Wednesday Rant – Follow Up

They aren’t staying at our house.  Try this on for size:  Instead of four girls, the maximum number that my sister said would be accompanying my niece, there are eight girls.  That’s right, a total of nine people.  Audacity, pure and simple.

Wednesday Rant

I rarely speak to one of my sisters except when she needs something.  So, yesterday, when I saw her name pop up on my phone, I just hit ignore.  When I listened to my voice mail, my expectation was confirmed.  She was calling to ask if my niece could spend Saturday night at our house.  

My niece is in her fourth year of college.  She is almost finished with her Bachelor of Arts in dance (ballet, specifically).  I wish her the best, but I’m skeptical of her ability to make a consistent living by majoring in dance.  It’s almost as useless as political science, my major.  Sorry, I know you probably aren’t interested in my grand pronouncements about what kids should study in school, and that certainly is not the point of this story.

My niece is going to be in town for some sort of dance audition.  She is, of course, always welcome to stay at our house, but I was irked by the short notice given by my sister so I didn’t call back.  My sister called again last night around 6:30.  Conversations with her are really not conversations at all but simply an exercise of patience while being spoken to.  Here is how it went:

Her:  David, it’s Anita.  Sorry to bother you.

Me:  You’re not bothering me.

H:  Did you get my message?  Are you still at work?  What are you doing?

M:  I saw that you called, but I didn’t listen to the message yet.  How was Thailand? (She just got back from there on a mission trip, of sorts.)

H:  It was good, we worked hard.  We’re worn out.  Listen, I need to ask you a favor.  Anna is coming to Little Rock for an audition on Sunday and she doesn’t want to spend money on a hotel room, would it be okay if she stayed with you?

M:  That’s fine. 

H:  Thanks, I appreciate it.  You know, her 21^st birthday is Sunday.  It might be nice if Jennifer got her a cake to surprise her. (Not sure how Jennifer got involved, or why I’m not capable of buying a cake.)  We’re planning on buying her an iPod for her birthday.  Do you know where we could get one for a good price?  Should we just give her the money and let her buy it or should we buy it?

M:  There are several different models now.  I think Apple controls the prices pretty tightly so you pretty much have to pay the same price wherever you go.

H:  Apple, huh?  It would be nice if Jennifer got Anna a cake.  Do you want me to send you some money?

M:  I’m not worried about the money.

H:  It’s her 21st birthday.  She’d probably really like it if you surprise her with a cake.  She’s leaving Norman around noon on Saturday after dance practice and driving.  You don’t have plans do you?

M:  Actually, we do.  Both on Saturday afternoon and Saturday evening.  But she’s welcome to stay.  We just won’t be around that much.  Just have her call me when she’s on her way and I’ll get her a key.

H:  She’s leaving around noon on Saturday.  I’ll just have her call you sometime when she’s on her way.  I really appreciate it.  Listen, some other girls are coming with her.

M:  Um…

H:  They won’t be any trouble.  They don’t mind to sleep on the floor if needed.

M:  Um…

H:  You’ve got room, right.  Don’t you have a spare bedroom?  I’m not sure how many… 1 or 2 others.

M:  Um…H:  3 or 4, I’m not sure.  They don’t mind to sleep on the floor.  You’ve got room, right?  You have a spare bedroom?  They’re no trouble.

So that was pretty much it.  I got off the phone and just thought, “You manipulative bitch!”  I like to believe that I’m not easily manipulated, but I totally let her do it.  It’s my fault.  With most people I would have just said, “Slow down there cowgirl, your message said Anna was coming, not Anna and as many as four other girls whom I don’t know from Eve.  When I said yes to you earlier, I still understood that it was only Anna coming to stay.  You should have given me all the facts first, or maybe I should have asked.”

Maybe I’m overreacting, but I’ve been 21.  I know how people that age act and it usually is not very respectful.  Four 21-year-old complete strangers cannot stay at our house.  It simply is not gonna happen.

