"Fearlessness in those without power is maddening to those who have it"

"Fearlessness in those without power is even more maddening to those who work for those who have it"

The quote in the title if from Tobias Wolff. The subsequent quote may well have come from a woman I had to deal with at work today. You see, saying to someone, "Do you know who I am" while horribly cliched is still the quintessential way for pompous idiots to try and end an argument and get what they want in the most passive-aggressive manner possible. But you know what, if they were really that powerful, they would just come out and threaten you. Or better still, if someone told John Gotti he couldn't have something, he didn't threaten you at all, he would just wack you the first chance he got and let you be the threat to the next guy. Not that I want to condone John Gotti's actions, but he had a lot of power, not only in NYC, but everywhere. There's one guy I would bend over backwards for. John Gotti was so powerful, I'd recognize him, pick him out of a crowd, and do what he told me to. I mean, if Condoleeza Rice is told she has to wait in line for a no fat, low carb carmel mocchiato, I can see her breaking out with, "Do you know who I am?" and then getting what she wants. After all, the implied message here is, I'm such an important person that that not giving me what I want will be detrimental to your future, and any barista with even the tiniest sense of self preservation would, when going eyeball to eyeball with the second most powerful woman in the country (Oprah still has her trumped) comply. However, if John Gotti's wants a double tall Americano, he doesn't wait in line in the first place, you just give it to him and hope he leaves. My point here is that the truly powerful never have to flaunt how powerful they are. Logic would then dictate that the more a person has to flaunt their power, the less power they actually have. (However, there are a few things a person needs to consider before spouting this time honored phrase. For instance, a person is going to want to weigh their own sense of self worth against the actual worth of their self, as it were. Not that one need be famous or absolutely powerful for this little trick to work. For instance, Andy The Garbageman would be able to subjugate anyone on his route with this little turn of phrase because, after all, you fuck with Andy you wind up with three weeks worth of diapers and half-empty milk containers on your lawn. However, if Andy The Garbageman from Deerpiss, MT says this to someone living in Idaho, the only response he's going to get is an extended middle finger because he's threatening someone whom he doesn't hold any power over. This brings me to the patient I dealt with today.
She called for a Rx (that's shop type for prescription, for all of you that don't work in the glamorous world of medical records) and was told that her doctor was in surgery and that it would be called in the next morning. She began to freak, in a pretty funny way. She told me that she had to go to work tomorrow and therefore had to have the Rx today. I started to repeat to her that her doctor was in surgery and that it would be called in the next morning, but she stopped me about three words in and said, "Listen to me," but didn't follow that up with anything so I again began to tell her that her doctor was in surgery and that it would be called in the next morning at which point she again told me that I wasn't listening to her. I assured her I understood what she was saying (if any of you are wondering, I am disgustingly polite when I'm on the phone.) but she countered by saying, "Yeah, but you're not listening to me". I'll admit, it dumbfounded me for a moment as I had to contemplate this woman's distinction between understanding her and listening to her. I regained my senses, though, and told her that there wasn't anything else we could do. That's when it happened. That's when she threw her ace. "Do you know who I work for?" Oh, the acid that was dripping from that question, it was enough to sink ships. I panicked for a moment. Sweet whistlin' Jesus, who did she work for? Why don't I know? Was she the consulate for some vindictive country? Would I, if I proceeded on this course, need to tell my family to go into hiding? Who does she work for?!? I answered honestly, "No mam, I don't." "I work for a lawyer who represents Dr _____." Whooo, is that a load off my mind. I mean, for a second there, I thought she might actually work for someone who might actually be able to at least cause an inconvenience in my life. Seriously, I thought that. The line was quiet, the air tense. She had moved the pieces and had waited for me to accept check-mate. I told her I was sorry and she began yelling, "No, no, no," into the phone. Luckily, I was rescued by a random doctor's assistant that had been listening in. I transferred her to the assistant and listened as the assistant reiterated what I'd already said and then, comically, said, "Well, I've never heard of him and you're just going to have to wait until morning" at which point they hung up.
So let that be a lesson for all of you drug seekers out there, lie! Say you work for a lawyer representing Michael Jackson and you're going to send him to the offending party's house to babysit their kids if the offending party doesn't cooperate with your asinine request. At least be creative about it. At the very least, recognize that threatening someone with power that someone who pays you possesses will do nothing more than get you laughed at by a meager medical records supervisor who just kept you from getting what you wanted.

