The secretary for my building at work is probably not the woman you have so far imagined her to be. She’s in her early thirties, but before I found that out, I assumed she was younger than me. She swears like a wounded pirate when she thinks no one (who would care) is listening. She served a full term in the military (heterosexually, if you’re rushing to conclusions). She’s not really your stereotyped version of a secretary.
That’s why what happened to her earlier this year struck me as so funny.
First, let’s take a moment to talk about the cleaning service. Twice daily, a cleaning service sweeps through my building cleaning up the various messes we in the offices, lobby, lunchroom, etc. have created. About twice a week, they dust everything.
I approve of the concept of dusting my office. It’s one of the few cleaning chores that I do not naturally do myself. And for the Facebook readers among you, the pictures of my office I have posted will be more than enough to show you that dusting in there isn’t exactly simple. I have a lot of stuff in there.
Even so, I have no trouble spotting nights when the cleaning service dusted, no matter how groggily I stumble into the office in the morning. Most days, I turn on my light and see my things neatly lined up, stacked nicely, and generally tidy. Twice a week, it instead appears that all of my things were attacked by an army of birds such as those conceived by Alfred Hitchcock.
This is somewhat annoying. However, I know that the benefit of seeing dusting done well outweighs the inconvenience of straightening up. I’m not really complaining.
The reason I bring this up is that one morning, I discovered WHY dusting in my office causes this. I showed up and discovered my office exactly half dusted and an enormous pink feather duster sitting squarely on my keyboard. Ok. No big deal. I assume something came up.
Only one problem. I have no idea where that feather duster came from. Not my office, that’s for sure. So I did what anyone would do. I put in on the table in the middle of the offices for the cleaning service to easily find that afternoon.
That table is adjacent to the secretary’s cubicle.
That would normally not have been an issue for anyone. Again, our secretary doesn’t look very matronly. But on that day, in an absolutely unprecedented move, the secretary arrived two hours later wearing a bright pink shirt. Said shirt was the exact same bright pink color of the feather duster I had dumped next to her cubicle two hours prior.
She spent the next eight and a half hours having the following exchange with the thirty or so people who walked past that day:
Random coworker: “Nice feather duster! You playing maid today? Haha! That’s a good shirt! You need more frilly lace on the collar though!”
Secretary: “Heh.”
Random coworker: “No really where did you get that?”
Secretary: “It was just here this morning.”
Random coworker: “Did you notice that it matches your shirt?”
Secretary: “That might have been mentioned already…”
Random coworker: “Hahaha!” ::random coworker exits stage::
Secretary: “God dammit, why the f*ck is that stupid thing there?!”
Since my office is right next to her cubicle, I could hear all of this. It wasn’t very funny until the fifth time. By the fifteenth time, I was having one of my best days at work all year.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Lake’s Dance Party
I’m going to leave this post more obtuse and enigmatic than usual. I do this because even the people for whom it’s going to be clear what I’m talking about will likely get a solid laugh out of it at my expense. (And yes, my writing can be made MORE obtuse and enigmatic.)
Here’s the story: Earlier this week, I heard a song as part of a much larger media file. Actually, it was the soundtrack supporting spoken dialogue. It was glorious.
I looked into the matter, and managed to discover what the song was called and how to get it. I did so. But the soundtrack version was a much more somber rendition. Still beautiful, but not what I was looking for.
So I fired up the file again and made a sound recording of the section of interest. It’s two minutes and forty-six seconds long. The music itself has no words. However, the file in question features dialogue for those 2:46s. Even the dialogue makes me happy. This is the dialogue in question:
“I know this place.”
“Of course you do. Go inside.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Life has a melody, Gaius. A rhythm of notes that become your existence once played in harmony with God’s plan. It’s time to do your part and realize your destiny.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“You are the guardian and protector of the new generation of God’s children. The first member of our family will be with us soon, Gaius. It’s time to make your choice.”
“But I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Really, I don’t understand—”
“Come... see the face of the shape of things to come. Isn’t she beautiful, Gaius?”
I have since listened to this exchange on loop more or less ever since. Including on several trips to and from Chicago. Doing some math on the relative length of that commute and the length of the file, I’d estimate I have listened to it now about 400 times. But it’s worse when I’m just walking around with my headphones on, because it makes me really smiley and makes me want to dance. I let the smiling happen, and don’t fight the dancing too hard either.
Yesterday at the grocery store, the checkout girl asked me what I was listening to as a result of this. I told her. I think she’s probably still confused, because I replied (arguably correctly) in Italian.
The people who have a clue what I’m talking about have probably wet their pants laughing at me by now. I think that’s enough.
Here’s the story: Earlier this week, I heard a song as part of a much larger media file. Actually, it was the soundtrack supporting spoken dialogue. It was glorious.
I looked into the matter, and managed to discover what the song was called and how to get it. I did so. But the soundtrack version was a much more somber rendition. Still beautiful, but not what I was looking for.
So I fired up the file again and made a sound recording of the section of interest. It’s two minutes and forty-six seconds long. The music itself has no words. However, the file in question features dialogue for those 2:46s. Even the dialogue makes me happy. This is the dialogue in question:
“I know this place.”
“Of course you do. Go inside.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Life has a melody, Gaius. A rhythm of notes that become your existence once played in harmony with God’s plan. It’s time to do your part and realize your destiny.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“You are the guardian and protector of the new generation of God’s children. The first member of our family will be with us soon, Gaius. It’s time to make your choice.”
“But I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Really, I don’t understand—”
“Come... see the face of the shape of things to come. Isn’t she beautiful, Gaius?”
I have since listened to this exchange on loop more or less ever since. Including on several trips to and from Chicago. Doing some math on the relative length of that commute and the length of the file, I’d estimate I have listened to it now about 400 times. But it’s worse when I’m just walking around with my headphones on, because it makes me really smiley and makes me want to dance. I let the smiling happen, and don’t fight the dancing too hard either.
Yesterday at the grocery store, the checkout girl asked me what I was listening to as a result of this. I told her. I think she’s probably still confused, because I replied (arguably correctly) in Italian.
The people who have a clue what I’m talking about have probably wet their pants laughing at me by now. I think that’s enough.
Monday, November 26, 2007
It’s Raining StrawMen!
The other day at work, I was staring out the large, plate-glass windows in the conference room next to my office and the secretary’s cubicle.
I heard her walk past behind me.
I called out, “Why is it raining hay?”
She called back, “You are so weird!”
I answered, “No really. It’s raining hay. Are they thatching our roof or something?”
Walking up behind me, she asked, “Seriously, you are so funny.” Then she stopped and stared, because, sure enough, to all appearances, it was raining hay.
A few hours later, I managed to discover that the source of the haystorm was the fact that some contractors two buildings over were attempting to lay down grass seed highway-style in the middle of a windstorm. That wasn’t going so hot.
But our secretary, to this day, insists that no one else on Earth can get away with saying things like, “Why is it raining hay?” and seem wise for having asked a few hours later.
I heard her walk past behind me.
I called out, “Why is it raining hay?”
She called back, “You are so weird!”
I answered, “No really. It’s raining hay. Are they thatching our roof or something?”
