![Angela's Birthday Weekend]()
by Richard Timothy | Jun 30, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, My Cutie Baby Sweetie Pie, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
Recently my sweetie-baby-cutie-pie-wifey-pooh had her birthday, and as birthday’s go this one went rather well. The celebration of which managed to expand over a three day period, which is almost the amount of time it takes to watch the Lord of the Rings Extended Version Trilogy back to back… almost being the distinguishing word there.
So what made this birthday so grand and drawn out? There were a couple of elements added to this holiday. The first and main reason, it was Angela’s birthday and in truth I could just stop there. When the one you love becomes a year older what better cause for celebrating for three days in a row. As far as age goes, I am going to break all southern etiquette rules… or is it female etiquette rules? I am going to break all southern female etiquette rules and let you all know that it the fourth anniversary of Angela’s 29th birthday. And that means only one thing! Butterflies! I’m pretty sure that the symbol of the fourth birthday anniversary is the butterfly. At least that’s the theme I went with. Of course having Angela overly smitten with most things butterfly caused this choice to work out pretty well.
Saturday evening began the birthday festivities in a tri-celebration. Two additional friends were also in the season of their birthday so in the spirit of giving I made a vat of fruity alcoholic happiness. One of the birthday people had brought two questionable bottles of wine. The type of wines that had exceeded its stay in its home of fermentation and over the years had become a bit withered and grumpy, and constantly yelling at all the young wines to stay out of its rack. One was a white zinfandel and the other was a seven year old bottle of Chianti. After trying each it was clear that both had gone over to the dark side. I used my mixing mastery in to save these poor decrepit wines from being undrinkable, and turned them into the base for my beverage dispenser of fruity birthday toasting.
We did end up putting a skull and crossbones sticky note on the drink dispenser though. Apparently if you fill something with fresh fruit, ice, and make the liquid in it a happy and festive summer color, little kids tend to think that it was made specifically for them. I learned this as I was finishing up the drink and a line of little people formed asking if they could have some. There was a chorus of adults loudly denying this request. “That drink is not for you.” echoed throughout the party and a pitcher of lemonade was quickly produced and poured into the little one’s cups.
As the party came to a close and birthday people began to head home, we had the present opening portion of the evening. To Laurie, our gracious party host, and whose husband Dwight and friends serenaded our birthday honorees with live music, we gave her a cage for naughty candles that refuse to play nice with others. At least that’s what it reminded me of. It was a round wire cage with a twisty bottom that you could remove and place a candle on, and then twist back into place so that the candle was in the cage. It also had a long wire handle so you could hang it on a ceiling hook in a corner of the house when you decide to put the candle in time-out.
Then there was Mike, who received the collection dollar items for the sole purpose of filling a lovely leather travel toiletry bag that had a water proof lining for Mike to take with him on all his many travels… to meet up with his wife who travels all over the world for work… which means she now has a very nice travel bag to take with her when she travels and that will always house one extra tooth brush for Mike for those occasions when he gets to meet her somewhere in France, Germany, Michigan, wherever really.
I did manage to get Mike a new t-shirt though, which is inherently him. Some people collect spoons, others collect spices, which is a lot more people than you might think. Think I’m kidding? Go to your kitchen and look in your spice drawer, you just might be surprised at how many spices you have in there that have never been opened. If you have more than five, then you are an unknowing spice collector. Welcome to the club.
As for Mike, he collects vintage looking food t-shirts. Like his red shirt with a big McDonald’s M on it, or his brown t-shirt with the A&W logo on it. He loves them. It’s a sort of tie to his youth when junk food tasted better, was cheaper, and was probably better for you than it is today.
For you slightly out of your twenties folk, do you remember the Tootsie Pops commercial with the owl and the little kid asking how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop? The owl takes the pop licks it three times and then bites the pop off the stick, and hands the stick back to the kid telling him, “three.” Well it just so happens that I found a t-shirt that had Mr. Owl sitting on a branch with the word POPS in the back ground, and a caption under the owl that read, “How many licks?” When Mike unrolled the t-shirt and saw what it was… it was like looking into the eyes of a six year old who had just eaten his first Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. It was the look of pure joy.
For Angela, I gave her the one thing she always seems to need more of, time… sort of. It was a watch, actually two, but I gave her the second one on her actual birthday instead of at the party. I guess you could say that I gave her time pieces symbolizing how time flies, but that just means that the watches I gave her had butterflies on them. Yes, accessories with butterflies on them truly is the one thing she currently seems to need more of.
