I know a lot of writers who also blog.
I know a lot of bloggers who also do things other than write.
For the sake of general clarification, when I say “I know” I don’t always mean it in a “we’ve-had-coffee-or-latkes-together” way. Some of us really only know one another via our writing and that teeny tiny photo. We are each other’s biggest fans and harshest critics. It’s what makes it easy to post scathing comments from our readers. But I digress…
So there’s this blogger-“friend” of mine, not so much a participant as a lurker, who is stealing my hard thought, vodka-sopped, painstakingly written ideas.
[Sidebar: I’m going to try to remain gender neutral here so please forgive the use of random pronouns.]
This person reads my work, cleans up the language, dumbs down the idea, then repeats it using flowery adjectives. Really? Is this what the world of online writing has come to? You can’t have an original thought without it being shoplifted, only to see it turn up in another store? And the really shitty bit is that sometimes, I actually like this person’s version. Not very often mind you because frankly I don’t believe he/she/it has the life experience and general wherewithal to fully appreciate my perspective. And of course, since it was my idea/thought/rant to begin with, I can only assume that the style is stolen, too.
I’m not so sure imitation is the sincerest form of flattery in the case of writing. I feel violated and I’m not certain why. I mean, this isn’t out and out plagiarism. That, my friends, would bring down a wrath of fury unlike any to be court recorded since…
*decides probably not allowed to discuss that yet*
Where was I…
Right. This isn’t so much plagiarism as it is…. personality theft. Now why people would want to steal one instead of developing their own, I can’t begin to imagine.
Weird as it seems, we all know at least one person who morphs into the people he/she spends time with. I know this guy – let's call him Fred – who is a master at this and I’m not sure he even knows. The crazy thing is, way back in the beginning, when we first met, I thought he had the best personality. Fred was interesting and funny and had opinions that belonged to him, not the people around him. I haven’t seen “that guy” in a long time. Which is a shame, really. People are so much more attractive and compelling when they’re not busy stealing someone else’s personality/mannerisms/ideas/opinions/cadence/shoes.
In a world where the boundaries that used to separate people are blurring at a nearly phenomenal rate, being different and original is an asset. Long gone is the “in crowd.” It’s been replaced by supremely interesting people who think unassisted.
I’ve decided that the only real remedy for my malady is to stay away from everything written by the thief. I’m just going to suck it up and hope that they aren’t selling the material… for her sake.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
What Do You Wanna Be?
“I’ll ask a kid, ‘What do you want to be?’ and no one has ever told me, ‘I want to be a dope dealer.’ They all want to be somebody; they want to be something.” ~ Oral Lee “Mama” Brown
I guess I've never really thought about it…
*mulls*
Well of course no one grows up saying they want to be a dope dealer! People don't grow up saying they want to be the biggest gossip on the block, or a manipulative cad either. And yet… there they are: opportunists who degrade good deeds or prey on other’s misfortune in an effort to elevate themselves away from their personal failures.
I’ve thought about how opportunity breeds success – and also how it can breed contempt, false ego, jealousy, hate, love, and disappointment. Pretty slippery slope if you ask me.
Semi-interesting thought: do we measure our success based on other people’s failure? I’m in no way condoning the use or distribution of mood altering illegal substances here, but for the sake of argument, is the dealer a success when he’s the first in his family to own a car? Or a failure based on his means of procurement?
Am I a success because I write every day, or a failure because I haven’t finished my book?
Are you a success because you “won” an argument, or a failure for not acting like a grown-up?
I was once told – by the least likely of people – to stop being disappointed when friends turn out to be merely opportunists. Man, there’s some advice I should’ve heeded! But I didn’t. I’m still stupidly compelled to believe in people, to give them the opportunity to be who they always wanted to be, or to use a mulligan. I learned this from my sister.
When I was little I wanted to be Miss America, a Kansas City Chiefette, a junior high school teacher, a movie star, a singer, a lawyer, a US senator, an orphan, a dancer, or a writer. I suppose three out of ten isn’t so bad, but still… none were quite how I imagined.
I guess that’s the point, really.
We all wanted to be something when we were small, but opportunity or chance or luck or good timing or bad timing or a left turn or a question or a person or a tragedy or love… changed what we wanted to become, into who we would become.