Walking up behind me, she asked, “Seriously, you are so funny.” Then she stopped and stared, because, sure enough, to all appearances, it was raining hay.
A few hours later, I managed to discover that the source of the haystorm was the fact that some contractors two buildings over were attempting to lay down grass seed highway-style in the middle of a windstorm. That wasn’t going so hot.
But our secretary, to this day, insists that no one else on Earth can get away with saying things like, “Why is it raining hay?” and seem wise for having asked a few hours later.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Career Day
Today I give a presentation to a full house of middle schoolers on how to be just like me. That’s right, the local school district has asked me specifically to come and give a presentation on that subject. I’ll be molding those pliant, developing young minds for 35 minutes (best estimate). You might ask why the local junior high has decided this is a good idea.
It’s because I’m awesome.
Knowing that I could easily prattle on about that subject for days (maybe even weeks!), they’ve asked me to try to focus on my work as an engineer as the unifying theme of the presentation. It’s an odd choice. Not the most pulse-pounding foundation I could have suggested, but I’ll do anything for the fans. They were hoping I could spend some extra time discussing the challenges and qualifications relating to doing work in an engineering discipline.
Everyone knows that the biggest challenge faced by most engineers is communication skills. If you’re an engineer, everyone assumes you can solve pretty much any problem. The trouble is in telling the underlings how you plan to do that without resorting to a language of grunts, shouting, antisocial rage, and general derision. To show that it’s possible to get past this obstacle, I was thinking I could spend some time sharing some selected samples of my writing with the students. I think I’ll do a few readings from my blog. My eleven-part series on “Why Pedophilia Is Sometimes Ok” is an in-depth argument on a serious problem. I’ll bet that would make my case while still being a hit!
Next, people complain that engineers don’t know how to be creative. This is the point where I can really dazzle them! I’ll just throw some slides of my webcomic together in a “Powerpoint” presentation and chase them with some slides of some of my most involved paintings. After all, one of the most important ingredients is a solid presentation is a generous helping of humor! Maybe I’ll break my own rule and let them try to work through the mystery of my largest painting as a group (instead of individually)!
Since this is a class of middle schoolers, it would probably be wise to try and tell them that a life in engineering doesn’t have to be boring. A lot of young people think that the job goes hand in hand with a dull social life. To try and defeat that notion, I think I’ll just go through the “contacts” directory in my cell phone and tell the most interesting story for each person there as it jumps into mind. There are a lot of people in there, so I’ll have to be pretty quick. “If you ever visit C.A., don’t sit on his couch. Trust me. Oh, and then there’s G.A! A lot of people think he has abs like that because he’s a top tier ice skater, but no. And if you ever visit J.A., don’t eat her brownies unless you know what’s up. By the time you finish one, you’ll have forgotten. And let’s not forget A.B.! Ever since July, all her friends call her Frosty the Snowball!’”
By the time I get through with that, time will be running short, so I’ll just sum up my current career in a nutshell. Something like, “And if you do well in Chemical and Biological Engineering, you can do pretty much anything you want. If you pay attention and get good grades in class, I’d be willing to bet that any one of you could come out able to make pretty much ANYTHING from the comfort of your own garage or kitchen, let alone in an industrial setting!”
At that point, I could just relax and take some questions. This should be fun!
It’s because I’m awesome.
Knowing that I could easily prattle on about that subject for days (maybe even weeks!), they’ve asked me to try to focus on my work as an engineer as the unifying theme of the presentation. It’s an odd choice. Not the most pulse-pounding foundation I could have suggested, but I’ll do anything for the fans. They were hoping I could spend some extra time discussing the challenges and qualifications relating to doing work in an engineering discipline.
Everyone knows that the biggest challenge faced by most engineers is communication skills. If you’re an engineer, everyone assumes you can solve pretty much any problem. The trouble is in telling the underlings how you plan to do that without resorting to a language of grunts, shouting, antisocial rage, and general derision. To show that it’s possible to get past this obstacle, I was thinking I could spend some time sharing some selected samples of my writing with the students. I think I’ll do a few readings from my blog. My eleven-part series on “Why Pedophilia Is Sometimes Ok” is an in-depth argument on a serious problem. I’ll bet that would make my case while still being a hit!
Next, people complain that engineers don’t know how to be creative. This is the point where I can really dazzle them! I’ll just throw some slides of my webcomic together in a “Powerpoint” presentation and chase them with some slides of some of my most involved paintings. After all, one of the most important ingredients is a solid presentation is a generous helping of humor! Maybe I’ll break my own rule and let them try to work through the mystery of my largest painting as a group (instead of individually)!
Since this is a class of middle schoolers, it would probably be wise to try and tell them that a life in engineering doesn’t have to be boring. A lot of young people think that the job goes hand in hand with a dull social life. To try and defeat that notion, I think I’ll just go through the “contacts” directory in my cell phone and tell the most interesting story for each person there as it jumps into mind. There are a lot of people in there, so I’ll have to be pretty quick. “If you ever visit C.A., don’t sit on his couch. Trust me. Oh, and then there’s G.A! A lot of people think he has abs like that because he’s a top tier ice skater, but no. And if you ever visit J.A., don’t eat her brownies unless you know what’s up. By the time you finish one, you’ll have forgotten. And let’s not forget A.B.! Ever since July, all her friends call her Frosty the Snowball!’”
By the time I get through with that, time will be running short, so I’ll just sum up my current career in a nutshell. Something like, “And if you do well in Chemical and Biological Engineering, you can do pretty much anything you want. If you pay attention and get good grades in class, I’d be willing to bet that any one of you could come out able to make pretty much ANYTHING from the comfort of your own garage or kitchen, let alone in an industrial setting!”
At that point, I could just relax and take some questions. This should be fun!
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
It’s Snowing Early This Year! Global Warming… Ha!
I was cleaning out files from my phone the other day and turned up a classy little number that I took with you guys in mind. I had forgotten about it until now.
Before you read any further, check out the picture I unearthed:
http://www.lakewaterontap.com/Misc/CSnow.jpg
Isn’t it a peaceful looking winter landscape? Want to make snow angels with me?
I took that picture in June.
Those piles of white powdery delight lying on the ground? The ones just begging to be scooped up and used in a snowball fight?
That’s powdered sodium hydroxide. Solid base. It would turn the skin on your hands into soap if you touched it. (Seriously.)
Yeah, we had a little spill on our site this summer that required some cleanup. I’ll bet you’re curious what a chemical plant does when it spills a ton of liquid caustic on the ground.
We dig up all the dirt, soak it in water, mix it up, and add acid until it becomes neutral again, of course. Then we put it right back where we found it, good as new, but slightly saltier. (Also true.)
This is bad for the grass in the short term (looks a little yellow, doesn’t it?), but it’s surprisingly harmless if handled properly and quickly.
The longest-lasting negative effect is a photo-fun blog post by a snarky engineer. And now that you've suffered through that, you can start healing too.
Unless all your grass died from reading this. It's not the reason I'd prefer people to give when asked why they think about me in the shower, but I'll take what I can get.
Before you read any further, check out the picture I unearthed:
http://www.lakewaterontap.com/Misc/CSnow.jpg
Isn’t it a peaceful looking winter landscape? Want to make snow angels with me?
