Apparently Jesus Was Against Tipping

During some of the house-cleaning this past summer, I spent a lot of time going through paper clutter, throwing out a ton of junk, scanning it in for the archives whenever necessary and/or possible.  Even though some of the stuff I exhumed brought back interesting memories, a lot of it wasn’t worth saving in a digital reincarnation—regardless of how little storage space it would take.  I not only decided to save this one, but I wanted to pass it along.

Quick lead-in: I waited tables for a little over three years back home, and for anyone who doesn’t live under a rock, a server’s income consists largely of gratuity—a.k.a. tips.  In the state where I live anyway, it’s legal to pay servers much less than minimum wage because it’s expected gratuity will make up the difference, and from what I recall, I made right about $3 per hour in those days.  Aside from those in the know (others who’ve worked in the service industry and realize how much tips mean), most people tend to be pretty average tippers, neither bad nor good.  Then there is the broad spectrum of shitty tippers; the people who are either too ignorant to realize the level of their own self-awareness, those who use tipping (or the lack thereof) as a source of sadistic amusement, and then the others who fall somewhere in between.  One day, I found this sitting in the tray after a couple customers left.

 

This was the first time I’d seen one of these, and if you’ve ever received one, you can probably guess my reaction and completely understand how I felt.  Here’s what was on the inside.

No, if you do this, let me give you a real tip—stop being an asshole cheapskate under the guise of pious self-righteousness.  If there had been some cash accompanying this card—which there wasn’t—I might have chuckled in passing as I crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, but getting this trash in lieu of money was unacceptably rude.  To break it down, if you happen to give one of these to a fellow Christian, I’m sorry to inform you that you’re preaching to the choir and actually hurting one of your own by withholding income.  If you give it to someone like me, you’re only presenting one more example of how the religious can operate outside the norms of society while claiming some moral high ground based on their elite membership in their secret society.

Here’s the deal; the conversation with these people didn't go above and beyond the typical, “Hi, I’ll be your server,” “We want a big plate of tacos,” and, “Sounds good, enjoy, and here’s your check.  Please come again.”  There was nothing in the transaction that implied my heathen soul needed saving, unless there was a cue for a secret handshake or nod I missed somewhere in there, but I’m fairly certain that even if I was a fellow believer, my motivation for taking that job was not to collect propaganda freely disbursed at the weekly cult meetings.  I think I can confidently speak for anyone who ever has or still does work in the service industry, regardless of whether or not they/we ever enjoyed the work; we didn’t take the job for unsolicited advice or suggestions on how to live our lives, no matter how noble the intention.  It’s all about the cash.

I Haz A Plan

This post is actually appearing in tandem with my other blog, mainly because I haven’t touched either for a while, and this topic is relevant to both. The issue at stake (mmm, steak) right now is my writing; since the beginning of this semester, what little writing I was doing has slowed to a crawl, but I think I’ve figured out a way to get back on that horse, thanks to technology. Thank you, technology horse.

Anyway, after prepping for courses, teaching those courses, and then evaluating students’ work from those courses, the motivation to write has been beaten right out of me. I wallow in shame at my lack of stamina; however, while the flesh is weak, the mind is still strong and willing. Well, willing anyway. Between blogs, new short story ideas, and The Novel, I’ve usually got quite a few narratives bouncing around in my head—so many that I often find myself thinking, Oh crap, what the hell was that idea about that thing that came to me the other day? The irony in this is that I’ve publicly boasted my habit of not jotting anything down, because if it’s a strong enough or good enough idea, then it’ll “stick,” but my brain has lost its stickiness. It’s like one of those window-crawling toys I had as a kid that lasted approximately half a dozen trips down the window before it just bounced off the glass and landed on the floor every time I threw it. No more sticky. Gone.

So I had to dig down into that crispy decrepitude and figure out some way to get past this, uh, this dry spell (ba-dum bum, crash!). After taking a quick inventory of tangible and intangible assets, I’ve devised a plan based on the resulting list which consists of:

• 6 hours of commute per week (more to come by the end of October),
• 1 laptop with relatively long battery life,
• 1 earpiece headphone w/microphone,
• 1 voice-recognition software application,
• 1 word processing software application,
• 1 audio recording software application (should the previous list item crap out on me).

