Category: America

Mr. Dan Kelly Urban Etiquette Discussion #843765

I always wonder what the thought process is behind this. Machismo/male privilege? A lack of basic urban etiquette? An inflated sense of one’s size (the dude is big, but, at most, he “needs” two side-by-side seats)? Cultural differences (e.g., “Bah! Women are second-class humans!” or “In Gmöszk, where I am coming from, life is hard and one must prevent the wimmens, cripples, childrens, and non-Gmöszkeans from sitting down, else they grow uppitys!”)?

Personally, I ascribe it to mental deficiency. Not full-blown cognitive impairment. Just a general, dim-witted lack of perception of others, selfishness, a misplaced sense of persecution, and an allergy to acting decently because it would be “inconvenient.”

An example. I once stood up on an asses-to-elbows crowded train to give an elderly lady my seat, and a guy, about as big as this fellow and listening to his tiny electronic music box, grabbed the seat as she started to sit down. I looked at him, gobsmacked, then said: 

”Hey, buddy. I was giving the seat to this lady.”

He looked at me blankly, nodded sharply, causing his jowls to jiggle, and then said, “Oh, okay.” Nothing behind his eyes. Just marshmallow fluff.

Then he remained seated while the woman, the surrounding people, and I all stared at him. He wasn’t threatening, so I said, “Uh, hey, guy. Why not give her the seat?”

He then cleverly outwitted me by keeping his head down and ignoring us. Another gentleman two seats behind me got up and let the lady sit. I kept staring at the idiot the whole way home. He never looked up. I figured it was a combination of low intelligence, bad parenting, and, mostly, embarrassment, which always, ALWAYS fades when you continue to act like an ass. Yeah.

Mostly, these people (men) probably do it because they think most folks wouldn’t bother to confront them (not out of fear, just from a sense that it’s not worth it to mix it up with them; and then there’s the asinine/horrifying attitude that infects our country: “What if he/she has a GUN?”).

But then again… why do they do it? How does it benefit them? If you ride, say, the Blue line, from end to end, you’ll be on the train no more than 30 to 40 minutes. Unless you’re toting heavy objects, and/or you’re physically impaired, you don’t suffer much more than a minor foot cramp by scrunching into a seat.

My friend Kathy once suggested it was because they suffered from severe enlargement of the testicles. Poor souls. Let’s take up a collection.

Later Note: After reading more of the site, I’d like to add that it is hilarious to hear the “But men need to spread their legs because their junk is in the way!” Ladies, in case you were wondering, that’s a load of bollocks (chuckle, snicker). We’re not toting steel rods and bowling balls down there. They’re semi-squishable—at least enough to sit down with our knees together.

Cryyyyyyyyying, OOoooooverrrrrr Yooouuuuuuuuu!

The surprise that Obama would choke up (“show emotion,” as ABC’s site refers to it) while thanking his staffers reminds me of the older relatives who think of me as one of those “new fathers”—that is, a guy who’s deeply involved in raising his kids. They mean it admiringly, but it’s funny that in 2012 some folks still react as if it’s a rare and unusual thing. Crying tears of joy and pride? Staying home to change your kids’ diapers, play with them, and teach them? INCROYABLE!

Of course, most people in my circle think, “Wow, that Obama. What a mensch!” I find it nice to know that society’s opinions about “proper” male behavior are changing for the better. I’m not saying we should be bawling all the time, guys, and fretting about our lack of life-giving milk production ability (from what my wife and lady friends tell me, breasts are a pain in the ass—so, we dodged that boobular bullet). I just think a real man (and hell, a real woman) should be able to survive in wild with nothing more than a pen knife and a single match, AND willing to get a little weepy while delivering a wedding toast.

We require a new definition for “man up.”

Cliff Fiscal (Not Pictured)

Yeah, I went to school with Cliff Fiscal. Weird kid. He’d turn up out of nowhere at parties he wasn’t invited to, and you could never get him to leave. He’d never bring anything, of course, but he’d constantly wonder aloud if we’d have enough food and drinks to last the night—not that he’d make a beer or food run, of course. The worst part was how he’d spend most of the party talking with the other guests, sharing his paranoia and saying things like, “Boy, I SURE hope this porch we’re on doesn’t collapse.” or “Man, if this place caught on fire, we’d ALL fucking DIE.” or “You know what that black line is up the shrimp’s back? Feces.” Some of the jocks thought it was funny to watch him creep out the guests, so they took him on as a kind of mascot. “Heyyyyy! Didn’t you invite, Fiscal? I’ll call him up! Good ol’ Cliff Fiscal!” What dicks. God, I hated that kid.

“Big Deal! It’s Not Like You Old People Vote Anyway!”