I took that picture in June.
Those piles of white powdery delight lying on the ground? The ones just begging to be scooped up and used in a snowball fight?
That’s powdered sodium hydroxide. Solid base. It would turn the skin on your hands into soap if you touched it. (Seriously.)
Yeah, we had a little spill on our site this summer that required some cleanup. I’ll bet you’re curious what a chemical plant does when it spills a ton of liquid caustic on the ground.
We dig up all the dirt, soak it in water, mix it up, and add acid until it becomes neutral again, of course. Then we put it right back where we found it, good as new, but slightly saltier. (Also true.)
This is bad for the grass in the short term (looks a little yellow, doesn’t it?), but it’s surprisingly harmless if handled properly and quickly.
The longest-lasting negative effect is a photo-fun blog post by a snarky engineer. And now that you've suffered through that, you can start healing too.
Unless all your grass died from reading this. It's not the reason I'd prefer people to give when asked why they think about me in the shower, but I'll take what I can get.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Bathroom Sex
At work, we don’t stock paper towels in the bathroom. Instead, we use those roller towels that you sometimes see in public restrooms. Ours are usually a lot cleaner than the ones you see in public restrooms, because, again, as a chemical plant, we take our shit seriously. Once a week, a laundry service comes to my building and washes all the uniforms, towel rolls, carpets, shower towels, etc.
The men’s room in the admin area (where the manager, secretary, and myself work) has two of these hand towel rolls. Recently, the one on the left stopped rolling up the crank on the bottom as you pulled fresh towel from the top. This resulted in a pile of roll towel laying on the floor next to the sink.
The next morning at shift change, in the crowded room before the formalities of pass-off began, the building manager asked me to have our laundry service guy fix it for us. I thought about this quietly for a second. It was 6:00 AM. I had not yet had a cup off coffee (and I was more or less an addict that week). He had not yet had his cigarette (and he’s an addict outright).
I mention this because his request was silly on a couple of levels. The guy he was speaking of is basically a delivery serviceman for fresh and soiled linens. He shows up with fresh towels, picks up the dirty ones, and repeats. He does not fix things.
In contrast, the maintenance department next door to my building fixes many things.
It took me a second to realize this myself. Again, it was early and I was not yet drugging it up. Rather than thinking of the maintenance department, I instead thought of the laundry guy the manager had mentioned. I imagined myself asking him to take care of this for me. It was a somewhat amusing mental image.
The guy who handles the linens for my building is a skinny blonde guy who looks about 16, but is probably closer to 22. He does not give off an aura of a maintenance guy, or of any outright masculinity at all, really. He wears shorts all year round, excepting only the deadliest winter days. He’s actually pretty cute and he smiles a lot. But he does not fix towel dispensers.
A few seconds after this thought occurred to me (but before I decided to tell the manager I’d have maintenance fix the problem instead), he realized the same thing and suggested I see if I could have maintenance do it first.
I agreed, but then had a thought.
End of year reviews are right around the corner. There would be just enough time for me to try to get the linen service guy to fix this anyway. And if I did…
I would be able to honestly put, “Talked the towelboy into mounting my crank in the men's room.” on my review. I think it would look good in the “Teamwork” section.
I figure that one item alone should be worth an extra 2% raise.
The men’s room in the admin area (where the manager, secretary, and myself work) has two of these hand towel rolls. Recently, the one on the left stopped rolling up the crank on the bottom as you pulled fresh towel from the top. This resulted in a pile of roll towel laying on the floor next to the sink.
The next morning at shift change, in the crowded room before the formalities of pass-off began, the building manager asked me to have our laundry service guy fix it for us. I thought about this quietly for a second. It was 6:00 AM. I had not yet had a cup off coffee (and I was more or less an addict that week). He had not yet had his cigarette (and he’s an addict outright).
I mention this because his request was silly on a couple of levels. The guy he was speaking of is basically a delivery serviceman for fresh and soiled linens. He shows up with fresh towels, picks up the dirty ones, and repeats. He does not fix things.
In contrast, the maintenance department next door to my building fixes many things.
It took me a second to realize this myself. Again, it was early and I was not yet drugging it up. Rather than thinking of the maintenance department, I instead thought of the laundry guy the manager had mentioned. I imagined myself asking him to take care of this for me. It was a somewhat amusing mental image.
The guy who handles the linens for my building is a skinny blonde guy who looks about 16, but is probably closer to 22. He does not give off an aura of a maintenance guy, or of any outright masculinity at all, really. He wears shorts all year round, excepting only the deadliest winter days. He’s actually pretty cute and he smiles a lot. But he does not fix towel dispensers.
A few seconds after this thought occurred to me (but before I decided to tell the manager I’d have maintenance fix the problem instead), he realized the same thing and suggested I see if I could have maintenance do it first.
I agreed, but then had a thought.
End of year reviews are right around the corner. There would be just enough time for me to try to get the linen service guy to fix this anyway. And if I did…
I would be able to honestly put, “Talked the towelboy into mounting my crank in the men's room.” on my review. I think it would look good in the “Teamwork” section.
I figure that one item alone should be worth an extra 2% raise.
Friday, November 16, 2007
I’d Do You…
Today’s post is an unabashed cheap laugh. I promise it’ll be worth it.
http://blog.5thgearmarketing.net/2007/10/bad-day.html
Now that you got the nasty grin out of your system, I’ll bet you’re thinking how superior humans are to animals. “That’s just horrible!” you’re thinking.
Now check this out:
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,260242,00.html
Oooooh. Bad call. Turns out humans are way sicker. We fuck long-dead creatures cross-species.
Want to go camping with me and get back in touch with nature? You know. It’ll be spiritual.
http://blog.5thgearmarketing.net/2007/10/bad-day.html
Now that you got the nasty grin out of your system, I’ll bet you’re thinking how superior humans are to animals. “That’s just horrible!” you’re thinking.
Now check this out:
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,260242,00.html
Oooooh. Bad call. Turns out humans are way sicker. We fuck long-dead creatures cross-species.
Want to go camping with me and get back in touch with nature? You know. It’ll be spiritual.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Gifted Students
Parents in Houston were outraged earlier this year when two eight graders had hot boy-on-girl sex in front of a rapt, full-house audience of their peers in their school classroom. This apparently happened after the teacher left the classroom for a bit. So, in a nutshell, these two kids had unsupervised sexual contact in school, during normal school hours, while all their friends stood around watching.
http://www.click2houston.com/news/14284329/detail.html
I can see why the parents are pissed.
I remember the reaction my parents had when they found out I was going to be taking Honors Algebra in the seventh grade. They were all like, “In my day, Algebra was for juniors!” It’s hard for a lot of parents to discover that their kids will blow past the apex of their own formal education before they’ve wet the bed for the last time. It’s gotta be a blow to the old ego. So this really has to be a soul-crusher right here.
Remember, the teacher wasn’t in the room at all when this sex act happened. That means not only were these gifted kids fucking at the 12th grade level, they were doing it without any teacher support whatsoever. A lots of kids are book smart, but these two were acing the lab portion of advanced sex ed before they had even done the pre-reading.
I just say that it’s amazing what kids can accomplish when they’re motivated and clever. This right here is proof positive that the American Education system works.
