Overinflated Sense of Self-Importance Precipitated by a Hyperbolic “Need” for Chicken Wings, aka Meat Rage

I’m a big supporter of my local farmers market. Yes I’m one of ‘those’, don’t act surprised. And I have special adulation for the grass-fed, farm-raised, slow-smoked ribs and chicken at my favorite Amish stand. It has brought Thursdays to a Sabbath level of sanctity in my home. My boyfriend and I wait in line for the ribs like I imagine Catholics would wait for the host during Depression-era communion: with reverence and like they are rationed. The little Amish girl blesses me with a smile, putting the the body and blood of of Christ BBQ sauce and a mint tea in my hands with the transubstantiated chicken. And I pray that she absolves me of my sins so I can go home and enjoy my delicious bounty as though it died for my sins and I haven’t eaten in a month.

This meat stand has one of five options: half or whole racks of ribs, half chickens, a chicken leg/thigh combo or four wings. It’s so popular that they recently had to start posting a sign with the times that the different items would be ready, based on cooking duration, because I guess people were getting antsy. Logically (at least to me), the wings sell out first because they are small, quickly prepared, easy-to-eat and delicious. They are also one of the cheapest things on the menu. However I don’t see how running out of wings warrants a reaction such as this one, which I recently overhead from an angry, or apparently protein-deficient customer, “Aw man! You all better start bringing more wings!”

This is where my brain did the opposite of whatever happened to the Grinch’s heart on Christmas.

Now, I could take the time to explain the basics of supply-and-demand but I’m going to give all five of my readers the benefit of the doubt and assume that you realize that most traditional chickens only come with two wings, and the Amish aren’t cranking out massive amounts of Purdue-worthy Franken-chickens. And they certainly aren’t motivated by capitalism or angry wing-hungry ding-dongs in the city. They’re Amish for fuck’s sake. They’re not like 95% of the rest of the population in about a million different ways, particularly in the middle of a metropolitan area. So barking at the girl in the bonnet and the zipperless dress when she runs out of chicken wings would be like me trying to Google her brother so I can send him an e-vite to my cosmic bowling league. Unless you catch one of them during Rumspringa, chances are slim that your point is going anywhere but in their evening prayers.

So, to the angry man who thinks the world revolves around his wing consumption, I ask the following questions:
a. Why does some feel that any vendor whose business is doing that well BETTER do anything for his benefit?
b. What is wrong with the leg/thigh combo? It costs the same as four wings and quite honestly, I’m pretty sure it has more meat on it.
c. The man threatened not to come back if they didn’t start bringing more wings…and why the hell would they care? This guy was a complete douche and his lousy attitude would fit in better at KFC, where I’m sure they never run out of wings.
d. I chimed in, “MORE FOR ME!” and proceeded to by $20 worth of their food, making sure to tell them how much I appreciated their food and that nothing they make ever goes to waste in our house.

Oversharing in the Workplace, featuring: guest blogger!

Oversharing happens everywhere (as I experienced this morning with a trolley-buddy. She is someone I see regularly, but not so often that we are on a first name basis, but who apparently thinks we are close enough that she could flash her peeling, sunburned chest to me, then continue to talk – loudly – about how she had to sleep naked so her shirt wouldn’t stick to her and buy a special tank top to wear to work because there was no way she could wear a bra under her work shirt, which was obvious regardless of her mention of it.)

Counter-Productivity

(I’m going to refrain from editorializing for once and hope that my visuals do enough to support the point I am bitching about here.)

Exhibit A: The Coffee Tree (created by the students)

*My favorite thing about this exhibit is that they actually acquired NEW cups to prove their point about not getting new cups.

Exhibit B: The Dump (made by the teacher)

Take-out packaging

Oh, for the love of clean, dry pants and all my goddamn leftovers making safely home with me. Why haven’t we figured out how to do this yet?

I have three priorities when I get carry out:

1. I long for air-tight and spill proof packaging (these generally fall under the umbrella of the same design scheme so they count as one.)

2. The container and the bag it is placed in should be relatively similar in same shape and size, so that when I carry the bag I can do so by its handles without the container shifting all wonky in transit. Upon failure of this priority I can hopefully rely on #1 for backup.

3. Both bag and container should be somewhat biodegradable, recyclable or at the very least sturdy enough for several months or even years of reuse. READ: Why the fuck does anyone still use styrofoam? It’s not even that easy to eat out of. More importantly, some states have banned things like plastic bags altogether, why do some restaurants actually serve food on styrofoam when you’re eating food TO STAY? I don’t get it. There should be a moratorium on that shit, forever. Which is as long as it lasts.