Here Comes the Cavalry

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2007/02/22/national/main2504315.shtml?source=RSSattr=HOME_2504315


Ahhhh. Sometimes, I encounter things that are so ridiculous I think I don't even need to comment on this. Of course, that never lasts.

The Summary: Some guy, living in his mother's apartment, hears a ruckus from his upstairs neighbor. This guy deems the ruckus to be a rape in progress. He grabs his cavalry sword (you read that right, loyal readers, cavalry sword), runs upstairs to his neighbors apartment, kicks in the door and, while holding the neighbor at sword-point, demands to know where the offended woman is. The guy grows irate when the neighbor claims he has no idea what the guy is talking about and then makes the neighbor open every cupboard and closet in the place to prove he's alone. Apparently, after the neighbor has proven this, the guy relaxes a bit allowing the neighbor to call the police. The fuzz shows and arrests the guy for criminal tresspass, criminal destruction of property and disorderly conduct, all with the use of a deadly weapon.

The Riff: Sweet whistlin' Jesus, where do I begin? I suppose first. The suspect, James Van Iveren, is 39 years old...and he's living with his mother. Oh, and he owns a cavalry sword. Are you freakin' kidding me? Is this jackass the king of all dorks, or what? What happened guy? Was all the moaning and groaning interrupting your twelve-hundreth vewing of The Matrix? What in the hell was this guy doing home in the middle of the afternoon, shouldn't you be out looking for a job, sir? Maybe a job in the security guard field? Check it out, maybe they'll even let you bring your sword.
I also have to wonder, what kind of porno was this? As someone who considers themselves at least moderately well versed in the artform we call pornography, I have a hard time with General Custer Jr.'s inability to distinctly identify a "yes" moan. I mean, the guy's 39 years old and lives with his mother, I'm bettin' he ain't no stranger to the genre. So what, I wonder, led sword-boy to believe a woman was being raped in the apartment above his (mother's)? I'm hoping it wasn't something along the lines of, Hey, I recognize that sound, it's the sound of a woman being raped...'cause that's just creepy.
I also have to wonder, at what decibel level was said pornography playing at? Is the upstairs neighbor a little hard of hearing? And what kind of a sound system is he using that a DVD can be mistaken for real life?

Fruit Hoops

So first, I'm going to apologize for the title, that's just wrong. I could fall back on the argument that since I used to work in gay bars I'm allowed to poke fun, but I'm sure a lot of gay and lesbian people would disagree, and rightly so. The fact of the matter is, that's the cleverest thing I've thought of in a long time, and, I know, it ain't sayin' much. When I found this story and decided to blog on it, it's also the first title that came to me, and that's saying a whole lot, but we'll get to that later.
So, here's the story thus far:
http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2007/basketball/nba/02/15/bc.bkn.hardawayremarks.ap/index.html?cnn=yes

