More Like, Republican't

I broke down last night and watched the CNN/YouTube Republican debate. I watched it on YouTube because I canceled my cable subscription some time ago. It’s been a while since I have watched a Republican presidential debate, and I was surprised to learn that I am not, in any way, not even a little bit Republican. Are these guys for real? This wasn’t so much a debate as it was the Asshole Olympics. These guys were in a life or death struggle to see who can be a bigger dick.

“Well I have to disagree with my opponent because you see, I hate Mexicans and gays WAY more than he does.”

There were only two things even remotely intelligent in that debate, some of the very good questions and John McCain… who is also an asshole but can at least state his position on torture (he’s against it). The others couldn’t quite get that far. Are you fucking kidding me?

In order to better understand the pressing issues of our day, I have made this handy chart highlighting what was discussed during the debate.

Did you notice anything missing there? You see, when it comes right down to it, there’s only one issue that really concerns me… dying. I’m against it. I figure I’ll either die from lack of medical attention or from some environmental catastrophe. So let me get this straight, eight old white guys, twenty eight questions and not a single word about health care or the environment?

I understand that not everyone had a chance to see this debate. I feel it’s my obligation to help educate the electorate about the wide, and varied choices available to them from the Republican party. With eight candidates to choose from, the typical voter may be overwhelmed with their choices. As such, I have provided a voting guide to help you, the reader, navigate the complexities of Republican presidential politics.

Candidate Summary

- Mit Romney is a fucking tool.

- Fred Thompson is an asshole.

- Rudy Giuliani is in over his head.

- Mike Huckabee is Jesus freak and (I suspect) a closet homosexual.

- John McCain is a grumpy old man who can’t figure out the remote control.

- Ron Paul is crazy.

- Tom Tancredo is racist xenophobe.

- Duncan Hunter is… well irrelevant

Demographic Synergy

This is far and away the best example I have ever seen of someone knowing their target audience.

I wouldn’t watch this at work… well actually I would and just did. But you may not want to. It’s a little risqué. I mean, it’s not a Britney Spears video or anything… it’s not porn. But it is mantastic.

Simply the best music video ever made. I can’t not laugh my ass off at this.

Benny Benassi - Satisfaction

Same Shit Different Day

I hate to bring up another bathroom etiquette post because I think this subject has been beaten to death. However, I need to get this off my chest.

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?

On what fucking planet is it acceptable to piss on a toilet seat? First of all, you have no business taking a leak in a stall. That’s what the urinals are for. But let’s assume that they are all busy. What are you thinking? “Hmmmm, I could lift the seat up and do my business, or… I could just piss all over the toilet seat like a howler monkey marking his territory. I want to force other people to sit on my urine droplets later.”

Seriously, what’s the thought process there?

I think I know who these people are. These are the guys who always use the stall, no matter what. They are shy and afraid to use public restrooms at all. They would never dream of actually taking a dump in one of them. Maybe they assume that since they would never use a public toilet for a two-sey, then no one else does either—and therefore no harm done. Believe me, I understand the hesitancy, even disgust, at the thought of dropping a deuce in a public bathroom. I share it. But my good friend Pat once said something profoundly wise: “Always poop at your place work. I mean, you might as well get paid to poop.”

Brilliant.

Perhaps the hesitancy lies in the lack of etiquette displayed by others. Today I was in a stall doing my business. There are three stalls and I, of course, take one of the end stalls so as to encourage others not to plop down directly next to me. We all know how this ends. Some inconsiderate prick takes the stall right next to me and begins to unload. Some people have absolutely no dignity.

Then there’s always the awkward and universally unwelcome side-by-side urinal chit chat from a stranger. As if I really want to chat about the weather with my dick in my hand next to a stranger. “Do I think it’s going to rain? Hmmm. I’m not sure, hang on a minute, let me cup my balls and see if the right one is hanging down lower than the left one because if it is, then it’s going to rain. Better yet, let me cup your balls. Here, hold on to my cock for me while I check that out.” Jesus Christ.

Even if your justification for using a stall to pee is avoiding others in the men’s room, there is absolutely no reason to not lift the seat. It’s a MEN’S room. You don’t need to worry about your wife yelling at you for leaving the seat up. We all know to check it before we sit down. That’s what men do… we check the toilet seat. Fundamentally, that’s what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom.

The next time I walk into a stall and I find the toilet seat covered in urine I am going to take a shit in the urinal, piss in the sink and throw my used, crap-encrusted toilet paper against the mirror. Might as well finish the job.

