The Nanny State and The New Puritanism

Dame Edna was on CBS Sunday Morning last week. During the interview she referred to political correctness as "this new Puritanism." Such an incredibly on-target statement caught my attention, and reminded me of a blog I was planning to write several weeks ago, on the Nanny State. When Dame Edna made this remark, it struck me how interwoven these concepts are.

For anyone unfamiliar with the term, "Nanny State" refers to over-protectionism and parental-like interference on the part of a governing body. Some would argue that seat belt laws fall within this category, although it's my belief that seat belt laws save the state hundreds of millions in health care each year - in this situation I believe there is logic behind the Nanny, so I tend to agree that there should be a law. What would however fall under Nanny State laws are those that prevent one from getting a tatoo - or purchasing alcohol on Sunday - or smoking marajuana. These are victimless crimes, and these laws do nothing but press the will of some onto the lives of others.

Blue Laws, for example, are textbook Nanny. In fact, they're often the most insidious type of Nanny laws. These are revenue generating laws - the cost of licensing, fines, added taxes, all revenue generators disguised as Nannies so more people would support them. This is a double-edged hypocritical sword that pains me when people can't see through it.

The bar on trans-fat in New York restaurants; the proposition that cigarette smoking become illegal in one's own home; mandates that bars close at a specific hour; these are Nanny doctrines that threaten to propel our country into a day care. A prime example was raised when my mother, when in Australia, discovered a sign in my Aunt's house that dictated the proper way to evacuate one's bowels. Mom blogged about this recently. In her entry she brought up the idea that this is not something that needs to be taught. This is a basic human function that we do quite naturally without the help of an illustrated (yes, illustrated) flyer. This is the end-product of the Nanny State: a population made to feel dumbed down to the point of receiving instructions on basic human functionality.

So what does this have to do with the New Puritanism? Absolutely everything.

When did we learn to fear words? When did it become not okay to refer to a black person as black? (I could take this argue further and ask why we need to define anyone by their ethnicity anyway - "race" wasn't even a term used until relatively recently, and will hopefully phase itself out as we blend as a world population - but I digress). Why does one have to be "African American?" I would imagine many black people find this term offensive. And what of white people from the African continent who immigrate to the US? Are they referred to as African American? What of blacks who move here from a continent other than Africa? Are they African American? Or would they be, say, African-Canadian-American? Where is the line drawn?

Then there is the term "people persons of color." This is just ridiculous. This is as much defining a person by their ethnic background as referring to someone by their ethnicity before profession (i.e. African American Lawyer or Asian News Anchor." This falls into the same category as "my woman-doctor" or "male teacher." By using these terms as defining characteristics we're perpetuating the myth of our differences by nature of background.

Politically correct speech is harmful much in the same way as Affirmative Action is inherently racist. I am not a Gay American. I am an American. I am not a European Male. I am a male. Who I am - who any of us are are defined only by that - who we are. However, if we need to identify someone and utilize their physical characteristics to do so, that is entirely different. If I am referring to a black salesperson so that I can get their name from someone else, there are those who find this offensive somehow. It would be the same if I were to ask for the woman wearing pink.

And while we tiptoe around the correct terminology, we avoid real, honest conversation. We become so afraid of offending anyone at all that we purposely stunt our communication and feelings. We subvert those feelings and they fester. The only way an honest conversation will ever occur is if we're not afraid of our words.

This goes both ways. I could care less if someone calls me a faggot. They do not define me by their words. My three closest friends are Jewish, Black, and Hispanic. None of them would care if a derogatory term were used in connection with their names, because they do not allow the uneducated to define them by irrelevant characteristics. Why are more people not like this? Those that tiptoe around terminology and those that profess their proud ignorance through slang are on the very same page, as far as I'm concerned.

It's time to stop obsessing over our differences - it's time to discuss them when appropriate, and move on. We're all much more alike than we are different. Tolerance goes both ways. In order to expect the intolerant to learn the error of their ways, we need to not expect them to dance around the issue. Otherwise we'll never discuss the issue, and we'll never move beyond it.

If we avoid the serious topics by dressing them up in pretty words and remain terrified of offending someone, we are headed to a new Victorian Age, a Puritanical Nanny State that wraps its xenophobia in an ornate cloak of the enlightened. It's not enlightenment. It's fear.

In Defense of Marriage

Queer, Part 2

Should members of the same sex be allowed to marry?

Let's examine that question. Exactly who is doing the allowing? Who decides this for all of us? What a weighty decision that's on your shoulders, a lofty post on which you've decided to stand, when you make it your decision to make.

It's amusing to me when I hear questions such as "are we not opening the door for incestuous marriage and beastiality?" Those questions are at once laughable and hateful. This is all I'm going to say on that subject.

Why don't we begin with the word "marriage." What does it mean to you? Who gave you that meaning? Did it come from your church? In many cases it did, since marriage is largely a religious institution, at least in its origins. So shouldn't it be between you and your church whether you are allowed to wed in the eyes of your religion or denomination therein?

Then of course there's the argument that the government should not step in and decide for the church and the individual states - and everyone for that matter, that homosexuals be allowed to marry. I find it ironic that these same people appear to deem it okay for the government to tell us all, to tell every church what they're NOT allowed to do. The latter seems far more intrusive. Are these not the same conservatives who believe government should remain out of our personal lives?

For the sake of argument let's say this is a religious contradiction to you, the allowance of two men or two women to get married. Let's say that for some outlandish and far-flung reason this somehow threatens your marriage, or the institution as a whole. I'll pretend for a moment that this is a remotely logical argument. Okay, so what if we don't call it marriage? I for one, don't care what you call it so long as I may enjoy the same rights, and am not denied thus because of who I am, or because you have decreed who I am to be unacceptable in your world. So let's not use the word marriage. Let's call it a civil union.

And people still protest these unions, they still believe that it is their moral obligation to keep these rights from those who are not like them.

How does it threaten anyone? How has it become such a black or white argument? Do you believe more gay marriages will fail? I would argue that years from now the percentage of gay marriages that have worked where they are legal, will be similar to those of heterosexuals. A marriage is a marriage - the same rules apply. Are you still under the impression that this is some lifestyle choice? See my previous post on that one.

So why? Why is it so important for some to deny others the rights they enjoy? This is a civil rights issue as much as it is a religious one. As far as the law is concerned, religion should not be a factor. That in itself is unconstitutional. The factor that remains, large and looming, is fear.

All I can say to this, is get over it. I realize that social change takes time, that it's a lengthy, sometimes (needlessly) painful process. I'm just having a hard time remaining patient with that process, waiting and watching quietly while the debate goes on as to whether or not my basic human rights are valid. The hurtful undertone to these debates is that until the majority can be convinced that I am not a threat to the institution of marriage by my very existence and desire to marry, my rights will rest in the hands of the vocal minority.

And once I'm "allowed" to marry in my state? I want children. More on this to follow.

Queer

Part One: My Lifestyle

I've danced around this topic numerous times, and while I don't want this blog go the way of the Ellen sitcom, (as I mentioned in a previous entry), I think it's time I tackle this one head on, and then be done with it. I was inspired by a fellow blogger I follow. You should really pay him a visit, his blog is both interesting and entertaining, as well as insightful and well-written. I intend this to be my part of a conversation I would like to start with him.

To some, and especially to those who don't know me, this might sound like a pity-party, a woe-is-me, my-life-is-harder-than-yours sorrow piece. It's not. I had a hard time growing up, but many children have had far harder. I experienced pain, but I also had a loving family who tried to help. Not everyone has that much. I also know be grateful for running water, heat, air conditioning, and a roof over my head. I didn't want for much, so I'm not looking for anybody to feel sorry for me. I sure has hell don't. So as I write about whatever struggles I may have had, please know that I realize how much better I had it than the majority of the world.

I'm not doing this to prove a point, but rather to disprove a few. I'm probably not going to say anything you haven't heard before, but maybe I will. I hope just to say it from the perspective of someone who grew up gay, and who spent the majority of his adult life convincing himself that it was not an affliction, not a curse, and not a thing over which I should feel guilty.

I'm going to write this in three parts. This first entry is about the notion that homosexuality is a lifestyle - or worse, a lifestyle choice. In my second part I'll discuss my thoughts on gay marriage, and lastly I'll discuss my stance on homosexuals raising children. I feel that each of these topics lends itself to the next. I intend to point out how in the desires to live a productive life, get married, and finally to pass on one's knowledge and experience on to offspring are not desires that exist solely within those who find the opposite sex attractive. To think otherwise is nothing short of dehumanizing.

With that said, let's begin with this lifestyle I've chosen.