Getting her two watches started when we were in the Fossil store a few weeks back, which happens to be the same store where I got my sun dial. She saw two different watches that had butterflies on them and fell in love. She self debated for a good twenty minutes over which one she liked the most. Once she reluctantly decided I told her we’d come back as soon as pay day arrived. Then the next day I went and got both of them for her. My birthday message to her mimicked a message that she has been sharing with others for a while now. To paraphrase the message… you don’t have to settle in life, you can be happy in personal and business relationships, healthy, wealthy and enlightened. Life is not about living in just one of those areas, while the rest suffer. Life is about all of them and living in a way where you have a balanced and whole life. In short, you deserve it all, and Angela deserved all of the butterfly watches she wanted.
Day two of the celebration consisted of sleeping in, and moving slowly once we got up as a result of moderate alcohol consumption and an assault of vindictive pollen beating my allergies into a state of sneeze filled exhaustion. One we hit the post shower level of begin awake we went over to Laurie and Dwight’s and helped clean up the party mess. Once that was done, we hit the last day of the Utah Arts Festival. We spent five hours wanders around looking at booth after booth of various forms of art, such as painting, jewelry, ceramics, glass work, pencil drawing, sculptures, stained glass, and so on. All the while we were being followed around and tempted by the savory fragrance of cinnamon roasted almonds… that mouth watering tempter of sweet crunchy goodness. We did manage to resist its temptation though.
There were five different stages at the Arts Fest and through our walkabout we did see two spoken word performances, a collage of different dance performances, an obnoxious pigmently challenged rapper, an Ani DiFranco sounding angry anti-folk singer, and a fairly groovy soul/funk band. Our evening ended with us going home around 9:30 as a result of me falling asleep on the grass while Angela was listening to the music. I really tried, but I was on a losing battle against the summer horror that is allergies.
Day three, which was the official date of the celebration, consisted in me taking off work and spending the day with my sweetie. Again, sleeping in was our first accomplishment for the day. By 1PM we were out of the house and heading downtown to eat at Angela’s favorite Mexican restaurant. It was so good, but so… much… food… We didn’t eat anything else the rest of the day/night. The margaritas were strong and left Angela enjoying a birthday buzz as we went shopping the rest of the afternoon. Before lunch I did give her the second watch, and a card/sketchbook. Meaning I gave her a sketchbook where I sketched something on the first page and wrote an inscription along with it so it could serve as a birthday card. She cried when she read it, but in a good way.
I’m not sure why it’s become common practice to always add that clarifier when you mention you made someone cry. I mean whose going to advertise that they were a jerk and made someone cry? Ok that is who beside Don Rickles, or a politician publicly apologizing for making their wife cry because they are a liar and cheater? Oddly though, every time I hear someone mention they did something to make their significant other cry, they always clarify it with, “In a good way?” It’s always quickly added as well, as if there is some very large man close by holding a cricket bat ready to smack you in the kneecap while yelling, “You don’t make women cry!” Still, we feel compelled to clarify every time that phrase is uttered.
All things said and done, it was a wonderful three day celebration for my beautiful wife’s fourth anniversary of her 29th birthday. I love you honey! Next year I hope the celebration lasts a whole week… you deserve it!
Any thoughts about today’s Smirk?
Image Source:
Google Images, key words: Happy Birthday Angela, fruit punch, hanging candle holder, tootsie pops owl, fossil butterfly watch, Utah arts festival, and red iguana Utah.
![Angela's Birthday Weekend]()
by Richard Timothy | Jun 26, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
I have, from time to time been so compelled, moved, and motivated to pass on cash to the occasional beggar. It was during my summer in San Francisco that learned the errors of making eye contact with strangers on the street and of carrying any cash on me when I left the house. Responding to them is something that takes a little getting use too if you’ve had no experience talking to these people. I remember one day, while on my way to work, a younger guy, close to my age, was lounging on a bench and yelled out to me, “You got a dollar?”
“I’m fine thanks.” I replied. I was aware of my error the second I let it out. Trust me when I tell you that beggars don’t appreciate you replying to their begging in the same way you would when responding to a sales associate who approaches you and asks if there is anything they can help you find.
“I the one that’s not fine!” the man said back to me, puffing out his chest, but making no effort to leave the bench. He kept yelling after me as I continued to walk to work, but I ignored what he was saying. I do remember thinking that if I could get a job in the overpriced city of San Francisco, I’m pretty sure he could too. At this point I started laughing. I’m not sure if everyone experiences this, but for me all it took was a summer in San Francisco surrounded a sea of beggars for me to actually utter the phrase, “Get a job hippie.” and mean it. Times they were a changing.
I say beggar because there is a very distinct difference between being homeless and being a beggar. You can have plenty of homeless people that beg, but when it comes to begging for a living, well, it’s a living, one that can enable some of your more proficient beggars an income that exceeds $100,000 a year. My biggest gripe is that I really can’t tell the difference, unless of course you happen to see them changing for work.