To summarize, former NBA player, John Amaechi, released a memoir, titled "Man in the Middle" in which he states he is a homosexual. In an interview, the subject of homosexuals in the NBA was brought up to retired NBA star, Tim Hardaway (for those of you who, like me, don't really follow basketball, this is not the same Hardaway who used to do commercials with that little puppet guy, though I'm sure there's a "What's the difference" joke in there, somewhere) who stated that he didn't like homosexuals, thought it would be a problem playing with one and would go to great lengths to have one removed from any team he was playing on. This caused problems.
Firstly, the host of the radio show during which Hardaway made his blatantly homophobic comments, Dan Le Batard, apparently called him out on it, telling him he was a homophobe and a bigot. Bravo to you, sir. It would have been too easy for someone to just be all "Larry King" about it and hang back while the incendiary comments boosted their visibility on a national stage. Next, the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (jeez, doesn't anyone name their organization without having an acronym in mind anymore?) got involved, referring to Hardaway's remarks as "vile, repulsive, and indicative of the climate of ignorance, hostility and prejudice that continues to pervade sports culture". In their statement, they could have just said "general society" but hey, they're being specific. GLAAD went on to say, "...and by apologizing not for his bigotry (Hardaway, in a subsequent interview, apologized for saying these things), but rather for giving voice to it, he's reminding us that this ugly display is only the tip of a very large iceberg". The National Gay & Lesbian Task Force (jeez, doesn't anyone name their organization without first having an acronym in mind anymore?) threw in, stating "Hardaway is a hero to thousands of young people. And that's what makes his comments so troubling. Sadly, his words simply put the pervasive homophobia in the NBA on the table." Bold words, to be sure. But I have to wonder, shouldn't we be thanking Mr. Hardaway for his moronic statements? After all, it isn't as if homophobia in the NBA, or to be fair, any organized sport would have been brought to the forefront of national attention if Mr. Hardaway had kept his mouth shut. Tim Hardaway making such outlandish comments is really the best case scenario, isn't it? I mean, had John Amaechia simply released his book detailing the hardships he'd gone through as a gay man in the NBA, he would have been shoved off as a social pariah and that would've been the end of it. But, having something tangible to fight makes everyone stand up and take notice. Feelings are difficult to fight. Face it, we're all prejudiced. We're all racist, homophobic, sexist, or ageist to some degree. I know I am. Look at the title for my blog. I have good friends that are gay, but that doesn't stop me from making fun of them. Tim Hardaway isn't the person we should all be worrying about. It's the people who feel this way but don't realize it that we need to be concerned with. In other words, "I've seen the enemy, and they is us" I think we all need a little Tim Hardaway in our lives to help us temper how we feel against what we know is right. So I say thank you, Tim Hardaway, thank you for being the posterboy of social retardation the rest of us hide in the basement of our subconscious. Also, how happy would Ted Haggard be to find out that, if he could only improve his skills in the paint, the NBA would accept him, either way.

Pictures of the past

My sister put together a powerpoint slideshow of pictures my aunt had. My aunt passed away in January of 1998 and these pictures were handed down to my cousin, her daughter, who was good enough to let my sister borrow and scan them to make this slideshow. She did this in time for my Uncle Johnnie's 60th birthday. I hadn't seen it until tonight. My other cousin who was lucky enough to be present for the festivities gave me her copy to view while mine makes the long cross-country trip via snail-mail. It stirred up a lot in me. My sister did a good job. I can tell this would have hit me hard at any point in my life, but for different reasons. What hit me hard tonight was this: they're just like us.
There's a picture, one particular, that struck me. It's of my Aunt Peg, sister to my father, and her husband UncleDon. My father and mother (which is the only picture I can remember seeing of them together) my Uncle Jerry, (or Gerry, as I learned tonight his name is short for Gerald. Funny, I've never thought of him as a Gerald) brother to my father. My Aunt Colleen, sister to my father. Ken and Gloria, friends of the family who's names and faces I remember, though I can't place from where. My Uncle Johnnie, brother to my father and his wife Aunt Beckie. There are two other people in there that I don't recognize, though I think one of them is Aunt Loretta, sister to my Grandmother. I assume the picture was taking during a Christmas party, with garland strung along the walls and paper bells hung from the ceiling. There's a festive-looking tablecloth over the table they're all sitting and standing around. The clothes and hairstyles set the date in the early 70's
It looks like any group shot you might see, except Uncle Johnnie. His right shoulder is poised back, his left slumped forward. His hair ( I see no reason to temper "hair" with an adjective as I don't remember him ever having any) and his jaunty mustache, a cocky look on his face. As I watched the slideshow again and again, I paused at this picture to study the faces of my family. I didn't realize until the third time what had given me pause. It's the look on Uncle Johnnie's face. It's youth. It's me and it's everyone my age that I know. Did Uncle Johnnie, on that day, contemplate his 60th birthday party? Did he think about being surrounded by the people he knew and loved? Did he imagine holding his grandchild in his arms as he rejoiced having his two (at that time unborn) children back under his roof? Did he wonder who, of these beloved people standing around him, might not be at that party? Of course not. He hadn't even had children yet. He may not have even bought a house yet. He had bills and his future to occupy his thoughts. What if, though? What if, at that moment, that second the shutter snapped closed, he thought, if only for a second, I'll be looking at this picture at my 60th birthday party. What if he thought that and posed that way, his right shoulder poised back, his left slumped forward, his hair that would all too soon be a fading memory, and his jaunty mustache that would one day no longer adorn his face. What if he wore that cocky look on his face and thought I'll be looking at this picture at my 60th birthday party?

Left to Right, Seated: Uncle Jerry, Aunt Colleen, Grandma Robinson, Gloria, Aunt Peg) Standing: Uncle Don, Ken, Uncle John, Aunt Becky, Ken and Gloria's daughter, Kathy (mother) and Terry (father)

You know those situations that only seem to happen in bad Friday night sitcoms? You know, like someone bends over and then their pants rip right up the back and the next 22 minutes deal with them trying to avoid anyone finding out that they've ripped the crotch of their pants out, all of which culminates in some heartwarming message about how it doesn't matter if you have a giant hole in the crotch of your pants, it's the person you are inside that really matters. Yeah, well, that isn't just something that only happens in sitcoms...well, the heartwarming message, yeah, the scenario, not so much. It was an odd emotion that washed over me in the initial seconds following the "Rip heard 'round the office" as it's come to be known. A sort of embarrasment mingled with an extreme sense of terror sprinkled with a hint of bewilderment. Yeah, that's the recipe. It's humbling to know that even as I sit on my throne made of medical records and the crushed hopes of my subordinates, all it takes is a hole in my pants to reduce me to the level of a small child.

But what if the terrorists plant bombs in HoneyBuckets?

Thursday, February 01, 2007

I caught this on CNN today.
http://edition.cnn.com/2007/US/02/01/boston.bombscare/index.html

It has to do with a a NYC advertising firm hiring two freelance artists to place electronic light boards around the city of Boston that advertised the Cartoon Network's television show "Aqua Teen Hunger Force". The advertisement depicted one of the cartoon characters with their middle finger raised. Apparently, these light boxes were so bomb-like, major areas of the city were closed down while 911 operators fielded hundreds of calls from commuters. Consequently, these two brigands were arrested and charged with inducing panic. I think the situation is absurd. Apparently so do the two men charged with the crime.
At a press conference following their arraignment, the two people charged, Peter Berdovsky and Sean Stevens, approached the podium and immediately stated that they would only field questions regarding hairstyles of the 1970's. Here's a blurb from the CNN article:
When a reporter accused them of not taking the situation seriously, Stevens responded, "We're taking it (hairstyles of the 70's) very seriously." Asked another question about the case, Stevens reiterated they were answering questions only about hair and accused the reporter of not taking him and Berdovsky seriously.
Reporters did not relent and as they continued, Berdovsky disregarded their queries, saying, "That's not a hair question. I'm sorry."
These guys are my new heroes. I'm going to include one other blurb from the article that made me laugh outloud when I read it before I get on my soapbox. This one took place during the arraignment when the judge asked the D.A. to describe the crime the two were being charged with:
Assistant Attorney General John Grossman ...Asked by the judge to describe what the figure on the light box was doing, Grossman said, "Colloquially, he was flipping the bird, your honor."
This article stirred up alot of emotions in me. Obviously, the first inclination I had was to laugh outloud at these two guys. The more I thought about it, though, the more it bothered me. Remember when Bush kept telling us to get on with our lives or the "terrorists win"? Sorry, Bushy, they won. The more time that passes since 9/11 without an in-country incident, the more paranoid the public gets and the itchier the government gets to take somebody down. I understand the idea of the general public being more vigilant since 9/11 and I fully support it. A similar event took place a few years ago. In Los Angeles, random newspaper vending boxes were outfitted with devices that would play the Mission Impossible theme song whenever the door was opened. Paramount, the company that was releasing Mission Impossible 3 at the time, had done this as a means to advertise the movie. Well, a few people happened by these boxes and saw wires hanging out of the back of them and called police. The police investigated, realized it wasn't a bomb and Paramount agreed to remove all of the devices it had installed. That makes sense. You walk past a newspaper vending machine (what are those actually called, anyways?), see a bunch of wires and call the fuzz. Fuzz investigates, determines there isn't a threat, we all go home to our meatloaf. However, if I'm driving down the freeway and I see a lightbox with a cartoon character flipping the bird, bomb is not the first thing I think. Why? Because, to the best of my knowledge, Al-Queda isn't known for having a sense of humor. Why would they spend years and millions of dollars planning some city wide carnage and then subtly alert us to our impending doom? I'm going to be much more suspicious of a plain brown cardboard box sitting by the side of the road than I am of a cartoon character, and I see that almost every day and once the authorities determine there isn't a threat, we all get on with our lives. Is this "getting on with our lives"? Shutting down an entire city due to a bad idea for an advertisement? Also, where does the government get off even arresting these guys? The article states that, during the arraignment, the judge remarked that for these guys to be found guilty of inducing panic it would need to be proven that inducing panic was their intent and that he, the judge, didn't think it was. If that's the case, couldn't the Massachusettes State Police have deduced this in about 10 minutes after questioning these two? Furthermore, if the intent was to induce panic, it belonged to the advertising agency who cooked up the scheme, not the manual laborers they paid to place the panic-inducing lightboxes. But, where is the advertising agency in all of this? Why haven't the authorities questioned the idiots that came up with this idea? This whole thing reeks of bullshit. My first reaction was that I understand that our local, state and federal officials want us to feel safe, but is creating so much hoopla about something that turns out to be nothing the best way to do that? Now that I've thought about it, shouldn't the authorities have had a pretty good idea that this wasn't a bomb threat after the first lightbox was found to be harmless? Yet, they let the panic persist for hours as they checked each device before holding a press conference to state that it was "a hoax". Calling it a hoax automatically implies that the intent of this was to make people think there was a bomb threat, even though it's now been proven that it was nothing more than a bad advertising idea. So maybe we aren't meant to feel safe. Maybe we're easier to corrall when we're terrified? If I lived in Boston, I'd be pissed that the authorities are spending so much time on this nonsense rather than following leads (provided those leads don't end with someone going to jail because they accidentally dropped their dildo behind a space-heater that then caused a chemical smell).
Next, I'll comment on the two suspects. They're going to get ramrodded by the media (especially Bill O'Reilly...he makes Irish-Americans ashamed) because of the way they handled the press conference. I say Bravo, sirs! There is no better way to deal with the absurd than by acting absurd, which is precisely what these two are doing. I'm sure the media (except maybe the Daily Show) will miss the point altogether and instead crucify them for not taking the terrorist threat seriously. If you don't agree, sorry 'bout it, but these two guys really are getting on with their lives and shoving it in public's face so we can all get a good, strong wiff of it. It's too bad there aren't more people like this in the world.
Finally, the advertisement agency. It seems silly to me that placing lightboxes around a city with a random cartoon character flipping the bird was meant as an advertisement. There apparently was nothing about these lightboxes that directly referenced the show they were meant to advertise. What was the big idea? Lets, for a moment, give these chaps and...er...chappettes the bennefit of the doubt. Let's pretend that they didn't mean any harm, their singular goal was to raise awareness of the television show. How exactly does this advertisement accomplish that goal? Obviously, no one who isn't already familiar with the show is going to know what they're looking at and, without any direct reference to the show, they aren't made any more aware of its presence. It seems to me that they did this to elicit some kind of response, even if said response is only curiosity. But then what? Is the 40-year-old father of two driving his Subaru to his job going to get to work and immediately google "little computer guy giving the finger"? (So you know, I just googled "little computer guy giving the finger". I didn't get any links to the Cartoon Network show, though strangely I did get about 20 porn links...maybe tomorrow's topic) No, he won't and, as evidenced by my last parenthetical addition, it wouldn't do him any good if he did...or at least he wouldn't be any closer to being made aware of the Cartoon Network show. If anything, the advertising agency, Interference, INC, ought to be fired by Turner Broadcasting Company, not for giving them so much trouble, but for failing so miserably in their inital charge. It also strikes me odd that the name of the agency is Interference, INC, and this is the result of one of their campaigns. Coincidence?
I guess I'll end here with a few things I've learned from this#1: The general public needs to temper their vigilance with common sense#2: The government needs to stop proving to us that they can handle terrorist threats. Trying to prove it only leads us to believe that they don't know what in the hell they're doing.#3: Kamikaze advertisements have no place in our current society#4: Cartoon characters making obscene gestures are dangerous and scary.