Let's begin with the assumption this was my choice, my decision to make. I was a male growing up in the South, who spent two years in a Southern Baptist school, and heard derogatory gay jokes from my closest family and friends on a regular basis. What would my reaction be? Logically, I would chose a gay lifestyle, right? Surely this wouldn't affect (or cause me to fear an effect on) my relationships with everyone I love. No, of course not - I could expect this thing happening to me that doesn't appear to be happening to anyone else around me to be understood and accepted immediately and universally. Why not chose this? It's fun to be different!

Unfortunately, no. I was years and years away from discovering that my being gay was for no one else to accept but me. The desire to fit in to society and be accepted is a basic human need. For some of us, the painful illusion is that acceptance will be denied us by everyone we hold dear. We believe our family may disown us and our friends may disappear. Sadly enough, for many it's not at all an illusion. I've known more than one gay person who has lost nearly everyone he or she has loved because they did not approve of their "lifestyle choice." For them, the unimaginably difficult, noble act of self-acceptance and honesty earned them the pain and isolation of late-onset orphanage.

I've lived with depression my entire life, and have learned to not let it interfere, not let it drag me back into those dark places I knew growing up. I've learned to stay above the water, and I've become an adept swimmer. But I wasn't born with those skills. As a teenager, I had no idea how to cope. I was learning to live with that nagging fear and doubt that seems to infest everything you do or think, that doubt that anyone who has lived with depression truly understands. I also had to struggle with the dread of one day telling my family that I would never get married, I would never have children, that I was a faggot. (While I believe marriage and children are a possibility, I didn't believe so at the time). I wondered for many years if I would simply remain single, let the truth remain unspoken, even though most would suspect. I thought that might just be easier and less painful for all involved.

At the age of 13 I was hospitalized for depression. I knew at this point that I was attracted to members of the same sex. I knew I was queer. And while wrestling with wondering why I was even put on this earth, I had the added weight of knowing that the basic animal function of reproduction was denied me. I can't fully describe here the feeling of believing you are a walking aberration, an accident, a flamboyant lispy "oops" of nature.

I was asked in the hospital if I was gay. Of course I said no. I was trying to learn to be happy, and if that meant putting this struggle on a shelf in the back of a dank closet somewhere, I was more than willing to do so.

Part of my learning to be happy was learning to embrace the inner freak. This was part of what lead me to self-acceptance later in life. I pierced my face, I dyed my hair, I sought out music that was different than everyone else's. Had I known swishing gay man during those formative years, I may have become one of the walking stereotypes I strain not to loathe. (As I know they're people too - and while I take no issue with effeminate men, if that is truly who they are, I do take issue with those who have adopted a persona in order to fit in to something - anything - while alienating others and making life more difficult for the quiet minority). I want to stress that people should be who they are, that gender and sexual preference are often mutually exclusive - but to pretend you're someone you're not helps no one - isn't that the point? I digress.

Embracing other subcultures and casting out anything top-40 or carrying the label as trendy enabled me to feel better about being different. I met other gay friends, I even helped a few come out, though I was not out to my family and lived under the flimsy but common guise of "bisexual." Bisexuality is easier to claim, because those who know you as bisexual believe that one day you may settle into a more mainstream life - marriage, with children. Through their eyes, you find comfort in that idea, you experience vicariously the possibility of normalcy. But it's just another lie.

In my late teens became a far left-wing liberal. (I'm a liberal still, but with a marked conservative streak). I embraced anything that would embrace me, and discarded anything that wouldn't. I avoided the church. I laughed at the notion of 2.3 kids and a lawn. Secretly, it was a thing that I wanted, but didn't think I could ever have, and therefore cast aside.

As I got older I was exposed to the gay clubs, drag shows and pink culture that for a while threatened to send me back into the closet with a baseball bat and an NRA membership. I once again wore the badge of "bi" as a defense mechanism. I didn't know who I was, but I was pretty sure by then I knew what I didn't want to be.

While I was in England I found a people who were far more accepting of gays and lesbians. It was simply a non-issue. It was then that I began to find peace with my - "lifestyle choice." When I came back to the U.S. I was on the road to not only accepting, but embracing who I was. No, I did not choose this. I fought it most of my life. And now I'm paying for it, in years lost and wasted in denying myself the experience of living life openly and freely. No one denied it for me but me. I wish I'd learned that when I was younger, but I was too busy wallowing in self-pity to realize I was wallowing in self-pity.

So this entry was supposed to be about my lifestyle. Why was that not the focus? Because there is no gay lifestyle. It does not exist. Just as there is no lifestyle for blonde people, or a lifestyle for people who like pork shops. There is no more gay lifetsyle than there is a single gay community or some clandestine gay agenda I keep hearing about. If there is one, I've been excluded. Maybe I should check my secret decoder ring.

We have those, you know.

My Black Thumb

Sometime in the early nineties, my parents left for England for three weeks. My sister was in Atlanta I think, or somewhere, and I was still in high school. I had the house to myself - just me, a big house, cable, and - LOTS of plants.

Mom had left me some instructions, but let's just say I wasn't the poster child for responsible teen. After about a week, all these plants started looking a little wilty and dry, so I decided I should act soon. Rather than reading the instructions, I just watered the hell out of them. My rule of thumb was to hold the hose in the pot until water ran out of the bottom. After half an hour of finding all the plants and watering them, I felt that I had accomplished something and likely returned to reading a book or playing video games.

A week later they were looking wilty again. So I repeated. And repeated just about every day until about five days before my parents returned to England. During that five days, about half the plants died.

After my parents somewhat recovered from the deaths of so many of their green pets, I decided I would learn to take care of a few. I really have no idea why I wanted to, I just did. So Mom got me a cactus and a few jade plants. I killed them. Then I decided I would try to take care of just one, and got a Venus Flytrap - I managed to kill it in less than three weeks. Then I tried spider plants. And I tried more Jade plants. And I got a Money Tree. Dead, dead, and dead. At this point I pretty much resigned to the fact that I am Grim Reaper of all Flora. I tried, really tried to take care of them, but it never ended well. With each one it was either too much water, too little water, not the right light...maybe it was moved too much, or it got some kind of fungus, or maybe it just caught a glimpse of me and lost the will to go on - I don't know. I just know that I kill plants, whether I want to or not.

Fast forward to 2000, and I'm working at Middleton Inn, a small hotel adjacent to Middleton Plantation. Among my other duties as a "concierge" (there is no other word - this was kind of the catch-all guest services position) was the responsibility of the plants in the lodge and lake house, and 55 Philodendrons - one in each guest room.

Fortunately the housekeeper took over plant duties, since she was probably concerned that they were losing their color and slooping in their pots. Apparently I was giving them too much water, though a measurement was given to me. I followed directions to the letter. I'm telling you, I am Death Of Plants.

Fast forward to last weekend. I'm house sitting for my Mom while she's in Australia and I look for a permanent place in Charleston. It had been two days since she left. I had just closed the door to the washer and stepped on something crispy and flaky. It was a leaf. I looked up and saw a dry, decaying greenish-brown thing that used to be a thriving plant hanging from the bay window in the kitchen. Then I noticed another plant on the breakfast table. And a cluster of them by the back door. As I scanned the room around me, I kept finding more plants. And you know, I think they saw me too. I could hear the theme to Psycho and the room seemed to turn red around me.

I was determined not to commit mass murder this time, so I began watering them. A few were already getting wrinkly at the edges of their leaves. The one in the window couldn't be rescued, but I think one of them is now beginning to bloom. Don't ask me what they are, if I learn their names it just hurts worse when they die. They're green. Sometimes they get bigger of you get them wet - that's my horticultural knowledge base in a nutshell.

Anyway, a few days later I was leaving for work. There's some clutter in the garage, and I generally don't pay much attention to what I'm walking around. I also have the habit of "zoning out" when I'm doing mundane things, especially if there are other things weighing on me - so I didn't notice I was walking past two hulky plants in the garage the whole time. These guys are huge. And they were dying. So I ran back into the house and filled up a pitcher of water. I've been watering them and watering them, but the soil feels dry as a bone even now. They're like two "Audrey-2's" (from Little Shop of Horrors) and they're not going to get better until I give them a sacrifice. I can almost hear them growling in the garage now as I type. Is it possible they want one of the other plants? Maybe that's why Mom has so many. Hmmm...

So the other plants are looking a little greener, and as I said, one is blooming. Maybe I've broken the curse of my black thumb. Or maybe it's just Stockholm Syndrome. Either way, wish me (and them) luck.

The Seven People You Meet At Work

I know, I know - if I really wanted to allude to the book, it would be "the five people you meet at work." But having worked in various industries and in various capacities therein, I've narrowed down the list of common archetypes to no fewer than seven.

