Tag Archives: respect

Gone To The Dogs, Baby, Gone

dog-art-is-not-deadI’m back in office (or, as I like to call it The Love Den) after a weekend of travel. Maybe I’ll do a travel post. Or maybe, like always, I’ll plan on it and never get it done. Anyway, this is my first post in a few days that wasn’t written by breaking my fingers on a tiny electronic keyboard on an iPad. As such, I’m pretty happy. -Ed.

Are things getting better or worse? My personal theory is that things have always been shitty and it’s a remarkably consistent thing. Were people more “evil” in medieval times or in present day? My guess is that both were about the same. The only difference is that we think things should be better today and when they’re not our brains incorrectly interpret the difference between reality and perception expectations as some kind of disconnect.

Our helpless brains then think things like, “Things are going to hell.” Only they’re not. The more things change the more they remain the same.

I remember when I was a kid. A service dog was something limited to blind and deaf people. These were highly trained animals that were rarely seen in public. And when they were nobody questioned their legitimacy. Why would we? What kind of freaking asshole would you have to be to take advantage of laws for disabled just because you want your pet to tag along when you go shopping or out to eat?

We also used words like “please” and “thank you” and held open doors for other people.

In today’s world an amazing number of us have no such ethical quandaries. We want something ergo the ends justifies the means. Period. The only criteria that must be met is that we want it. And, let’s be honest, that’s a pretty darn low standard to meet.

Park in a disabled parking space? I’ve never done it once in my life. A few months back I fell out of a boat and smashed my ankle on a rock while whitewater rafting. The damn thing still hurts like hell. I could have asked my doctor (if I had one) to fill out the paperwork for a temporary permit. Why the hell would I? I can limp the extra 20-50 feet just fine. What kind of an amazing prick must you be to think you are entitled to take a parking space from someone who really needs it.

I recently spoke with a person who freely admitted to doing it. And why wouldn’t they? In their mind there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. No recognition of ethical boundaries translated into no reticence about freely admitting what they had done. Their brain literally couldn’t comprehend their might be something wrong with such behavior. It would conflict with The Want.

This same person, though, had a major issue about people touching her dog. The dog is high strung and has a lot of anxiety. It doesn’t like to be touched except on its own terms. But when she took the dog out in public, like grower’s markets, strangers would pet the dog without asking and without permission. This was greatly upsetting to her.

Later, she took us to a public park where there were signs posted that said, “No dogs allowed.” It never crossed her mind that her dog shouldn’t be there. Run loose, doggie. Be free!

Her mind was literally incapable of discerning the reality of her beliefs and actions. Under one set of mores people were rude assholes for breaking rules and in the other she saw nothing wrong with her behavior. Both were able to sit comfortably in her brain at the same time and she never noticed anything wrong about it.

When I lived in San Diego I had a daughter who was deathly afraid of dogs. They would make her scream, shiver and become emotionally withdrawn. The fear may not have been realistic or logical but it existed nevertheless. As such, we didn’t take her to public spaces like dog parks. We’d search out public parks where dogs were prohibited. There was one of these near the ocean where we liked to go to fly kites.

There were other dog-friendly places. They even had their own beach. But invariably someone would show up and unload their dogs and let them run free. The dogs would rapidly approach us and the owners would say things like, “Don’t mind Fluffy. He would never hurt anyone.” Well I guess we have your word on that, don’t we? The word of a known criminal. Meanwhile the day was ruined, for us, with my young daughter back at the car and wetting her pants.

Well played. You get your dog area for backup and our space as your primary. You probably didn’t want to go there because there were too many dogs, right?

So are we bigger assholes to each other today or does it only seem that way? We certainly seem more narcissistic and masturbatory. But back then there less rule of law and other things in abundance like slavery, racism, gender oppression, genocide and more. Maybe as a society all we’ve done is redistribute the evil in new and interesting ways? Maybe the amount always must remain constant?

Airlocket Sonnet with my Easter Bonnet

Credit: Neil Armstrong/NASA

Credit: Neil Armstrong/NASA

Today I offer a simple space sonnet dedicated to me and you.

Imagine that we are standing together in an airlock. The situation is obvious. Between us and the cold reality of space is a door. And on the wall is a button. It’s the button. You know, the one that controls the door.

Let’s explore the possibilities together. Think of it like a cakewalk in space.

  1. I have helmet, you do not: This one’s a no-brainer. I push the button. I mean, how often does life provide a chance like this? You have to take it. Space is incredibly empty. I hope you enjoy the irony that it’s about to contain your brains.
  2. You have a helmet, I do not: You just love having one over on me, don’t you? Quite simply life isn’t worth living knowing that you have something that I do not. I push the button. I hope you can live with yourself, you helmet-owning bastard.
  3. Neither of us has a helmet: Now this is quite the pickle. What to do, what to do? Ultimately, and don’t take this personally, but I’ll squeak out some famous last words about gooses and ganders and then pound that button with style and flair. Because, you and I are going to be hanging out for a while.
  4. Both of us have a helmet: Sigh. This is all so tedious and pointless, isn’t it? Sure, I could push the button, but so what? What does it matter? Nothing would change. It’s not even worth the damn effort. It just makes me angry. So I’m not pushing anything. Do what you want. I don’t care.

By the way, according to Wikipedia, a space suit costs $12 million USD and has a mass of 47 pounds (21 kg) without the life support backpack, but how much fun is that? That might seem expensive for just one suit but remember: It comes with two pairs of pants*.

*A very old José Jiménez joke.

Cramazon Dot Com #drabble #amazon

cramazonCramazon Dot Com
by Tom B. Taker

Half-way through the shift and I was behind schedule. Panting, blisters popping, I paused for a 15-second break.

The urgent alerts from the GPS strapped to my head couldn’t shake the bliss.

Six seconds later the floor manager showed up. “That’s it,” he said. “This is a verbal.”

The GPS parroted the threat. “Verbal! Verbal!”

“Two more and you’re fired!”

Humans weren’t meant to micromanaged to the nanosecond by computers. I snapped. My lightning fast quick draw would have been enough to take out Wyatt Earp himself.

I scanned him right in the face. He screamed. I ran.

A drabble is a short storm form consisting of exactly 100 words.

Dear Guru: Offended

dearguru

Dear Guru,

I feel offended.

Signed,
Offended

That’s not much of a question but I’ll take what I can get. -Ed.
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Apple Bamboo

iphone-jerkWe recently hosted a quasi-invited guest. (She sort of invited herself. It was a Thanksgiving kind of thing.) We took this person downtown for shopping, out to dinner and put her up for the night. But this guest wasn’t alone. She was possessed of an uninvited interloper. It was an iPhone.

Introducing the “bamboo” sound.

DA-DA DA-DA DINT DA! Thwap!

The sound was a lot like that coffee commercial jingle only a lot more woody, with a strong, robust finish. It was like Juan Valdez had chugged too much tequila and was getting jiggy on the marimbas.

DA-DA DA-DA DINT DA! Thwap!

That sound haunts me. It chases me in my dreams, where it is the size of the Death Star and I’m running but making no progress. “The rebel base will be in range in 15 minutes.” Only, in this dream, there was no Luke Skywalker to eject a torpedo pulse into a tiny little hole and save the day. The floating space-suited black helmet dudes fired that sucker and blew me and my planet up. And guess what? The sound the Death Star beam made? It was the iPhone bamboo.
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Garden Party

facebook-privacyI went to a garden party to reminisce with my old friends
A chance to share old memories and play our songs again
When I got to the garden party, they all knew my name
No one recognized me, I didn’t look the same
But it’s all right now, I learned my lesson well
You see, ya can’t please everyone, so ya got to please yourself

–Ricky Nelson

Let’s just say that I’m not the most social wildebeest in the herd. Ya think? So when an invitation comes my way it’s a big, big decision. A really big decision. Monumental. Did I mention yet that it is big?

Of course I don’t want to go. That’s a given. That part is never open to debate. The only question is should I go? Put in an appearance, as it were. My normal procedure, if I go at all, is to keep it as brief as possible before doing The Slink.

For argument’s sake, let’s say the decision has been made. (It could happen.) What then?

The Slink is my trademark move. One minute I’m there and then. Poof. Hey! Has anyone seen Tom in a while?

I don’t believe in goodbyes at parties. It creates a commotion, focuses undue attention (I’m not a narcissist in real life) and can take 90 minutes or more. The Slink is the much preferable option.

But before I could activate the magical powers of The Slink something else happened. Something very untoward. Of course, great umbrage and acrimony was involved. Curious? Well load up the fucking Facebook. I’m sure you can read all about it.
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Resignates Man

resignate“Are you not intertwined?” shouted the gladiator. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “What we do at our job resignates in eternity.”

Yeah, it does feel that way sometimes. Luckily my craft doesn’t rely too heavily on proper grammar and fancy so-called “dictionary” words. Hey, just like my blog.

Yes, I’ve called this mandatory staff meeting to discuss resignation origami. (See inset picture.) In the spirit of multitasking this is also my ode to the Pope. To ensure professionalism at all times I hired Phil Mickelson as a consultant.

My research indicates that when it comes to quitting a job there are a few factors that are (allegedly) paramount:

  • Give two weeks notice, more if possible
  • Don’t burn your bridges
  • Write a letter of resignation
  • Be respectful
  • Be diplomatic
  • Be tactful
  • Stay professional
  • Offer to help

In other words, try to hold yourself to a standard higher than your employer ever showed you. Shit always flows downhill. Apparently, when quitting, the reverse is also true. Gold nuggets are supposed to defy gravity.

Ugh.

But, even so, behold the awesome power of a properly wielded Letter of Resignation (LoR) which automatically confers +7 intelligence and enhanced saving rolls.

More of my observations on this bit of arcane power will magically appear after the jump.
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