Own it. Change it. Live it. Embrace it or toss it away. It’s a life of your own making. I don't believe it’s ever too late to start again.
"It's never too late to be who you might have been." ~ George Eliot
Mulligan!
I guess I've never really thought about it…
*mulls*
Well of course no one grows up saying they want to be a dope dealer! People don't grow up saying they want to be the biggest gossip on the block, or a manipulative cad either. And yet… there they are: opportunists who degrade good deeds or prey on other’s misfortune in an effort to elevate themselves away from their personal failures.
I’ve thought about how opportunity breeds success – and also how it can breed contempt, false ego, jealousy, hate, love, and disappointment. Pretty slippery slope if you ask me.
Semi-interesting thought: do we measure our success based on other people’s failure? I’m in no way condoning the use or distribution of mood altering illegal substances here, but for the sake of argument, is the dealer a success when he’s the first in his family to own a car? Or a failure based on his means of procurement?
Am I a success because I write every day, or a failure because I haven’t finished my book?
Are you a success because you “won” an argument, or a failure for not acting like a grown-up?
I was once told – by the least likely of people – to stop being disappointed when friends turn out to be merely opportunists. Man, there’s some advice I should’ve heeded! But I didn’t. I’m still stupidly compelled to believe in people, to give them the opportunity to be who they always wanted to be, or to use a mulligan. I learned this from my sister.
When I was little I wanted to be Miss America, a Kansas City Chiefette, a junior high school teacher, a movie star, a singer, a lawyer, a US senator, an orphan, a dancer, or a writer. I suppose three out of ten isn’t so bad, but still… none were quite how I imagined.
I guess that’s the point, really.
We all wanted to be something when we were small, but opportunity or chance or luck or good timing or bad timing or a left turn or a question or a person or a tragedy or love… changed what we wanted to become, into who we would become.
Own it. Change it. Live it. Embrace it or toss it away. It’s a life of your own making. I don't believe it’s ever too late to start again.
"It's never too late to be who you might have been." ~ George Eliot
Mulligan!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Fathers
I think every grown woman has a memory of dancing with her father as a little girl. Standing on his shoes and learning the waltz…My dad taught me to waltz. He taught me all of the waltzes. He taught me the quick step and the tango. I learned to mambo and merengue. These were not his dances, but he thought it was important for me to know them just the same.
He was a dancer. I would become a dancer, too. Seven days a week were spent in the studio – sometimes for an hour; sometimes for six or eight. It was all about technique. I was short for this vocation so everything had to be bigger, better, more dynamic and more acrobatic. When my quadruple pirouette was perfect, he insisted on five, then six, and ultimately nine – because he believed that no one would ever expect me to do ten perfectly balanced rotations.
My arabesques needed to be higher, longer. My back had to be strong enough to support elegant overhead positions, and flexible enough to catch myself if… when… I fell. Arms were to be graceful, yet powerful; hands delicate yet firm. My feet should turn both out and in with equal ease. I would jump higher, stay suspended longer, and master the art of silently returning to the floor.
I would take more classes every week in the studio than I did in school. I would miss formals and football games in order to take Master Classes with renowned teachers. He would beam at my successes, and walk me through the places where I failed. Side by side we would eat sandwich lunches, setting them down from time to time to try something new… often times forgetting about them altogether.
So much discipline…
Though I no longer dance, except for my own enjoyment, I remain dedicated to all I was taught. I was given the tools to push on and dig deeper when I felt I had nothing left; to try again when I’d already fallen time after time; to stand tall and out of my hips in the face of adversity.
I miss my dad. I miss our sandwiches. I miss dancing on his shoes…
Happy Father's Day.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Retrosexual Man
I’m in love with the Retrosexual Man!
No, he’s not just a Metrosexual in a great hat. This is a man of the most Frank Sinatra and James Bond ilk. And much to the delight and breathlessness of women everywhere, he’s making a magnificent resurgence.
I think that in a world where men use course language as a matter of casual conversation, and picking up the check means somebody is “putting out” later, we could use an influx of good old-fashioned manliness - a Menaissance. Here’s my take on the whole thing.
“Good manners will open doors that the best education cannot.” ~ Clarence Thomas
Boys, include bedroom doors because I promise you, we don’t care how many degrees you have hanging on your office wall, if you act like a buffoon or lord your knowledge of French literature over a woman, you’re only locking yourself out in the hallway. Good manners - not just the “show” of manners - and the understanding that treating others with dignity and respect is the truest sign of a man in charge. And chicks dig that.
Every man should be able to save his own life… and mine. According to Earle Liederman in Endurance (1926):
“Every man should be able to save his own life. He should be able to swim far enough, run fast and long enough to save his life in case of emergency and necessity. He also should be able to chin himself a reasonable number of times, as well as dip a number of times, and he should be able to jump a reasonable height and distance.”
… or pay to have someone on call to take care of these things!
I’ve never been one of those ridiculous girls to get salty if a man holds a door, picks up a check, assists with a coat, or in any way treats me with the respect due a lady. Quite to the contrary, those gentlemen are held in very high regard, indeed. They’re not looking for my approval, and I’m not looking to be in a situation where I have to give it. They’re confident in who they are already, which means I’m not going to be expected to coo and ego-stroke.
The Retrosexual Man wears a suit that fits properly. His shoes are shined and in good repair. He’s showered, shaven, combed, and smells like a man… not like he just cruised the cologne counter at Bloomingdale’s for a date. He does not show up at the door in torn anything or with exposed toes. (The only exception to the sandal rule is if the destination is the beach or pool-side.)
He thinks before he speaks and he does so without the need for grand gestures or the kind of language that would get one expelled from school. At least not in mixed company! He doesn’t speak using filler words such as “like” or “ya know” or “um” because he knows that doing so implies he isn’t confident in what he’s saying. He commands a room quietly by placing his focus on other people instead of himself. He’s engaging. He’ll ask you to dance when no one else is; he knows how to take the lead. Honestly girls, isn’t it nice to not be in charge for awhile?
Those manly-men we love from old movies didn’t go for the weeping willow of a girl. Oh sure, he’d take her out, but he wasn’t looking to spend more than a few sweaty nights in her company. They were looking for the strong, independent, wise and sometimes wise-cracking gal who could hold her own, or hold her tongue – her decision.
Just so I’m clear, this Retrosexual Man movement isn’t about getting women barefooted and back into the kitchen. These men want us to keep what we worked for – it’s what they love about us. But I suspect the old adage, “there’s no such thing as a free lunch” does come into play. Though I haven’t found any of these gentlemen to say it out loud, it’s time to remember that there’s a feminine side to feminism. Take off your boyfriend-cut jeans and tank top, and slip into a pretty dress from time to time. Cover your ass crack and get rid of that muffin-top. Clean up your language and find a lipstick that suits you. Put your drama in a journal instead of using your outdoor voice in a crowded room. Learn to hold your liquor. Spend an afternoon with the Grand Matriarch of your family for a refresher course in charm and table manners. It’s a very small price to pay to spend time with a man of quality.
I suppose there will be some backlash from this movement but I suspect it’ll come from insecure women who believe their only power is in their title… whatever that might be.
Here’s my idea. How about instead of trying to turn men into women, we celebrate masculinity so we can quit losing our salon and manicure appointments to Guidos and the like. Let boys be boys. Remind men to be men. I think we have a real have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too opportunity, girls!
For those of you who looking to strike out for additional information, I beg of you to disregard this wildly personal and crazily macho dissertation called the Retrosexual Code of Ethics. Its self-serving, gun-waving, down-on-your-knees propaganda is a wreck. Instead, Google yourself a little Brett McKay or see him at WithLeather – a very guy-oriented “girls, t.v., and sports” site. Discover The Art of Manliness, though be advised that it’s somewhat tongue-in-cheek in my opinion.
No, he’s not just a Metrosexual in a great hat. This is a man of the most Frank Sinatra and James Bond ilk. And much to the delight and breathlessness of women everywhere, he’s making a magnificent resurgence.
I think that in a world where men use course language as a matter of casual conversation, and picking up the check means somebody is “putting out” later, we could use an influx of good old-fashioned manliness - a Menaissance. Here’s my take on the whole thing.
“Good manners will open doors that the best education cannot.” ~ Clarence Thomas
Boys, include bedroom doors because I promise you, we don’t care how many degrees you have hanging on your office wall, if you act like a buffoon or lord your knowledge of French literature over a woman, you’re only locking yourself out in the hallway. Good manners - not just the “show” of manners - and the understanding that treating others with dignity and respect is the truest sign of a man in charge. And chicks dig that.