Thanks-taking

This holiday season it’s time to reflect on what we have and for what we are thankful--hence the Thanksgiving holiday. As such, I took a moment this weekend to think through what I am truly thankful for. I don’t think people think this through enough. I don’t really think you should be thankful for things that you have earned or done. In other words, should I be thankful for my job? I mean, I worked hard to get here and I do a pretty good job at my job. So should I be thankful, or should my employer? What about friends and loved ones? Should I be thankful for them? I mean, are they not getting anything out of this relationship? I don’t expect them to be thankful for me.

As far as the bigger picture goes, the world around us, the trees and the flowers and bumble bees… what should I be thankful for? To whom should I give thanks? God? To each his own I suppose, but in spite of all appearances to the contrary I am not so egotistical to believe that God did all this for just me, I think the burden of thanks on that front lies on all of us. So consider me one six-billionth thankful for the world around us.

I guess I can be thankful for one thing…. my parents. I am thankful that they weren’t bad people for the first few years of my life. Really, until I could speak or make decisions on my own, I didn’t do much to improve their lives or earn their love. I pretty much just made noise, ate food and shit myself.

So thanks Mom and Dad.

I think in order to be thankful for something, one must have been given an unexpected and undeserved gift. If I won the lottery without even buying a ticket, I’d be thankful. I guess if I bought a ticket and won I’d be thankful too…thankful for me, for buying a ticket.

So I guess what I am saying is that what I am most thankful for is me.

Is that narcissistic enough for you?

Stupid is as Stupid Does

This post serves as an official warning to clear the coastlines and abandon all major cities near any ocean anywhere in the world over the next year. Get started now. Because you see, the collective and simultaneous sigh of relief the planet will give when George W. Bush is no longer President of the United States will cause tsunamis and category 5 hurricane force winds around the world. CO2 emissions will see a huge spike at the moment his successor takes the Oath of Office as a result of the global, relieved exhale. You should also buy ear plugs now because when the entire planet in one voice cries out in its many tongues: “Thank God!” the sound will deafening.

I’m a political guy. I was a political science major and have operated on the edge of the “machine” for a long time. Long enough to be cynical, pragmatic and very analytical about whatever issue we face. I tend to go against the grain. I think most people respond emotionally. Usually this is wrong. In most cases the gut instinct that tells people a given politician is an idiot is based on an ill-informed notion of the facts surrounding the situation. In most cases, politicians have more information than we do. They know about the real issues and causal relationships that exist. They are generally smarter than we are. That’s why we elected them, to be smarter than us and make decisions about things we don’t understand.

I’ve tried to give this guy the benefit of the doubt--looking at the big picture, trying to see the long-term global strategic outcomes and objectives. Not because I am a supporter of the administration and I want to avoid any cognitive dissonance, but because the alternative is too terrifying. I mean, if Bush is really the kind of guy, doing the kinds of things he does for the reasons I actually, instinctively suspect, then we’ve been on the brink of Armageddon for some time now.

It took me seven years to get here, but here I am. Forget the detail and nuances of complex international politics. Forget the complexities of governmental policy-making and social issues. Remove the word “visionary” from your vocabulary. This President is, exactly as your gut tells you he is. He does things for the reasons you think he does.

We are at war in Iraq because Saddam Hussein tried to kill his dad.
That's it. That's the reason. It is, in fact, that simple.

Everything else he does is based on his belief that God is telling him what to do. He actually claims God tells him to do things. I can visualize a scene where Dick Cheney hides behind a couch in the Oval Office whispering: "George? George. It's me again, God. I just wanted to let you know that it's my will that you end stem cel research and cut funding for social programs."

He thinks of himself as a righteous warrior in God’s army of the chosen. His self-delusional state has allowed him to actually believe that he is saving the world from “terror”… whatever the hell that means.

Side note: We are not in a war against “terror”… maybe “terrorism” or even “terrorists”, but not the emotion “terror”. If you want to declare war on an emotion maybe you should start smaller, like a “War on Ennui” or a “War on Mild Anxiety”.