Now I want to make it clear, I absolutely adore pretty much everybody I work with (a first for me). In fact, my current team may be the most talented group of individuals I've ever had the pleasure to work with. They are so much more than the personality types I'm about to lay out. In fact, another first is that none of the below characteristics fit any of them very well. And to be fair, most of these traits are not even present in my current hotel. But my current property is the exception to the rule.

So to follow are the seven people you have, currently, or one day will work with. They exist in nearly every setting I've ever experienced, and I'm sure you know each and every one of them very well. Sometimes one person may fit more than one archetype, and sometimes two or more will fit the same one. But here they are, in no particular order:

1) The Soap Star

There is always at least one. Perhaps they were late to work because their neighbor was going into labor, about to give birth to their clandestine love child by way of emergency C-section in the back of their car. It may be that they "accidentally" hit reply-all to an email and revealed someone said something negative about someone else. Perhaps they are in tears over the fact that a client called, angry because what was promised was not delivered - through complete fluke, and absolutely no one's fault (unless of course fault lay in another department).

There is never a dull moment with the soap star. Not only do they have an completely fantastic, beyond-belief story for every mundane story you have, but they also know every interesting or curious facet of everyone else's lives. It may be that a story, when first relayed to them was in fact quite boring - but once it gets processed through the spin-cycle of the soap star's brain, every glitch becomes a catastrophe, every insignificant event becomes a juicy milestone.

The soap star can be a good friend to have, and usually means very well. But it's best to give them something to chew on, or they'll seek it out themselves. Give them something about you to harp on, and usually they don't look any further. It's best to stay on their "good side" though - or you will be shot through the spin-cycle yourself, when you least expect it.

2) The Silo

This person knows their job, and knows it well. They've probably been in their position for a long time - long enough to figure out how to avoid relying on others for anything at all, except when absolutely necessary. Although you can rely on them for pretty much anything, they would prefer not to have to trust you enough to actually need you for anything.

They will sit in their office or cubicle, and generally work very hard. They refuse to go on group outings unless they feel it's mandatory, and will participate in as few extra-work activities as possible. Their job is important to them, but so is leaving work on time, and leaving work at work - which is probably very healthy.

The silo will be your friend, but it takes time to cultivate that relationship.

3) The Yoda

The Yoda has done every job in the department, and in some cases nearly every job in the building. They do not take sides, and are proficient at putting out most fires, if they feel so inclined as to get involved in your hurdles that they see as minor speed humps.

The Yoda could in fact run the department, or the entire operation, but I have yet to meet a Yoda who does. They have settled into their role, and when at home, they are at home. If there is a real emergency at work after hours, trust that if they felt the need to come in, would have the entire matter settled in a matter of moments. The Yoda can at any time become the Chuck Norris of any emergency.

You can confide in them with any piece of information, and know that it does not go past their office. You can come to them for help for any problem at all, no matter how tiny or immeasurably complex and if they deem you worthy, will have the answer to you in one sentence or less. It will likely be a pearl of wisdom you will hang onto for years to come. The Yoda knows you will eventually pass that wisdom on. The Yoda probably knows to whom you will pass it.

4) The Dr. Peter

Dr. Laurence J. Peter proposed in is 1969 book "The Peter Principle," that "in a hierarchy, every employee tends to rise to his level of incompetence." There is always one who fits this to a tee. They did so very well at their previous positions, that now they are trusted and required to do something very new, a task in which they are totally unqualified.

Unfortunately, the rest of the department will do it for them, until the Dr. Peter is fired or they leave. I've been fortunate enough never to work with one for very long, but not too long ago, (depending on how you define too long), I was subject to one of these people. They made life miserable for everyone.

They rarely admit that they do not know how to do their job. In fact, if they'd genuinely ask for help, or be honest about being unsure of something and willing to learn, they would slowly gain the respect of their peers. But the Dr. Peter is so interested in appearing authoritative in spite of their obvious shortcomings that the team usually works around them rather than with them.

I've also had the joy of inheriting a Dr. Peter as an employee. This individual had been doing the same job for - a long time (to protect the guilty, I am not saying for how long), but evaded dismissal in very creative ways. They maintained a positive personal friendship with the powers that be, and worked their fear of change and love of nostalgia to their advantage. They also did as little as possible that would involve any sort of risk, stayed below the radar at all possible times, and avoided taking responsibility for pretty much anything, or taking ownership of any situation in which they might fail.

Dr. Peter is probably the most aggravating of all the workforce archetypes.

5) The Cheerleader

You know this one. They break a daily sweat to ensure they embody each personality trait corporate culture teaches. Usually they're internal marketers of some kind, but more often than not, they're transparent to not only their peers, but their bosses in their perpetual attempt to be the teacher's pet.

They're at every fundraiser. In fact, they usually volunteer to make the posters and fliers, and are on (of not the sole member of) the planning committee. They raise their voices in agreement so often during staff meetings, that you half expect an "amen" and "hallelujah" after each Power Point slide has been presented.

They make the t-shirts for the bowling teams. They volunteer to take on special projects, (not that this is bad - but they do it every time) and will work long hours to ensure someone is impressed.

I'm not saying everyone who buys into corporate culture and works extra hours on side projects is a "cheerleader." In fact, being a cheerleader can be a good thing - so long it's done for the right reasons, and they recognize those times when the parameters need to be stretched, and the rule book needs to either be closed or re-written. The workplace archetype of which I'm writing here, does not know this.

Think Rain Man with pom-poms and an employee handbook in their back pocket.

6) The Expert

My sister recently blogged about this person, who was partly the inspiration for this post.

The Expert has done your job. The Expert has done your previous job. The Expert has long since mastered the job into which you're moving. They know your neighbors, and have done their jobs too.

They are champion name-droppers.

The Expert will stop to give you unsolicited advice on the most random of topics, for no particular reason. When they close their door, you just know they are Googling the details to some debate or interesting discussion they overheard in the next office. But they will never tell you that when they later casually bring up the topic over lunch. In fact, they will likely tell you the topic in question was the subject of their third Masters dissertation.

The funny thing about The Expert? Every single one I've ever had the dubious thrill of working with has either been fired or their position has been made redundant.

It's always fun to wait for a topic you're very familiar with to come up and let them dig their own hole before you correct them. But then, you know they'll just Google it later and revisit the argument some other time.

7) The Robot

This is the perfect employee. They contain none of the characteristics listed above. In fact, they instantly recognize each one, but will never tell anyone what they've seen in these people. No - they are above that. But they will never tell you that either, because they are humble.

This person is either a robot or an alien - but they are decidedly not human. They excel at their job, and they would likely excel at yours. But they would never admit that.

They do the best of deeds under the radar, offer quiet help to those around them, and never take undue (if any) credit. They appreciate corporate culture but do not preach it. They listen to gossip, (because they listen to everyone), but do not repeat it.

The Yoda quietly watches them, somewhat enviously. This person will be or already is either in charge of the entire operation, or multiple operations. If you do a good job, they tell you. If you do a bad job, they have a way of telling you that you quite possibly are the most incompetent person on the planet, and you will thank them for the advice. You suspect that they are worshiped in remote jungle societies.

I've worked with one of these in every position, and have always looked up to them, as everyone does. But I've always been a little too impatient to be this perfect member of the workforce. Like I said - I don't think they're really human, having come from the same planet as Martha Stewart, Anderson Cooper, and Meryl Streep.

So concludes my list.

There are many, many more common traits among coworkers, but generally, those traits mesh with one of the above. As I said, usually they're mixed and matched - multiple traits for one person, or more than one person with a single trait.

All except of course the robot.

More Revengist Politics, and the Case Against Pelosi

In response to a lost-cum-aborted argument over a few drinks when I was cornered about why it was I did not like Nancy Pelosi, I've done some research. I still don't like her. I like her even less now. I was aware of a few less flattering facts, and discovered a few more.

When I started my research, all I found at first were lists of reasons people hated Pelosi that included "she has lying eyes" and "she's a snake." These were not facts. And yet, even when I Googled "Nancy Pelosi Facts" these "facts" were little to no more factual. And then of course I stumbled upon op-eds and articles from both the extreme left and extreme right, neither of which are prone to fact, at least not in its pure form.

So I had to keep digging. I checked her voting records, and I have to say that I am in agreement with many of her stances - if I could believe for a minute that they really were her stances. Unfortunately, her vote is purely - and I mean PURELY Democratic. Not even necessarily liberal because she's liberal, but because clearly she fits the description of "rank-and-file."

Since January of 1989, she has sponsored 75 bills. 61 of these haven't made it out of committee. Now I really need to do some further research to make some comparisons, but is this average? I'll have to find out.