It was during my last trip to Vegas a few weeks back where I saw this rear opportunity of seeing a professional beggar out of his natural habitat and in the wild… dressing up, actually dressing down, getting ready for work. It was the last night in town and Angela and I were with friends and on our way to dinner when we stopped at a red traffic light. I notice a little supped up Honda pull past us and a guy jumped out of the front passenger side and walked to the corner. As the light turned green we rolled past the intersection there was the guy who gotten out of the car, holding some cardboard sign about being hungry, or trying to get enough cash to get a bus ticket home to his little kid, or something like that specifically devised to pull at ones heart-strings so they will be more apt to give a dollar.
The thing was he was holding the sign between his legs while he was changing shirts. He had one nice clean shirt that was resting over a guardrail while he was putting on a very nasty looking t-shirt that had a few holes in it. I mean talk about a gutsy fraud. Then again the first group of cars was the one that got to see this rare metamorphosis in progress. All subsequent groups would only see a professional beggar passing as a homeless person in need. It made me a little sad because essentially what you are doing when you give a professional beggar a dollar is tipping a lazy person for being a bad actor.
I’m all for helping the homeless. It’s just a bit of a struggle to figure out who’s homeless and who’s pretending to be homeless. So I donate to local soup kitchens and homeless shelters or offer a few dollars to people who are at those places. I figure that the pretend homeless won’t be going to places that those in need gather at for meals, support, and a nights rest.
If you are of the disposition of giving a beggar some cash, try making it an even exchange. It was something I picked up in San Francisco, and it takes only one word… “Why?” When someone walks up to you and just asks for change and you simply give it to them, it seems a little one sided. So when people would start approaching me, asking for cash, I’d ask them, “Why?” It caught some off guard, but others were professionals and were ready at a moment’s notice.
I’d just sit back and listen to the story of why they needed the money. Some stories took about a minute to get through and were the equivalent to the signs that lazy beggars hold up on street corners. Some stories would last close to fifteen minutes. Once they were done with the story I’d tip them based on the how good I thought the story was. That way I was encouraging and donating to the imagination and storytelling ability of the person instead of just giving them some change with no even exchange on my part. I was much happier to donate to these performers when I started getting, well, a performance.
One of my favorite ones was from an ‘ex-military pilot’ who had been discharged after telling people about a UFO sighting he witnessed and was ordered to keep to himself. He spent a good ten minutes telling me all about the sighting and how he loved to fly his jet. The explained further that he had come to town to meet with his old commander about possibly getting his job back. Things were going well at the meeting until he got a priority call from his expecting wife. She was in labor and told him to get home as soon as possible. He was trying to get bus fare so he could get back to his wife and new baby. It was much more involved than that, but you get the basic idea. I gave him four dollars for that one. It took him about 20 minutes to get through it, and I felt like I was giving him over minimum wage for the time he’d given me. It wasn’t a great story, good but not great, it was quite entertaining though. All in all, it seemed like a rather fair exchange, and I feel a lot better about these donations now.
I do hope that in the event that I come across someone that is truly homeless and I take them for a beggar that they feel sharing a story is a little more like working for the money instead of just begging, and that they appreciate that. All in all, it’s a tricky situation to decipher. I hope some of this helps you the next time you choose to make one of these types of donations. As a general rule of thumb I stick to, if you are donating because you are being guilted into it, keep your money. If you truly want to help or want to tip a stranger for a story they just shared with you, I say go for it.
If you’ve need exposed to them, what are some of the stories beggars have told you?
Image Source:
Google Images, key words: begging, get a job hippie, helping the homeless, and UFO story.
![Angela's Birthday Weekend]()
by Richard Timothy | Jun 22, 2010 | Holiday Banter, I Do Suggest, I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Reviewed and Recommended
This year for the Summer Solstice I wanted to get something that paid homage to the solstice, but also utilizing the one thing that the solstice has plenty of… sunlight. So I bought myself the perfect solstice gift, a watch. And not just any watch, oh no, I bought a watch that would enable me to take advantage of the extended sunlight of the day. I did go a bit old school on the style of the watch though, but I felt it really captured essence of the whole solstice paradigm. I bought a sundial wrist watch. Really. It has no hidden watch on the inside or anything like that. It’s just a legitimate, possibly accurate time piece that can only be used during the day… make that a clear sunny day.
I’ve been told that it really will tell time, but I have to be facing true north and the watch must be resting on a level surface. Now had the watch come with a compass and leveler that would have definitely added to the practical applications of the watch. So far it’s only proved to be good for the following:
- 29 laughs
- 18 “Why?”
- 1 “Dude, can I copy you?”