It's not always the case that when someone speaks like an idiot that they were quoted out of context, or just had a bad day or are otherwise smart people who just have a little more difficulty with public speaking than others. Sometimes, the reason someone sounds and speaks like an idiot is because, sometimes... they are.
The problem here is that when the United States sneezes, the rest of the world catches a cold. I heard a senior Pakinstani diplomat the other day explaining that his military controlled, state of emergency government run by a general exists as a result of following our lead and the policies of the U.S. “We are the way we are because we follow your policies.” In other words, the world will mimic us. When we start illegal wiretapping, the rest of the world notices and decides that sort of thing is okay. When we round people up and imprison them without due process, the rest of the world starts doing it too. When we admit that water-boarding and other forms of torture are acceptable to us, then God help our captured soldiers… because no one else will.

You see, we need to lead by example… and we are not. We are leading by fear. Fear works if you’re a small, European country in between Russia and France and it’s 1939 and all you are asking for is Poland, but not if you’re the world’s only remaining “Superpower”… a moniker that I am seriously beginning to question.

I know this in my gut. I feel it. Most people feel it. People around the world feel it. This guy is a crazy, dangerous religious zealot who has squandered the good will of the post 9-11 world community in order to push forward his vindictive, petty, personal agenda, bringing the civilized world to the brink of collapse. We are on the precipice of a new dark age… or a new ice age, or both. Regardless, it's this guy's fault.

I just want Gerald Ford to come on my T.V. and once more utter the phrase: "My fellow Americans, our long national nightmare is over."

But I'm not holding my breath.

Species, Genus, Family, Order, Class

In my high school there were distinctive social hierarchies. Being in central North Dakota, I’m sure there’s a difference in nomenclature from where you went to high school. So I’ll provide some basic translations:

• Jocks: Dumb boys who used the word “fag” a lot.

Muffins: Typically cheerleaders or those girls who dated the jocks.

Preps: Although all Jocks and Muffins are also preps, not all preps are jocks or muffins.

Loads: Potheads, burnouts... typically the smokers. They liked heavy metal.

Goaties: Short for “goat roper”. These were the cowboy hat, Wrangler jean wearing crowd.

____ Fags: Play fags were in the theater, band fags were in the band, art fags were into art… you get the idea.

Everyone Else: The normal people who quietly went about their business, formed their little micro-cliques generally unnoticed by the defined classes. The smart nerds, the female athletes, the crazy misanthropes who would grow up to work in the post office… all sort of fit into this class. No doubt this class comprised 80% of the school.

These classes are listed in order of popularity (the currency of high school social life).

Like D&D you could play with a multi-class character. Say, a Jock/Prep, or Band Fag/Paladin… but generally you had to choose. There were classes of characters that one simply could not combine: Jock/Play Fag? No.

If you didn’t know already, I was a Play Fag.

I imagine it’s very much like prison where you must choose a gang for protection. It was vitally important that everyone be immediately categorized, preferably you could tell one’s class simply by looking at them.

Almost twenty years later, I still see a degree of social stratification. But now it seems more formalized. It happens at work and your class is clearly defined by your job title. As a society, we have more or less learned to apply the principles we learned in high school to our adult professional lives. Maybe it’s just inescapable human nature. I’m not sure. But it got me thinking. Do all professions have these cliques?

Do homeless people have a class hierarchy?

Yesterday I saw this homeless man collecting cans, but he had this pimped out, multi-level cart with big wheels in the back and smaller ones in front. Is this the homeless guy equivalent of driving a Lexus? Does he look down on non-can collectors? Does he get together with his friends and talk smack about the guys who stand on the on-ramps with a sign asking for money?

I bet he does. I bet he’s just like the rest of us. I’d wager that if you took 400 homeless people and put them in a high school cafeteria they would organize themselves by class hierarchy and begin hazing freshman.

Homeless Jock: "Check out Frank. What a loser. Look at his shopping cart! The wheels are all fucked up and he's using paper bags! What if it rains dipshit! What a fag!"

The Color of Money

It all started with postage stamps. The purpose of a postage stamp is to pay for the delivery of a piece of mail. When I was a kid our family always had a roll of postage stamps in the family desk. They were the little American flag stamps. That’s the only kind of stamp I knew for most of my childhood. To me, that’s what stamps were. And stamps meant America. Something about that stamp represented the American dream to me. It looked official. It was used for official business and important things. Money went into envelopes, taxes were paid… the engine America was fueled by that little square tab you had to lick. It was, quite literally, the glue that held us together. Then I started noticing different designs--flowers, trees, astronauts and later, Elvis. The stamps changed, not only in denomination, but also in size, there were oversized rectangular stamps now. There are as many postage stamps designs as there are crappy postage stamp designers.