It almost makes me wonder if we need sex ed in schools at all. Sure looks like that subject is being derived just fine from first principles.
http://www.click2houston.com/news/14284329/detail.html
I can see why the parents are pissed.
I remember the reaction my parents had when they found out I was going to be taking Honors Algebra in the seventh grade. They were all like, “In my day, Algebra was for juniors!” It’s hard for a lot of parents to discover that their kids will blow past the apex of their own formal education before they’ve wet the bed for the last time. It’s gotta be a blow to the old ego. So this really has to be a soul-crusher right here.
Remember, the teacher wasn’t in the room at all when this sex act happened. That means not only were these gifted kids fucking at the 12th grade level, they were doing it without any teacher support whatsoever. A lots of kids are book smart, but these two were acing the lab portion of advanced sex ed before they had even done the pre-reading.
I just say that it’s amazing what kids can accomplish when they’re motivated and clever. This right here is proof positive that the American Education system works.
It almost makes me wonder if we need sex ed in schools at all. Sure looks like that subject is being derived just fine from first principles.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
This Year, Christmas Never Comes
I suffered a crushing disappointment last month about my Christmas shopping this year. That’s right, I do my Christmas shopping months in advance. Deal.
I had found the perfect gift for a few people.
Puppies that hump your computer’s USB port.
Oh yes. It’s real.
http://www.crestock.com/blog/entertainment/top-ten-gadgets-every-designer-should-live-without-95.aspx
I planned on buying several of these little miracles and giving them away with little cards that said something like, “Were any of your ports not getting enough action this year? Have I got the solution for you! This ought to help you dust the cobwebs out of those dusty, cobwebby hard-to-reach places you’ve been bitching about!”
And these little guys are really professionals too. Plug one of these puppies in and he can hump for hours before having to stop for a breather.
Unfortunately, my Japanese was not good enough to be able to order any. I managed to find a site that appeared to be from the vendor, but no method of purchasing was apparent. I was crushed to conclude that either these items are not available for export, or I was not clever enough to figure out how to do so (in five minutes).
It’s like Santa died.
Depressing.
I had found the perfect gift for a few people.
Puppies that hump your computer’s USB port.
Oh yes. It’s real.
http://www.crestock.com/blog/entertainment/top-ten-gadgets-every-designer-should-live-without-95.aspx
I planned on buying several of these little miracles and giving them away with little cards that said something like, “Were any of your ports not getting enough action this year? Have I got the solution for you! This ought to help you dust the cobwebs out of those dusty, cobwebby hard-to-reach places you’ve been bitching about!”
And these little guys are really professionals too. Plug one of these puppies in and he can hump for hours before having to stop for a breather.
Unfortunately, my Japanese was not good enough to be able to order any. I managed to find a site that appeared to be from the vendor, but no method of purchasing was apparent. I was crushed to conclude that either these items are not available for export, or I was not clever enough to figure out how to do so (in five minutes).
It’s like Santa died.
Depressing.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Dumbledore Is Gay
When I wrote this, I had a huge backup of written-yet-unposted blog material. That said, by the time you read this, it will likely be old news.
In the week following J.K. Rowling’s choice to out her most powerful wizard, huge volumes of articles appeared complaining about how it was done. One such article is provided here: http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1674550,00.html
The theme uniting most of these articles is something along the lines of, “As the token gay man at my organization, I was asked to write on this topic. That said, it should come as no surprise that I object to this outing on the grounds that Dumbledore was not nearly gay enough in those books.”
I read stuff like that and think to myself, “Uhm… ARE YOU INSANE?!”
I have heard exactly zero arguments in line with my own view on this topic. If you don’t like the idea of Dumbledore being gay, that’s your right (sort of). However, not gay enough? Ok. I’m going to do all of you a favor and explain to you why Dumbledore was plenty gay enough as is. I’m going to do this by rewriting a few sections of the published books in which I gay him up a little. Remember, as an elusive, secretive old man, he did not get a lot of face time in these books. And the books were all told from Harry’s perspective. As a result, this is what you’d end up with if you “Not-Gay-Enough-istas” had your way:
[From Harry Potter I, The Philosophers Stone]
Prof. McGonnagall:
“I have here the Sorting Hat. This wise hat will be placed on each of your heads, and look inside your deepest thoughts. From what it finds, your placements into the four houses of Hogwarts will be decided.”
Dumbledore:
“NOOOOOOOOO! Minerva! Stop! That hat is hideous! How dare you take it out of my closet! It’s for sentimental value only! It’s the hat I was wearing when I first… Well. YOU know. But it would totally clash with their robes! They’re first years! They can’t wear a thread-bare old hat with their brand new robes! Didn’t your mother teach you ANYTHING about accessorizing?!”
McGonnagall:
“But then how will we do the sorting?”
Dumbledore:
“That’s not as important as proper fashion! I don’t know! Put them all in Slytherin or something this year.”
[From Harry Potter II, The Chamber of Secrets]
McGonnagall:
“Headmaster, there’s been another attack! What do you make of it!?”
Dumbledore:
“Minerva, isn’t it clear? The Chamber of Secrets is open again!”
McGonnagall:
“Headmaster, that’s hardly appropriate. Not only do I not want to hear about your personal life, but this attack literally just happened! Show a little sensitivity!”
Dumbledore:
“No really! I’m sure the students are all in grave danger! The giant serpent is on the loose again! One look from his eye can…”
McGonnagall:
“LALALALALALALALALA… I can’t hear you!”
[From Harry Potter III, The Prizoner of Azkaban]
Harry:
“What’s Azkaban?”
Hermione:
“Having been raised by muggle dentists, I was a little unclear on that myself. So I read four books on the subject and went to Dumbledore’s office hours to ask a few additional questions. It seems that Azkaban is the wizarding prison. Bad wizards are held there and punished!”
Harry:
“How are they punished?!”
Hermione:
“Well…”
Harry:
“Hermione! Tell me!”
Hermione:
“To be honest, I’m not to clear about that either. I asked Dumbledore, but he mumbled something about Dementors totally pwning the inmates. Literally thriving off using them and manipulating their emotions. Then he started to say something about ‘the most intimate kiss’ and how it literally swallows the essence of a man… But then he coughed kind of abruptly and left the room.”
Ron:
“Have you seen Scabbers?”
Hermione:
“Yeah. Dumbledore took him last night. I asked him why, but he just smiled knowingly and left the common room. Scabbers looked awfully worried about it, but I’m sure Dumbledore had his reasons.”
Ron:
“Scabbers!”
[Harry Potter IV, Goblet of Fire]
Harry:
“Headmaster! Headmaster! The Goblet of Fire was a portkey! He’s back! Headmaster, he’s back! And Cedrick… Cedrick… He, he, asked me to bring him back to his parents…!”
Dumbledore [said with a twinkle in his eye]:
“Harry you little scamp! And in the middle of the contest too?! What spunk! We’ll have to take points from Gryffindore, of course. Using sleeping potions on classmates for the purpose of ‘getting that winning edge’ is strictly forbidden! But then again, Cedrick IS quite the looker! I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about sneaking into the Hufflepuff towers late at night a few times myself!”
Harry:
“No! Headmaster! He’s back! He, he tied me up, and there was magic, explosions…”
Dumbledore:
“Harry Potter! I never would have thought you the type! I’m so happy for you both!”
[Harry Potter V, Order of the Phoenix]
Dumbledore:
“I’m so pleased to have such a capable and devoted group of warriors working with me to protect the world from evil. But here, in Syrius’ stronghold, we can meet in secret and security. None of us can speak where this place is, or threaten us here, because I have put strong protections around it… That said, who among you wants to take a guess why they call me, ‘Headmaster’?”
[Harry Potter VI, Half-Blood Prince]
Dumbledore:
“Harry, you’re right. I have been keeping secrets from you. But there’s a reason. I have believed that a part of my enemy, He-Who-I-Don’t-Speak-About-Since-What-He-Did-To-Me-In-The-Ministry-Hallway-After-Hours, has been inside you. And that this contact has left a little piece of him inside you still. I think of that little bit of his essence inside you and it makes me want to avoid you. But you are right. It’s not your fault. You’re so young, and eager. I shall keep secrets from you no longer. For starters, I’m gay. Not gay in the “happy to be alive” sort of sense like men my age still sometimes say. I mean, ‘Let’s go oil our wands together!’ gay. Really gay. Second, you’re right that leaving your defensive education to Professor Snape was, well, a disaster. So, Harry, now that we’re not keeping secrets from each other any longer, I want you to come to my tower late at night for special sessions with me alone. I’ll teach you everything you need to know. Everything. It may seem strange at first. I was hoping you’d be older before I had to teach you these things. But you’ve always been clever, Harry, and we’ve been so distant for so long…”
[Harry Potter VII, Deathly Hallows]
Voldemort:
“Well, I mean, once I figured out that Dumbledore had the Elder Wand, it didn’t take a whole lot of thought to figure out he had himself buried with it. I mean, did you ever meet the guy while he was alive? He couldn’t keep his hands off of wands in life either, if you know what I mean. I hated him, but his wandsmanship was known throughout the wizarding world.”
In the week following J.K. Rowling’s choice to out her most powerful wizard, huge volumes of articles appeared complaining about how it was done. One such article is provided here: http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1674550,00.html
The theme uniting most of these articles is something along the lines of, “As the token gay man at my organization, I was asked to write on this topic. That said, it should come as no surprise that I object to this outing on the grounds that Dumbledore was not nearly gay enough in those books.”
I read stuff like that and think to myself, “Uhm… ARE YOU INSANE?!”
I have heard exactly zero arguments in line with my own view on this topic. If you don’t like the idea of Dumbledore being gay, that’s your right (sort of). However, not gay enough? Ok. I’m going to do all of you a favor and explain to you why Dumbledore was plenty gay enough as is. I’m going to do this by rewriting a few sections of the published books in which I gay him up a little. Remember, as an elusive, secretive old man, he did not get a lot of face time in these books. And the books were all told from Harry’s perspective. As a result, this is what you’d end up with if you “Not-Gay-Enough-istas” had your way:
[From Harry Potter I, The Philosophers Stone]
Prof. McGonnagall:
“I have here the Sorting Hat. This wise hat will be placed on each of your heads, and look inside your deepest thoughts. From what it finds, your placements into the four houses of Hogwarts will be decided.”
Dumbledore:
“NOOOOOOOOO! Minerva! Stop! That hat is hideous! How dare you take it out of my closet! It’s for sentimental value only! It’s the hat I was wearing when I first… Well. YOU know. But it would totally clash with their robes! They’re first years! They can’t wear a thread-bare old hat with their brand new robes! Didn’t your mother teach you ANYTHING about accessorizing?!”
McGonnagall:
“But then how will we do the sorting?”
Dumbledore:
“That’s not as important as proper fashion! I don’t know! Put them all in Slytherin or something this year.”
[From Harry Potter II, The Chamber of Secrets]
McGonnagall:
“Headmaster, there’s been another attack! What do you make of it!?”
Dumbledore:
“Minerva, isn’t it clear? The Chamber of Secrets is open again!”
McGonnagall:
“Headmaster, that’s hardly appropriate. Not only do I not want to hear about your personal life, but this attack literally just happened! Show a little sensitivity!”
Dumbledore:
“No really! I’m sure the students are all in grave danger! The giant serpent is on the loose again! One look from his eye can…”
McGonnagall:
“LALALALALALALALALA… I can’t hear you!”
[From Harry Potter III, The Prizoner of Azkaban]
Harry:
“What’s Azkaban?”
Hermione:
“Having been raised by muggle dentists, I was a little unclear on that myself. So I read four books on the subject and went to Dumbledore’s office hours to ask a few additional questions. It seems that Azkaban is the wizarding prison. Bad wizards are held there and punished!”
Harry:
“How are they punished?!”
Hermione:
“Well…”
Harry:
“Hermione! Tell me!”
Hermione:
“To be honest, I’m not to clear about that either. I asked Dumbledore, but he mumbled something about Dementors totally pwning the inmates. Literally thriving off using them and manipulating their emotions. Then he started to say something about ‘the most intimate kiss’ and how it literally swallows the essence of a man… But then he coughed kind of abruptly and left the room.”
Ron:
“Have you seen Scabbers?”
Hermione:
“Yeah. Dumbledore took him last night. I asked him why, but he just smiled knowingly and left the common room. Scabbers looked awfully worried about it, but I’m sure Dumbledore had his reasons.”
Ron:
“Scabbers!”
[Harry Potter IV, Goblet of Fire]
Harry:
“Headmaster! Headmaster! The Goblet of Fire was a portkey! He’s back! Headmaster, he’s back! And Cedrick… Cedrick… He, he, asked me to bring him back to his parents…!”
Dumbledore [said with a twinkle in his eye]:
“Harry you little scamp! And in the middle of the contest too?! What spunk! We’ll have to take points from Gryffindore, of course. Using sleeping potions on classmates for the purpose of ‘getting that winning edge’ is strictly forbidden! But then again, Cedrick IS quite the looker! I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about sneaking into the Hufflepuff towers late at night a few times myself!”
Harry:
“No! Headmaster! He’s back! He, he tied me up, and there was magic, explosions…”
Dumbledore:
“Harry Potter! I never would have thought you the type! I’m so happy for you both!”
[Harry Potter V, Order of the Phoenix]
Dumbledore:
“I’m so pleased to have such a capable and devoted group of warriors working with me to protect the world from evil. But here, in Syrius’ stronghold, we can meet in secret and security. None of us can speak where this place is, or threaten us here, because I have put strong protections around it… That said, who among you wants to take a guess why they call me, ‘Headmaster’?”