My initial reasons for disliking and distrusting her came shortly after she assumed her role. Mind you I really did like her at first. I was excited that a woman had been appointed Speaker of the House, and was happy to see a Democrat in a prominent position. At the time, I was even willing to ignore the fact that she voted for herself - the first Speaker to do so, when typically they either do not vote or simply mark "present."

I was no fan of Dubyah. I even thought he should have been arrested at one point. But when you have a lame duck president, coupled with a Republican minority, why, oh why, must we waste time bickering. There was work to be done. Much mess-cleaning to be attended to. And yet - it wasn't cleaned up.
Early in her new role, Pelosi pledged a "new spirit of cooperation in Congress." This quote appears within a year of stating about Dubyah - "he must be stopped." Sound familiar?

Not too long ago, I blogged about my dislike of revengist politics. So many bills have been blocked by the Republicans out of spite and bitter wound-licking. And yet looking back, it appears Pelosi did the very same thing. This is one of so many reasons why I can no longer associate myself with either major party.

Of course there was also the recent CIA debacle, in which Madame Speaker was cornered (after attacking the previous administration for torturing Gitmo and other detainees) when it was revealed that she was given a briefing in September of 2002 explaining the coercive measures used. She explained that she was told that the CIA and the Department of Justice reviewed the techniques and determined them legal. Okay, I have to point out that at least one of these agencies is not known for its forthright nature, though she claims to have been deceived by the briefing. Okay, let's give her that one - the facts were not all present in the briefing. It turns out that in 2003 she was implicitly informed of a detainee's waterboarding. No evidence exists for her objection.

In 2002, Pelosi attempted to block Dubyah from entering Iraq - most of her reasons were in fact valid. However, one such reason given was that Iraq assuredly had weapons of mass destruction, and that our troops would be put into danger. Why then, state later that "they had to make up that story about weapons of mass destruction because that was the only thing that would sell the American people." That statement may be true, who's to know? But you can't argue opposing facts to support your aim du jour and expect people to buy it.

We are in a mess, as a country. We have a broken two-party system and a stalled government that is more interested in revengist character assassinations than in actually getting anything done. The right has moved too far right and the left has moved too far left.

I am neither right nor left - [pointing my finger diagonally upward toward the southeast] - I'm over there.

Shhh...

I like Green Day.

I really liked Crystal Pepsi. And Velveeta. I claim to be a foodie, but I love a slice of cold Velveeta.

I like video games, I love going to the movies by myself, and I sing along to my iPod on road trips. Sometimes I turn the volume down a little to see how I sound. I don't care if the car beside me can see it - if they laugh, then I've made somebody smile. Go me.

I love little more than sitting on the sofa with a Jack and Coke in hand, a bowl of chips with some salsa in front of me and a set of Battlestae Galactica DVD's.
Sometimes I rock out to the Statler Brothers. I haven't quit smoking yet because I still enjoy smoking. I used to groan when Eric wanted to watch his soaps, but I got into a few of them. Actually, I started looking forward to a few of them. Even now I'll check the covers of the soap magazines while I'm in line at the supermarket just to see what's going on.

Yes, I have secrets, and the above are a few I don't mind sharing. Everybody has secrets. It's a part of life, a fact of the human condition. But when recently I discovered a blog entitled "Everyone Blogs," I had decidedly mixed feelings. This is a blog where, essentially, anonymous contributors publish secrets. Sometimes they're confessions, sometimes they're venting, sometimes they're lashing out. But nearly all of them have one thing in common - they're depressing as hell.

I read one or two entries, deciding that I would rather file this one away as a sad place to discuss sad situations. But I found it addictive, in that guilty way that one watches an automobile accident from the side of the road (and later lambastes the "rubberneckers). I found I could relate all too well to a few of these anonymous bloggers, and they reminded me of things I'd rather not think about, situations not entirely alien to me. I actually almost cried once, one post seemed so familiar. That was when I stopped reading and went on to view something else.

But later on I realized something - this is what writing is supposed to do. It's supposed to speak to us, not just on the surface but to those aspects of ourselves we'd rather not think about. It's supposed to lay all these troubles out, on the table for us to relish, to ponder. Good writing does this in the guise of characters, takes unsightly character flaws and paints them eloquently onto a canvass for you to look at long enough to not turn away when you realize you're staring into a mirror.

The writers on this blog were blogging anonymously, but they were still brave - brave enough to bring these secrets to the surface for others to see. They know that once something has been said it can't be unsaid, that once something has been seen, it can't be unseen. I suppose this is healthy - it's a way of dealing with these issues, a way of acknowledging the stigma of their mistakes without attaching the stigma to their person.

Partly I want to see a positive entry - and there are a few, though they usually involve sex. I suppose that is just another facet of the human condition, and an area of peoples' lives they don't feel comfortable sharing with everyone in an open fashion.

In this, maybe this blog is a healthy outlet for some. But there's another side to it. I like my secrets. I like having parts of myself that are mine, and mine alone. They're secrets because I keep them that way. Once I tell someone a secret, it's no longer a secret. Yes, there are some people I share some secrets with, and other people I share other secrets with. But, I know of no one in my life, past or present, that has been privy to absolutely everything. And I'm very comfortable with that. In fact, it makes me feel safe, guarded. Maybe one day I'll let the entire guard down for one person, but then - I think having these things inside of me makes me in part who I am.

So what are the reasons people keep secrets? They may be afraid of changing others' perceptions of them, but this is innately odd, since no one really knows what others' perceptions of them are. There's the protection of those around them from experiencing some negative emotions they'd rather no one else face, but that just assumes the other party is empathetic. Some people are far more empathetic than they're given credit for, and others far, far less. There's really no way to know, not really. Some people keep secrets for selfish reasons, the need to have that last bargaining chip in their back pocket. Some secrets are kept because of a promise made, to a brave soul who let one out in an act of honesty and trust.

Why do I keep mine? Again, quite simply - I like them. I like having them. I keep others' secrets as closely as I keep my own. Maybe this is selfish - in some respects it is. Are any of my secrets kept due to the reasons in the above paragraph? Maybe one or two. But if I told you that, then I might as well tell you everything, right?

But I'm not. My friends, my family, trust that I am who I say I am - and they're right to do so. One does not need to examine every piece of a puzzle to determine the picture. And as long as there isn't a completely different picture beneath the puzzle, one in which people can see through the missing pieces, then you are doing nothing wrong.

Here are a few more secrets. I'm putting them here because if I'm going to tell any secrets, it's these - and I'm going to do it with my face plastered on my profile picture.

Sometimes baking and cooking is pure therapy for me. Sometimes I do it to please people. I love pleasing people for several reasons - one is that I was picked on mercilessly as a small child, and crave the acceptance. Don't feel sorry for me - I don't. Just enjoy that cake, or be glad I've helped you out in some task or another. I spent much of my life turning myself into a freak - in this I gave people something to pick on, I claimed the freak for myself. I knew I was gay by the time my hair turned purple, and it was easier for me to be picked on for that reason - because I did it on purpose. I relished being different, or being different would have made me a hermit. I'm attracted to men, and pretty much only men, but I was in love with a woman once. Sometimes I'm afraid to tell my family that, or they might have false hope that I'll end up with a woman. Sometimes it hurts to know that is how some people in my family would rather see me - with a woman, or with no one at all - though they'd never tell me that, and I know ultimately they want me to be happy. Most of them don't care how I go about doing that. Sometimes I still hate myself a little for being gay, but I'm getting over it.

Okay, enough of that. And let me tell you that none of those things are complaints. They're not pleas for help. They are what they are. I am who I am. And secrets are a part of that. If you want to hear somebody whine, check out the above blog. Me, I'm done with whining, I have been for some time. But those are the secrets I want to share, and have no problem sharing. Maybe I'll vent a few more here and there, from time to time, but not all at once.

As my coworker and friend said to me in her first week, "I'm just acting normal so you won't think I'm completely out there. I like to dole out the crazy over time."

This was when I knew we'd be friends.

These Are A Few Of My (least) Favorite Things

Here we are – the last item on my list of peeves. Happy New Year’s Eve everyone – I have about ten more hours to freely be a snippy little brat. I plan to take full advantage of each one.

Volume 5: Six Things That Bug Me About Tourists

Gripe One: I would be out of work without them, and unfortunately I am one from time to time.


I want to hate them – I want to hate most of them. I do hate some of them. But until I can jettison myself completely from this industry, they will be the reason I get paid. They are my actual bosses, like it or not. And though I don’t deal directly with tourists as much as I used to, I do have to deal with those who coordinate their travel – or rather, those who get paid to coordinate their travel and have me do it.