Why?

I mean, I get that some people like to buy stamps that reflect their personality, or collect them as a hobby (I don’t understand that either). But it’s just a stamp. It’s a tax--or if you’re Governor Tim Pawlenty… a “user fee”. I don’t need my governmental fees to be pretty; I just need my cable bill to arrive on time. I wouldn’t say it bothered me, it just seemed so unnecessary.

But apparently, stamps were just the beginning. Remember money? You know, the good old greenback? It’s iconic. But for some reason we keep changing it. First it was making Ben Franklin’s head gigantic. To me, it looked like a giant-headed baby. All these dead presidents suddenly needed an enormous picture of them on the money. Then came colorful swirls of orange and red and pink. Holy shit… my money is pink!

It keeps changing. I understand that it’s designed to minimize counterfeiting, but you know what? The old money is still good. It still works. Our money has changed so much that no one would be able to tell if that purple and orange $4 bill with a giant picture of Ed Asner on it is real or not. To be honest, it almost looks like Canadian money now. Have you noticed that the Canadian dollar is now the same value as the American dollar?

Coincidence?










Now there’s a different quarter for every state. Is that really necessary? I mean… really? Comparing the old style of currency to the new is like comparing a glass of bourbon on the rocks to an apple-tini. One of them has a silent, dignified sense of class. The other is kind of gay.

That brings me to license plates. License plates are not a forum for you to express your personal beliefs; they don’t define you as a person and they sure as hell don’t make North Dakota seem like a cool place to visit. They are there so that if you run a red light and t-bone a busload of handicapped girl scouts someone can report you. They need to display a series of letters and numbers. That's it. I don’t need to know you support the fucking environment or that you “Remember Columbine”. I shit you not, there’s actually a Columbine flower remembrance license plate in Colorado. Great, now people can associate Columbine with traffic fatalities as well.













Michael Moore, you magnificent bastard, where’s your indignant outrage at that one?

Finally, I have seen at least 4 different versions of the MN driver’s license over the last 10 years. They seem to change almost as frequently as postage stamps. They’re chock full of holograms and secret reflective coating invented at Area 51. Most people need a fucking de-coder ring see how old you are.

“You see, you just need to tilt the license away from the Sun at an angle of incidence perpendicular to the square of the moon’s apogee on the autumnal equinox.”

I like my government documents, legal tender and instruments of control and taxation to be simple and stable. I guess I am a bit of a traditionalist. Put another way, I abhor change like nature abhors a vacuum.

I think I’m getting old.

What the fuck are you talking about?

So I am going to beat this dead horse just a little bit more because I just experienced a manifestation of this language issue I addressed in the last post. I also want to harp on this a little because it’s important. Let me give you an example. When the war in Iraq was but a year old, there were protesters in Washington with signs that read “Get out the war!” They then chanted “Get out the war! Get out the war!” not “Get out of the war!”

English is a complicated language due in large part to our odd colloquialisms. Most people in non-English speaking countries attempt to learn these in order to get by. When they learn little phrases like “Get out the word” and accept it also means “spread the word” and then hear “Get out the war!” what do you think, they think that means?

A bunch of crazy Americans chanting: “Spread the War! Spread the war!”

To the typical Iranian, a chilling prospect.

Back to what just happened to me. People have gotten so used to speaking in terms of context rather than actually using the correct language that they forget that you are not inside their head. In other words, to them language is entirely experiential. So that if they just had a thought, or got off the phone with someone else, they presume you know the context of their thoughts or previous conversation. This results in them speaking to you as though every sentence begins halfway through the thought.

I was in front of our building having a smoke and was approached by a repair man of some sort.

Guy: I installed some vending machines here?
Me: Excuse me?
Guy: Vending machines. In this building.
Me: Yeah?
Guy: There are vending machines. By the red awning. Vending Machines… like pop and candy and potato chips…
Me: I know what vending machines are. What are you asking me?
Guy: Are they in here?
Me: Yes. Are you asking me where the vending machines are located?
Guy: Yeah.
Me: Down this hall, first right.

You see, he was thinking that he needed to repair some vending machines that his company had installed in our building. Apparently his company gave him directions to the building indicating that it had a red awning in front. Because all language has become experiential, it never occurred to him that he would need to simply ask the question in a way that ANYONE would be able to answer regardless of the situation or whether or not I was riding shotgun with him in his repair van. So he just assumed that I knew everything that had just happened to him. Or, more likely he is unable to wrap his brain around constructing a sentence outside of his own contextual world of recent experiences and therefore unable to speak to anyone else who hasn't just come from the same set of experiences.