Using my drive as writing time seems inevitable. My collection of podcasts and audio books is dwindling, and lately I’ve noticed my thoughts wandering off from whatever happened to be playing anyway. Focusing those thoughts on talking through my stories should be the ticket for making progress on this stalled creativity, even if I’m doing something as trivial as filling plot holes, talking myself through character profiles, or even dictating stupid blog posts.

Expect progress reports—probably on the other blog. This one will probably be filled with the stupid dictated posts.

The cat looked hungry. It was out of food.

I was driving slowly down a quiet residential side street earlier this evening and saw someone about a block down cross in front of me to get to his parked car. They were on the other side, yet they waited for me to pass before opening the door. Both my windows were down, and right as I passed him, he ripped quite an impressive fart. There's no way he didn't hear me laughing before he got into his car.

Not that my story has anything to do with anything, except that lately it seems I've been a coincidental witness to some strange things. It's like I somehow turn invisible at the exact moment someone decides to pick their nose, one of those blatant deep digs typically done in private. But no, I get to share in the glory of random sightings that have yet to leave deep emotional scars, but they do leave me wondering: is this just happening to me, or is this widespread, signifying that people are generally becoming ruder?

I live in a relatively small community--a university town with a population that fluctuates at the beginning and end of the school year--so it's not like I'm in L.A. or Manhattan where a guy in a thong and superhero cape rollerblading past would be part of the daily landscape. Besides, someone like that is most likely looking for the attention anyway, whereas the people I'm talking about are doing or discussing things that feel completely unscripted, completely unintentional.

I'm almost ready to accuse myself of being too cynical here, but I have this gut feeling that people are becoming less aware of what's private and what isn't, forcing unwilling spectators to take on the role of audience members in their own personal reality program.

Yeah, I do sound pretty cynical. I also hope I'm wrong.

It was meant to be.

The world's first Klingon opera.

`Bout time.

Hittin' midgets with a squishy biscuit.

I made burritos tonight. These burritos were so good that I think they could have ushered in an era of world peace. Kim Jong Il would've eaten these and spent the rest of the night crying on my shoulder as he confessed all of his innermost fears.

Too bad I ate them. Man, they were good.

The semester is in full swing and I didn't get anywhere close to finishing my summer reading list. Or getting any significant writing done. The good news is that things are starting to even out now that classes are underway, I've made progress on my re-read of Tropic of Cancer, and I'm anticipating some writing time in the near future. I picked up some tutoring hours on campus after my classes, and one option open to me at the moment is to write while no one seems to have any major papers due yet, but I don't expect the quiet to hold out. One other option that recently occurred to me is to "write" during my commute between schools.

I teach for two schools right now (it will be three in late October), and I drive about an hour and half, round trip. I've been using my time to either listen to the news or catch up on a backlog of podcasts that have been piling up on me, but I recently recalled that I have voice-recognition software, a microphone headset, and a laptop with almost three hours of battery life. There is absolutely no reason I can't be dictating a few pages a week in transit, except maybe for the fact that I'll look like a blathering idiot to anyone who happens to drive past.

Screw it; I think this will be worth it. Hell, if this works, I may just have to get one of those adapters where I can charge my laptop in the cigarette lighter. Although it may affect my routine of drinking scotch while writing.

Fish beat! *boom boom psshhh*

I don't really have anything to say, except that I can't get enough of the dayjoborchestra YouTube channel. I could watch those stupid videos all day. I think I have.

Caution: The majority of their videos contain NSFW language. And apple juice.

"Get off my lawn, cookie beast."

I rearranged my apartment yesterday, and aside from feeling ridiculously sore from exerting muscles that forgot I had them (harhar), it's colder than a polar bear fart in here. In my old setup, the stereo cabinet was set a foot or two in front of the wall AC unit (with front glass door removed) in order to keep the electronics cool, yet allow the air to circulate through and into the rest of the room. Well, either the circulation through the cabinet was worse than I thought, or my stereo gets so hot that it instantly negated most of the cool air on contact, because I just realized today that my poor little toes are ice cubes--and it's hot outside. I shudder to think how much of a drain that was on my utility bill.