If it weren’t for the tourists, there would be no hotels. If it weren’t for hotels, many psychotic people would be out of work. So as much as I want to hate many of them, I also have to be grudgingly grateful for them.


I also have to be one from time to time, as I love to travel whenever I can. I love seeing new places, I even get excited when going to a state I’ve never seen or know little about. Though you will never catch me with a neon Velcro fanny pack or a 35mm camera draped around my neck, and you will never see me with a fold-out map standing in an intersection, I am still, nevertheless, a tourist from time to time.


Gripe Two: Breakfast Monsters


After years of getting up at 4 or 5am and serving breakfast to tour groups, I have come to call one of my “favorite” groups of people Breakfast Monsters.


Early mornings tend to bring out the absolute worst in people. Add to the mix the fact that I’m still trying to wake up, take in my coffee, and deal with anywhere from 10 to 500 grumpy tourists, and you have a recipe for a fabulous morning.


I have actually heard people grunt as they shove their way through a buffet, mumble their order and generally just stare off into space. (A word to the wise - they glare at you if you interrupt them, so it's generally best to let them stare and just give them more coffee).


Then you have the bussed-in groups who have never really been in a hotel, have no idea what the difference between banquet and ala carte is, (wondering why they can’t get, say rockfish on demand – people, the kitchens only order what’s needed) and are generally exhausted. Those groups do not give people much in the way of free time, and make them get up very early in the morning.


One thing I will never miss about F&B are the breakfast monsters.


Gripe Three: American Tour Groups


Yes, I am an American. I am also a tourist from time to time. But working in England, the tour groups consisted of exactly the wrong people you would want representing our country – they are the people who, as I said yesterday, do a tour of Windsor Castle, have a cream tea, and pronounce that they have done Windsor.


While hosting an American tour group once a week on the boat, serving their lunch was always a frustrating experience. These groups would take literally twenty to thirty napkins from the buffet, pile their plate with food well beyond what they could possibly eat, so consequently much was thrown away. I never realized how wasteful our culture can be until I worked in tourism in another country.


I was always finding myself defending Americans, explaining that individual travelers and tour groups are different breeds. These were the ones who asked the worst questions (see “Gold Nametags Are All The Rage”).



However – they also were the best tippers. Always.

It’s an unfortunate fact that since I am not very loud by nature, detest McDonald’s, don’t drink a lot of beer, and don’t even understand American Football (let alone watch it), that most of my friends and coworkers assumed I was Canadian.


It’s not that I hate American tourists. It’s the loud tour groups snaking through the otherwise tranquil towns that really upset me – because they do not represent who we are.


I realize there are wonderful, educational tour groups out there. It’s just that once their accents are heard, everybody assumes they must be  Canadian.

Grip Four: Whirlwind Excursions

Just as the castle-tour-cream tea group has done Windsor in a few hours, there are those who try to squeeze so much into their vacation, they essentially see and learn nothing.


When I was in St Thomas I discovered (to my dismay) the “shopping district” - not the real shopping district in downtown Charlotte Amalie – but the one fenced in, wrapped around the cruise ship port. This was what many, if not most visitors saw of St Thomas. They bought their inexpensive leather and jewelry, and never saw what a beautiful island and charming city was waiting for them beyond the tall cruise line gates. They were completely insulated from everything that's wonderful about that island, and let themselves be shown what some corporate travel company believed they wanted to see. As I consider travelling a spiritual experience on many levels, I consider what is done to these tourists a crime.


On so many of these cruises and tour groups, and in an over-itineraried (not sure that's a word, but I just coined it) vacation, you maybe see one attraction or a host of shops. Congratulations, you discovered local retail. You really don’t get to see the place or get to know its citizens. That takes time, and it takes wandering off the Main or High Streets and major thoroughfares. Sure, see a museum, I’m a big fan of museums. But make sure you get at least a little lost. Make sure you speak to someone. Make sure you ask for a recommendation or two. (Just think before you ask - see Gripe Six).  


Otherwise, save yourself some time and go to Epcot – most countries are represented there, and you will find what you must be looking for if you really don’t care to know the soul of a place.


Gripe Five: Not Learning A Single Thing About Where You’re Going Before You Go


Sure, much can be said about having a clean slate while visiting a new place. My good friend Maria came to visit in Rhode Island and took me to a few towns about which I knew nothing, and I was very grateful for that. I hate that I had lived there for so long and had not realized how beautiful it really was.

But to plan a vacation and not bother to learn a thing about where you’re going robs you of the chance to look deeper into your destination. You can read all about a place and then see it first hand to give you a richer understanding of the locale. Otherwise, you’re the guy with a fanny pack and map in an intersection, picking museums at random.


Gripe Six: Obvious Tourists


There’s something about being a constant outsider, looking at the real living town around you as if you’re looking at it under glass in a museum that does both the tourist and the destination a grave injustice.


You’re in a community – a real place. You are not in a living museum. People call where you’re going their home. Please respect that. Feel free to look with wonder and awe. But there is a fine line between that and gawking.


Asking for directions is fine, but think before you ask. Look around you. If everything looks antiquated, you may not want to ask for directions to the historic district. And don’t ask generalized questions such as “where are the restaurants” or “where is the museum.” You won’t get an answer to your complete satisfaction.


Taking pictures is a must, wherever you go. But please do not take pictures of the locals for your own amusement. And if you do stop someone to take a picture of you and your companion(s), please do not ask for thirteen different angles and combinations of family members. It is not a wedding.



So there you have it my friends. I will now step down off my soap box and enjoy New Year’s Eve with a few good friends. I hope that now I’ve vented a little, I will be better company, and better prepared to make this resolution. As my sister said in her blog, I’m going to try not to sweat the small stuff. Maybe she and I can help each other with this.


I’m going to work on something positive to say tomorrow, to start this year off right.


2009, you will not be missed. Goodbye, and do not let the door hit your ass on the way out.

Re: Sunday's Rant

I just returned to my desk, and check out what was waiting for me:

These Are A Few Of My (least) Favorite Things

Counting down to the new year, here is number four of five sets of items that really get on my tits.

Volume 4: Five Myths About The English

To describe the English as a single people is daunting, if even possible. It’s far easier to describe what they’re not. The stereotype of the tea-drinking, horseback-riding socialite is as off as describing every American as a Disney-loving, burger-downing, beer-chugging, loud obnoxious American Football fanatic.

To follow are what I consider the five most egregious errors in American perception of the Brits.

Myth #1. All English People Are Polite

This one is probably the most laughable. The English are a far more cynical people as a general rule – and they do not bend over backwards mincing words and dancing around topics nearly as much as we Americans tend to.

In the US if you are overweight, you are: plus-sized, curvy, heavier, etc…
In England if you are overweight you are: Fat. Bulbous. Rotund. Pudgy.

The English tend to be far more direct, and as above, will think nothing of calling a spade a spade, as they say.

There seems to be a perception that rednecks are indigenous and located only in the US. There are rednecks everywhere, and you can find just as many at a truck stop in Mississippi as you can at a rugby match in a pub. I challenge you to point out the differences in attitude and disposition.

Myth #2. All English People Drink Tea

Well, many of them do. But the water is different there, and therefore the tea tastes totally different. The fact is, they look at tea as we look at coffee. And no, they do not drink it out of small doilied china. They drink it out of whatever’s handy. And no, they do not have crumpets and scones with each tea. Probably as many drink coffee as they do tea.

Myth #3. The English Accent

As in the Southern accent I mentioned a couple of days ago, there is no one single English accent. In fact, you might travel 20 minutes in another direction and encounter a very different dialect.

My Dad could discern where an English person was from, usually within 20 miles or so, after hearing a single sentence spoken. And no, they do not all speak “the Queen’s English.” In fact, if you think some of our accents can be grating, try listening to some of theirs.

The first time I heard a Brummie accent, I didn’t even recognize it as English.

Myth #4. The Food Is Terrible

I went to Chef’s school in England, and I can tell you categorically that this is flat wrong. Yes, there are a few English dishes that our palates may not be able to handle, as were not raised on these dishes. There’s Marmite, (a spread), which resembles axel grease in color, texture and smell. There’s black pudding, which is essentially congealed blood, and of course steak & kidney pie. But there are also some wonderful stews, desserts, sausages, soups, roasts, and sauces.

The Full English Breakfast, consisting of baked beans, stewed tomatoes, fried eggs, bacon, (real – or what we in the US call Canadian – bacon), sausage, and toast. There is nothing better for a hangover than the Full English Breakfast, which is for what I believe it was designed.

An argument can be made that curry, as we know it anyway, originated in England. There is nothing better than to walk out of a pub at midnight, having had way too many local beers, and get a doner kebab at a stand to accompany you on the stagger home.