You can tell when someone is afflicted with this condition. They fail to define their pronouns. How many times have you heard this one:

“I had lunch with Susan, Rachel and a couple people from our sales department. She told me that our revenue forecast needs to be changed. So I asked him if that was because she didn’t have the right information but he said that it wasn’t hers that was bad, it was Steve’s way that he delivered it to her.”

Who the fuck is Steve?

Listen. You know that big round thing that you shove food into? That’s your head. And guess what… I’m not inside it.

Idiocracy

I went to the video store last weekend to rent some movies. I still like the act of going to the video store. There’s something tangible and definitive about the experience. Last weekend I rented the movie “Idiocracy”. The concept here is that an average guy from our time is frozen and 500 years in the future, when thawed, he is now the smartest human alive:

"As the 21st century began, human evolution was at a turning point. Natural selection, a process which had once favored the noblest traits of man, now began to favor different traits. Most science fiction of the day predicted a future that was more civilized and more intelligent. But as time went on, things seemed to be heading in the opposite direction. Evolution does not necessarily reward intelligence. With no natural predators to thin the herd it began to reward those who reproduced the most and left the intelligent to become an endangered species. The years passed, mankind became stupider at a frightening rate. Some had high hopes that genetic engineering would correct this trend in evolution, but sadly the greatest minds and resources were focused on conquering hair loss and prolonging erections.”

One of the cornerstones of this movie is how the idiots of the future speak. The words they use don’t really have any meaning attached to them. The only way these people communicate is with vulgarity or random words that are only vaguely understandable based on the context in which they are being used. People don’t actually know what they mean, but the language is contextual so their general meaning is still conveyed.

Doctor: "Well, I don't wanna sound like a dick or nothin', but, uh, it says on your chart that you're bleeped up. Uh, you talk like a fag, and your shit's all retarded. What I do is just like, like, you know... like, you know what I mean?”

Although I consider it an undeniable fact that we are getting dumber as a result of our breeding patterns, it is the issue of language that concerns me most. You see, we are already there. Our language has already become one of interpretive relativism and contextualization. We are at the point where people don’t actually understand each other. They base their entire ability to communicate on the context they are in. At McDonald’s, they just assume that the other person is talking about fries because the word they used only has one syllable and they are at a McDonald’s and they are currently speaking with a mouthful of fries. Therefore they probably mean “fries”. It’s actually getting to the point where it doesn’t matter what is said, it matters what you mean. How often have you heard someone whose language is being corrected angrily say: “Well you know what I mean!” Yes. I do know what you mean. But that’s not what you said.

It’s not okay to be wrong.

Don’t give me that crap about language being mutable. Words have meaning... specific, defined meaning. That’s what dictionaries are for. If we subscribe to the belief that it’s okay to use whatever words we want in whatever order we want to use them in regardless of their actual literal meaning we’re doomed. And we are. I mean, do I even need to say this? I can't beleive I am actually arguing that words should have, you know... meaning. Watch MTV on a Saturday afternoon or just pay attention to conversations you hear on the street. For that matter, just listen to our President. He’s the fucking President! He’s the best we have to offer the freedom loving peoples of the world. In fact the President from the movie (President Dwayne Elizondo Mountain Dew Herbert Camacho, porn star and champion wrestler) is more articulate than our current President. If the things these people say were put into written form and removed from context, they would make no sense. No one would be able to understand them.

It’s biblical. We live in Babylon. Our language has become confused and it will rain sulfur upon our cities. Yes. It will rain sulfur. But not from the fiery hand of a vengeful God. It will rain sulfur because a night watchman at the chemical storage company will release a toxic cloud of gas into the atmosphere resulting from his attempt increase the power of the break-room microwave by wiring it to the coolant system so that he can cook burritos faster.

Call Me Ishmael.

Some Hollywood producer a few years back had this great idea. “Let’s see if we can take the most boring, trite, predictable and disjointed story ever written in the English language and make it into a full length feature film!”. A few years and a few million dollars later we have the film version of the epic poem Beowulf. If you’ve ever read it, you know what I mean. But, it got me thinking. What is my saga? What is my epic story of good versus evil? To be Melvillian… what is my White Whale?

Squirrels.

