I will respond piece by piece, because there is much here I wish to discuss:
Tai said...
I told the host at the Macaroni Grill (which is one of THE premier restaurants in Rochester...sad) that I would like a different table after he tried to seat Mike and I between 2 tables that had toddlers at them (on a Friday night). The host had the nerve to refuse and then ask why.
Ok, so this has happened to me at many a restaurant, and I don't get it. I mean, I get it, but i don't get it get it. The potential reasons that a host would have an issue with reseating you is many-fold, but the primary reasons are these:
1. He is a pimply-faced adolescent that isn't being paid to care. He's barely being paid to exist in the present tense.
2. He doesn't want to get hassled by the servers. As anyone who has waited tables or hosted can tell you, life can become a real pain in the ass real quick if you double or triple seat a section. The servers are swamped, they're asking you to run food, they are pissed because they are doing twice the work with half the tips because they can't give as good a service as they would like, and the diners are unhappy because their food is cold, or rushed, or wrong. So, the host is looking to make his life as easy as possible, and rotating sections in a very orderly manner is what the lazy host perceives to be the easiest route to this. When you ask to move sections, you are fucking up his rotation, as they say in the movies.
The fact that he had to get "special permission" is ri-fucking-diculous. My response to this situation would have been "not my problem sunshine, I'm either sitting over there, or I'm sitting at another restaurant. Take your pick."
So I had explain that I didn't want to sit by a bunch of kids. Now, I realize this may seem a little harsh - but this is the first date that Mike and I have been on in...I can't remember when.
I don't think this sounds harsh at all. In fact, we as a nation should be harsher in our non-child centered demands.
Where, 10 minutes later, retard host seats a family with a toddler NEXT TO US!
That was just out of spite.
I beg the questions:
Why does society feel the need to share their bundles of joy with strangers at nice restaurants on Friday nights? Where are the parenting skills of our society?? Why are PARENTS no longer expected to have any common social curtesy in regards to their offspring
I don't know the answers to these questions, Tai. They make no sense to me. The only thought I have is that these people can't afford to pay a babysitter, and so they bring their kids with them. If that is the case, they I don't really think they can afford to have kids in the first place. I think the parents of these hellions are so shellshocked and clueless that they maybe don't even notice anymore. Of course, it could just be that they really enjoy their kids, and if that is the case, then I shudder...
I would really like to know what you all think about why parents are so shitty these days, because as much as I dislike children in the main, I realize that it is not their fault they are obnoxious, it's their parents fault. Every so often you encounter a truly pleasant child that makes you rethink the whole thing, but generally, they are the devil spaun of the idiots lining the bottom of the food chain. The worst is when these backwards yokels shrug, as if to say, "that's kids!" To that I reply, no, "that's YOUR kids. Kids aren't born being assholes, and if I had acted like your little satan-monkeys, I would not currently be in possesion of the ample booty you see before you because it would have been SPANKED RIGHT OFF OF ME."
Personally, i think it was the rise of the "parents-as-friends" ridiculousness. Memo to all these idiots: your kids do not want you to be their friend. They want you to drive them to the mall, pay for some nachos, and disappear. If you try to become friends with them, they will never leave you. Why would you leave friends that feed, clothe, house and remind you on a daily basis that your shit literally smells like roses.? I know I as sure as hell wouldn't. Unless you want your child to end up like Captain Creepy, living with his parents at 40 and working at Radio Shack, then stop with the friendship. When adults are friends with kids that they aren't related to, our natural urge is to call the cops. I say that is a good urge. We should go with it.
And I encourage you all to read I Hate Other People's Kids. It's a great book.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Monday, January 15, 2007
Just one more, I promise...
(This was an old chestnut I found from last year when I was cleaning out my computer files. Enjoy!)
What exactly does the first class lavatory have to do with the war on terror? The flight attendent states “in the interest of safety, please remember that the front cabin lavatory is for first class passengers only”. What is the threat from the coach cabin that is so scary we must be warned from venturing ahead? Is Osama Bin Ladin hanging out in there, kidnapping passengers that foolishly attempt to move ahead of their station in life. To me it is the class system at work. I belong in that lavatory. I sure as hell do not belong back here in coach, being kicked in the kidneys by the most adorable hell spawn who’s father is to concerned with the other rugrat currently occupying his lap. What is it about an airplane that makes parents oblivious to the goings-on of their offspring? Do they reach a point at which they just decide they can’t take it anymore and disavow knowledge of the fruit of their loins for the duration of the trip?
kick kick kick.