[Harry Potter VI, Half-Blood Prince]
Dumbledore:
“Harry, you’re right. I have been keeping secrets from you. But there’s a reason. I have believed that a part of my enemy, He-Who-I-Don’t-Speak-About-Since-What-He-Did-To-Me-In-The-Ministry-Hallway-After-Hours, has been inside you. And that this contact has left a little piece of him inside you still. I think of that little bit of his essence inside you and it makes me want to avoid you. But you are right. It’s not your fault. You’re so young, and eager. I shall keep secrets from you no longer. For starters, I’m gay. Not gay in the “happy to be alive” sort of sense like men my age still sometimes say. I mean, ‘Let’s go oil our wands together!’ gay. Really gay. Second, you’re right that leaving your defensive education to Professor Snape was, well, a disaster. So, Harry, now that we’re not keeping secrets from each other any longer, I want you to come to my tower late at night for special sessions with me alone. I’ll teach you everything you need to know. Everything. It may seem strange at first. I was hoping you’d be older before I had to teach you these things. But you’ve always been clever, Harry, and we’ve been so distant for so long…”
[Harry Potter VII, Deathly Hallows]
Voldemort:
“Well, I mean, once I figured out that Dumbledore had the Elder Wand, it didn’t take a whole lot of thought to figure out he had himself buried with it. I mean, did you ever meet the guy while he was alive? He couldn’t keep his hands off of wands in life either, if you know what I mean. I hated him, but his wandsmanship was known throughout the wizarding world.”
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
How Dare You Question Me!
[Originally Posted 11/7/07]
So exactly one unexpected person took objection to my ridiculous post about Britney and has devoted several occasions during the past few days to trying to set me right. It seems that when I derived conclusions from an article (stating that she spends less than half her money and has massive existing investment holdings) I was incorrect to assume that this means she is actively saving her money like I claimed.
Beats me. I wouldn’t know. This assertion came with several supporting news links of which I read roughly 0%.
It does kinda seem likely though.
Ok, ok. I’ll do what any mature humor writer would do and stop to take a moment to post an entry designed to correct my er…
WHY CAN’T YOU LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE?!?!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!???????????1111111 WHAT HAS SHE EVER DONE TO YOU BUT GIVE YOU TONS OF GOOD CDS AND MUSIC AND SO MUCH MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111111111 OH MY GOD IT’S LIKE MY WORLD IS COMING TO AN END!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111111111111 MY SOBBING SHAKES THE EARTH LIKE THE TITANS BEFORE US AT THE BIRTH OF HERCU... Wait, sorry, that’s not right at all. Let me pick that back up at “my sobbing.” Ok… MY SOBBING WETS THE EARTH WITH A MILLION EMO TEARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111111111111 WHY MUST I DROWN IN THE WATERS OF MY OWN SORROW??!?!?!?!??!!?!?! SHE LIVES A SHITTY LIFE IN REHAB AND SHE TRIES SO HARD AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11111111111
There. Now that that’s over, I hope we can all just dry ourselves off and get back to our lives. See, I saw right through that vile trickery. I’m going to continue to defend Britney without checking facts for one bulletproof reason. I’m still pleased with myself for describing her and Ann Coutler as ‘the tea party of unlikely women I’m defending.’ That tea party is going to keep rolling until I get my own cast of “The View” going here. Deal!
So exactly one unexpected person took objection to my ridiculous post about Britney and has devoted several occasions during the past few days to trying to set me right. It seems that when I derived conclusions from an article (stating that she spends less than half her money and has massive existing investment holdings) I was incorrect to assume that this means she is actively saving her money like I claimed.
Beats me. I wouldn’t know. This assertion came with several supporting news links of which I read roughly 0%.
It does kinda seem likely though.
Ok, ok. I’ll do what any mature humor writer would do and stop to take a moment to post an entry designed to correct my er…
WHY CAN’T YOU LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE?!?!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!???????????1111111 WHAT HAS SHE EVER DONE TO YOU BUT GIVE YOU TONS OF GOOD CDS AND MUSIC AND SO MUCH MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111111111 OH MY GOD IT’S LIKE MY WORLD IS COMING TO AN END!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111111111111 MY SOBBING SHAKES THE EARTH LIKE THE TITANS BEFORE US AT THE BIRTH OF HERCU... Wait, sorry, that’s not right at all. Let me pick that back up at “my sobbing.” Ok… MY SOBBING WETS THE EARTH WITH A MILLION EMO TEARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111111111111 WHY MUST I DROWN IN THE WATERS OF MY OWN SORROW??!?!?!?!??!!?!?! SHE LIVES A SHITTY LIFE IN REHAB AND SHE TRIES SO HARD AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11111111111
There. Now that that’s over, I hope we can all just dry ourselves off and get back to our lives. See, I saw right through that vile trickery. I’m going to continue to defend Britney without checking facts for one bulletproof reason. I’m still pleased with myself for describing her and Ann Coutler as ‘the tea party of unlikely women I’m defending.’ That tea party is going to keep rolling until I get my own cast of “The View” going here. Deal!
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Body Odor
I’ve been doing stand-alone blog posts for too long now. Time to bore you all with another on-the-job post!
What follows is a real, unedited email chain I was involved in at work. The humor will appeal mostly to chemists, but I think it might just work for everyone.
Email 1)
From: QC Chemist (a friend of mine)
To: Me & our building’s scheduler (another friend of both of ours)
Dear Mr. Sarcastically Respectful,
How does someone tactfully point out to certain individuals that bathing is more efficient if water and soap are used? Would a bar of soap in their mail box give it away? Do we know what the MSDS is for Lysol, and can it be used as a body deodorant? [MSDS = Material Safety Data Sheet. It’s a list of hazards associated with a chemical compound.]
Any suggestions, let us know.
Email 2)
From: Me
To: All
Good God, I hope that wasn't meant to be a hint. I think I'm going to reserve comment until I figure out who/what is being targeted. I'll have you know until this moment, I thought my deodorant was working totally fine.
Phone Call
From: Building Scheduler
To: Me
[Much laughter, and the revelation that the people in question are a couple of newly-hired Chemists who spend a lot of time in the close-quarters smaller control room.]
Email 3)
From: Me
To: All
I think the only remotely tactful way to handle this would be a mixture of excessive linguistics paired with the pretense of apathetic oblivion. (See!? Already halfway there!)
In other words, you should select any chemists/operators in question and fish their last three or four finished preps [like a recipe, but for chemical production] out of the files. Rubber band them together and attach a sticky note that reads:
"Customers complained of excessive bromhidrosis odors on final product. Side reaction? Can this be removed by longer drying? Edit next revision to try to minimize."
Dump the assembled package into their mailbox and wait three days. If that doesn't make the problem go away, nothing will.
Email 4)
From: QC Chemist
To: All
I think that would take too long and might still not be direct enough.
Maybe we could retro fit the helmets with automatic air fresheners that shoot a spritz of deodorizer every 15 minutes? It would have to be stronger that Febreeze. Or better yet we could hang pine tree car airfresheners from their helmets. That probably would be less expensive.
Email 5)
From: Building Scheduler
To: All
Maybe if we just enclosed them in a Saranex suit for the day, they could deal with it themselves and not expose the rest of us!
Email 6)
From: Me
To: All
I could get quotes to have a vapor purge system installed on the control room HVAC controls, like we have in the process bays.
Email 7)
From: Building Scheduler
To: All
Instead of a vapor purge, can we get a "vac purge" installed? Just suck the air out of that room!
Email 8)
From: Me
To: All
I doubt it would work. I think the whole problem here is that we're dealing with "unscrubbed exhaust." [Engineer joke. Don't worry if you don't get it. But I'm still laughing about it.]
What follows is a real, unedited email chain I was involved in at work. The humor will appeal mostly to chemists, but I think it might just work for everyone.
Email 1)
From: QC Chemist (a friend of mine)
To: Me & our building’s scheduler (another friend of both of ours)
Dear Mr. Sarcastically Respectful,
How does someone tactfully point out to certain individuals that bathing is more efficient if water and soap are used? Would a bar of soap in their mail box give it away? Do we know what the MSDS is for Lysol, and can it be used as a body deodorant? [MSDS = Material Safety Data Sheet. It’s a list of hazards associated with a chemical compound.]
Any suggestions, let us know.
Email 2)
From: Me
To: All
Good God, I hope that wasn't meant to be a hint. I think I'm going to reserve comment until I figure out who/what is being targeted. I'll have you know until this moment, I thought my deodorant was working totally fine.
Phone Call
From: Building Scheduler
To: Me
[Much laughter, and the revelation that the people in question are a couple of newly-hired Chemists who spend a lot of time in the close-quarters smaller control room.]
Email 3)
From: Me
To: All
I think the only remotely tactful way to handle this would be a mixture of excessive linguistics paired with the pretense of apathetic oblivion. (See!? Already halfway there!)
In other words, you should select any chemists/operators in question and fish their last three or four finished preps [like a recipe, but for chemical production] out of the files. Rubber band them together and attach a sticky note that reads:
"Customers complained of excessive bromhidrosis odors on final product. Side reaction? Can this be removed by longer drying? Edit next revision to try to minimize."
Dump the assembled package into their mailbox and wait three days. If that doesn't make the problem go away, nothing will.
Email 4)
From: QC Chemist
To: All
I think that would take too long and might still not be direct enough.
Maybe we could retro fit the helmets with automatic air fresheners that shoot a spritz of deodorizer every 15 minutes? It would have to be stronger that Febreeze. Or better yet we could hang pine tree car airfresheners from their helmets. That probably would be less expensive.
Email 5)
From: Building Scheduler
To: All
Maybe if we just enclosed them in a Saranex suit for the day, they could deal with it themselves and not expose the rest of us!
Email 6)
From: Me
To: All
I could get quotes to have a vapor purge system installed on the control room HVAC controls, like we have in the process bays.
Email 7)
From: Building Scheduler
To: All
Instead of a vapor purge, can we get a "vac purge" installed? Just suck the air out of that room!
Email 8)
From: Me
To: All
I doubt it would work. I think the whole problem here is that we're dealing with "unscrubbed exhaust." [Engineer joke. Don't worry if you don't get it. But I'm still laughing about it.]
Monday, November 5, 2007
Britney Spears Is A Good Mom
My last post about Britney turned out to be a smash hit, despite the fact that I have to look up how to spell her first name every time I think about her. (Not often.) That said, I’ve decided to risk it again and remind you all that you think I’m crazier than she is. I’m going to do this by demonstrating why I think she should keep custody of her kids.
This argument will draw HEAVILY from today’s article in which financial details of her and her husband are revealed. It’s boring, but feel free to read it anyway. http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/us_and_americas/article2792281.ece
Oh wait. Everyone read this already. Nevermind. Let’s continue.
The article was written to try and blast Britney for spending lots of money shamefully and wastefully. My concise summary of this “insightful” observation reads as follows:
“Duh.”
My expanded summary of my take on this is as follows:
“So would you, if you had that kind of money to spend.”
Of course you don’t think that now. You’re busy thinking how horrible I am for suggesting that you could be as decadent and hedonistic as Britney. But I know a lot of you, readers. I’ve seen pictures of most of you drunk off your ass. I’ve seen some of you doze off in a puddle of your own vomit. (Ah, college.) If you’re willing to get drunk off your ass, the only thing seriously stopping you from doing more hardcore substances is a lack of quality control for street drugs. That and the fact that you usually have someplace to be in the morning. You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between rat poison and heroin. Britney has people who do that sort of thing for her, and other people who make sure she arrives where she needs to be on time. [Note: I don’t know what drugs everyone thinks Britney is doing. All I know is that I like how the word “heroin” is spelled.] [Second note: I’m pretty sure a few of you CAN tell the difference between street drugs and rat poison, and do so regularly.] Only very rare people are intrinsically productive and reserved, and it’s usually the result of some sort of childhood trauma. (“Still not clean! Must scrub harder! Still not clean! Must scrub harder!”) I’m not going to demonize Britney for not being one of these people. She’s produced a hell of a lot more in mind-altered haze than most people will in their lifetimes. I base this not off of an aesthetic evaluation of her work, but rather its impact on the GDP. It’s the only fair scale I can think of.
In summary, Britney is about as much of a hedonist as anyone else I know, excepting that she has more regular opportunities. This does not strike me as dangerous yet.
Let’s start sifting through that article I linked above. It complains that Britney gives only $500 per month to charity. That’s not a huge fraction of her income. But let me point out two things on that note:
1) She’s got me beat. My charitable contributions in 2006 were worth less than two grand and were divided between donations to the alma mater and giving away “slightly used” clothes to Goodwill instead of dumping them. She’s probably got you beat for charity too.
2) If I were Britney, I wouldn’t give a cent to any of us whiney bastards or our poor cousins. We as a planet have spent years teaching Britney that there are two types of people in this world:
--Her fans, who obviously have more money than they really needed and aren’t too worried if cynical bloggers can summarize her song lyrics as “ironically undisguised renditions of active pedophilia” for a cheap laugh and
-- Everyone else, who get mental boners reading newspaper articles like the one above.
If I saw the world as a split between two types of people like that, the only charity I’d be giving to would be called, “Dollars for Shoving Things Up the Asses of People Who Don’t Like It, and Removing Things From the Asses of People Who Do.” Again, since I think this is pretty much the name of the charity Britney is giving to, I’m not seeing any real character flaw here. Keep in mind, this blog post is probably the nicest (and still somewhat respectable) thing that will be said about Britney all day. That’s not really the sort of situation that makes you feel charitable. Contrast this with Bill Gates, who gives obscene amounts of money to people constantly. His life is spent going to work where he’s surrounded by super-genius programmers hand-picked from around the globe and going to conferences where his products are used and praised. (Even if you’re a Mac user, you should be aware that this is largely true.) If I lived a life like that, I too would be under the impression that humanity is inherently good, has unlimited potential, and is worthy of getting a kick-start from my own success.
My perspective is actually in the middle. I go through life thinking that people are inherently neither good nor evil. Instead, there are people who go through life tending to break or damage everything and everyone they encounter (the teeming hordes), and a small fraction of people who spend all their time cleaning up the mess and making new things. From my point of view, giving away used items is the perfect charitable compromise. The items have been used sensibly and responsibly, but have reached the point where they can best add the other joy to the world by being taken for granted and abused by the people who are into that sort of thing. I do the same thing with computers and computer parts, but don’t claim this on tax forms. People love computers, but most people think that there is no value in knowing how to use them. These people break them often. They should not be trusted with new ones unless they pay through the teeth for it.
Returning from that digression, let’s finally get to the point. I think Britney should keep custody of her kids. Why do I say that? Two reasons:
1) The kids have three options here. Go home with Mommy, Daddy, or strangers.