I have had squirrels invade my home. It’s been going on for years now. It has become, if not epic in its own right, symbolically so. These are not just any squirrels. These are hyper-intelligent, poison-resistant rodents whose tenacity and cunning is matched only by an indefatigable hunger for destruction. They are quite literally consuming my world.

It started innocently enough. I could hear the scratching claws scurrying about the attic. They had chewed their way through a small area of my home where the siding, the roof and the chimney meet. Taking advantage of some minor water damaged wood to create their entrance. Little did I know how difficult it would be dislodge them from their new home… my home.

My first attempt involved rat traps--those little “snappy” traps on the small piece of wood that sometimes go off when you set them and make you react to the resulting pain like a cartoon character. I baited some traps with bits of food and set them around the attic. Needless to say the next day, the traps were sprung, the food was gone and the squirrels had been fed.

I moved on to rat poison. The strongest I could find. I sprinkled bags of delicious little morsels of toxicity about the attic--20 or 30 little bags of death. I left the wrappers mostly on and the boxes they came in the attic. Two days later, climbing the step ladder into the attic we made eye contact. There he was… rummaging through the empty bags of poison searching for more. He had acquired a taste for the stuff and needed another fix. Like a desperate crack addict, he nervously paused to take one look at me, assessed that I was not a threat and continued rummaging. Three days later I saw him outside. He was moving a little slower than usual--like I move after thanksgiving dinner. But he would make a full recovery and had once more, been fed.

So I thought to myself, OK, he doesn’t see me as a threat. A little insulting. But having read Art of War I knew I could use that to my advantage. Thank you Sun Tzu. The next day, I went up there with my pellet gun. I’m a pretty good shot, I figured I could take care of this the old fashioned way. I waited patiently for him. He appeared. Saw me, saw the pellet gun, and this time his Spidey Senses tingled determining the threat was real. He quickly ducked out of sight on seeing the pellet gun in my hand. Oh yes. The game was afoot.

My final salvation (or so I thought) came in the form of the humane solution. The large cage trap. Baited with peanut butter, it was successful. I trapped a squirrel. Carried him down the attic out to the trunk of my car and let him go across the river.

The rustling noise continued. There was more than one. In fact, I now hear at least two. The trap was set. Another was caught. Then another a few days later. Then another. In all I have trapped, released or otherwise "dispatched" over 20 of the disease ridden creatures. I have spent Saturday afternoons balanced precariously on the edge of my roof attaching sheet metal to possible entry points. I have purchased pellets that smell like coyote urine and spread them around my property. I've installed high frequency sonic generators. I have spent thousands of dollars on a new roof and new repairs only to learn that these creatures can chew through sheet metal. I have paid contractors to effect repairs with twice the material strength and still they claw their way through. They are relentless, remorseless creatures. It is indeed a war… a war of attrition. A war I am losing.

I am ceding ground to the enemy. Wave upon wave of furry quadrupeds are descending upon my fortress in numbers unknown… like an army of mutant bushy-tailed drones, I throw myself into the fray knowing that in the end it’s them or me.

The Inconvenience Store

I’m what you might call a “convenience store high roller”. Let’s just say, if my local Super America Store were a Las Vegas Casino, I’d have a free suite with a steak dinner. However, there is something that even the most seasoned convenience store "power user" cannot abide: "Inconsiderate Queuing”.

You see, there are typically two checkouts in your average Super America convenience store--as I am sure there are for many other types of stores. Really, this could be any establishment with multiple checkouts. But delays at the convenience store are particularly irritating because, well, it’s supposed to be convenient. As the diagram suggests, there is a right way to queue up at a store.

One does not form two lines trying to guess which will be the shortest. No. No. No. One forms a line at the back of the checkout farthest from the door. In this way, regardless of which checkout counter becomes available first, the next in line will move to the next available checkout. Efficient. Orderly. Fair.

When I walk into a convenience store and see two lines forming, I immediately attempt to set the precedent for a single line system by queuing up at the back of the line for checkout #2 facing the doors such that my line of sight is parallel to the front of the two checkout counters. This is my natural signal to the rest of the herd that I am leading. It is time for them to (literally) fall in line behind me.

Let’s assume for a moment that I am successful. I line up at the end of the second checkout counter and people start to fall in line behind me. Pretty soon we have a nice, orderly… even convenient experience. Then let’s say you walk in and start to form a line behind the checkout closest to the door. You’ve effectively cut in front of 4 or five other people who are waiting their turn. You inconsiderate jerk!

