A brief observation

Those of us who were occasionally bullied in grade school (for me it was during my younger years, much less so in my older ones, and even then I didn’t get bullied a whole lot, but it did happen) might remember scenarios in which the bigger kid is picking on the smaller, and doing stuff like cornering him someplace alone, and refusing to let him pass, and maybe punching him a bit in the stomach or shoulder. Maybe it gets worse, like dumping the kid’s books while he’s in the bathroom. Whatever it is — it’s the canonical style of bullying, what people my age tend to think of when they hear the word.

Remember what the bully always said on those rare occasions when a teacher or other adult just happened to show up, coming ’round the corner at just the right time? “I was just kidding around with him!”

“I was just playin’!”

“I wasn’t gonna hurt him or anything, we were just playin’!”

“I was just joking with him!”

That’s what I think of whenever some comedian says something really awful, gets called on it, and then starts in with the “I was just telling a joke!” defense.

I think that an uncomfortably large amount of comedy these days springs from the same mental space from which bullying comes. And that, no matter what the comedians might wish, is their problem, not mine.

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Boys Will Be Boys

Good article on the Steubenville, OH rape case:

Where is the challenge to the idea that their lives really are “over”? There is something deeply harmful in all of the adults reinforcing the idea that the lives of teen-age boys are destroyed when a girl says what they have done. There is also something incomplete about just replying that they deserved the consequences (as much as they do). For one thing, it can mean asking a sixteen-year-old to be the one to judge the weight of her own trauma. It isn’t trivializing the seriousness of the sentence to say that teen-agers always think, when one door is closed, that everything is over, and that it’s the job of grownups to explain that it isn’t. A different life is not a worthless one. (Absent parents, not incidentally, are a theme of this story.)

There are more important and complicated questions beyond that, both practical and ethical. Telling those teen-agers that there shouldn’t have been consequences might mean another victim, in another town, years in the future. It also affects what sort of men the boys become, and one has to think that Richmond and Mays, too, have an interest in that. Does it destroy a teen-ager’s life to take him off the path of being an adult rapist? Perhaps it is too abstractly (even annoyingly) philosophical to ask what the “better” life is—one in which you have a remote shot at being in the NFL, or one in which you might be a person who treats others decently? Still, the question is worth asking.

I’ve been just appalled by the tone of the press coverage of this whole thing, which reinforces my impression that we just don’t take rape all that seriously in this country. Just the other morning I was listening to a podcast by a local individual in which he partly opined in favor of some comedian’s “It was just a joke!” defense of a joke he’d made about rape.

These boys are teenagers. Theoretically they have sixty more years on this planet, give or take. Whether or not their lives are ‘destroyed’ is up to them — and they are not off to a good start. My sympathies don’t lie with them, however. They lie with a girl who was raped and then shamed for having been raped. Where are the cries for “victim’s rights”?

Oh well.

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This situation is out of control. It is out of control, and we’ll be lucky to live through it.

Meteors in Russia. This is how it starts, folks. Someone’s just drivin’ along, and then, from the sky….


Or, after that thing has zoomed overhead, some other Russian dudes are standing around gawking at the contrail the object left…when, about twenty-seven seconds in, the shock-wave arrives….


The world is ending, people. ENDING!!!

(Hmmm…I should really have coffee before blogging…anyway, for what is likely the best coverage in terms of making sense of the science and sifting out the bullshit, check out Phil Plait’s Bad Astronomy.)

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Tip your server, folks!

I’m a little late to the party on this, but:

That’s the note left on the receipt at an Applebee’s restaurant, signed by, of all people, a pastor. Amazing.

Now, the server who was the victim of this bit of Un-Christian awfulness isn’t the one who posted this pic online; that server got fired for her troubles. As a former restaurant manager, I kinda-sorta understand why Applebee’s fired that server, but this whole deal also points out that the old business models and management notions are a bit behind the curve, what with things like social media about. The firestorm of negative publicity toward Applebee’s that shot through Blogistan, Facebookatopia, and the Twitterverse will probably be a lot more costly to the company, long-term, than anything an angry, petulant, entitled, and whiny pastor might have done. (Especially one so full of herself that her first impulse was to demand the firing of every single employee of that restaurant. Yup, you read that right. She demanded that even employees who weren’t even there that day get fired. Ayup.)

The firing of that server is bad, but I don’t think it’s that bad; a server with any level of skill should not have too much trouble landing on her feet at another restaurant. That industry is not exactly known for long-term tenure of its workers, and when I worked in restaurants, whenever a server left, we would invariably hear that he or she had been hired to serve someplace else. I wouldn’t worry about her.

And besides, the real bad actor here was, of course, the pastor. She managed to unleash a perfect storm of assholedom that is really amazing to behold. Stiffing a server is bad, to begin with. (If you choose to undertip because of service issues, it’s best to talk to the manager, because in my experience, no server is going to walk away from a table from which he or she has been stiffed or undertipped thinking, “Gee, I wonder what their issue was with my service?” They’re going to think, “Cheap bastards”, and move on. Trust me on this.) You can dislike tipping all you want, but to flaunt the system is just mean and petty and ineffective. Tips are livelihood to these workers. Treat it as such.

On top of stiffing the server, there is the leaving of the note. There’s so much assholedom to unpack here! First, just leaving a note at all makes clear that the stiffing of the server is not an oversight. Sometimes people really do forget to tip, or other times, there’s the “Hey, did you leave the tip? Nah, I thought you were leaving the tip!” thing that happens. But the note is basically rubbing the server’s nose in shit…and then this pastor invokes God as a justification for it, as if to say, “I have The Lord‘s support in stiffing you!” Plus, the pastor is apparently unaware of the concept of giving ten percent of one’s entire income to God, and kicking back eighteen percent of a guest check in a restaurant to a server. They’re not even the same thing. One wonders how this pastor got through school.

And there’s something else going on here, too. The pastor was part of a large group of diners, for whom Applebee’s apparently has a policy of automatically charging an eighteen-percent gratuity. Why do restaurants have such policies? Because — and this is something many diners may not realize — large parties tend to be bad for servers’ pocketbooks. Large parties often undertip as a matter of course, and there’s a double whammy involved as a large party (a) takes up a disproportionate part of a server’s section, (b) places significant extra demands in terms of time and effort on the server, and (c) tends to be present in the dining room longer than normal tables. Putting it briefly, large parties mean that servers wait on fewer tables, which results in lower income. That’s why a lot of restaurants have an automatic-gratuity policy: to make serving them worth the server’s time.

But apparently this pastor’s group of diners decided to try and skirt that policy by requesting separate checks! Note the total on the bill: $34.93. That’s about what it costs for two, maybe three, people at Applebee’s. So they were already trying to scheme their way out of paying the eighteen percent, and when it got assessed anyway, well, the pastor whipped out her pen and said, “Oh yeah? Trying to hold me to your policy anyway? Bullshit!” Thank God the Internet was ready to exact penance!

What I end up wondering is, what are this pastor’s sermons like. I wonder if she is able to preach on the Sermon on the Mount with a straight face. Perhaps not; maybe she’s one of those pastors who nurses an unhealthy fetish for Leviticus.

Tip your servers, folks. They work hard, they genuinely want you to enjoy your experience, and you hold their livelihood in your hands. Literally. And if you don’t want to tip servers, well…use what would have been the tip money to buy cookbooks and just stay home.

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Be gentle

Sheila O’Malley, a blogger whose insight I aspire to reaching maybe ten percent one day, posted the following to Facebook earlier, and she gave me permission to reproduce it here.

I came home from the Trans Siberian Orchestra concert last night (out at Nassau Coliseum) and it was about 1 in the morning when I got home. It’s been a bit of a blue time for me personally, and then of course the tragedy in Connecticut has just been devastating for all of us. A horrible week. It was fun to go out and see this ridiculous over-the-top show, and when I got home I was a bit wired. I sat in bed reading 11/22/63 for a while (wow wow wow). And at one point, I heard a woman – either in my apartment building – or maybe in the house next door – sobbing. She was sobbing as if her heart was broken. It went on and on and it was the most heart-rending sound. I ached for her, whoever she was. Whatever she was dealing with was too hard to bear at 1:30, 2 in the morning. I understand that. There were times when she would quiet down, and I hoped she was passing out from exhaustion, to just get a little rest. 40 minutes would pass, and then the sobbing would start up again. There were times when the sound was so real and so painful that I felt tears welling up too. I was sending her vibes of at least peace and rest … everything looks at least more bearable in the morning. But, as F. Scott Fitzgerald so perfectly wrote: “In a dark night of the soul, it is always three o’clock in the morning.” I am thinking about that woman today. I wonder if anyone has ever heard me sobbing and had the same reaction. I felt like I was protecting her, hovering over her, during that hour or so that I was listening to her. I know that sounds dumb, but that’s what it felt like. Anyway, I am thinking about her this morning. We all have our private pains. Be kind to one another. Be gentle. Assume that people are doing their best. The holidays are a tough time for many people as it is. Be gentle.

I absolutely believe that we need to have several discussions about public policy in this country, with regard to both guns and mental health care. But we also need to remember how to heal our societal wounds when things like this happen.

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“Yes…wonderful things….”

I was nothing the 70th anniversary of Casablanca, but I didn’t even realize until a friend tweeted it that today is also the 90th anniversary of the opening of the tomb of King Tutankhamun of ancient Egypt, by archaeologists Howard Carter and Lord Carnarvon. To this day it is one of the greatest archaeological discoveries in history.

When I was in kindergarten — I was five years old — my family went to see the Treasures of King Tut when they were displayed at a museum in Chicago. This was in 1977, according to Google. Now, I don’t remember a whole lot from that particular age of my life, but you can bet I remember quite a few of the items I saw on display there, culminating in one of the most magnificent objects ever made, the death mask of King Tut.

And then, a few years later, on a night in which my sister was babysitting me, she would take it into her head that I needed to know a song that some comedian named Steve Martin had written….

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