Pride and Joy(less)

Sunday, June 25, 2006

So this weekend was Pride weekend here in Seattle and some friends of mine, who happen to be lesbians, invited me to their favorite lesbian bar to have some drinks and some laughs. I'll tell you this much, lesbians are depressing. I realize that the stereotype of lesbians leads one to believe that they're all Genny swilling John Goodman look-a-likes, but that just ain't the case. Some of the most beautiful women I've seen here in Seattle I saw at the Wild Rose last night. That's not the depressing part, well it's part of the depressing part, but not all of it. The ultimately depressing part is that, it seems, I have as much chance of hooking up at a lesbian bar as I do of hooking up at a straight bar. Trust me, I tried both, though it's much easier to walk up and talk to a random lesbian. Meeting a woman in a bar means having to convince her, first and foremost, that you're not some crazy pervert who's only trying to talk her up in an attempt at licking her toes, and I've never been a good liar. However, that pressure doesn't exist when speaking to lesbians and they'll talk away and I met some very nice people, one of whom gave me these words of advice: Don't walk up to a lesbian and use the pick-up line, "You know, the only difference between me and you is my dildo is permanantely attached." Apparently they don't find it funny and they hit really hard. I'm just glad I asked her before I used it. They also don't like people staring at them as they make out, but in my defense, it's the first time I've seen that without having to click a mouse.

Sappy Birthday

TAKEN FROM BLOG DATED 06/22/2006


I had a birthday a few days ago. I've never put a lot behind birthdays, mine or anyone else's. To me it's always been a day to go out, get your drink on and be relatively sure no one will hold it against you, kind of like your own personal St. Patrick's Day. I never thought of it as more than that.
I moved to Seattle in November of 2004. Thanksgiving that year was spent with a cousin and a gaggle of her friends whom I had never met before and quickly realized that, although they were all very nice people, I had absolutely nothing in common with them. Dinner parties with Bastyr students are not something to be taken lightly. Unless you're already aware of the graphic journey food takes as it passes from your mouth to your asshole, the topic of conversation may lead to your appetite being somewhat diminished, especially when the journey is being described to you in real time. It was a lonely day, to be sure. However, my social life seemed to slowly pick up after that. I met this person here, that person there and my boss at the time was gracious enough to introduce me to his circle of friends, which is now my circle of friends (I also took his job when he left for Irvine. It's kind of like Single White Female, except we're both black). Our group picked up a few people along the way. I've told friends back home that I'm lucky to have met such great people, but there was always something hollow about it, like I knew it but couldn't feel it. I'm the kind of person you need to hit with a sledgehammer before they'll sit up and take notice. I got hit the other night. One person bought me a collection of journals, because she knows how often I talk about writing and how rarely I do it. She figured she'd give me a gentle push to get the ball rolling. I walked into work to find that friends had arranged and dropped off balloons. They were pink and blue and one exclaimed "It's a boy". I don't know that anyone else in the office found it humorous, but I did. Even more humorous was the confusion it caused among my coworkers. Why does it sometimes seem that intelligence and a sense of humor are mutually exclusive? These friends of mine took me out after work. This was on a Tuesday and not only did they all show up, they came out to throw down. One had so much work to do, he couldn't stay, but he took a half-hour long bus trip to come to the bar, shake my hand and wish me a happy birthday and then left. Two of them came out from Mercer Island and ignored the fact they had to work the next day. They all had to work the next day, but they came anyways. They could have done what I would have done and just called me on the phone, but they didn't. These things touched me in a way I wasn't expecting. Not like the unexpected way a priest touches an altar boy, but more emotional and less cupping. Their gifts were thoughtful and showed that they actually knew me. The fact that they put aside whatever else they had going on so they could spend my birthday with me showed me they cared. It made me feel loved and appreciated. I knew I had met some good people but I didn't realize until Tuesday what good friends I had.