Also, if there's a recessive gene that causes cilantro to taste like soap for some people, I wonder if there's a gene that causes soap to taste like cilantro. That's right, I think of the tough questions so you don't have to.

I'm on a low-fat ranch dressing diet.

This summer, I've been teaching two sections of a first-year college composition course, and currently I'm reading through a stack of rough drafts for the last paper of the semester. My progress has been slow. No, it's not because of the heat; I wisely placed my desk next to the AC and have been quite comfortable--strategic fan placement has also helped. It wasn't until just a few minutes ago that it dawned on me what the problem could be.

I'm trying to help them while fighting the urge to make them write like me in the process.

Without realizing it, I've been struggling within to keep from marking up drafts with an overabundance of specifics. I sit down to read each paper and am seeing exactly what I think is wrong and implicitly what I would do to fix it--if it was mine. As an instructor, I should have a pretty good grasp on what makes a scholarly, professional-grade paper, but polishing up these drafts to get to that level is not my job; my job is to guide by suggestion so they do the work, so they learn from the experience.

I guess I'm learning something as well, because it's much more of a challenge than I thought to find that fine line between telling them what to do as opposed to pointing out what they've done and nudging them in the right direction. Off the top of my head, there are a couple issues I can see with this.

First, if I give them a diagrammed walk-through on their edits, the papers come back with minimal errors (assuming they followed directions), and everyone passes with flying colors. Great and good, but I question how much would be learned by just following the recipe in order to get done. I can't help but think that the writing in subsequent classes may suffer as a result. Call me a pessimist, but I doubt it would be long before administration starts to investigate why the average grade in my class is so high and then crashes right afterward.

On the other hand, if my comments are too general, then revisions will most likely be minimal due to confusion and/or frustration, and worse yet, no one has learned anything except that writing sucks because it's so hard. And possibly that the instructor is a jerk because he gives bad grades for no seemingly no reason.

I hear seasoned veterans, those teachers who've been in the trenches for a while, say that it takes time to find a routine. They say it gets faster with experience. I'm not saying I don't believe them; I'm just hoping I don't get to the point where I sway too far one way or the other for the sake of speed.

Focus, Pinky!

This blog, so far, has been a place where I just throw down some random thoughts and then go about my business. I haven't conformed to any sort of structure other than attempts to keep the title as vague or totally unrelated to the actual post as I can, and I really have no plans to change that. A very few posts have been sincere attempts at discussing writing, and I'm afraid that this particular blog may not be the best fit.

I've recently decided to start a new blog dedicated to writing (inspired by Ryan) so that I won't taint the inherent ridiculousness of the Klingon Freak Show. I can't promise to post on a regular basis at the moment, but the chances of frequent posting would probably increase based on feedback. It would be great if anyone felt like visiting--or even better, returning--to join in the discussion. A permanent link to Rather Clueless is in the right-hand column.

Check it out. I've already talked about poop.

BP Blocking Media Access: New Orleans

At risk of turning this blog into a video dump, I decided I wanted to post this. I haven't been all that vocal about what's going on in that region so far. What can I really say that isn't already being said by, oh, just about everyone else.

Well, this video seems to say it all.



After watching this video, I realized that I can't recall very many times when I so absolutely wanted to see someone get punched right in the fucking mouth as I wanted to see that first "security" guard take a massive right hook and have a little sit down to think about things. Don't get me wrong; I'm all for dealing with the ignorant, even blatant anti-intellectuals, in a hands-off manner. In fact, I avoid them whenever possible. This is different. Someone like this needs to feel a little pain for being so stupid.

Here's my suggestion: it's time to cash in on our predisposed viewing habits AND public outrage, so let's televise these dumbasses getting punched when they act like this. It's obvious we prefer watching harm inflicted on people, whether it's real or simulated, as opposed to any sort of icky nipple slips or taboo sexuality we'd be embarrassed to have to explain to children (I mean, violence comes naturally enough to not require explanation, right?). So we keep the successful yet brain-numbing reality format and have a small group of people compete in a battery of physically demanding courses. The first people to be disqualified get the small fries, like punching this jackass who thinks he can justify his authority to keep people off the beach by saying that it's "the way it is." The winner gets to storm into the office of BP's CEO, Tony Hayward, cameras following behind to give that shaky action look from cop show busts, and punch that asshole right in the mouth for saying, "I'd like my life back," in response to the catastrophic ecological disaster his own company unleashed. There could be multiple seasons of this, because each one would be based upon each asinine statement he's let fly, so there's definitely some earning potential for whoever wants to pick this up and run with it. Of course American will watch it. It would even be the first reality program I'd watch--and that's saying a lot.

Think about it, any of you television moguls out there. It's time for the next logical step in reality programming. Call me.

We are doomed.

Here's proof.



Crying. Because of a reality show.

To see someone so emotionally invested in a storyline, in a narrative arc, is something I'd trade my left pinkie toe for as a writer (assuming the reaction is due to my work). I'll go so far as to admit that sure, American Idol offers a pseudo-storyline. We* love to rise up as a nation and jeer the delusional and talentless during the initial rounds of auditions--which, by the way, introduced the world to William Hung; a person who is apparently famous despite a distinct lack of talent. You know, like Paris Hilton (too easy). We also love to clear our schedules so we can vote in real time for who stays and who gets the boot.

I get the psychology. It's the same (dis)associative qualities you'd see in a die-hard sports fan, someone who wins when their team wins and loses when they lose. I like to think I can hold a tune once in a while but can also recognize how out of my league I'd be in that crowd. I hate that this video doesn't feel like an atypical response to something that, at base, doesn't amount to much in the grand scheme. Sure, some of the contestants will get the chance at a career and some suits in the music industry will pad their pockets a bit more, but who really gives a shit? Don't tell me; I think I already have a good idea what the answer is.

Call me curmudgeonly (don't call me Shirley), but I'd much rather spend my time watching a movie or series with heartfelt writing and stellar acting. Even if there are elements bordering on outrageous, I want my disbelief to suspend itself without knowledge or effort by me. The transition should be natural.

Based on the very few times I've seen American Idol, not much of it feels natural to me. Maybe that's my problem.

*If you disagree with my view of American Idol, then the "we" means "you." If you agree, then it means "they."

EDIT: The owner of the original video, unsurprisingly, took it down and broke my link. Rather than fire off another rant about general lack of critical analysis, I'll just say that once a video is public, there's a very good chance it will always be public, because someone else has posted it for everyone to see. Welcome to the Internets, noobs.

I like white noise, but this is too much.

It's Wednesday morning, quarter to two (I don't care what time it says I posted this; it's wrong), and I feel like I need to take a walk. The temperature has gone up these past few days, I'm waiting for my next round of summer classes to kick in, and it just feels like time is standing still. It's driving me crazy.

I think I mentioned earlier that I was going to try fasting, and so it's quite possible this scattered mindset is due to me actually giving it a shot these past couple days. I figured this downtime would be the most trying, because really, I hate to be bored, and I also love to eat. Surprisingly, I've done a little writing, a lot of reading, and hardly any eating--we're talking a couple veggies, a bit of popcorn, and a cup of rice with a can of tuna in about 2.5 days (lots of water and a daily multivitamin), and I can already feel a difference in how my body's responding to, well, everything.

This feeling is what I was looking for. There was a stretch of time back in my late teens when I had to choose between paying the rent or buying groceries. Guess which one took priority. Thanks to my two years of working at McDonald's in high school, though, I was able to work some of my old connections and score a sympathy meal once in a while from the "cool" managers. Still, after graduating at 185lbs. (I'm about 6'2"), I was flirting with 170lbs. at one point. I ate a lot of popcorn, cheap yet filling, and I recall one meal consisting of a coffee cup filled with heated spaghetti sauce with a slice of melted cheese on top--no meat.

Hopefully I won't be in a situation like the one I just described anytime soon; like I mentioned, I have some classes coming up in about a week, so there's some income on the horizon. My main motivation is to revisit these sensations as a way to maybe reawaken some old feelings as well as research for my writing. In fact, this goes to show how scattered my thoughts are in this state; I was going to write a bit here about the writing and about ideas I've got cooking (oh, a punned food reference) in my head. