded hillbilly for lumping one close-minded jerk in with all hillbillies and then saying all hillbillies are close-minded.**
**Doesn't that just make me a poor mathematician in an "If A equals B and B equals C, then A must equal C" type of way? Remember the overlapping circles in algebra class, and how the MUST was the killer of the sentence? Was I the only one awake in that class?
Calling me names isn't going to change the fact that the guy that called into the radio is the Bad Guy here, and the barbarity of his statement is far worse than any supposed, uppity, negative character points I may be racking up for generalizing. I'm a hillbilly, you're a hillbilly, we're all hillbillies . . . but he's the only creep that called into the radio and said ON AIR that it's okay for a 75-year-old lady to beat Bambi to death with a shovel because God said so.
I mean, how can I keep quiet about this? Just for fear of coming off as un-PC or arrogant? I'm not going to tacitly condone the beating of a baby deer to death just because of the anti-PCness of saying that hillbillies are close-minded.
I could be PC and not say it, but doesn't that just turn "being PC" into meaning that you don't get to say what you're thinking? Or, to the umpth extreme, that the only people who get to say what they think are the close-minded hillbillies? That's positively ridonkulous. I know, I'm deliberately misinterpreting and over-generalizing and uber-facetious-izing and whatever else, but I'm just so furious. I want nothing more than to tell this guy he's a debilitated burro rectum (that's PC for sicko asshole).
I'm just calling it as I see it.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
"Jackson dies, almost takes Internet with him" (CNN)
CNN article (Not the point of my post, but I think it's funny about the internet)
I also cite this Wikipedia article a bunch.
Yes, I do feel the need to blog about Michael Jackson. Along with everyone else out there, I've got something to say, and I just won't rest until I get it out. If you're sick of it all, well . . . don't read this post! Duh. Not rocket science folks.
I was driving in to work Friday, listening to the shocked, broken-hearted voices of the DJs, when two things happened in quick succession:
1) A man called in and said: "Who cares that Michael Jackson died? He was a child molester."
I was so angered by his hillbilly, closeminded statement, that I didn't even listen to the DJs response. I flipped the station and drove on, some random song playing, trying to collect my thoughts. Was Michael Jackson a child molester? I remembered the story, from eons ago (in 1993 I would have been about 14 years old, and back then I was even worse than I am today about keeping up to date on current events). But what was the outcome? *I've since looked it up, but in the car I couldn't recall the verdict of the sexual allegation story. Both times I said "story" (singular) because at that moment in the car I only remembered the 1993 case.
*In case you can't remember either:
Regarding 1993: "Jackson was never charged, and the state closed its criminal investigation, citing lack of evidence."
Regarding 2005: "The trial lasted five months, until the end of May 2005, he was acquitted on all counts."
-Both from Wikipedia
Now, I'm not such a fool as to think the legal system is foolproof. Michael Jackson isn't the first, and won't be the last, man or woman in the world to be accused wrongly or to walk away free wrongly. He isn't the first to suffer from slander, libel, and media lust. Fair or unfair, just or unjust, he done it or he (uh) didn't done it . . . it's the way of the world. Sometimes the media and the mob make up their own stories, truth be damned. Sometimes they turn out to be right.
So maybe he did, maybe he didn't. That's been the general public's feeling ever since he was acquitted. Both times, did you note that? Because I sure think it's noteworthy that he was accused and acquitted not just once but twice. The noteworthiness depends on your emphasis, which in itself is a grammatical triumph.
I think Michael Jackson was a big, zillion dollar target. He had a big bullseye stamped on his shiny leather and sequined, foolish chest for the entirety of his career. The crazier and more eccentric he became, the bigger and more enticing the bullseye became. Did he handle every situation with the maximum amount of grace that he could have? Well, no I suppose not. Was he trusting to the point of foolishness? Probably. That's what everyone close to him was proclaiming from Day 1! And now we're surprised? Michael Jackson was a gentle, vulnerable, trusting soul! SURPRISE! Perhaps we should have paid more attention. Remember the interview in 1993 when he talked about the strip search? Talk about vulnerable. But why doesn't anyone follow the train of thought to the end: that a gentle, vulnerable, trusting, foolish, zillion dollar target makes him an awfully big, easy target?!
**Evan Chandler: the 1993 kid that accused Michael Jackson of sexual abuse. I don't know what Evan Chandler looks like, but I bet you twenty bucks I could pick him out of a lineup. He's the one that has dollar signs instead of eyeballs.
Personally, I don't believe that Michael Jackson is a pedophile. That's my opinion, but put this in your butt and smoke it: does it even matter at this point? Seriously, does it? Just for a second, say we knew for sure that he did it: What would they even do? Bury him in a prison? I don't think he did it, but it doesn't matter now. I don't care Who or What you believe about After, that debate is not the point at the moment. Because whatever you think about death, it's undeniable that Michael Jackson is now beyond an earthly punishment.
I think all the good he did in his life should lay the continued speculations to rest now that he's dead. All that's left on this earth are speculations, our memories of the entertainer, and the good he did--any morally repugnant acts will catch up with him at the place he's at now, and any punishment that he might deserve is up to Someone Else to figure out. Can't we just bury the speculations with him?
The second thing that happened along my commute was this:
2) A young woman, probably a few years older than myself, called in bawling.
I guess I was having a delayed reaction, because my first thought was, "Are you kidding me? Get a life!"
I'm embarrassed to admit that now; how mean! I just couldn't believe this gal was so broken up about a celebrity--"It's not like she's ever met him." I listened to her sob for a minute, tell about seeing Michael Jackson in concert, and the whole time I just couldn't stop thinking that she was an idiot for being so broken up.
Then I changed the station and it hit me like a gutpunch. They were doing one of those snippet-breaking news-things. You know what I'm talking about? When they just take random news announcers breaking the news and play them all back to back: "Michael Jackson, dead at 50." "Michael Jackson, pronounced dead at UCLA Medical Center." "Jackson suffered from cardiac arrest this afternoon and has now died." Et cetera, ad infinitum.
That was when it really started to sink in that he was gone, and then they played, "You are not alone" and I almost lost it! Driving to work, less than 24 hours after he passed away, and I just couldn't believe that it was true. What a shame! What a shame that there isn't a better word than shame to describe my feelings.
I think Michael Jackson was one of the most tormented souls, if not the most famous, on the planet. I think his family deserves our sympathy and his memory deserves our respect, at the very least. And, just because it's kinda funny and Michael Jackson couldn't have asked for a cooler epitaph: Wikipedia should add to his legacy that he "almost took the internet with him."
Personally, I think we should throw away speculations and mob mentality, trust that karma will take over from here, and simply remember the good.
I also cite this Wikipedia article a bunch.
Yes, I do feel the need to blog about Michael Jackson. Along with everyone else out there, I've got something to say, and I just won't rest until I get it out. If you're sick of it all, well . . . don't read this post! Duh. Not rocket science folks.
I was driving in to work Friday, listening to the shocked, broken-hearted voices of the DJs, when two things happened in quick succession:
1) A man called in and said: "Who cares that Michael Jackson died? He was a child molester."
I was so angered by his hillbilly, closeminded statement, that I didn't even listen to the DJs response. I flipped the station and drove on, some random song playing, trying to collect my thoughts. Was Michael Jackson a child molester? I remembered the story, from eons ago (in 1993 I would have been about 14 years old, and back then I was even worse than I am today about keeping up to date on current events). But what was the outcome? *I've since looked it up, but in the car I couldn't recall the verdict of the sexual allegation story. Both times I said "story" (singular) because at that moment in the car I only remembered the 1993 case.
*In case you can't remember either:
Regarding 1993: "Jackson was never charged, and the state closed its criminal investigation, citing lack of evidence."
Regarding 2005: "The trial lasted five months, until the end of May 2005, he was acquitted on all counts."