- 2 “I’m not surprised?”
- 6 raised eye brows
- 3 “Of course you did!”
- 5 “So what time is it?”
- And about 59 “Does it really work?” (Which covers everyone I’ve shown it to.)
And that is all within less than one 24 hour period. Not bad results for such a short amount of time.
Solstice was celebrated in the way that all solstices should be celebrated, with friends, a fire pit, some really yummy no bake cookies, very tasty wine, and a release and proclamation ceremony. Meaning you write down the things you want to let go of and give thanks for the purpose they served in your life and set them on fire… releasing them. Then you have another piece of paper that you fill with your goals and intentions for the next year. Then you either save them to read as a daily reminder, or you burn them too, depending on the way you want your solstice ceremony to go. It was a little like a New Year’s resolutions party, but much, much warmer.
One thing I noticed throughout the evening, the homage to fire that people seem compelled to give. Wood kept being stacked on the fire pit, keeping the flames dancing as the sun went down. Soon we had people with sticks burning at both ends, being twirled and tossed into the air. Sharing some fire dancing techniques learned at a class they took a few years back. Apparently fire dancing is a lot like riding a bike. Only when you start again, it’s a very slow bike moving forward with very careful and precise pedal pushing.
Soon others were playing with the fire stick, practicing slowly, spinning it around them or waving it in the air as if it were a sparkler on steroids. It reminded me of the neighbor’s fence I caught on fire when I was a boy, secretly learning about the power and limits of a flame, a Bic lighter, and a can of hair spray. I only charred about a two foot by three foot section of fence, and lied about it until just last year when we were having dinner at my parents house and I told them that I was actually the one who did that. Can you believe they refused to give me any ice cream for dessert as punishment? Talk about holding a grudge.
The other thing I noticed about the party was the kids. Yes, it was one of those little people friendly parties. The interesting thing is that all of the kids, the ones 4 years old to 19 years old were all hanging out together and away from the adults. I’m not complaining mind you. It seemed to work out well for everyone, and it was cute to see that all the kids banded together, creating a “no old people” club while all the people with, well, jobs and wine were left alone to act like “old people.” Ah, how times have changed… a change that I actually feel quite good about. The older little people can watch the younger little people, and the older people can chat and drink wine. I’d say this is the first step into creating a perfect world.
A Merry Summer Solstice to you all… How was your solstice?
Image Source:
Google Images, key words: sundial watch, summer solstice, fire dancing, and friend drinking wine.
by Richard Timothy | Jun 21, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, I Think There's a Point, Life Characters, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
Father’s Day 2010, began as any other Sunday so far this summer. It consisted of me sleeping in. Now I normally don’t pay much attention to storybooks that try to teach the readers lessons via parable, but I really do think there is something to be said about that whole day of rest thing. I’d go so far as to add that if we were to split up that whole day of rest concept and do a few hours of rest each afternoon from two to four, sometimes five, then the world would be a much better place in general.
I was looking forward to today. It was going to be filled with visiting friends and family for the purpose of good conversation and grand food consumption. When noon arrived Angela and I were both ready to go to our friends house for brunch. There was however, one hiccup in this plan. When Angela ran downstairs into our living room, the floor was saturated with a thin layer of splash just waiting to attack an unsuspecting dry foot or two. Our basement had flooded… again.
The first time was a result of our neighbors turning on the outdoor faucet next to our fence, and leaving it running for a day or so… in January! We did catch that flood much earlier, but it was around midnight and it took a lot longer to get any assistance from any professionals. I had managed to spend 3 hours out in the freezing cold bailing water out of our stairwell and my jeans were frozen and had about a half inch of ice caked around them from my knees to my feet. Needless to say, it was a very long and very, very cold night. When all things were said and done, at least we got the basement re-carpeted with a much lovelier color. There was some concern that I may have accrued a mild case of hypothermia, but a two hour long hot shower and about two days in bed pretty much moved that concern into just a passing thought.
This time it was a much warmer disaster. I mean the flooding was a little worse, but nowhere near as horrible an experience as last time. Plus, this time Angela knew someone that has a business that cleans up homes from these very types of mishaps. They were over and working on the cleanup in less than an hour. Plus, bailing water out of the stairwell was sooooo much warmer this time. Just as exhausting, but completely hypothermia free. I even got to work on my tan a little.
I do feel a little responsible for this flood though, for two reasons. First, I’ve been wanting to begin working out a bit more. Nothing insane like triathlon training, but something light and fluffy, kind of like riding my bike to the local pet story to pet some baby rabbits and then a bike ride back home. You know, just a little something extra that gets the heart pumping consistently for about 20 minutes every to every other day. The thing is, I never really specified to the universe how I wanted that to look. I really only shared that I had that intention. Let’s just say that bailing water out of a stairwell for an hour and then moving all the furniture out of the basement and up a flight of stairs is an amazing workout. My heart was power pumping for well over an hour today because of the action that this whole fiasco got me to do. Lesson: Try to be as specific as possible when setting your personal exercising intentions.
Reason two… so here’s what happened. Late last night I turned on the water to our sprinkler system for the first time this year. We have a nozzle in the back yard that I leave open when I turn off the water so that the water can drain out of that pipes so they will not freeze and break during the winter. I sort of, completely, forgot that that nozzle was still open. The result, water poured out of the nozzle all night, poring over our yard, across our cement patio and water falling down the steps into our stairwell and seeping in through the back door thus flooding the basement. Lesson 2: When you turn on your water for the season, always, and I mean ALWAYS check every nozzle in your yard to make sure everything is closed tightly before going to bed… ALWAYS!!!
A flowed basement does make for a very long afternoon, but things are now cleaned up and fans are blowing to dry out the carpet. Once it’s all dry, all we’ll need is some new padding installed and we can get our basement back to normal. See, I still have the workout of moving all of the furniture back downstairs to look forward to as well.
On another plus note, at least of the furniture in the basement has been thoroughly dusted for the first time in about four months. You wouldn’t think dusty book shelves would be something you’d notice when packing up boxes and hauling everything in your living room upstairs in a hurry, but they were pretty noticeably. I got them cleaned up once the cleaning crew arrived and started sucking all of the water out of the basement.
Once everything was situated, and the cleaners had left with the fans running there was nothing left for use to do at the house, so plans returned to normal and we headed to my parents house to have Father’s Day dinner with the family, which brings me to the fatherly portion of today’s Father’s Day theme. When talking about my dad there are a few things that do come to mind. First are his three favorite jokes, which are:
Q: What is the difference between a duck?
A: One of its feet are both the same.
Q: Why does a mouse when it spins?
A: Because the higher up the more.
Q: What’s the different between a banana?
A: It’s about this color (while holding up your index fingers about 10 inches apart).
When he would ask people if they wanted to hear a joke the actual joke was the person listening to him tell the joke. It was the reaction of the listener that was the joke, the punch line so to speak. The reaction to the joke the first time someone would hear it always got him laughing… and I’m sure it still does. He tells those joke every chance he gets.
A few other items that help explain the character that is my father are, he has all of his thumbs and fingers. Sure that may seem a bit standard for most people to openly accept about their parents, or people in general, but it just so happens that my father was an industrial arts (aka wood shop teacher) for over 30 years. You can now understand how having all of his fingers and thumbs is a much bigger accomplishment that you would have originally thought. It definitely helps one understand his attention to detail.
Some people are born to be artists, some are born to be singers, some are born to be that guy in IT that is incredibly self indulgent and bloated with self importance and will take two day to complete a task that only takes about 2 minutes of actual work. Then there are some, like my dad, that were born to be a teacher. Teaching has always been his calling, his passion, and his joy in life. He was the one teacher that everyone loved, and would get the loudest reaction from the student body when his name was announced.
He also treated everyone equally. I even flunked my brother one quarter because my brother felt the need to make a point to the other kids in class. A few kids were teasing my brother one day, telling him that he was going to get an A because his dad was teaching the class. So to prove them wrong, my brother did nothing in class for a good portion of the quarter and accumulated an F, just to show the kids that my dad always give the grade you earned. It didn’t matter who you were.
The stories about this man and by this man are almost as epic as the stories he would make up each night and tell us as we would go to sleep each night. I suppose if I had to pick just one word to describe my father it would be “storyteller.” He is, was, and has always been a storybook, waiting for someone to ask him a question so he could reply, “That reminds me of a story.” Then for the next 5 to 20 minutes he would share his story with you, and anyone willing to listen. At the end your question would be answered and you imagination would be filled. Some stories were made up just to display the point he was trying to make, but most of the time they were true stories about him, doing something he shouldn’t have, and was sharing it with you in hopes that he could teach you, through his story, the lesson he learned, so that you could hopefully avoid learning the same thing he did in the same way he had.
So on this Father’s Day I raise a glass and toast… To the father’s in my life who have always offered their support and love, who have give advice when it was asked and offered when it wasn’t, but was needed anyway. Thanks for being there through the tough times and laughing with me in good. And to my dear old dad, thank you for passing on your gift as a storyteller, which actually reminds me of a story…
I love you, I thank you, and I honestly wouldn’t be here without you! Cheers!
How was your Father’s Day?
Image Source:
Google Images, key words: Father’s Day, flooded basement, yard faucet, dusty bookshelves, teacher, and storyteller.