Every man should be able to save his own life… and mine. According to Earle Liederman in Endurance (1926):
“Every man should be able to save his own life. He should be able to swim far enough, run fast and long enough to save his life in case of emergency and necessity. He also should be able to chin himself a reasonable number of times, as well as dip a number of times, and he should be able to jump a reasonable height and distance.”
… or pay to have someone on call to take care of these things!
I’ve never been one of those ridiculous girls to get salty if a man holds a door, picks up a check, assists with a coat, or in any way treats me with the respect due a lady. Quite to the contrary, those gentlemen are held in very high regard, indeed. They’re not looking for my approval, and I’m not looking to be in a situation where I have to give it. They’re confident in who they are already, which means I’m not going to be expected to coo and ego-stroke.
The Retrosexual Man wears a suit that fits properly. His shoes are shined and in good repair. He’s showered, shaven, combed, and smells like a man… not like he just cruised the cologne counter at Bloomingdale’s for a date. He does not show up at the door in torn anything or with exposed toes. (The only exception to the sandal rule is if the destination is the beach or pool-side.)
He thinks before he speaks and he does so without the need for grand gestures or the kind of language that would get one expelled from school. At least not in mixed company! He doesn’t speak using filler words such as “like” or “ya know” or “um” because he knows that doing so implies he isn’t confident in what he’s saying. He commands a room quietly by placing his focus on other people instead of himself. He’s engaging. He’ll ask you to dance when no one else is; he knows how to take the lead. Honestly girls, isn’t it nice to not be in charge for awhile?
Those manly-men we love from old movies didn’t go for the weeping willow of a girl. Oh sure, he’d take her out, but he wasn’t looking to spend more than a few sweaty nights in her company. They were looking for the strong, independent, wise and sometimes wise-cracking gal who could hold her own, or hold her tongue – her decision.
Just so I’m clear, this Retrosexual Man movement isn’t about getting women barefooted and back into the kitchen. These men want us to keep what we worked for – it’s what they love about us. But I suspect the old adage, “there’s no such thing as a free lunch” does come into play. Though I haven’t found any of these gentlemen to say it out loud, it’s time to remember that there’s a feminine side to feminism. Take off your boyfriend-cut jeans and tank top, and slip into a pretty dress from time to time. Cover your ass crack and get rid of that muffin-top. Clean up your language and find a lipstick that suits you. Put your drama in a journal instead of using your outdoor voice in a crowded room. Learn to hold your liquor. Spend an afternoon with the Grand Matriarch of your family for a refresher course in charm and table manners. It’s a very small price to pay to spend time with a man of quality.
I suppose there will be some backlash from this movement but I suspect it’ll come from insecure women who believe their only power is in their title… whatever that might be.
Here’s my idea. How about instead of trying to turn men into women, we celebrate masculinity so we can quit losing our salon and manicure appointments to Guidos and the like. Let boys be boys. Remind men to be men. I think we have a real have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too opportunity, girls!
For those of you who looking to strike out for additional information, I beg of you to disregard this wildly personal and crazily macho dissertation called the Retrosexual Code of Ethics. Its self-serving, gun-waving, down-on-your-knees propaganda is a wreck. Instead, Google yourself a little Brett McKay or see him at WithLeather – a very guy-oriented “girls, t.v., and sports” site. Discover The Art of Manliness, though be advised that it’s somewhat tongue-in-cheek in my opinion.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
DNR: The English Language
Code blue!
Charge the paddles to 300!
Our language is DYING!!!
I’m starting to wonder if there is a “Do Not Resuscitate” posted on the English language. Between reality television and corporate America “inventing” words and phrases that mean nothing, I’m beginning to think that we’ve dropped so far below the bar it’s soon going to be impossible for me to order a martini.
I learned this communication device we call the English language in schools whose (not who’s) focus was on something other than sports and teen pregnancy. I’m not blaming our educational system for all of it. I’d like to take this opportunity to blame disengaged parenting and crap television. I point my finger in the direction of corporate communications “specialist” who hears someone use a phrase or metaphor that “sounds” like it’s right, then proceeds to repeat it incessantly until such time as others decide it must be right, too. Case in point:
“…the below table…”
Um. Are you kidding me? Who graduated you from college? The afore-referenced should always read: “… the table below…” Shame on you for calling yourself a professional.