I am a bitch, I suppose, but I want nothing more than to turn to this incompetent father and say, if you’re kid keeps kicking my seat, I’m going to start kicking back. But I am the single young woman, wearing the smart ass political t-shirt and typing on my white laptop. I have no crediblity in the eyes of Papa Clueless behind me. I don’t know what it’s like to have kids, so I can’t possibly understand the trauma of having to silence little Mephistopheles or Haggis. Who am I to crush the creative spirit out of their child?
I’ll tell you who I am. I’m the woman that won’t be bring her child on board a plane without a muzzle and a bottle of bourbon. The muzzle for the kid, of course, the bottle of bourbon for those around me in case the muzzle proves inadequate. I don’t have a child yet, of course, but I am certain that once I do, I will be the best mother ever. Ever. And this includes keeping them from kicking seats in planes.
kick kick kick.
I know a lot of articles have been written about kids kicking chairs on planes, but to me this only indicates our failure as a society to eradicate said behavior. It has to stop, and it will begin with me.
What exactly does the first class lavatory have to do with the war on terror? The flight attendent states “in the interest of safety, please remember that the front cabin lavatory is for first class passengers only”. What is the threat from the coach cabin that is so scary we must be warned from venturing ahead? Is Osama Bin Ladin hanging out in there, kidnapping passengers that foolishly attempt to move ahead of their station in life. To me it is the class system at work. I belong in that lavatory. I sure as hell do not belong back here in coach, being kicked in the kidneys by the most adorable hell spawn who’s father is to concerned with the other rugrat currently occupying his lap. What is it about an airplane that makes parents oblivious to the goings-on of their offspring? Do they reach a point at which they just decide they can’t take it anymore and disavow knowledge of the fruit of their loins for the duration of the trip?
kick kick kick.
I am a bitch, I suppose, but I want nothing more than to turn to this incompetent father and say, if you’re kid keeps kicking my seat, I’m going to start kicking back. But I am the single young woman, wearing the smart ass political t-shirt and typing on my white laptop. I have no crediblity in the eyes of Papa Clueless behind me. I don’t know what it’s like to have kids, so I can’t possibly understand the trauma of having to silence little Mephistopheles or Haggis. Who am I to crush the creative spirit out of their child?
I’ll tell you who I am. I’m the woman that won’t be bring her child on board a plane without a muzzle and a bottle of bourbon. The muzzle for the kid, of course, the bottle of bourbon for those around me in case the muzzle proves inadequate. I don’t have a child yet, of course, but I am certain that once I do, I will be the best mother ever. Ever. And this includes keeping them from kicking seats in planes.
kick kick kick.
I know a lot of articles have been written about kids kicking chairs on planes, but to me this only indicates our failure as a society to eradicate said behavior. It has to stop, and it will begin with me.
MLK Who?
Pardon me if I am wrong, but isn't Martin Luther King Jr. day a holiday? I don't have to work today, but apparently most everyone else does, including students. Many schools in Minnesota are not closed today, and I really don't understand it. What has happened to holidays in this country? People back to work the day after Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Years, they don't celebrate Veteran's, Memorial, or Labor Day, and most people won't take a yearly vacation even if they have the time. What the hell are we working so hard for? Why can't we take a little time to reflect on our lives and the lives of our heroes, to appreciate their sacrifices and what they stood for? Is it that if we did take the time to think, really think about our lives we would be appalled and disgusted? We would be left examining lives bereft of meaning and consumed with consuming? Is it any wonder that we are all so fat and unhappy and stressed out, while the Europeans and their 5 weeks of paid leave a year are happy, slender and glamorous? I am getting so done with our constant rat race and our universal quest to keep up with the Jones' at the expense of our health and sanity, to say nothing to the health of our personal relationships. So, I encourage to you take stock this holiday, even if it is in your cubicle.
Did Hell just freeze over, or did the President take responsibility for failing in Iraq?
I'm literally speechless. Good thing this is a written forum.
I hope you all saw the President's speech last week, because otherwise you might be lost. Georgie-Boy actually stated that the mistakes made in Iraq were his. My jaw literally dropped, and I believe I uttered a Stacy London style "SHUT UP", but I can't be too sure- the whole thing is a bit of a blur. However, the familar old George we all know and despise was back at it a little later on in the speech, committing 20,000 more American service men and women to this modern day Vietnam. Apparently taking responsibility for previous mistakes gives you carte blanche to continue making even bigger mistakes, with even more human lives. Was he possessed by the ghost of LBJ, the other Texas War President? I mean, this is getting ridiculous. When a man who lived through the Vietnam war can stand in front of the global community and state that we must remember the lesson of Vietnam, and that the lesson is that we will lose if we leave, then you really need to start looking for supernatural reasons for this kind of negligent evil.