![Angela's Birthday Weekend]()
by Richard Timothy | Jun 15, 2010 | I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
At the last wine party, with travel schedules, short notices, kids, and existing plans the wine party held a smaller gathering than usual. On a groovy note though, we did have my cousin join us for the first time, which I had not seen in probably around 10 years. Now one of the many things I enjoy about the wine parties is the endless collection of conversational oddities that people bring with them and share at the party each month. It was during the last wine party that my cousin brought up an epidemic that is spreading and affecting women across the world.
There are a few prerequisites that must be met in order for a woman to fall victim to this epidemic. The first thing that is required is a cell phone. Although, not any cell phone will do. I am referring to a cell phone with texting capabilities in which the owner of the cell phone can receive pictures via text.
Now there are people who would assume that this relates to all people who are equipped with a cell phone, and I would agree were I not one of the freaks out there that has an abrasion to texts. It’s not that I disagree with the concept of texting in general. I just disagree with the concept of me receiving and sending text messages. In fact my personal abrasion to the texting phenomena resulted in me contacting my cell phone provider and rearranging my phone to block all texts from my phone, both incoming and outgoing.
Sure it might sound a little archaic, but by that simple choice alone I am one of the most polite cell phone owning humans on the planet. Hey, I understand that the way people are communicating is changing. I have even heard from some parents that texting is the only way they are able to communicate with their teenagers. Personally I think this is a result of poor choices in parenting and they are letting themselves get sucked into a myth about texting being a gateway of communication between parents and teenagers that the cell phone companies have released on the internet as a way to boot cell phone sales. Parents are beginning to believe that they need to get their kid a cell phone with texting so they can talk to their kid. Even if you remove the conspiracy theory of that statement, shame on you for taking the lazy way out and given up on traditional spoken conversation, replacing it with bad grammar, nonexistent punctuation, and the use of the endless anagrams for words because people are too lazy to spell it out… I mean seriously, wtf?
In my experience, texting breeds rudeness, but because its texting, people fail to comprehend that they are being rude when texting or simply checking an incoming text while in the middle of a conversation. Yes, there are times and places where I can see how it is a useful tool. My problem is that I see texting as a tool that is turning people into tools without them realizing it.
I accept that texting is here and will be around for a while until something comes along that will replace it. Until then, and because this behavior is a relatively new addition to the human social dynamic wouldn’t you think that there should be texting etiquette classes? I think the class would break down to the following rule:
If you are having a conversation with an actual human, don’t text to someone else in the middle of your conversation or read texts you receive during the a fore mentioned conversation with said “real person.”
Appendix 1: Texting a third party is acceptable if it relates to contacting a third party that is being invited to the conversation.
Appendix 2: Checking received texts is acceptable if the situation is explained to the other “real person” in the conversation that you are expecting an important call or text, prior to engaging into a real conversation.
I don’t care if it could be the baby sitter with an emergency about the kids. You know what happened back in the day when something would happen while the parents were away? The baby sitter would drive your behind to the hospital, of if she couldn’t drive she would call her mom and her mom would show up and drive your butt to the hospital. Either way the situation was handled and your thumb was reattached, and your parents were still able to enjoy a nice evening out with friends or, better yet, each other.
So what was the epidemic that my cousin shared? The baffling yet regular habit of lesser mentally developed men that feel the need to, and consistently engages in the practice of sending a picture, via text, of the guy taking a picture of his reflection completely naked with his naughty bits waving hello to some poor unsuspecting woman who had only gone out with the chap only once a few days prior. I mean, who does that? I wish I had an answer, but it completely baffles me, bewilders me, befuddles me, and other words starting with b.
There were a few people at the party who admitted to having received more than one candid photo from more than one mentally broken male presenting their peanut sized brain in digital form to a girl that they have either chatted with online, had dinner with as a result of friends setting them, or that they had been chatting/stalking via Facebook. None of us at the party could really figure it out. One has started keeping a collection of all the “junk” files she receives in the event that fame or fortune comes to the junk sender. She figures at that point she can always sell the images to the highest bidder.
You know what I find confusing about selling photos like that? If you attempt to sell the image back to the individual who freely sent them to you in the first place, law enforcement experts chose to call that blackmail, but if you sell it to a third party so that they can release it to every major news networks and with any luck get the image to go viral so millions of people Google and giggle at some candid photo, it’s perfectly legit and often called entertainment. The world is a funny place sometimes.