It is with much cynicism and sarcasm that I’ve compiled the Top 10 words and phrases that aggravate me most - in no particular order, just the way they popped up... which may or may not be meaningful. This is by no means exhaustive, as that would require an entire month of entries. No, these are just the ones that make me bristle the hardest.
#1 “I could care less”
Really? Could you? Then perhaps you should! If you don’t care about something then it stands to reason, and a modicum of word usage comprehension, that you could not care less.
#2 “Th” and “F” are not the same sound.
Unless you’re under the age of five, don’t have all of your teeth, or are being treated for a speech impediment, how about speaking and spelling like a grown-up. "Birfday" is not a word.
#3 “For all intensive purposes”
I don’t even know what that means. What exactly is an intensive purpose? Pretty sure what you’re trying to say is “intents and purposes.” See? Doesn’t that sound more like what you meant?
#4 Simply put…
Than = comparison
Then = time
"Jane determined that pears were less expensive at Safeway than at Kroger, then set off to make her purchase."
#5 Ax
An ax is a yard tool, not a request. I suppose there’s a case to be made for “getting the ax,” - as in being fired… but that’s not a request either.
#6 Coming in as a group:
See how two words can be squished together? That’s called a compound word. That’s what cannot is. One word, People! Not two.
#8 The Preposition
Some people say it’s okay – by virtue of the fact that the practice has run rampant and there’s no stopping it – but I still hold on to the old school rule of NOT ending a sentence with a preposition. It’s very simple: say the sentence in your head. If the meaning doesn’t change, then drop the preposition.
Example:
Where are you at? *shudders so hard hair stands up*
Where are you? Apparently I’m in remedial English class.
#9 Woulda Coulda Shoulda
… used the word “have,” not “of.” If you're reaching for the contraction, "would've" then you should first be aware of what it means: would have.Would of? Could of? Should of? Should have figured out by now that bastardizing the language makes people question the intelligence of the speaker/writer.
#10 e.g. versus i.e.
Dear corporate writers, copywriters, writers of all kind:
I’m embarrassed for all of us collectively when some of you don’t use this very basic abbreviation correctly. It’s even worse when you combine them as though they’re interchangeable. I’ll do it slowly for those of you who slept through this class:
exempli gratia: e.g.
There’s your acronym. Latin meaning: for example… an actual example of something by name.
Id est: i.e.
And your acronym again. Latin meaning: that is. We use it when we’re referring to a type of something, but not a specific thing. Please copy this onto a sticky note for future reference.
There are so, so many more, and that’s before we even start on punctuation. As native speakers we should have a better handle on our own language. We want every immigrant to learn it – which I wholly support; my question is how? Thank The Universe that the toddlers still have Sesame Street because parents either can’t or won’t conjugate a verb properly.
*sighs*
Break out the white sheet, and book the small church. No one is even going to notice when our language is officially dead…
Charge the paddles to 300!
Our language is DYING!!!
I’m starting to wonder if there is a “Do Not Resuscitate” posted on the English language. Between reality television and corporate America “inventing” words and phrases that mean nothing, I’m beginning to think that we’ve dropped so far below the bar it’s soon going to be impossible for me to order a martini.
I learned this communication device we call the English language in schools whose (not who’s) focus was on something other than sports and teen pregnancy. I’m not blaming our educational system for all of it. I’d like to take this opportunity to blame disengaged parenting and crap television. I point my finger in the direction of corporate communications “specialist” who hears someone use a phrase or metaphor that “sounds” like it’s right, then proceeds to repeat it incessantly until such time as others decide it must be right, too. Case in point:
“…the below table…”
Um. Are you kidding me? Who graduated you from college? The afore-referenced should always read: “… the table below…” Shame on you for calling yourself a professional.
It is with much cynicism and sarcasm that I’ve compiled the Top 10 words and phrases that aggravate me most - in no particular order, just the way they popped up... which may or may not be meaningful. This is by no means exhaustive, as that would require an entire month of entries. No, these are just the ones that make me bristle the hardest.
#1 “I could care less”
Really? Could you? Then perhaps you should! If you don’t care about something then it stands to reason, and a modicum of word usage comprehension, that you could not care less.