You’re probably asking yourself why I’m complaining on my blog about this rather than calling my sister and discussing it like adults should.  Well that is because my entire family is pretty much dysfunctional in that there is a total lack of real communication among us.  I’m completely serious.  I’ve learned to communicate, to the extent I have, from other people and sources.  So, now, for me, having a serious conversation with a family member is at the bottom of a lengthy list of dreaded activities.

Dr. Who and Why You Don’t Mess with Rose Tyler

You are tiny.  I can see the whole of time and space, every single atom of your existence and I divide them.  –Rose Tyler in “The Parting of the Ways”

…and she could. 

I’m a nerd.  It’s chronic. 

Movies – Blood and Comedy

I had written what I consider a very nice post about There Will be Blood and Vince Vaughn’s Wild West Comedy Show:  30 Days and 30 Nights – From Hollywood to the Heartland.  There were some especially nice bits about Daniel Day-Lewis’ acting, P.T. Anderson’s direction, and Johnny Greenwood’s score.  

Unfortunately,  I lost it.  It was my own fault. Regardless, I don’t have the energy to rewrite.  Suffice to say that Blood is a masterpiece.  The Wild West Comedy Show isn’t spectacular but I think it’s worth seeing because some of the comedy is laugh out loud hilarious and because the insight into comics on the road is interesting.

Obama, Japan

Another reason I love the Japanese:

Residents of the small city of Obama, Japan have an emotional stake in our presidential campaign at least in part because of the shared name.  I suppose it could happen in other nations, but I think it’s less likely elsewhere.  Complete story here. 

Hasenfeffer Incorporated (Welcome to my Nightmare)

Growing up, cable wasn’t available where we lived, and receiving satellite television involved installing a receiver roughly the size of 1951 Buick Special.  So we lived with four television channels:  3, 10, 13, and 29.  My whole family referred to them by channel number, not their respective affiliations with NBC, CBS, PBS, and ABC.  For instance, on any given night in the 1980s, I might have asked my father, who salvaged the T.V. guide out of the Sunday paper every week, “What’s on channel 3 tonight?”  I’m certain I must have known when my favorite shows like Magnum P.I. and The A-Team were on, but I recall always being surprised, pleasantly or otherwise, at Dad’s answers.

The lack of choice led me to watch some shows that I probably wouldn’t have otherwise chosen.  Some, like M.A.S.H., are still among my all-time favorites.  But I now consider some, like Little House on the Prairie, so insipid that I wonder how they were ever produced.  There were other shows that didn’t fall into either group, shows that were just on so I watched them without exhibiting strong feelings, then and now, one way or another.  Laverne and Shirley is in the third category.  Until about a month ago, I probably couldn’t have told you of a single thing that I love, or hate, about it.

Before that day, when I was walking to my car at work, I don’t recall the last time I thought of Laverne and Shirley.  I saw a young woman, walking with her head down to shield her eyes from light rain, who looked, to me, remarkably like Shirley Feeney, or at least Cindy Williams’ portrayal of Feeney.  The natural, but ill-fated, reaction when I thought about the show was to also think about the theme song.  Not the Yiddish beginning, but the final verse:

On your mark, get set, and go now,
Got a dream and we just know now,
We’re gonna make our dream come true.
And we’ll do it our way, yes our way.
Make all our dreams come true,
And do it our way, yes our way,
Make all our dreams come true
For me and you.

So now, from time to time, when I’m walking to or from my car, I find that stupid song, which I now hate, banging around in my head.  Sometimes, I even sing it to myself, under my breath, before I realize what I’ve done.

Cry me a River

I happened to catch The Late Late Show this past Friday.  It’s the first episode I’ve seen.  I found Craig Ferguson very entertaining and insightful without sacrificing humor.

For instance, I don’t recall how he got onto the topic or his exact words, but he expressed regret for making fun of Justin Timberlake on past episodes.  Apparently, he is not a fan of Timberlake’s music and has strongly expressed his disapproval on a number of occasions.  As an aside, I generally agree with him, although I do like the video in which Timberlake portrays some sort of spy; it has a cool feel.  Anyway, Ferguson said that, one day, he saw some footage of Justin in the studio with Scarlett Johansson on one arm and Cameron Diaz on the other and he realized that Timberlake isn’t making music for forty-five year old Scottish men.