I find it a little disturbing how common of a practice this actually is. The more people I talk to about this, the more I find people responding, “Oh yeah, happens all the time.” It’s almost as if it’s such a common practice that people just aren’t affected by it anymore. One of the party goers did admit that weren’t terrible opposed to it if there was some creativity involved with the picture taking, but this was the same person saving the photos for possible money making opportunities. My theory is that if you get the model to play “naughty bits” dress up the photo is going to be a lot more valuable in the resellers market. Who knows though, maybe that’s the line for her where junk becomes art.
I mean, I knew texting was a gateway habit to poor etiquette, but I had no idea how far south the poor etiquette meter it can cause some people to go. I hope it gets better, but sadly no matter what you consider is acceptable or not, I fear that as long as there are devices that have cameras on them there are going to be people jumping in front of them as the take picture button is pushed wearing only a smile. If you are one of these smiley people, practice some social skills and at least ask the person if they want to see it instead of just surprising them with a text that is going to add an extra year to their therapist visits. It’s the right thing to do.
Normally I’d ask for your stories on the topic, but I’m a little afraid to ask… your call I suppose, but please don’t send me any pictures.
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: texting, naughty texting, texting at dinner, blackmail, and poor etiquette.
![Angela's Birthday Weekend]()
by Richard Timothy | Jun 13, 2010 | Any Suggestions, I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
One thing I noticed about Vegas, it is a very tippy town. Of course it’s also a very tipsy town. Still, tipping in Vegas is just as common of a practice as drinking in Vegas. The thing is, getting tipsy there is a very simple process and the casinos are very eager and willing to accommodate any who are seeking that type of Vegas experience. Tipping on the other hand, although an easy process to take part in, is a very confusing process for a carry-your-own-bags type of personality such as myself.
Here’s what happened, on the second night in Vegas we had reserved a suite at the MGM Grand to do some training for about 20 to 30 people who had gone to Vegas for the same business training that my sweetie-baby-cutie-pie-wifey-pooh had gone there for. After the training, we had some Hawaiian BBQ and a luau party, along with some entertainment. The entertainment… dancers! I know what you are thinking, but the dancing did stay in theme with the party and the dancers wore traditional island outfits and performed traditional island dances in which all of the dancers remained clothed. That in and of itself may seem like a bit of an enigma for Vegas, but for the purpose and theme of the evening it was perfect.
The grooviest part of this whole experience was that the hotel was feeling rather randomly generous that day and upgraded our room to a high end suite for no additional cost. When we arrived with all the party supplies we had the bellboy, who was really a bellman but still seemed content on being referred to as a boy that based on his title alone was in charge of ringing the bells for the hotel, unload the car and place all our supplies on a luggage cart.
He was very clear that we would not be seeing him again, and that he would not be the one to drop off our luggage at our room. He pointed this out to us three different times. After he filled up a luggage cart we understanding the not so subtle hints he was dropping, tipped him a few dollars and headed to our room. When we got there a completely different “boy” showed up with our luggage cart and proceeded to unload it for us. The main problem I had with this and with loading up the cart was that it just makes me feel a little useless and odd not knowing how to react to the situation. I wanted to help out, because that’s how I was raised, but both “boy ala bells” was very adamant that I do no such thing.
After the cart was unloaded the “boy” came over to me asked for the cart ticket we had been given when the cart was first loaded up. I handed it to him with a $5 bill. He looked at the bill and opened it up to see if there was more than one bill inside. When there wasn’t he looked back at me with a “Seriously!?!” look on his face to which I responded, “Thank you!” in one of my friendly tones, and with that he left.
It did get me thinking though. Apparently I had taken part in some tipping faux pas. At least when I comes to tipping for your food there is a standard set up that I can mathematically figure out and take part in. I was almost bothered by the “boys” reaction, but we had to quickly get everything set up for the party, and I was responsible for mixing a vat of spirited juice for the attendees. Also, we scored an amazing room. It was around 2200 sq. feet and we were on the 17th floor. The room had a deck with a fabulous view overlooking the strip, which just so happened to have a hot tub on it.
During the stay in Vegas my thoughts eventually went back to this whole tipping thing and confusion began to set in. Here’s how the subject began to unravel in my head…
Tipping your server in a restaurant is around 15 to 20% of the cost of your meal. This is a common standard for the US. So how does that equate to baggage handlers? I mean apparently you have to tip the bellboy who unloads your car, and then you tip the bellboy who unloads your luggage cart. You also tip the valet person that takes your car and then you tip them when they return your car. Is there a percentage associated with the tip based on room cost? If there is a scale, what is considered correct? It is 1% or 5% or what exactly? I know it can’t be the same food, mainly because the service you get for the span of a meal could be up anywhere between 30 minutes to 2+ hours. Unloading your baggage cart takes maybe 10 minutes top. Granted there is a bit more heaving lifting, but still.