#2 “Th” and “F” are not the same sound.
Unless you’re under the age of five, don’t have all of your teeth, or are being treated for a speech impediment, how about speaking and spelling like a grown-up. "Birfday" is not a word.
#3 “For all intensive purposes”
I don’t even know what that means. What exactly is an intensive purpose? Pretty sure what you’re trying to say is “intents and purposes.” See? Doesn’t that sound more like what you meant?
#4 Simply put…
Than = comparison
Then = time
"Jane determined that pears were less expensive at Safeway than at Kroger, then set off to make her purchase."
#5 Ax
An ax is a yard tool, not a request. I suppose there’s a case to be made for “getting the ax,” - as in being fired… but that’s not a request either.
#6 Coming in as a group:
- Your is not the same as you’re. Your: showing possessive ownership. You’re: you are.
- Their, they’re, and there: the first is possessive; the second means “they are”; the third is a place. How about not making me read something three times because I have no idea what it is you’re writing.
- We’re and were: This one defies explanation. We’re = we are; were is past tense for where you once existed. Geez, they’re not even close, People!
- Its vs it’s: It’s not that confusing. “Its” is a possessive pronoun, like “his.” It’s is the contraction for “it is”…pretty easy to identify what with the apostrophe and all.
See how two words can be squished together? That’s called a compound word. That’s what cannot is. One word, People! Not two.
#8 The Preposition
Some people say it’s okay – by virtue of the fact that the practice has run rampant and there’s no stopping it – but I still hold on to the old school rule of NOT ending a sentence with a preposition. It’s very simple: say the sentence in your head. If the meaning doesn’t change, then drop the preposition.
Example:
Where are you at? *shudders so hard hair stands up*
Where are you? Apparently I’m in remedial English class.
#9 Woulda Coulda Shoulda
… used the word “have,” not “of.” If you're reaching for the contraction, "would've" then you should first be aware of what it means: would have.Would of? Could of? Should of? Should have figured out by now that bastardizing the language makes people question the intelligence of the speaker/writer.
#10 e.g. versus i.e.
Dear corporate writers, copywriters, writers of all kind:
I’m embarrassed for all of us collectively when some of you don’t use this very basic abbreviation correctly. It’s even worse when you combine them as though they’re interchangeable. I’ll do it slowly for those of you who slept through this class:
exempli gratia: e.g.
There’s your acronym. Latin meaning: for example… an actual example of something by name.
Id est: i.e.
And your acronym again. Latin meaning: that is. We use it when we’re referring to a type of something, but not a specific thing. Please copy this onto a sticky note for future reference.
There are so, so many more, and that’s before we even start on punctuation. As native speakers we should have a better handle on our own language. We want every immigrant to learn it – which I wholly support; my question is how? Thank The Universe that the toddlers still have Sesame Street because parents either can’t or won’t conjugate a verb properly.
*sighs*
Break out the white sheet, and book the small church. No one is even going to notice when our language is officially dead…
Friday, June 4, 2010
The Waiting Game
I hate games and I'll be the first to admit that I am NOT a good player.
You’d think that as the 5th of 7 children, I would've grown up to be be very, very good at waiting… Interestingly enough, that's sooo not the case. I think it’s unbearably and undeniably rude. I can’t imagine any circumstance by which making someone wait is acceptable. Obviously, I’m not talking about unavoidable “little waiting” like one does on line at the convenience store. That my friend, is inevitable and certainly expected, therefore tolerable.
No, the types of waiting I’m talking about fall into two distinct categories: the Professional kind, and the Personal kind.
The Professional kind of waiting done is in doctor’s offices or next to the phone for lab results that are days late. It's done by managers and customer service people. These “Professionals” are painfully well aware of the fact that they’re chipping away at our will to maintain our sensibilities, and yet, it seems to make no difference whatsoever. Apparently their time is infinitely more valuable than our time. What??? How about my sanity? Is that more or less valuable than your time?!?!?