-Both from Wikipedia
Now, I'm not such a fool as to think the legal system is foolproof. Michael Jackson isn't the first, and won't be the last, man or woman in the world to be accused wrongly or to walk away free wrongly. He isn't the first to suffer from slander, libel, and media lust. Fair or unfair, just or unjust, he done it or he (uh) didn't done it . . . it's the way of the world. Sometimes the media and the mob make up their own stories, truth be damned. Sometimes they turn out to be right.
So maybe he did, maybe he didn't. That's been the general public's feeling ever since he was acquitted. Both times, did you note that? Because I sure think it's noteworthy that he was accused and acquitted not just once but twice. The noteworthiness depends on your emphasis, which in itself is a grammatical triumph.
- Accused and acquitted not just once but twice. Truly innocent, proven twice?
- Accused and acquitted not just once but twice. Legally lucky, guilty-and-free twice?
I think Michael Jackson was a big, zillion dollar target. He had a big bullseye stamped on his shiny leather and sequined, foolish chest for the entirety of his career. The crazier and more eccentric he became, the bigger and more enticing the bullseye became. Did he handle every situation with the maximum amount of grace that he could have? Well, no I suppose not. Was he trusting to the point of foolishness? Probably. That's what everyone close to him was proclaiming from Day 1! And now we're surprised? Michael Jackson was a gentle, vulnerable, trusting soul! SURPRISE! Perhaps we should have paid more attention. Remember the interview in 1993 when he talked about the strip search? Talk about vulnerable. But why doesn't anyone follow the train of thought to the end: that a gentle, vulnerable, trusting, foolish, zillion dollar target makes him an awfully big, easy target?!
**Evan Chandler: the 1993 kid that accused Michael Jackson of sexual abuse. I don't know what Evan Chandler looks like, but I bet you twenty bucks I could pick him out of a lineup. He's the one that has dollar signs instead of eyeballs.
Personally, I don't believe that Michael Jackson is a pedophile. That's my opinion, but put this in your butt and smoke it: does it even matter at this point? Seriously, does it? Just for a second, say we knew for sure that he did it: What would they even do? Bury him in a prison? I don't think he did it, but it doesn't matter now. I don't care Who or What you believe about After, that debate is not the point at the moment. Because whatever you think about death, it's undeniable that Michael Jackson is now beyond an earthly punishment.
I think all the good he did in his life should lay the continued speculations to rest now that he's dead. All that's left on this earth are speculations, our memories of the entertainer, and the good he did--any morally repugnant acts will catch up with him at the place he's at now, and any punishment that he might deserve is up to Someone Else to figure out. Can't we just bury the speculations with him?
The second thing that happened along my commute was this:
2) A young woman, probably a few years older than myself, called in bawling.
I guess I was having a delayed reaction, because my first thought was, "Are you kidding me? Get a life!"
I'm embarrassed to admit that now; how mean! I just couldn't believe this gal was so broken up about a celebrity--"It's not like she's ever met him." I listened to her sob for a minute, tell about seeing Michael Jackson in concert, and the whole time I just couldn't stop thinking that she was an idiot for being so broken up.
Then I changed the station and it hit me like a gutpunch. They were doing one of those snippet-breaking news-things. You know what I'm talking about? When they just take random news announcers breaking the news and play them all back to back: "Michael Jackson, dead at 50." "Michael Jackson, pronounced dead at UCLA Medical Center." "Jackson suffered from cardiac arrest this afternoon and has now died." Et cetera, ad infinitum.
That was when it really started to sink in that he was gone, and then they played, "You are not alone" and I almost lost it! Driving to work, less than 24 hours after he passed away, and I just couldn't believe that it was true. What a shame! What a shame that there isn't a better word than shame to describe my feelings.
I think Michael Jackson was one of the most tormented souls, if not the most famous, on the planet. I think his family deserves our sympathy and his memory deserves our respect, at the very least. And, just because it's kinda funny and Michael Jackson couldn't have asked for a cooler epitaph: Wikipedia should add to his legacy that he "almost took the internet with him."
Personally, I think we should throw away speculations and mob mentality, trust that karma will take over from here, and simply remember the good.
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