I'm of two minds about the so called "surge". Part of me agrees with Colin Powell's Pottery Barn doctrine of "you break it, you buy it", meaning that we took the lid off this can of worms, and we need to figure out how to get it back on. The other part of me believes that while this mess is our fault, there really isn't a damn thing we can do about it, and we need to let them fight their civil war and then come back when the dust has settled to actually provide aid and infrastructure. Neither one of the courses of action is particularly responsible. The question is, whose lives do we value more, those of Americans or those of Iraqis? Can we live with the blood on our hands if we pull out now (much like the evacuation from Saigon...maybe years from now there will be a musical called Miss Tikrit)? Can we live with the blood on our hands if we commit more troops? I don't know. I saw an Army recruiting ad today that made me cry, not with sadness, but with anger and frustration, that we have created a society where we use our poor as cannon fodder, stringing them along with the promise of money for college if they survive the war. It's disgusting. Where does Bush think he's going to get these 92,000 more troops that he wants for the military in general? There is no way we're going to have that many recruits without the draft, and as a woman in her early twenties, that concept literally scares the shit out of me.
So I don't know how to feel. I don't know what the answer is, but at this point I think it would have to involve a time machine or Barbara Bush believing in birth control.
I hope you all saw the President's speech last week, because otherwise you might be lost. Georgie-Boy actually stated that the mistakes made in Iraq were his. My jaw literally dropped, and I believe I uttered a Stacy London style "SHUT UP", but I can't be too sure- the whole thing is a bit of a blur. However, the familar old George we all know and despise was back at it a little later on in the speech, committing 20,000 more American service men and women to this modern day Vietnam. Apparently taking responsibility for previous mistakes gives you carte blanche to continue making even bigger mistakes, with even more human lives. Was he possessed by the ghost of LBJ, the other Texas War President? I mean, this is getting ridiculous. When a man who lived through the Vietnam war can stand in front of the global community and state that we must remember the lesson of Vietnam, and that the lesson is that we will lose if we leave, then you really need to start looking for supernatural reasons for this kind of negligent evil.
I'm of two minds about the so called "surge". Part of me agrees with Colin Powell's Pottery Barn doctrine of "you break it, you buy it", meaning that we took the lid off this can of worms, and we need to figure out how to get it back on. The other part of me believes that while this mess is our fault, there really isn't a damn thing we can do about it, and we need to let them fight their civil war and then come back when the dust has settled to actually provide aid and infrastructure. Neither one of the courses of action is particularly responsible. The question is, whose lives do we value more, those of Americans or those of Iraqis? Can we live with the blood on our hands if we pull out now (much like the evacuation from Saigon...maybe years from now there will be a musical called Miss Tikrit)? Can we live with the blood on our hands if we commit more troops? I don't know. I saw an Army recruiting ad today that made me cry, not with sadness, but with anger and frustration, that we have created a society where we use our poor as cannon fodder, stringing them along with the promise of money for college if they survive the war. It's disgusting. Where does Bush think he's going to get these 92,000 more troops that he wants for the military in general? There is no way we're going to have that many recruits without the draft, and as a woman in her early twenties, that concept literally scares the shit out of me.
So I don't know how to feel. I don't know what the answer is, but at this point I think it would have to involve a time machine or Barbara Bush believing in birth control.
High Stakes
So, it is finished. Everything is turned in, all the i's are dotted and the t's are crossed... it's all over but the shouting and the waiting. I should know the thrill of victory of the agony of defeat around late march/ early april.
Which means, of course, that I will once again have time for the blogging. Hooray.
Todays topic is success. I was thinking about this last night at choir practice. For one particular song we are in a mixed formation, meaning singing next to people that are singing parts other than your own. I haven't done that for about 7 years, since I was in Madrigals in high school. It was a struggle to learn at that time, and I felt way over my head, but eventually, I was successful and learned how to hold my own against the other voices. I remember feeling so challenged by it, mostly because I was so grateful to be in Madrigals in the first place, and felt like if anyone realized I couldn't hold my part, I would be outed as an imposter and kicked out of the choir. It never even occurred to me that you weren't supposed to be perfect immediately when starting something new.