*jumps up to dance off irritation*
Moving on…
The Personal kind of waiting is even more abhorrent. It’s kind we do for chronically late friends or family. It also happens to be the most disrespectful and wholly unacceptable type of tardiness. To those people I pose:
You’re meeting someone you love and/or respect. You’re well aware of the designated meet time and place; nonetheless, you’re late. In essence, you’re saying - in your own passive aggressive way - that your time and your wants/needs/desires are infinitely more important than anyone else’s. How do I know this? BECAUASE YOU’RE LATE! You know you’re late. What I’d really like to know why? Why are you chronically late? How about you call with an ETA before the person you're meeting is beyond agitated! They managed to get their shit together enough to be on time. That’s what people with a modicum of good manners and grace do…
There's no doubt that Personal tardiness falls into one of these buckets: insecurity, total self-absorption, lack of respect, or acutely poor breeding. Irrespective of which, both Professional and Personal forced waiting ultimately boils down to nothing more than a power trip. You want to feel in control of your life? Get control over your time management skills!
I think I'd like to launch a campaign. I'd propose a day whereby everyone in the world arrives, telephones, reports, and completes on time. Worldwide On Time Day!
Worldwide?
Yep. Though based on the chronic American acceptance of tardiness, turnout would undoubtedly be very poor. Perhaps we should enlist the Japanese to ensure measurable numbers.
*nods seriously*.
I like August 18th for no particular reason other than it happens to be a Wednesday in the middle of a month when nothing interesting ever happens. And it seems like the middle of the week would be an easy enough day to schedule everything in a timely manner. The sticky bit is that it's impossible to make someone do something they don't actually want to do, and since the chronically late take twisted pleasure in making others wait…
*sighs*
Right then. Another perfectly simple yet far from executable idea down the tubes, never to be heard from again… You must admit though. It was a rather good idea, in theory...
You’d think that as the 5th of 7 children, I would've grown up to be be very, very good at waiting… Interestingly enough, that's sooo not the case. I think it’s unbearably and undeniably rude. I can’t imagine any circumstance by which making someone wait is acceptable. Obviously, I’m not talking about unavoidable “little waiting” like one does on line at the convenience store. That my friend, is inevitable and certainly expected, therefore tolerable.
No, the types of waiting I’m talking about fall into two distinct categories: the Professional kind, and the Personal kind.
The Professional kind of waiting done is in doctor’s offices or next to the phone for lab results that are days late. It's done by managers and customer service people. These “Professionals” are painfully well aware of the fact that they’re chipping away at our will to maintain our sensibilities, and yet, it seems to make no difference whatsoever. Apparently their time is infinitely more valuable than our time. What??? How about my sanity? Is that more or less valuable than your time?!?!?
*jumps up to dance off irritation*
Moving on…
The Personal kind of waiting is even more abhorrent. It’s kind we do for chronically late friends or family. It also happens to be the most disrespectful and wholly unacceptable type of tardiness. To those people I pose:
You’re meeting someone you love and/or respect. You’re well aware of the designated meet time and place; nonetheless, you’re late. In essence, you’re saying - in your own passive aggressive way - that your time and your wants/needs/desires are infinitely more important than anyone else’s. How do I know this? BECAUASE YOU’RE LATE! You know you’re late. What I’d really like to know why? Why are you chronically late? How about you call with an ETA before the person you're meeting is beyond agitated! They managed to get their shit together enough to be on time. That’s what people with a modicum of good manners and grace do…
There's no doubt that Personal tardiness falls into one of these buckets: insecurity, total self-absorption, lack of respect, or acutely poor breeding. Irrespective of which, both Professional and Personal forced waiting ultimately boils down to nothing more than a power trip. You want to feel in control of your life? Get control over your time management skills!
I think I'd like to launch a campaign. I'd propose a day whereby everyone in the world arrives, telephones, reports, and completes on time. Worldwide On Time Day!
Worldwide?
Yep. Though based on the chronic American acceptance of tardiness, turnout would undoubtedly be very poor. Perhaps we should enlist the Japanese to ensure measurable numbers.
*nods seriously*.
I like August 18th for no particular reason other than it happens to be a Wednesday in the middle of a month when nothing interesting ever happens. And it seems like the middle of the week would be an easy enough day to schedule everything in a timely manner. The sticky bit is that it's impossible to make someone do something they don't actually want to do, and since the chronically late take twisted pleasure in making others wait…
*sighs*
Right then. Another perfectly simple yet far from executable idea down the tubes, never to be heard from again… You must admit though. It was a rather good idea, in theory...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)