His observation made me laugh out loud, mostly because it’s true and the joke is on Ferguson.  Self effacing humor, to me, is some of the funniest.

Regardless, he made me consider the music I hear on the radio.  Sure, I think most of it is crap.  But those artists and producers aren’t pumping it out for a white guy in his mid-thirties.  There is, and always will be, new music that, objectively or subjectively, is good.  You just have to know where to look and, for me, with some exceptions here and there, that place is not the radio, or Billboard charts, or Nielsen Soundscan. I think to sit around and bitch about it would simply make me feel like I’m widening a generation gap, and that is something I never want to do.

Actual Quote

This morning, in a meeting that I have every other week with about twenty other participants, I said the following, out loud, for all to hear:

She’s going to get with him and see if she can satisfy him.

Nice, huh?  I was already embarrassed by the time I finished the sentence.  In context of the conversation it probably didn’t seem quite so bad, but still.

Lately…

This is how I’ve spent my time when not working:

Reading:

Geek Love is a novel about a family of circus performers.  The family’s patriarch, who runs the circus with which the family is associated, decides, along with his wife, to create their own sideshow freaks through their offspring.  They accomplish the task by experimenting with various drugs and radioactive materials during the couple’s pregnancies.  Sounds weird, huh?  It is.  But it’s well written by Katherine Dunn and because she creates a world unto itself, it’s also insanely absorbing and entertaining.

Listening:

Jukebox by Cat Power.  As with her Covers record a few years ago, Ms. Marshall reinvents previously recorded songs, most of which were written by other artists (a couple of the tracks were written and recorded by her on previous records).  Regardless, she has a way of making songs her own, whether she wrote them or not, sometimes completely changing the mood of the original recording.  In her case, I think that’s a great thing.  I can’t get enough of her honey voice.  On Jukebox, I especially love her take on Bob Dylan’s “I Believe in You.”

100 Days, 100 Nights by Sharon Jones and Dap Kings.  A funk/soul record created in the spirit of the genre’s heyday of the 1960s and 70s.  To give you and idea of the music, a number of the Dap Kings feature prominently as backing musicians on Back to Black by Amy Winehouse, a record I absolutely love.  The Dap Kings do the same thing here, only in their original context with their original singer; it’s authentic.

Watching, Television:

Arrested Development, Season 1.  I can’t believe I missed this hot mess when it was on television.  Actually, I tried to watch a couple of episodes, during the middle of the first season, when it originally aired.  I couldn’t get into.  But starting from the beginning, I loved it.  By this time, I’m probably behind the crowd and everyone is probably aware of the trials and tribulations of the Bluth family (primarily of their own creation) and their son Michael’s attempts to save the family business.  If you haven’t seen it, though, I encourage you to do so, starting with the first episode.  It’s a smart, hilarious caricature of modern life and family stereotypes, and lessons about what is truly important.

Torchwood, Season 1.  This spin-off of the long running British sci fi series Dr. Who is somewhat akin to a BBC version of the X-Files in that the Torchwood Institute is, like Mulder and Scully, in the business of protecting the world from extraterrestrial threats.  Wow, was that sentence packed with nerdiness or what?  Seriously, though, if you are even the slightest fan of science fiction, then you owe it to yourself to check out Torchwood.  Jennifer and I watched Season 1 on DVD.  The second season is currently being broadcast on BBC America.  As a warning, though, it is closely interlinked with Dr. Who, a show that I cannot recommend enough.  The last three seasons, a bit of a revival for the series, have been outstanding.  So I’m sure my love of Dr. Who impacted my expectations of and response to Torchwood.

Watching, Movies (quite a list so I’m just going to hit the highlights):

I’m Not There.  While I recognize and respect his influence, I’ve never really been a fan of Bob Dylan.  This movie made me want to be a fan, especially the performances of Cate Blanchett and Heath Ledger.  While they were both unbelievable in their interpretations of an aspect of Dylan’s personality, Blanchett deserves the Oscar for her performance.

Charlie Wilson’s War.  It’s entertaining and informative.  What else do you want?  I didn’t even mind Julia Roberts, and I don’t normally like her.

No Country for Old Men.  Wow, is all there is to say.  The Cohen brothers never cease to amaze me, in a good way.  On top of a beautiful movie with an engrossing story, the acting was superb.

Sunshine.  A sci fi movie about a mission to restart the Sun directed by Danny Boyle (Trainspotting, 28 Days Later, etc.)  It’s interesting, and pretty to look at, and certainly worth the couple of hours.

Strange Wilderness.  I don’t understand why terrible comedies continue to get produced, and how I end up watching them.  Skip it entirely.  In fact, if you are thinking about going, give me a call and I’ll pay you not to see it (hyperbole, folks, I’m not about to start actually writing checks).

Michael Clayton.  Cop movies and lawyer movies are normally all the same to me.  This one isn’t.  Loved it.  But I love Clooney.  Great story.

Savages.  If you don’t want to watch Phillip Seymor Hoffman and Laura Linney in a family-centered dramatic comedy then you’ve been sprinkling too much crack on your cheerios.  I cannot get enough of these two actors.  On top of that, this story is packed with truth about the shelter, and torture, of family.  Run to the theater to see this.

3:10 to Yuma.  In addition to the remake, I’ve seen the original starring Glenn Ford.  I prefer Russel Crowe’s interpretation of the outlaw Ben Wade.  Regardless, this is a good movie, especially if you enjoy westerns.  But it also has an independent appeal that is rooted in its exploration of what it means to be courageous and to have respect for fellow man.

Up with the Chickens?

This is Jennifer’s story but she gave me permission to tell it here…

It’s my experience that most people who like Chick-fil-A don’t just like it; they are cuckoo for that brand of cocoa puffs.  Given the right mood, Jennifer falls into that category.  So occasionally, as she did earlier this week, when she works an early shift at the hospital, she drives through Chick-a-fill for breakfast.  

When she arrived, it was a couple of minutes before the store opened and there was already a man waiting in his car at the drive through speaker (I’m telling you, people love their Chick-fil-A).  She waited patiently in the drive through line until she heard the unmistakable squawk of the drive through speaker, inquiring about the man’s order, and more importantly indicating that the place was open for business.  She watched the car in front of her, anticipating her turn to order.  Nothing happened.  She heard the speaker ask for the man’s order again.  Nothing.

Jennifer, especially when on her way to work, does not easily suffer fools – those who are slow to order at a drive through are definitely defined as fools – so when the speaker asked for the man’s order for the third time, she decided to take action.  She got out of her car and marched up to the driver’s side of the man’s car.  She found that his window was rolled down, and that the man was slumped against the driver’s door.  She asked him if he was okay, and he did not respond.  She tried again and he still did not respond.  Not really knowing what to do next, she asked the person on the other end of the speaker to call 911 and say that there is man in the drive through who is slumped against the door of his car and is non-responsive to verbal cues.

Personally, I would have freaked, thinking he was dead.

I suppose a patrol car was in the vicinity because she said it was only a couple more minutes before a police officer arrived.  She left the officer to it, and went inside to order her food.  When she came out of the restaurant, food in hand, she spoke briefly to the officer.  Apparently, the man had arrived about fifteen minutes before the scheduled opening.  When he realized that it was going to be a while, he decided to take a nap.

I realize different strokes, etc.  But I ask you now, who does that?  Who decides that they are going to wait at the drive through window of a restaurant and take a nap?!?  This man, obviously.

Anyway, the officer told Jennifer that he at first assumed that the man was drunk or something.  When he woke the man, though, he found that the man exhibited no apparent signs of impairment so he just let him order his food and go on his way.  I think the officer acted appropriately.  I just think it’s strange that the man was so excited about his chicken that he was fifteen minutes early (they open at 6:30), and then decided to take a nap while waiting in the drive through line.

Thanks

Perspective.  Irony.

Just over three weeks ago, Zoie died.  In many ways, she was my world.  I probably seem a little obsessive at times.  Maybe I am.  It’s my blog.  I’ll write what I want.

Time. does. heal.  I suppose.  Just when I feel like everything will be okay, something triggers a flood of memories.  And sorrow, and joy, and laughter, and anger at the situation.  

I’ve never experienced anything like it.  I’ve lost family.  My maternal grandmother, for example, fought Alzheimer’s for nearly ten years.  My mother and my aunt no longer speak because of disagreements about how best to care for my grandmother.  That was easier than losing Zoie.

I feel great affection for those people who have expressed their sympathy in one way or another.  They are varied, long time and close friends, and almost strangers.

I feel obligated to talk about one of the oncologists at the University of Missouri.  Her name is Kimberly Statham.  Jennifer says that, when she thinks of Dr. Statham, she thinks of rainbows and unicorns.  I agree.  It’s a compliment.  

When Dr. Statham showed the pictures of the CT to us, that showed that the tumor was compressing Zoie’s ribs and lungs and curving her spine, I couldn’t imagine seeing anything more awful.  But she somehow made it seem okay, seem like part of life.  I can’t explain it.  It’s honestly mystical to me, her reaction to the situation and her dealing with us.  I mean, she hugged me, tightly, and I was okay with it.  I don’t even like to shake hands with people I don’t know well.  I thank God that she was the one who delivered the news.

Then there are friends, to whom I may never be able to express my gratitude…

The morning Zoie died, Jennie emailed me and said, “Zoie has a really big place in my heart because she is the first dog I ever loved.  I never minded dogs, but I never really loved them until I met her – she’s the reason I wanted to get a dog of my own.”  God, how beautiful that is.  I pray that someone says something so wonderful about me when I die.

Just examples, those two.  Many more.

Thanks to you all. 

On Liberty

Almost a year ago, I wrote this post about a co-worker and the anti-Semitism that his son had experienced at a local school.  I still love the email response my co-worker’s wife wrote to a school official.  

Unfortunately, a few similar incidents have recently occurred with the son of the same co-worker and the same school.  Over the course of a few weeks, a history teacher told her students that gay marriage is wrong, that evolution is a theory but god really created us all, and that abortion is immoral.  In an email to the school’s principal, my co-worker and his wife said, “A teacher at _________ should reflect the values to which the school aspires — to support individual thinking in a non-sectarian manner.  Surely there are many other schools in the area that would welcome a teacher with this teacher’s views, and would encourage her/him to teach them as part of the curriculum.  However, __________ is not one of them.  History should be taught as history, with room for healthy and respectful debate, rather than as a Christian religious Sunday school lesson.”

When I spoke to my co-worker, he was afraid that they had overreacted.  I told him that teachers at a secular institution have no business indoctrinating their pupils and that I didn’t think that they had.  But I also told him that, having been around this kind of close-minded ignorance my whole life, I guessed the teacher didn’t know that he/she did anything wrong.  I went on to say that I’ve known many people who subscribe to a world view, that happens to be prevalent in this part of U.S., that states that what they believe is absolutely correct and all others are, by definition, wrong.

I meant what I said as a warning to my co-worker to let him know what he is dealing with.  I might not have said it to everyone, but as I like to jokingly point out to him from time to time he ain’t from around here.  I think he was surprised by what I said.

I’m not sure where this is going…

I suppose to this:  I think that everyone, teachers included, should be able to believe what they want.  But someone in a position of authority should not force his or her views on others.  To me, that is the essence and the inherent beauty of the United States.

I find inspiration in the reaction of my co-worker and his wife.  Rather than approaching it as I often do by just letting it go, they spoke up.  I think that it’s the duty of all people who love liberty to do just that, and I’ll remember my co-worker the next time I’m faced with a similar situation.

Romney and Huckabee Walk into a Strip Club…Who Tips More?

Last Monday morning around 5:00 a.m., when our cabbie greeted us at our hotel in Miami, I was not surprised to hear him speak with a thick accent.  But I was pleasantly surprised to hear that his native tongue was French.  That is not intended as a slight of immigrants from other countries, I’m just a Francophile.  

But any affection I had for this particular Frenchie was short lived.  He drove fast.  I was sitting in the backseat of the cab on the passenger’s side and I could see the speedometer:  95 miles per hour at times.  Even though the freeway was deserted at such an early hour, it is an understatement to say that his driving made me nervous.When we arrived at the airport, the cabbie rummaged around in his voluminous trunk, handed us our bags, and I handed him some cash.  Shaken, but thankful to have arrived, we wheeled toward the automatic doors that led to check in for Delta.  We were suddenly stopped by a large man in an official-looking uniform who barked, “Which airline?”  

At this point, I probably ought to interject that, while I love traveling, I hate flying for many reasons.  Foremost, though, is the cattle-like treatment.  I don’t take well to orders in general, but especially when they are given without a smile or, in many cases, even an acknowledgement.  But the common conundrum is that nothing can actively be done to fight the treatment.  When flying, we are all absolutely at the mercy of the airline employees and the smug TSA employees (handing out their false sense of security), and I for one certainly do everything possible to avoid a body cavity search.

So, when the guy demanded that we tell him which airline, attempting to get in a compliant mood, I told him, “Delta.”  He didn’t respond verbally.  He just pointed at another man in an official looking uniform, standing behind a check in counter outside the terminal.  The counter was near the curb where Jean Girard was still sitting in his cab, writing on a clipboard, in preparation to speed away to pick up another fare.  Because of the counter’s location, I presumed that it was airline curbside check in.

When we wheeled over and gave the man our names, he grunted, “I.D.”  We handed over our driver’s licenses.  He looked at them and typed on his keyboard for a few seconds.  To apparently no one in particular, because he didn’t look up from his keyboard, he asked, “Checking bags?”  I began to wonder if he was capable of forming a complete sentence.  

As I thought about it, Jennifer answered, “Two.”  He looked at the scale.  I stared at him for a few seconds, and then asked, “Do you want me to put my suitcase up there?”  He nodded.  He watched the scale, attached the airline’s sticker to the handle of my suitcase, and moved it behind the counter.  We repeated with Jennifer’s bag, and then he handed our boarding passes to Jennifer.  I blurted, “Oh, I almost forgot, can we add our frequent flier numbers?!?”  He looked at me blankly and said, “At the gate.”   “You can’t do it here?”  He shook his head.

While I tried to understand why the man couldn’t add our frequent flier numbers, Jennifer was looking at the boarding passes.  We had been separated on one of the flights to Miami.  She wanted to be certain that hadn’t happened again.  Also, she prefers to sit by the window.  Since I don’t have a huge preference on relatively short flights, I usually end up sitting in the middle, beside her at the window.  When I asked the man behind the counter to double check if our seats were the middle and the window rather than the middle and the aisle, he just shook his head again.  I said, “At the gate, right?”  He nodded.  Thoroughly disgusted, I was through with this useless excuse for a human being standing in front of me.

But as Jennifer and I turned to walk off, the man verbally hurled at me a stern, “Sir!”  When I looked at him, he said, “This is a tip service.”  I was proud of him for stringing enough words together to form a sentence, but astounded at his audacity.  I was immediately reminded of strip clubs, and here is why:

In my life, I’ve had a few occasions to visit a handful of strip clubs.  It’s not something I’m necessarily proud about.  But I will always believe that strip clubs are a wonderful, entertaining, and fascinating, yet microcosmic, place to learn lessons about the nature of humans.  The most immediate lesson, that I believe is applicable to many of our day to day business relationships, is that people will pay ridiculous amounts of money for a good show from an attractive girl not wearing any clothes, and such a girl does not need to remind the patrons that she works for tips.  In other words, it’s the customer service axiom of strip clubs that good service equals good tips.  This man, for whom I developed great disdain in a few short minutes, was far from a good looking stripper so I guess he needed to remind me that he works for tips.  My silent response was to fish around in my wallet for a couple of dollar bills which I begrudgingly handed to him.  

As we walked away, this time for good, I told Jennifer that I would have told the man to screw off it but I didn’t want him to somehow sabotage our bags.  Until he asked for the tip, I didn’t realize that he was a skycap and not an employee of Delta.  If I had been paying more attention and realized that from the beginning, I suppose I would have avoided the situation entirely.