This change in formation made me think about the things I had wanted when I was younger. I wanted to be in Madrigals so desperately when I was a Junior in high school. All through high school I spent my time trying to be the lead in every play, the soloist in every concert, what I refered to as "the it girl". I was always trying to prove something to someone, either myself or others. I wanted to be known, and I wanted my talent to be coveted. And because of this, I was incredibly hard on myself. I remember leaving my Madrigals audition and balling my eyes out, breaking down crying in the back hallway behind the choir room because I had missed one note. I couldn't appreciate my talent, because I was always judging it. But when I got into Madrigals, and began to really feel blessed by talent instead of critical of it, I was able to move into a place where performing was fun again, and I could feel strong and confident and capable.
But it was still a couple of years before I could stop taking it all so personally. When I didn't get into the BFA Acting program at the U, I once again found myself crying in a hallway, this time in New Jersey, during a spring break trip to New York. I was sobbing so hard I think my drama teacher thought someone had died. At the time, I thought it was my dreams. Once I got to college, I still took myself really seriously, but as my experience in theatre broadened and I was able to see other options, I began to realize that it wasn't about me as a person, or my talent, sometimes it was just about being "right" or not. It is personal, but in a way you really can't control, like not being attracted to people with blue eyes. There isn't a thing they or you can do about it.
So I was thinking about this last night, how badly I wanted these things and how trivial and small they seem now. Your desires just get bigger and more complicated as you get older, and the stakes get higher. If I hadn't gotten into Madrigals as a Junior, I probably would have gotten in as a Senior, but I would have been miserable. Now, if I don't get into the right law school, I don't know what my next step will be. I want this so badly, badly enough that I haven't left myself other options. If I don't, I guess I'll get over it, but at what point does this emotional rollercoaster stop? And bigger question, do I really want it to? Isn't the passionate intensity of desire what makes life worth living? What would it be like to travel through life without any dreams, or goals, or aspirations? Without the potential for loss that is deeply and painfully felt? Maybe I'm just a drama queen, but I think I'd take possible pain over definite boredom any day.
Which means, of course, that I will once again have time for the blogging. Hooray.
Todays topic is success. I was thinking about this last night at choir practice. For one particular song we are in a mixed formation, meaning singing next to people that are singing parts other than your own. I haven't done that for about 7 years, since I was in Madrigals in high school. It was a struggle to learn at that time, and I felt way over my head, but eventually, I was successful and learned how to hold my own against the other voices. I remember feeling so challenged by it, mostly because I was so grateful to be in Madrigals in the first place, and felt like if anyone realized I couldn't hold my part, I would be outed as an imposter and kicked out of the choir. It never even occurred to me that you weren't supposed to be perfect immediately when starting something new.
This change in formation made me think about the things I had wanted when I was younger. I wanted to be in Madrigals so desperately when I was a Junior in high school. All through high school I spent my time trying to be the lead in every play, the soloist in every concert, what I refered to as "the it girl". I was always trying to prove something to someone, either myself or others. I wanted to be known, and I wanted my talent to be coveted. And because of this, I was incredibly hard on myself. I remember leaving my Madrigals audition and balling my eyes out, breaking down crying in the back hallway behind the choir room because I had missed one note. I couldn't appreciate my talent, because I was always judging it. But when I got into Madrigals, and began to really feel blessed by talent instead of critical of it, I was able to move into a place where performing was fun again, and I could feel strong and confident and capable.
But it was still a couple of years before I could stop taking it all so personally. When I didn't get into the BFA Acting program at the U, I once again found myself crying in a hallway, this time in New Jersey, during a spring break trip to New York. I was sobbing so hard I think my drama teacher thought someone had died. At the time, I thought it was my dreams. Once I got to college, I still took myself really seriously, but as my experience in theatre broadened and I was able to see other options, I began to realize that it wasn't about me as a person, or my talent, sometimes it was just about being "right" or not. It is personal, but in a way you really can't control, like not being attracted to people with blue eyes. There isn't a thing they or you can do about it.
So I was thinking about this last night, how badly I wanted these things and how trivial and small they seem now. Your desires just get bigger and more complicated as you get older, and the stakes get higher. If I hadn't gotten into Madrigals as a Junior, I probably would have gotten in as a Senior, but I would have been miserable. Now, if I don't get into the right law school, I don't know what my next step will be. I want this so badly, badly enough that I haven't left myself other options. If I don't, I guess I'll get over it, but at what point does this emotional rollercoaster stop? And bigger question, do I really want it to? Isn't the passionate intensity of desire what makes life worth living? What would it be like to travel through life without any dreams, or goals, or aspirations? Without the potential for loss that is deeply and painfully felt? Maybe I'm just a drama queen, but I think I'd take possible pain over definite boredom any day.
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