I wonder if the GOP realizes that the crop of candidates they’ve been grooming all these years—the guys and gals who truly believe Ayn Rand was on to something, and think perpetually steamrolling austerity over the middle- and lower-classes is not only a good idea but also a NEW one—are hollow-headed, starry-eyed morons; dare I say it, the right-wing equivalent of anarchist hippies? I’m pulling Rahm and his ilk into the mix as well. These folks seem to think you can rise to power by telling your underlings and constituents, “I’m the boss, see? And what I say goes, see?” without:

1. Engaging in any sort of quid pro quo.

2. Knowing that if they piss off a large enough segment of the population, those people will eventually organize and vote their ass out of office.

3. Understanding that government employees aren’t necessarily cult members. The lower ranks will fight you in small but slowly effective ways if you mess with them. Like termites nibbling away at a bridge.

4. Frankly, becoming a dangerous tyrannical lunatic. Fortunately, as yet, the system doesn’t allow for that (we mostly get dangerous dummies and calculating greedbags), but who knows what will happen when a real True Believer gets elected?).

I remember the journalistic trend back in the 90s and 00s of interviewing young conservatives. The “Isn’t he/she CUTE?” pieces that should have spent most of their ink badgering and battering the little freaks until they cried and gave up. As it stands, we’ve got a slew of nimrods and nimronnies coming up, filled with excessive self-esteem; a lack of comprehension about diplomacy and tact; an embarrassing pride in their lack of education and empathy; and the sick, sick, sick belief that leadership means screaming at people and kicking them when they’re down.

Get ready, Republicans and Democrats. We’re going to be sifting through this chaff for the next 20 or so years.

I Am Unhappy! What Are YOU Going to Do About It!?!

There’s a certain type of leftyish pundit/commenter who strikes me as the sort who hangs out with you only to bitch about how you’ve failed him. He comes over, raids the fridge, and complains that you never stock the kind of beer and food HE likes. Then he strides around and critiques your books, furniture, art, clothes, and anything else he comes across. Finally, he looks out your window and says that where you live is a shithole, the people are gross, dirty, banal, and uneducated and why, why, WHY  aren’t you out there every day doing something to improve it and them, so he can come over, drink your beer, critique your possessions, and… and… relax? Hmmmm, that last one doesn’t seem likely, does it?

Eventually, you understand he doesn’t want you to achieve some apotheosis of human perfection or be a force for positive change. He has no real solutions beyond saying, “Just don’t DO that.” What he wants is for everyone to be just like him. A big, crabby, pain in the ass motivated not by compassion, intellect, or taste. Just misanthropy, self-disgust, and a soul-crushing case of nirvana fallacy.

Yes, they are right. And yes, they are goading you toward admirable ends, but DO NOT EXPECT these people to ever say, “Well done!” Else, they will gradually wear you down to a sarcastic nub with their absurdly high expectations and a sense of righteousness based entirely on the roach scrabbling up their ass.

AmeriCCCa

For a country largely composed of the descendants of individuals unwanted elsewhere, and who, in their native lands, would probably be hip-deep in each others’ blood—yet who have managed to slowly craft this country into a democracy emulated by other nations suffering under or snapping back from centuries of idiotic notions like monarchies, dictatorships, and socialist-in-name-only autocracies—we’re doing pretty well in the U.S.

Yes, things are sweeter in the homogenized faraway lands, with freebies and freedoms galore and, fine, better food. But I guarantee you, if you carve into the sweet creamy avocado of their tolerant history… you’ll find a bit of rot. You’ll discover they were slaughtering their neighbors over a few extra tracts of land; kicking out or liquidating their country’s original inhabitants because God told them to; torturing folks for having the wrong religion, hat, or haircut; selling off humans they defeated in war or rounded up; discriminating to horrifying mental, physical, and emotional degrees against their womenfolk; and the like. Why is the U.S.A. such a haven for bigotry, imperialism, and greed? Well, we had excellent teachers. Hell, most of them got the ball rolling here in the states. But that was all in the past, you say? Why not ask them how they’re treating their immigrants lately?

Which is not to say that there isn’t tremendous room for improvement in America. Oh, God yes, we suck in so many embarrassing ways. But please admit that we have always, however slowly, progressed positively. Yes, the douchebags are occasionally in power, the Amurrikan people can done be kinda stoopid en masse, and change hasn’t come fast enough, but come on, things are always getting better here. But it calls for constant positive action, less reflexive cynicism, and a little more faith in what we’re capable of.

Every now and then I remember sitting on top of my roof with my dad every Independence Day, watching the fireworks in the surrounding burgs. One year, Dad pointed at the neighbor’s flag, flapping proudly in the breeze. Our neighbor set up the flag to commemorate (if I heard the story right) his two brothers, who lost their lives in the Pacific Theater during WWII. Once the flag was stolen by pranksters. Our neighbor  quietly posted the above story on the flagpole. Within a day the flag was restored.

“There, Dan,” said my dad by the rockets’ red glare. “That’s America.”

Certainly, it was only one aspect of my country. A simplistic one. But I understood what he was getting at. It was about a feeling. One not easily put into words, and not readily dismissed.

Just some sappy, sugary food for thought.