Cornish Pasties, a meat and potato-filled puff pastry were designed for farmers to carry and eat while they worked. If you can find a real one, do not pass it up.

English food is – simply – wonderful. Designed to be hearty in the bitterly cold, damp English winters, you cannot go wrong (or rarely) with a pub dinner in the countryside. I challenge anyone who has never been to sample the food in England and come back to tell me it’s not good.

Myth #5. The English Have Bad Teeth.

Some do. But some do here as well. The cultures in the US and the UK are not entirely alien to each other – they’re at once similar and a world apart. But the aesthetic sense is very much the same. No, the NHS is not perfect, and yes, the NHS will just assume pull a tooth out as repair it (or so I’ve heard), but on the whole, English teeth are as straight and white as those in the US.

I have so much more to say on this topic, but for the sake of brevity I thought I’d narrow this down to what I believe to be the top five.

Some of these prejudices definitely go both ways. Ask some English people to draw a picture of the US, and you will notice Florida taking up about half the country. I was even told by a coworker there that the only way they go to the US is to fly directly into Disney World and fly directly back out. To me that’s just as obscene as Americans flying into London and back out, with nothing in between but London. Or the tour groups that stop in a place like Windsor and have a cream tea, see the castle and leave, and say they “did Windsor.”

You cannot get to know a place in a tour group. But that rant will wait for tomorrow, when I will go off on what ticks me off about tourists, (yes, I know they’re the reason I have a job, and I know I have been known to be one) and will complete my 2009 bitch session.

Ta!

These Are A Few Of My (least) Favorite Things

To follow is rant #3 of five, leading into the New Year – for 2010 I have pledged not to let the little things bother me to the extent they do – but it’s still 2009, so I’m going to rant away.

Volume 3: Ten Annoying Things About Social Networks

1. Woot.

While this word seems to be working its way into our digital lexicon, it always reminds me of who I referred to as the “woo girls.” These are the college girls who stick their heads out of apartment windows, car windows, and over balconies, shrieking “woooo!” as if anyone really cared to know that they were drunk and attention-seeking.

Aside from this, what the hell does it mean?

2. Thread Jacking

Suppose you or someone else posts something about, say, their dog Beau. Maybe Beau learned to fetch. So someone posts “Beau learned to fetch today” on their status message. So let’s say now that the poster has 672 of their closest friends linked to them in Facebook. By the time the thread is over, the topic of discussion is either Hillary Clinton, God, or Obama.

There are people out there who do this intentionally. It can be found at the bottom of any news article with comment posting enabled, or any other online article. Shoved in the middle of the tangential threads are ads for Extenze and black market Viagra.

If you really want to see a prime thread jack, read one of Obama’s Facebook posts. By the time you’ve even gotten to it the discussion (which may have been about healthcare) is about whether Bush should have been impeached, or whether Sarah Palin’s imaginary death panels are part of a global conspiracy to propel Glen Beck to the presidency.

3. Fishing For Sympathetic Comments By Way Of Open-Ended Status Messages

“John Smith is downing a bottle of vodka while watching everything fall apart.”

Okay – well, assuming all of your 672 friends really want to know, you actually told them nothing here. You just told them you were drunk and feeling sorry for yourself. So you wait for the inevitable “what’s wrong honey” and “it’s not that bad – pick yourself up again.” In the end, absolutely nothing was said.

If something is really wrong, and you’re not looking for open-ended sympathy for a problem that nobody understands, simply pick up the phone or send a private message to somebody who may actually be able to help you, or at least lend a dedicated ear. Otherwise, you’ve just told the world that you’re unhappy for no particular reason.

4. I Don’t Care About Your Mafia Or Your Farm

As of this posting I am deleting Mafia Wars in an effort to stop getting so many gift invitations and updates on how much “money” my Mafia friends have. I am on Facebook to keep up with people I would not otherwise be in touch with on a regular basis. I am not on Facebook to rob a bank, plant a crop or purchase a small country. Stop asking me, please. Even though I’ve turned off status messages from certain people who seem to do nothing but this, I’m still getting requests and invitations.

As my friend Anna recently said on Facebook when prompted to help fertilize someone’s crops, “don’t bloody tempt me.”

5. Friending From Strangers

You and I happen to know the same person, or you’re on some narcissistic quest to have more Facebook friends than anyone else you know. Okay, fine – that does not mean that I care to have you on my list. If you have not heard from me, please do not request again. I probably will not change my mind.

If we know the same person and you think we may have something to talk about, send me a message first.

6. Slamming Your Current or Former Employer

Recently an associate was “released” (I prefer “released” to “fired” – “fired” sounds negative – when I hear “release” I think doves – but I digress). This former associate proceeded to get very nasty about our current property. It really made her look defensive and petty – which I guess she was. It’s just bad form. If your friends on Facebook are actually friends, odds are they will not assume you were fired – sorry, released – due to your own actions.

Saying something negative about your current employer can get you released as well. Things get out. People love to talk. Again – I highly recommend using private messages for situations such as these.

7. <3

It does not look like a heart. It looks like a butt.

8. Glittery, Sparkly Crap

If I log into a MySpace or Blogger page and the first thing I see are silly little bees sprinkling glitter on the page, or fireworks that would have looked at home on a circa 1986 Rainbow Bright Atari game, I will log off. I will log off immediately.

And while I’m guilty of throwing music out on my blog, you at least have the option of pausing, turning down the volume, or changing the song.

I promise to never do this to you. And your cursor will never become a dragonfly or pixie with a stardust trail while on my page.

9. Endless Forwards

Receiving a chain email that tells me that I will have my wishes granted within seven days of forwarding this message, or that I will get hit by a car if I don’t, is aggravating. But at least in my email account I can hit the “spam” button. Receiving this kind of thing in my Facebook inbox increases the annoyance by a factor of ten.

My typical response used to be to reply back to the person who sent it, and tell them they were thereby released from any magical obligation they fell victim to by opening the email, and they were thereby released from any future obligations they might have by opening future emails. They are then to reply to the person that sent it to them with the same message. This really didn’t work, but it was fun.

When receiving these messages in Facebook, a medium in which I feel I should receive little or no spam, I’m tempted to start unfriending.

Additionally, if you feel you absolutely must forward a Facebook message, (which takes some effort in the way of copying and pasting), PLEASE delete all the crap that includes everyone’s response who ever received it over the past several months. I do not want to scroll down a mile of forwarding info before I reach the meat of the message.

10. E-Signatures In Private Messages

I know who the message is from. If you’re in my Facebook list it means I know you. And I do not need to read your “motivational” quote each time you send me a message. Since there are no e-signatures in Facebook it means you’ve been copying and pasting it from your email.

Stop it.

Thanks for listening. Only two more rants to go, and then I will attempt to play nice. Sometimes. More often than now, anyway. Or at least I’ll make a valiant effort.

Will Shealy is: Logging off. Have a great night!

These Are a Few of My (least) Favorite Things

Since my New Year's resolution is to stop letting my pet peeves get under my skin, to follow is day two (of five) of my soap box rants leading into the newer, happier, far less irritable 2010.

Volume Two: Four Annoying Misconceptions about South Carolina (and South Carolinians)

Myth #1: A Place Called Carolina

Let me start this one with a simple fact: South Carolina is a state. It is not a region of Carolina, as some from "off" seem to believe. The State of Carolina does not exist. There is South Carolina, and there is North Carolina. If you called South Carolina Fred, and North Carolina Ginger, it would be the same. I am not from Carolina. I was born and raised in South Carolina. If and when you ever meet someone from North Carolina or South Carolina, do not ask them about Carolina.

Myth #2: Southern Accents Are The Same, And They Denote Stupidity And/Or Laziness

Making an assumption when you hear a Southern accent that the speaker may not be as well-educated or well-traveled as most, is in itself a lazy way of thinking. It is simply the way they speak. And there is no one Southern accent. In fact, there is no one single South Carolina accent. I can often tell when speaking with someone of they're from the Midlands, the Lowcountry or the Upstate. They all have their own unique lingual flavors. My previous rant notwithstanding, an articulate Southern accent can be a charming thing to listen to. (Ending in a preposition there - I'm learning to accept it). The Huguenot influence on the Charleston accent alone is worth listening to, if you can find someone who still speaks it.

Has anyone ever listened to the horticulturalist Rowland Alston of Making It Grow? When recording shorts for ETV Public Radio, he frequently refers to "sol." The object to which he's referring (there's the preposition issue again) is actually "soil." Yet here is a professor from Clemson University, the host of his own gardening program. He gives lectures, teaches classes, and writes. He does all three quite well.

