November 7, 2011

word

quean [kween] n. 1. an overly forward, impudent woman; shrew; hussy 2. a prostitute 3. British Dialect. a girl or young woman, especially a robust one

birthday

Leon Trotsky (1879), Albert Camus (1913), Billy Graham (1918), Joni Mitchell (1941), David Petraeus (1952), King Kong Bundy (1957), Dana Plato (1964), Morgan Spurlock (1970)

standpoint

There’s very few bars left that allow smoking, and the place where I work is not one of them but here’s a curious little side effect to the smoking ban: people bringing their small infant or child to the bar. It’s always a younger couple meeting up with childless friends. They’ll come in and announce, “Oh, we don’t need a table, we’re just gonna hang at the bar. Is that cool?” Despite the suggestions of the staff that they might be more comfortable at a table, they insist that (a) their baby is so well-behaved, he or she will be fine in the carrier and will most likely sleep the entire time and (b) other places let them do it all of the time (a lie) and there’s never a problem (another lie).

And 99.9% of the time, the first 30 minutes are uneventful. But inevitably, the crying starts or, worse, the shouting out of incomprehensible words and phrases. Yes, I fully understand this is what children do. It is not lost on me.

But lots of people who come to sit at a bar are doing so precisely because it’s supposed to be a child-free zone. They desire to eat a meal in peace while participating in some adult conversation. And, while they may smile politely each time a baby is disrupting that peace, they secretly (and sometimes not so secretly) wish the people who brought the baby would use a little common sense and remove themselves from the area. But that rarely happens. Instead, they’ll most likely spring the baby from the carrier and place he or she on top of the bar, creating an even bigger spectacle. The parents are under the impression that since they firmly believe their baby is the most amazing specimen to ever draw breath, everyone else will feel the exact same way with the proper exposure. And it never works out that way. The other customers begin to mutter under their breath or ask for their bill and leave. When the couple finally do pack up shop and leave (with the baby, of course) everyone looks at me and asks questions like, “Since when are babies allowed at the bar?” or “How can people be so oblivious?” I have no answer for these questions because to answer them would be violating basic hospitality business axioms that state you shouldn’t badmouth customers to other customers.

But if I allowed myself to say whatever I wanted, it might go something like this: “When you have a baby, one of the main things you’re giving up, unless you find someone to babysit, is the ability to sit at a bar and drink. It’s different if you come in at 2:30 in the afternoon while the bar is empty and want to get a quick bite to eat during off time. But when you come in at 6:00 pm and want to prop your baby up in his or her carrier on a barstool and have multiple drinks, well, I’m sorry but that’s not okay. There’s such a thing as common courtesy and those kinds of parents need to look into it.”

I’ll never say anything like that to my customers but something needs to be said eventually.

quotation

When love is not madness, it is not love. ↔ Pedro Calderón de la Barca

tune

My buddy Tim loves this song. I gotta agree with him, it’s pretty solid. Like Stars meets The Pogues. Here’s “Little Talks” by Of Monsters and Men.

gallimaufry

→ Holy shit. This clip from The Daily Show with Jon Stewart would’ve probably been good enough with just Donald Trump’s idiotic comments but Ann Coulter makes me want to move to another country.

→ What a great example of damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t.

→ If you’re looking for an incredibly obvious news story, look no further and just click here.

→ Sorry, everyone, no sports coverage today. I know you were dying for it.

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12.08.09 – A Tuesday

WORD

phlegmatic [fleg-mat-ik] adj. 1. not easily excited to action or display of emotion; apathetic; sluggish 2. self-possessed, calm, or composed 3. of the nature of or abounding in the humor phlegm

BIRTHDAY

Horace (65 BC), Mary Queen of Scots (1542), William C. Durant (1861), Diego Rivera (1886), Sammy Davis Jr. (1925), Jimmy Smith (1925), Flip Wilson (1933), David Carradine (1936), Jim Morrison (1943), Gregg Allman (1947), Gérard Blanc (1947), Bill Bryson (1951), Kim Basinger (1953), Roy Firestone (1953), Sam Kinison (1953), Ann Coulter (1961), Greg Howe (1963), Teri Hatcher (1964), Sinéad O’Connor (1966), Dominic Monaghan (1976)

STANDPOINT

Last night, I watched Allen Iverson’s triumphant return to the Philadelphia 76ers. OK. Well. I watched about 15 minutes of it until I turned on the ultimately disappointing Flyers-Canadiens game.

But, arguably, I watched the most important part of the Sixers-Nuggets game: the introductory hoopla. Philadelphia, a city that three years ago was collectively shoving Iverson out of town, welcomed him home like no one ever wanted him to go anywhere.

The Wachovia Center was sold-out for a basketball game for the first time this year. Actually, the entire crowd last night almost doubled the total sum of the first eight home games. The starting lineup announcements were conducted in a way a 5-15 team, under any other circumstances, could never gotten away with. After being introduced, Iverson ran out to the 76ers logo at half-court, kneeled down and kissed it. (The crowd cheered like that was totally normal.) 

Iverson seemed truly happy. And I, for one, was truly happy for him. I never disliked the guy. I was always in his corner and have been a huge supporter of his return to Philadelphia.

I’ve had about 349 conversations about Iverson since he left town. Each and every time, I was told I was wrong. He was a poison. He was a selfish player. He was a thug. He had to go.

While I never subscribed the above statements, I always granted them creedence. I figured everyone hated Iverson because he was an asshole. Also, I was pretty sure I liked him for the same exact reason.

What I’m having trouble digesting is why,all of a sudden, everyone gives a shit about (a) the Sixers, and (b) Iverson himself.

I need to collect my thoughts on this one. TO BE CONTINUED.

In the meantime, what’s your take?  

QUOTATION

I used to be friends with Miles Davis. He didn’t like many folks. I lived across the street from him. He would call me up sometimes — “I got some fish I wanna cook up for ya.” I went up there, and he was on a couch, looking out the window. He was just rapt. I said, “What’re you watching, Miles?” He said, “The traffic. Where are all these motherfuckers goin’?”Rip Torn

TUNE

In the interest of getting to know someone better, I’ve recently been exposed to more Belle and Sebastian. I was told by that someone “Get Me Away From Here, I’m Dying” is the band’s best song. Turned out to be the truth.

GALLIMAUFRY

→ After being complete cocks about music piracy and crying about how much money they were losing, it turns out the major record labels (Warner, Sony BMG, EMI and Universal) have been doing a little looting of their own. Justice? Maybe. Well, probably.   

→ While I’m of the opinion most people are complete dolts and unknowingly ruining society, there’s an awful, evil flipside. It appears there are enough smart individuals out there doing what they can to not be outdone by the morons. Case in point? This whole Miranda nonsense in The Supreme Court.

→ While I love to point out the inane crap dominating the media these days, I have an actual pleasure when I read some genuinely good news. Drunk driving deaths in the US are, statistically, on a downward turn. Good job, nitwits. I’m pleased some of you might be coming to your senses.