I have dreams of patenting some kind of air-tight, biodegradable-yet-reusable, air-tight, spill-proof, square, box-and-bag system. And then ruling the planet with my genius, and all my leftovers. In my clean, dry pants.

THIRTY-EIGHT

I don’t know the proper nomenclature for this next topic but I refer to it as “Sunday tolerance.” It stems from a breed of people who seem to think they are pure in their feelings towards humanity, that they don’t discriminate, that they treat everyone with love and respect regardless of age, creed or color. They are just average people like you or me, not necessarily political figureheads or religious dieties or shamans or martyrs or, whatever. They’re just regular folks who seem to almost set a good example for the rest of us, you may even find yourself wanting to emulate. That is, until you realize they hate “orientals” or “crippleds” or “Jews” or “women”.

You know the people in your office or on your block who are quick to drop a “Life is good” or “I feel so blessed” or “God will save you” into every other sentence, but you’re fairly certain that you’ve hear them calling the kid down the street a faggot, or wishing that the “chinks” would get the hell out of the neighborhood because they’re tired of America giving handouts to foreigners (despite the fact that the chinks are probably actually Cambodian refugees whose entire town was burned down by the US military)? I detest the Sunday tolerants.

I’ve taken to calling it Sunday Tolerance for a reason, because most of the time they are overtly religious and nine times out of 10 they bite their tongue because they know the Lord or Santa Clause or some other elf is watching and dammit they want their gift of eternal life/a bazillion virgins/a Tonka truck etc… they don’t act with any real grace towards others because they don’t actually have tolerance in their hearts, well not entirely anyway. Maybe sometimes when their hair is cooperating or they are on a karmic upswing, but then it’s mostly by accident.

I went to Catholic school and while I am not a practicing Catholic now I think that my tolerance for humanity is pretty indiscriminate and I can say that I really did learn that by the example of this man called Jesus Christ. If in fact he was a real person, he was one righteous motherfucker. But on the flip side of my argument (and oozing from every post I’ve ever written here) is this: just as indiscriminate as my tolerance is, so is my intolerance. For assholes.

As I always say, “angels and assholes come in every color.” This is one of my commandments. I swear by it. I’d love to tell you that I am a peaceful, wholesome person that loves everyone and has compassion gestating from every cell, and I don’t judge anyone, blah blah blah. But I’d be lying. I do judge people, but I do so based on the content of their character, and I do so by observing their actions and their treatment of other people.

For example, the Chinese guy that almost ran over me in the wheelchair this morning, he was an asshole. And I know that not based on any of the discriminating factors about his appearance that I just told you about him. You think I’m a jerk because I called a guy in a wheelchair an asshole? Why? He was. I know because of the sense of entitlement he rode around with, the lack of regard for anyone else around him, the angry scowl on his face and his demeanor when he was speaking to the girl who rang him up for the caffeinated coffee he probably didn’t need. And actually he was most likely Filipino and it was a scooter. But regardless, he was still a douchebag. But that doesn’t mean that all Asians in wheelchairs are assholes. Neither my tolerance nor my intolerance take a break any day of the week.

THIRTY-SIX

Philandering Heroes

Although it’s my experience that a good majority of these walking contradictions are male, I don’t think that women are exempt. However I do think we hear fewer tales of philandering heroines because so many perfectly deserving females still have to claw their way through the murky waters of double standards, glass ceilings and good old fashioned misogyny/sexism. But for the purpose of this post, I’m talking about the fellas here.

I just finished watching the Stephen Soderbergh film Che starring Benicio del Toro, who I think did a remarkable job embodying the supremely complex revolutionary symbol. It was a beautifully directed film about the dark history of Latin America and it obviously focused largely on Ernesto Guevara, Fidel Castro’s strongest guerrilla figurehead.

I finished watching the film on disc one, and popped in the second disc which of course had a whole slew of extra footage that didn’t make the cut, including a lengthy scene that shows a mature and balding Ernesto with his wife, Aleida and two of his children, all of whom he very clearly had a deep and vulnerable love for. (I believe this was just a projected future since Che died much younger than the image that was portrayed.) Despite the love it made me sad. You see, Aleida was introduced halfway through the movie as a young and pretty Cuban expat on the run, looking to hide out with Che’s column of the Castro regime. He very willingly allows her to stay and collect tax money from landowners, despite denying every male expat prior to her arrival that showed up looking for his protection, unarmed, with no fighting experience – just as she did. At that moment, halfway into the film, and well into Ernesto’s overtly righteous fight for “Cuba or death” I knew that the subtext was, ‘these two are totally hitting it even though he just said he has a wife and child in Mexico.’ And boy was I right.