Had I made assumptions about peoples' intellect or how interesting they may or may not be when confronting the dialects of many Rhode Islanders or Londonders, I would not have come to know some truly incredible people.

Myth #3: South Carolina Is The Buckle On The Bible Belt

While it's true that South Carolina is the home of the tolerance vacuum that is Bob Jones University, it is also home to some 77 colleges and universities, only a handful of which are likely to tell you why and how you are going to Hell. Many of the rest, including the Citadel, College of Charleston, Furman University, University of South Carolina, and Celmson University have made pretty good names for themselves.

Columbia is actually one of the more liberal cities I've experienced. This includes Providence, and certainly includes Slough. It may seem like a small conservative Southern town at first glance, but one barely h as to scratch the surface to find a thriving set of subcultures. It's actually far more interesting a city than it was when I grew up.

Greenville, while certainly built on a conservative foundation, with its influx of foreign workers and peripheral business growth, is quickly becoming a far more diverse city than many I've seen (likely more of one than many inhabitants would like). While Charleston's growing population of students who choose to remain (who could not fall in love with that city) and the installation of the new Boeing facility, as well as the soon-to-be much larger GE wind turbine facility, Charleston is set to become a far more metropolitan area than even most South Carolinians would have ever predicted.

With the transplant population ready to explode, we can almost watch the percentage of Evangelicals shrink. I'm not saying anything bad about Christians in general, far from it. I'm not even saying anything negative about many evangelicals. I am however saying that Alabama should make some room in the very near future.

Besides, would the buckle on the Bible Belt ever produce the likes of Stephen Colbert?

Myth #4: South Carolina is a Racist, Bigoted State

Sadly, there are racists everywhere.  But the fact that I was in the eighth grade before I realized racism was still an issue here should say something, and my mother did not raise a sheltered child. I'm sure she made a point of not having it brought up as an issue, and she has always been a proponent of diversity. She too, by the way, was born and raised in South Carolina.

Actually, I encountered far more aggressive racism in England that I ever saw growing up here. In fact, I even saw a bit more of it in New England than I've ever seen in Charleston. It's the perception of racism that maintains it as issue, and in itself perpetuates the myth and the fact. Put simply: if you raise an issue enough, existent or not (and I'm not saying it's non-existent, just not as prevalent as those in and outside the state would like to believe or would like us to believe), it becomes, or at the very least remains, a tangible issue. It's impossible to be color-blind if all you ever talk about is color.

As far as homosexuals are concerned - Columbia is one of the very few places I've ever felt comfortable showing any type of affection toward a member of the same sex in public. There are bars in Columbia that are proudly "mixed." And at the Pantheon Club in Charleston, a self-procalimed gay dance club, there are often as many straight men as gay. As industry grows and word of Charleston continues to get out (as much as that pains some of us), the openly gay population will continue to grow. Once again Alabama, watch out for some ex-pats.

I could easily go on. But it's cold out here, (we have Winter in South Carolina as well - but it's relegated to two or three months, between the hours of about 7pm and 8am). My fingers are numb, and I should stop before I continue to insult Alabama the way so many have done to us.

I'm sure it's a nice place.

These Are a Few of My (least) Favorite Things

I'm making a New Year's Resolution this year to stop letting the petty things in life get under my skin like tiny shards of glass. I let so many little things irritate me that I feel it's become a distraction. So, I've decided that between now and the new year I'm going to rant. I'm going to take the opportunity to stand high and lofty on my digital soapbox and let spew a few things that bother me on a nearly daily basis.  Sit back and enjoy.

Volume One: Twelve Common Abuses of Our Wonderful Language

I love the English language. This could be in part due to the fact that it's the only one I know. After all, anybody who hates their only verbal form of communication may have other issues they need to work through -  but I do love words. I love the way they (if allowed) can work together to form a picture in a beautifully constructed sentence. I love the way they can change form and meaning if one simply places them in another context, or how spoken meaning of said words changes depending on which word is stressed. I love puns, I love poems, I love lyrics. I love my language, and am therefore very defensive of it.

It breaks my heart when I hear our language casually ripped apart - and with simple errors, errors that if you stand back and look at them you can see how they can ruin an otherwise wonderfully crafted sentence. Listed below are a few common (and most annoying) of crimes against English I hear on a daily basis.

1) Improper use of "myself"

There is a very well-respected, otherwise articulate individual at our hotel that does this on a nearly daily basis. He will say "Come see (insert name) or myself if you have any questions," etc.

If you do this, this is directed at you. Stop it. Look at the sentence and simply remove the inserted name, then read "come see myself if you have any questions." If you're still not seeing the issue, think of it this way: direct the sentence elsewhere, as in: "Go see Bob if you have any questions." Now remove Bob and replace with "himself."  "Go see himself if you have any questions." Do you see now why it's so damn annoying?

2) Too, to, and two

The most common place I see this is on Facebook. I am going to lobby for a grammer-checker application for use in status boxes. This is really, truly, asinine. I'm just going to use one example, as it's the most common.

Too and to: Too - as in, "also," "as well," "in addition to." Most people actually don't put this one out of context - it's "to" that gets put in its place. So - if you want to say, "I will go too," that implies that you're going with someone, or are going as well. If you say "I want to go to," I'm just left wondering to where you would like to go.

Two: It's a number. It means one plus one. Nothing else. Please.

3) The misused apostrophe.

An apostrophe denotes ownership, not pluralization. There is the rare occasion when an apostrophe may be used to shorten a word, or represent multiple letters. For instance: I work daily with something called a BEO, standing for Banquet Event Order. What it is is not important right now - what is, is the fact that I often need to speak of them in multiples. For a while I was refusing to type "BEO's", as I would be lead to think "the BEO's what?" However, after researching this, I've discovered that when pluralizing acronyms, it's generally accepted to use the apostrophe.

Now for the inexcusable. Someone I know - and I will end it there becuase I really like this person - had a sign made for my sister's door - it reads: "The Vaughn's."  Okay - the Vaughn's what? And is there only one Vaughn?

I see this on marquis signs, I see it printed. I see it commonly referring to a family name - why? Where did this get picked up? Please think before you print.

4) Linguistic redundancy.

To follow is a list of phrases that make me want to yell profanity.

-Eye sight

-Bread roll

-Foot bridge

-6AM in the morning

-Tuna fish

-Over exaggerating

-Accidental mistake (yes, I hear this often)

5) Multiple exclamation and question marks

One does the trick.

6) Its and It's.

"It's" means "It is," while "Its" denotes ownership. So quit getting it wrong. You look stupid. I understand the occasional type-o, I'm guilty of it myself, (note the usage of "myself" here), but when I see it in emails day - after day - after day, I tend to kick things.

7) The spelling of common items changing due to corporate labeling

For instance, "donuts." More than once has this been spelled this way to me. I recently saw it on a buffet label. And while we're talking about buffets, as a banquet manager I was once asked to bring out another dish of "McMuffins." They were English Muffins with eggs. We were in a Marriott, not a McDonald's - we did not provide "McMuffins."

8) Me and I

 

"Me and Joe went to the store." Let me pick this one apart slowly and painfully so you might understand my annoyance. Suppose we take Joe out of the equation. The sentence becomes "Me went to the store." You sound like a three year-old.

"James and me went to the store." Once again - "Me went to the store."

"Are you coming to the movie with Mark and I?" Reworded: "Are you coming to the movie with I?"

"Sarah, Michelle and me do not like grapes." Reworded (adjusted for tense): "Me does not like grapes."

If you're ever unsure, remove the additional subject and you have your answer. Otherwise, you really do sound idiotic.

9) They're, there and Their

Yes, I'm going there.

"They're" is a contraction of "they" and "are." "Their" is plural possessive - multiples showing ownership, as in - "their flowers." "There" is a preposition, or a description of location. Get it right.

10) Ain't and Y'all

There are those who believe the abomination that is "ain't"  is officially working its way into our language. I will never, ever, ever use it. Never. Not if you paid me. (If you paid me I might. Might). Here's why I hate it:

This is supposedly a contraction of "are not," but if you were to apply this definition, it wouldn't be broad enough, as it's commonly used for "is not" as well. So this word would need to be the only contraction flexible enough to be unchanging given any context, singular or plural. English does not work this way, but if one were to apply rules to this accident of a word, it would still be misused. Trust me.

On the other hand, we have "y'all." I've actually made a few attempts over the past ten months back in South Carolina to use it, and while it still does not come out the same as it leaves my lips, (my lack of any particular accent makes it strange-sounding), when taken as a contraction of "you all", it makes an odd sort of sense. This one actually doesn't piss me off all that much. 

11) Ending sentence in prepositions

I realize there's a growing consensus that this is okay. But I still find myself at times performing verbal acrobatics to get around it. Winston Churchill famously said that "ending a sentence in a preposition is something with which I will not put." Fair enough. It can make you sound a little like Yoda if you take the rule too seriously.

That being said, it still irks me somehow. In previous entries on this blog I've done this, and have to fight the urge to go back and correct. However, hearing someone ask me where something is "at" almost always causes my stomach to turn. No, I do not use the "behind the at" adage as a response, as sometimes I think this is reserved for users of "ain't." (Sorry to my dear family who do use this "corrective" phrase - and the word "ain't"). No, typically I either won't answer, or I'll fire a glance, either at them or when they can no longer see me.

12) The term "reverse racism"

Okay, I realize this is more specific, and may not belong here. But as long as I'm ranting, I'll bring this to the table.

Racism is racism. As a gay man, I can tell you that calling someone a reverse racist is the same as calling me a reverse sexual. It doesn't apply. Calling someone a reverse racist to me sounds as if they're anti-racist. Stop using that one. No, please.

13) Alot

It's two words. And it doesn't say a lot. Use it sparingly.

There are so, so many more. I may add to this as I think of it, but please, let me know what else you can think of. Misery loves company, fellow English lovers, so let me know what common crimes against the written or spoken word make you want to scream.

So ends my rant. For now.

Gold Name Tags Are All The Rage

I was helping a group contact unload some gifts into the ballroom for a Christmas party this afternoon when a guest intercepted me and asked what I've been asked oh so many times while working in hotels - even back when I wore a uniform - "Do you work here?"

My knee-jerk response is to say "No, gold name tags are all the rage." I typically bite my tongue, (a skill in which anyone who's been in the hotel industry for any length of time has mastered), smile and say "yes." Or, if it's been a really bad day, "no" (and walk away with a satisfied smile).

I've heard it said that there are no stupid questions, only stupid people. Well, I disagree. There are both, in abundance. I realize that often these people were not necessarily stupid, however absolutely no thought was given to the question before their question was asked.

To follow is a small sampling of some of the interrogative gems I've collected over the years. First-listed is the response I would like to have made, (or may have, had I been that quick) followed by the approximate actual response.

Enjoy, and please feel free to share your own brushes with the dimly witted.

Asked while I stood behind what could not be mistaken for anything other than a hotel registration desk:

"Is this where we check in?"
No. For our amusement and yours, we have hidden the registration desk. It's a fun little game we like to play.
Actual response: "Yes, sir. It is."

Asked while I was guiding tours on the River Thames:

"Why did the royal family have [Windsor] Castle built on the flight path to Heathrow Airport?"
I'm sure that back in 1066 William the Conqueror executed someone for this severe lack of foresight.
Actual response: Blank stare to allow the other tourists to laugh. (Believe it or not - when I relayed this story, it appears it had been asked multiple times).

"Does this boat drop people off where it picks them up?"
No. We take you to London and leave you with a map and some bread crumbs.
Actual response: "Typically, yes."

"Does this boat go on the water here?"
No. You are looking at the rare but exciting levitating boat. Once all are boarded and securely in their seats, we take them on an aerial tour of the Thames Valley.
Actual response: "Typically, yes."

"Can you direct me toward Windsor Castle?" (Please keep in mind that Windsor Castle is on a hill, and is highly visible to anyone in the town, and neighboring towns).
You know, I'm really not sure. I've been meaning to go by and see what it looks like.
Actual response: (Point)

"How long is the half-hour tour?" (yes. really.)
Five hours sir, or if you pay double, overnight.
Actual response: "31 minutes."

"Is there a bar on the boat?"
"Yes."
"Do you serve alcohol?"
No. Soup only.
Actual response: "Yes, would you like another drink?" (I was a little bolder in my youth)

"Where do we buy tickets?"
In Paris - or, on Tuesdays in Southwest London.
Actual response: (Point at the VERY large, signed, ticket office ten feet away).


Asked while working in a downtown Charleston hotel:

"What happens to the city outside of tourist season?"
Well, we pack it into little boxes and ship it to Los Angeles. We keep it in the same warehouse as Williamsburg, Virginia.
Actual response: "It's much the same, with fewer people."

"What's East of Charleston?"
Iraq. Or, if you keep going for a while, Charleston again.
Actual response: "The Atlantic Ocean."

(Asked while a bellman drove a car into the garage across the street right in front of us)
"Do you valet?"
No. We will take your car and sell it on the black market. Oops, the secret it out.
Actual response: "Typically, yes."

Asked working at Middleton Place, a plantation and Inn near Charleston:

"Where do you keep the alligators?"
In the guest rooms. I'll make sure he's gone before you get there.
Actual response: "They do pretty well on their own."

"Were there slaves on this plantation?"
Nope. Back in the day it was full of Oompa Loompas.
Actual response: "Unfortunately, yes."

"Is the honeymoon suite an actual suite?"
It is in fact a parlor with two twin beds and an outhouse.
Actual response: "Not just in name only."

Though this was not a guest question, I have to mention it. I had just locked up the lodge, and saw a bobcat about ten feet from my car. I radioed the registration building, where my friend Amy was (unbeknown to me) checking in a couple of guests.
"Amy, come in."
"Go ahead Will."
"There's a bobcat about ten feet away from my car."
"Is he on the other side of your car from you?"
"For the moment."
"Walk up to your car very slowly."
"Working on that."
"Get in and lock the doors."
I could not help but laugh. "Are they good with car doors?"

Working in Tysons Corner, in a suburb of Washington, DC:

"Is this the Marriott?"
No. Not THE Marriott. That's somewhere else. This is just a decoy. Good, isn't it?
Actual response: (After glancing up at the VERY prominent glowing red Marriott sign on top of our tower). "Yes, sir."

"Are the White House and all the monuments and stuff within walking distance?"
Everything is in walking distance, eventually.
Actual response: "Unfortunately, no."

(Early in the morning, outside the restaurant, buffet in full view)
"Do you serve breakfast here?"
No. What you're smelling is actually a breakfast-scented spray we use in the lobby for a fresh morning atmosphere.
Actual response: "Yes."

Working in a Marriott in Providence, Rhode Island - standing in the very large parking lot:

"Can we park here?"
No. We ask our guests not to bring cars, or otherwise park at the mall.
Actual response: "Typically, yes."

"Do the elevators go all the way to the top?"
Yours don't. (Or) No. These only go up three floors, but the stairs are very nice.
Actual response: "Usually, yes."

(Asked by a guest arriving from New York)
"What time is it here?"
The same time in New York. Except on Tuesdays.
Actual response: (I told her the time, and she looked somewhat surprised, but didn't say another word. Some people travel so much they really do forget what city they're in, so this is almost forgivable.

(Pointing to the telephone on the concierge desk)
"Can I make calls on this phone?"
No, but isn't it pretty?
Actual response: "I believe you may."

(Group contact standing by several long tables full of chafing dishes and platters of cold items)
"Is this the buffet?"
No, but it sure looks a lot like one, don't you think?
Actual response: "Yes sir it is."

Working in a restaurant in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina:

"Are all the steaks made of beef?"
No, some are made of Plexiglas.
Actual response: "Typically, yes."

"What does La Casa Di Romanza mean?"
The house of meat.
Actual response: "The house of romance" (with restrained gag reflex)

"Is this your wine list?"
No, this is Cliff's Notes on Chaucer's Canterbury Tales.
Actual response: "I believe it is, yes."

While studying in culinary school, after class, in my chef's whites in a supermarket (our executive chef here at the Marriott Greenville recently experienced the same thing):

"Oh, are you a chef?"
No, why?
"Maybe one day."

Working as a corporate event planner in Greenville, South Carolina:

"Is your hotel near the beach?"
As compared to say, Kansas, yes.
Actual response: "We're only a few hours away from the nearest beach."

"Do your data projectors work well with laptops?"
No, we've had to have a few come-to-Jesus meetings. They're very mean projectors.
Actual response: "I've never had an issue that couldn't be easily resolved."

"Can we eat in the restaurant?"
Only on Tuesdays.
Actual response: "Yes, you certainly can."

(This group's meeting started at 7am)
"Can I get in the room at 6 to start setting up?"
No. We have an overnight event in that room, and they break half an hour before you. You may go in promptly at 7.
Actual response: "Yes, you can."


This could go on. And on. I get these types of questions all the time. I mean all the time. Almost every day, in fact. I look forward to going back to school and getting as far away from tourism and hospitality as I can - however this divorce (as mentioned in a previous blog) from hospitality is getting messier all the time. And if I do end up in public relations, I'm not sure how much better it will get.

There are stupid people everywhere. And they all keep finding me.