Also, how does this percentage work with upgrades? If I reserve a room that is $200 a night and get upgraded to a room that is $1000 a night, am I then required to tip at the new room rate vs. the original room rate? I don’t think you would, but maybe you are? Does that go along with cars as well? Do you tip a valet guy more if you drive a more expensive car vs. a cheap car? Or is there just one standard fee? Also, with the valet, or even taxis, do you tip more if there are more people in the car?
And another thing, we had a cleaning lady show up to get the room ready for bedtime, something I’ve not experienced since I was 5 and my mother would come into my room to tuck me in at night, although this was a bit different. Some nice lady showed up and took away all of the trash from the party. Then she went up to our room and placed some robes on the bed and folded open the sheets to the bed so we could easily climb into bed without having to take an extra second or two to personally grab the corner of the bed sheet and fold it down and then climb into bed. It too was an odd little experience and at the end, it was once again tip time. Once again begging the question, how much do you tip these people? Is this also equated to the cost of the room you are in, or if it is an upgrade do you use the room you were initially intended to be in? Is there an equation that can be used to quickly figure out these sums? Or is it just some standard fee?
And while I’m on the topic, I do feel it important to point out that if you are a food server and you take care of a table of 6 or more people (I believe that is the standard) were you automatically add an 18% gratuity and then you intentionally don’t tell the party that in hopes that you’ll get double tips, well then you are an evil, wicked, mean, and bad, and nasty person and I hope you get a severe case facial herpes which always flares around your mouth so that no one will ever want to kiss you again. Sure, some might call that a bit harsh, but I choose to call it suggestive karma.
On a different note, but still on the same topic, if you are at a restaurant, and you and your dining party stay for an extended period of time catching up, laughing, telling jokes, sobering up, whatever really, and spend over a three hour period at your table, remember that your server has had to put up with you and serve you for that time and has lost tips because you are taking up a table that someone else could have used for a meal and tipped the server for. The point is you really need to tip them more that the customary 15%. I’d recommend doubling your tip for them. Or if you are one of those people that just meets for coffee at a restaurant and purchase a cup of endless coffee and decide to spend two hours there drinking coffee and ordering nothing else, make sure you drop a dollar or two for each hour you spend there as a tip to your server. It too is a karma issue.
Needless to say, Vegas did leave me a little tipped out when we left. I’m sure there is a cell phone app out there that is more than willing to answer all of my Vegas tipping questions, but that would require me to get a new cell phone that would allow me to add apps to my phone, and that is one gamble that I am just not willing to make.
Is anyone else as perplexed by this extended tipping practice, or is it just me?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: tips, bellboy, MGM suite deck, confused man, and friends at dinner.
Recently my sweetie-baby-cutie-pie-wifey-pooh had her birthday, and as birthday’s go this one went rather well. The celebration of which managed to expand over a three day period, which is almost the amount of time it takes to watch the Lord of the Rings Extended Version Trilogy back to back… almost being the distinguishing word there.
Saturday evening began the birthday festivities in a tri-celebration. Two additional friends were also in the season of their birthday so in the spirit of giving I made a vat of fruity alcoholic happiness. One of the birthday people had brought two questionable bottles of wine. The type of wines that had exceeded its stay in its home of fermentation and over the years had become a bit withered and grumpy, and constantly yelling at all the young wines to stay out of its rack. One was a white zinfandel and the other was a seven year old bottle of Chianti. After trying each it was clear that both had gone over to the dark side. I used my mixing mastery in to save these poor decrepit wines from being undrinkable, and turned them into the base for my beverage dispenser of fruity birthday toasting.
As the party came to a close and birthday people began to head home, we had the present opening portion of the evening. To Laurie, our gracious party host, and whose husband Dwight and friends serenaded our birthday honorees with live music, we gave her a cage for naughty candles that refuse to play nice with others. At least that’s what it reminded me of. It was a round wire cage with a twisty bottom that you could remove and place a candle on, and then twist back into place so that the candle was in the cage. It also had a long wire handle so you could hang it on a ceiling hook in a corner of the house when you decide to put the candle in time-out.
Day two of the celebration consisted of sleeping in, and moving slowly once we got up as a result of moderate alcohol consumption and an assault of vindictive pollen beating my allergies into a state of sneeze filled exhaustion. One we hit the post shower level of begin awake we went over to Laurie and Dwight’s and helped clean up the party mess. Once that was done, we hit the last day of the Utah Arts Festival. We spent five hours wanders around looking at booth after booth of various forms of art, such as painting, jewelry, ceramics, glass work, pencil drawing, sculptures, stained glass, and so on. All the while we were being followed around and tempted by the savory fragrance of cinnamon roasted almonds… that mouth watering tempter of sweet crunchy goodness. We did manage to resist its temptation though.