Why do people in power do this? I understand physical urges, we all have them, and believe it or not I actually think it’s unhealthy NOT to act on them – that’s how sexual deviants like child molesters are made. But I also know that I saw people using phones and writing letters throughout the course of the film, and it occurs to me that at some point before he impregnated his new apprentice out of wedlock, while still married to his first wife that was home with his other child, and while he was very focused, riding his high tall horse through Cuba, liberating thousands of people, the fucking sonofabitch probably could have had the decency to pick up the fucking phone and end one relationship before consummating the next.

I’ve been doing some research about Dr. Guevara since watching the film and while I obviously respect him for everything that he did for people that were not his, and for coming from so much and being humbled by people with so little, I think he deserves all of the merits in the world that he has received. But I’m also thankful for my ability to discern people’s faults from their talents, because martyring someone who can save and inspire an entire nation, but turning a blind eye to the cracks they simultaneously made in the foundation of their own family seems like a slightly dishonest legacy to leave with future generations. I’m talking to you Clinton, JFK, MLK, and Nelson frickin’ MANDELA for crying out loud! (Mandela, btw, has said of Che that he is “an inspiration for every human being who loves freedom…[and like me, can’t discern from one vagina to the next.]”

I don’t think I’m asking too much for a leader who doesn’t cheat on his family. Conversely, I wouldn’t mind one who takes the road less traveled and remains unwed and without children either. That said, I’m voting for The Clooney the minute he announces his candidacy.

THIRTY-FIVE

SEPTA… SEPTA… SEPTA…

Dear Mr. Septa, I realize you can’t monitor all the rambunctious kids or enforce etiquette violations, but I do expect you to do your job, which means get me from point A to point B!

So my trolley/street car is down for electrical repair from June 14 to August 29^th. I will say that SEPTA has been very good about communicating that information. There have been several signs posted, SEPTA workers have handed out brochures, a booth was set up to ask questions, temporary shuttle stops very visible and accessible. Well yesterday on my way home I hear someone mumble “the bus driver doesn’t know the route”, but you can’t trust what you hear on the street, because why would they let this bus driver take us out without knowing the route. I’ve seen so many brochures I probably know the route. As we were approaching my stop, I pulled the stop request cord, even swiped my TransPass, and was standing beside the door, as were 3 or 4 other passengers eager to go home. I see the stop coming up, and I see the stop go by. I inform the driver she passed the stop, to which I get an attitudinal reply “I don’t know where the stops are, you have to tell me.”  YOU GOTZ TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT?!?!

It was my first time taking the shuttle too, but I can see the 2×1 foot sign that says “shuttle stop”. But, if your bitch ass was too lazy to look, you could have initiated the effin conversation to let me know you might need help finding the stops. You fell short on this one SEPTA, and for that you will get a letter!

THIRTY-THREE and THIRTY-FOUR

American Apparel and Urban Outfitters

The first because their ads are basically soft core porn shot in poorly lit, back-alleys and self-storage containers, and that doesn’t seem to align with their $35 price tags on gold lame, bandeau bikini tops.

The second because nobody that sells remakes of worn out Lynyrd Skynyrd tees could possibly be urban. And because of shit like this:

THIRTY-TWO

Dear Al Quaida,

I found the target you are looking for.

I don’t know why you have such a hard time locating him since he makes himself so visible, even with camoflauge on. And actually, the camo seems to indicate that he’s calling you out, challenging you to a duel. I think I even heard him say he’s wearing two watches so that he can keep local time as well as whatever time it is in whatever cave or boardroom or fallout shelter or rec center you are conducting your business from these days. He said so. And then he said some shit about your momma.

Please take this guy out. He is pure evil.

Thank you.

America

THIRTY-ONE

a general rant

I need to catch up on my bitching; it’s not that I haven’t been doing it… just not in blog form. I had my annual review here at MPOE (my place of employment). I did get the rating “Staff member’s performance consistently meets and frequently exceeds all established goals/expectations for this position”; however, sitting in this chair writing blogs, reading everything on the internet, with a few sprinkles of real work got me that rating. But, the kicker was in my comments.

“She should be reading through her instructions given as well as writing down when instructions are given verbally. Saying that, she is reliable and reports to work on time and for the most part, her work product is error free”

So if my work is (direct quote) “error free”, why the eff does it matter if I take notes? I did question this statement and my answer was “I would feel more comfortable if you took notes.” Further argued my point by saying “it’s like going to a restaurant and the waiter doesn’t write down your order, it might make you nervous but when you food comes out just as you requested you get over it.” Some people aren’t note takers, I’m one of them, went through college without doing it, maybe I should have, but either way it’s not how I work and clearly it has not caused me to do my work incorrectly. I’m wondering though, is she going to check my notes, because these are MY notes, not to be distributed like meeting minutes.  A coworker suggested I make picture notes, now that’s effin hilarious!