2) Mommy is better than Daddy or strangers.
Why is Mommy better? Let’s prove that she’s better than Daddy first. Referencing the above article, Britney manages to save more than half the money she earns. Stop and digest that. Ignoring how much money she spends, she has a 50% savings rate. That is some SERIOUS responsibility right there. I’m not kidding. My savings rate is about 35% and is considered 99.9th percentile. When you consider further that she’s an uber-celebrity, that more or less makes her one of the most responsible people on Earth. Compare this to Daddy. Daddy made about $500,000 last year. After “business expenses,” guess what his annualized salary comes out to be. About $7,000. That’s right. About a years worth of workstudy paychecks. Outstanding. Plus, I think everyone agrees that Daddy appears to be a huge douche. He’s not winning on the personality side of things either.
Why is Mommy better than strangers? Let’s say you were Britney’s kid. Would you like to realize on your 21st birthday that you could have had a life of carefree opulence? With a mom who has an investment strategy that will result in her owning the state of Louisina by the time she’s 45? (I’m being almost serious. It was that little tidbit that inspired me to write an article defending Britney. Her sense of humor is obviously underrated.) But instead, the newspapers decided for you that you had to grow up as “Binky Brown,” ward of the state? Mommy wins.
I am now adding Britney to the two-person list of “Unlikely Celebrities Lake Is Defending.” She and Ann Coulter will have some fascinating tea parties at the weekly get-togethers.
This argument will draw HEAVILY from today’s article in which financial details of her and her husband are revealed. It’s boring, but feel free to read it anyway. http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/us_and_americas/article2792281.ece
Oh wait. Everyone read this already. Nevermind. Let’s continue.
The article was written to try and blast Britney for spending lots of money shamefully and wastefully. My concise summary of this “insightful” observation reads as follows:
“Duh.”
My expanded summary of my take on this is as follows:
“So would you, if you had that kind of money to spend.”
Of course you don’t think that now. You’re busy thinking how horrible I am for suggesting that you could be as decadent and hedonistic as Britney. But I know a lot of you, readers. I’ve seen pictures of most of you drunk off your ass. I’ve seen some of you doze off in a puddle of your own vomit. (Ah, college.) If you’re willing to get drunk off your ass, the only thing seriously stopping you from doing more hardcore substances is a lack of quality control for street drugs. That and the fact that you usually have someplace to be in the morning. You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between rat poison and heroin. Britney has people who do that sort of thing for her, and other people who make sure she arrives where she needs to be on time. [Note: I don’t know what drugs everyone thinks Britney is doing. All I know is that I like how the word “heroin” is spelled.] [Second note: I’m pretty sure a few of you CAN tell the difference between street drugs and rat poison, and do so regularly.] Only very rare people are intrinsically productive and reserved, and it’s usually the result of some sort of childhood trauma. (“Still not clean! Must scrub harder! Still not clean! Must scrub harder!”) I’m not going to demonize Britney for not being one of these people. She’s produced a hell of a lot more in mind-altered haze than most people will in their lifetimes. I base this not off of an aesthetic evaluation of her work, but rather its impact on the GDP. It’s the only fair scale I can think of.
In summary, Britney is about as much of a hedonist as anyone else I know, excepting that she has more regular opportunities. This does not strike me as dangerous yet.
Let’s start sifting through that article I linked above. It complains that Britney gives only $500 per month to charity. That’s not a huge fraction of her income. But let me point out two things on that note:
1) She’s got me beat. My charitable contributions in 2006 were worth less than two grand and were divided between donations to the alma mater and giving away “slightly used” clothes to Goodwill instead of dumping them. She’s probably got you beat for charity too.
2) If I were Britney, I wouldn’t give a cent to any of us whiney bastards or our poor cousins. We as a planet have spent years teaching Britney that there are two types of people in this world:
--Her fans, who obviously have more money than they really needed and aren’t too worried if cynical bloggers can summarize her song lyrics as “ironically undisguised renditions of active pedophilia” for a cheap laugh and
-- Everyone else, who get mental boners reading newspaper articles like the one above.
If I saw the world as a split between two types of people like that, the only charity I’d be giving to would be called, “Dollars for Shoving Things Up the Asses of People Who Don’t Like It, and Removing Things From the Asses of People Who Do.” Again, since I think this is pretty much the name of the charity Britney is giving to, I’m not seeing any real character flaw here. Keep in mind, this blog post is probably the nicest (and still somewhat respectable) thing that will be said about Britney all day. That’s not really the sort of situation that makes you feel charitable. Contrast this with Bill Gates, who gives obscene amounts of money to people constantly. His life is spent going to work where he’s surrounded by super-genius programmers hand-picked from around the globe and going to conferences where his products are used and praised. (Even if you’re a Mac user, you should be aware that this is largely true.) If I lived a life like that, I too would be under the impression that humanity is inherently good, has unlimited potential, and is worthy of getting a kick-start from my own success.
My perspective is actually in the middle. I go through life thinking that people are inherently neither good nor evil. Instead, there are people who go through life tending to break or damage everything and everyone they encounter (the teeming hordes), and a small fraction of people who spend all their time cleaning up the mess and making new things. From my point of view, giving away used items is the perfect charitable compromise. The items have been used sensibly and responsibly, but have reached the point where they can best add the other joy to the world by being taken for granted and abused by the people who are into that sort of thing. I do the same thing with computers and computer parts, but don’t claim this on tax forms. People love computers, but most people think that there is no value in knowing how to use them. These people break them often. They should not be trusted with new ones unless they pay through the teeth for it.
Returning from that digression, let’s finally get to the point. I think Britney should keep custody of her kids. Why do I say that? Two reasons:
1) The kids have three options here. Go home with Mommy, Daddy, or strangers.
2) Mommy is better than Daddy or strangers.
Why is Mommy better? Let’s prove that she’s better than Daddy first. Referencing the above article, Britney manages to save more than half the money she earns. Stop and digest that. Ignoring how much money she spends, she has a 50% savings rate. That is some SERIOUS responsibility right there. I’m not kidding. My savings rate is about 35% and is considered 99.9th percentile. When you consider further that she’s an uber-celebrity, that more or less makes her one of the most responsible people on Earth. Compare this to Daddy. Daddy made about $500,000 last year. After “business expenses,” guess what his annualized salary comes out to be. About $7,000. That’s right. About a years worth of workstudy paychecks. Outstanding. Plus, I think everyone agrees that Daddy appears to be a huge douche. He’s not winning on the personality side of things either.
Why is Mommy better than strangers? Let’s say you were Britney’s kid. Would you like to realize on your 21st birthday that you could have had a life of carefree opulence? With a mom who has an investment strategy that will result in her owning the state of Louisina by the time she’s 45? (I’m being almost serious. It was that little tidbit that inspired me to write an article defending Britney. Her sense of humor is obviously underrated.) But instead, the newspapers decided for you that you had to grow up as “Binky Brown,” ward of the state? Mommy wins.
I am now adding Britney to the two-person list of “Unlikely Celebrities Lake Is Defending.” She and Ann Coulter will have some fascinating tea parties at the weekly get-togethers.
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