What were you thinking? “Hey, look at all those idiots waiting in line behind checkout #2. Don’t they see that there is only one guy at checkout #1. What a bunch of morons”. Great. Good job asshole. You’ve just torn asunder the fabric of our society. You’ve created anarchy from order. What results is a series of line changes, and nervous glances. “Checkout Lane Anxiety” overtakes even the most patient and courteous of us. Jockeying for position and aggressively moving from one “line” to the other. Now there is bottleneck of people waiting right in front of the doors. People are bumping into one another, items are dropped and chaos ensues.

Not very convenient if you ask me.

It just takes one person to destroy the harmony of this logical practice. Now that this chaos has been established it’s going to take an extreme act of will by a brave soul willing to risk disenfranchisement at the hands of his less courteous brethren. So this affects more than the few people currently waiting in line. Once established, this pattern of inefficiency and frustration can last for hours, causing irritation and anxiety for dozens of people--people who no doubt carry this frustration with them to their jobs or their families. This, ultimately, culminates in work-place violence and domestic abuse which only serves to perpetuate the cycle of violence and intolerance in our society. It grows and festers into a swirling maelstrom of hate until, eventually, all this bottled up anger and hostility ends up somewhere in the Middle East.

It's "That" Guy

There he is. Just sitting there. Breathing too loudly... with his mouth open. It’s “that” guy. There are a small (but highly visible) subset of people that seem to defy categorization but we all instantly recognize them as somehow not a part of the world around them. They walk among us, in fact they stand out among us, but we simply don’t know what to do about it. It’s not like an obnoxious guy who’s loud and tells off color jokes at the wrong moment, but it’s close. And it’s certainly as, if not more, irritating--because you can’t quite dismiss him as a jerk and move on... you have to deal with it.

He doesn’t spill his drink all over the place so much as he sloshes some of it over the side of his glass when he sets it down. He doesn’t fart in public, but there is an odor about him, not B.O. per se’ but just… something. You want to believe that the elastic waistband pants he is wearing is the result of his strong desire for comfort, and there’s an element of truth in that, but you also get the sense that part of him thinks it’s stylish. He’s not trying to stand out or make a statement, but he’s subconsciously aware that he doesn’t fit in. Most importantly, he has absolutely no idea that he affects the people around him. He sees himself as a ghost who doesn't actually affect the physical world of the living. But instead of Caspar the Friendly Ghost, it’s a ghost that CAN affect the world around him and it’s the ghost of Godzilla tromping through life like it’s downtown Tokyo.

This is the guy who always mumbles and is so used to repeating himself that he does it even when people (in rare cases) actually understand what he was saying the first time. But here’s the really irritating part--when you don’t understand him and ask him to repeat what he just said (again), he says it exactly the same way at the same volume he did the first two times. As if it’s you that need to turn up your hearing or turn down the ambient noise of the environment around you.

Last night I was playing poker at my local card club and “that guy” sat down next to me. I shouldn’t say “sat down”, I should say “aggressively plopped down” and then let out a big sigh. As with most of his ilk he was on the heavy side (but not that heavy) so everything he does seems to be done with a great deal of effort. But again, the grunts and groans and sighs that accompany his actions are out of synch with the timing and the amount of effort they truly involve. He immediately started talking on his phone which you can’t do at the table. Everyone, I mean everyone in this loud casino can hear every word, but the second he starts talking to the dealer or the waitress or the other players, no one can understand him. He’s a bad poker player. He never folds and loses $200 in about an hour. He’s baffled by how unlucky he is. It’s like watching someone repeatedly hit themselves on the hand with hammer while trying to put a nail through a piece of concrete… except he’s not holding a nail.

As he spreads his legs to get comfy, he moves the little drink cart in between us out of his way and shoves it right next to me. Not actually touching me… just about a tenth of a centimeter from touching me--just enough to make me move my chair over, but not enough to be overtly confrontational. He orders a Pepsi and the dinner special. That went something like this:

That Guy: Hey, hey! [to waitress about 10’ away]
Waitress: [looks over at him]
That Guy: “Yeah. The turkey. The turkey dinner. Can I get the Turkey dinner? And Pepsi”
Waitress: [comes over] “You want the dinner special?”
That Guy: [mumbles] “Yeah. What’s that come with?”
Waitress: “I’m sorry, what?”
That Guy: [mumbles] “Yeah. What’s that come with?”
Waitress: [guessing]“What’s the Turkey Dinner come with?"
That Guy: “Yeah”
Waitress: "Well it’s turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes and corn.”
That Guy: [mumbles] “And a Pepsi.”
Dealer: “Sir it’s your turn to act. Sir. Sir. Excuse me. Sir it’s your turn to act” (the table has been waiting this whole time because he chose to do this when it was his turn).
Waitress: “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
That Guy: “What?”
Waitress: "You wanted something else?”
That Guy: "No that’s fine."
Waitress: [walks away]
That Guy: [shouts] “PEPSI!”
Waitress: [Comes back and gives him a Pepsi.]

Needless to say, I was forced to leave and have a cigarette just to deal with the stress of the situation.

When I got back there he was... eating. He had placed his cel phone in the drink cup on the little tray in between us. Not the drink cup on his side, but the one on mine, where my drink had been all night. So do I move his phone to his drink cup or do I place my drink on his side and risk having him drink my Pepsi? Of course, his Pepsi isn’t in any drink cup, it’s balanced on the edge of the tray table. I chose to move his phone. There’s five little corn giblets in my drink holder, but none anywhere else. The entire time he is eating, he completely forgets he is actually playing poker as well; he turns away from the table and just starts eating. When it’s his turn the dealer must once again say: “Sir it’s your turn to act. Sir. Sir. Excuse me. Sir it’s your turn to act.” He fumbles with his cards (which now have gravy on them) and throws the wrong amount of chips into the pot, one of which rolls across the table into someone else's chips. This happens… EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME.

Needless to say, he eventually ran out of money and his complaining about his bad luck combined with his uninspiring speeches about how it’s “only money and sometimes you just don’t get the cards”, trails off into the distance as he places the stub of an unlit cigar with about one inch remaining into his mouth and walks toward the men’s room, where he will no doubt interact with the people in it.

God help them.

Decisions are Acceptable

Somewhere along the line we’ve lost something very important. We seem to have lost our ability to see the shades of grey in matters that are actually pretty important. We’ve gotten to the point where not supporting the policies of Israel makes you an anti-semite, not being in favor of affirmative action makes you a racist, and thinking Will & Grace is kind of a lame show makes you homophobic. The thing is, we are all judgmental and racist and classist to a degree. We have to accept that, and then learn to tolerate it to the extent that it does not interfere with the freedom and progress of our society. We then can define when it is unacceptable and harmful. In other words, if ALL judgments and perceptions are unacceptable, then they all become equally acceptable.

Look I’m not a big fan of racial profiling. It just smacks of... wrongness. On the other hand, the statistics bear out some trends we would be stupid to ignore. Certain types of terrorist attacks tend to be perpetrated by a certain class of people. Do we ignore that? When you’re on a plane, don’t tell me you don’t look around and size up the passengers.

I once heard some executive of a large fried chicken franchise doing a radio call-in show. Someone called in and accused him of running a racist company: “It’s disgusting and racist! How come you put those fried chicken places in black neighborhoods more than white ones?”. This business man was obviously confused by the inference. He didn’t understand the problem here. He didn’t make a connection between racial stereotypes of black people eating fried chicken and his business. He saw demographics, revenue stream reports, profit and loss statements and marketing budgets. His answer: “Well, the reason we do that is because black people proportionately eat more fried chicken than white people. I’m not sure I understand the question.”

Is he a racist?

The trick here is to rely on accurate information. There's no question that stereotypes can be bad. But they can also make things move more smoothly. It depends on how they are applied. There is room for minutia here. In order to make rational decisions we need to have the right information. We cannot obtain that information in a vacuum of secrecy. If we become afraid of even considering a judgmental thought we are doomed to innaction. All things become equally bad or equally good. Therefore, everything becomes black and white, right and wrong, good an evil.

Polarized.

There is an acceptable level of judgmental behavior that is not only normal, but actually necessary in order to get through our daily lives. We make decisions based on our circumstance and what we know. We can't possibly consider everything from every angle. We have to make the best decisions with the information we have available.

I know that not EVERY old lady behind the wheel is a bad driver, but you won’t see me lingering behind her on the Interstate. I know that not EVERY little kid is a screaming, annoying irritation machine, but you won’t see me eating at Chuck E. Cheese. Making a judgment about two creepy looking guys hanging out in a dark alley may make you walk across the street and avoid that dark alley. Maybe those guys were just helping to clean up garbage for their local Rotary Club. I don’t know, and that’s okay.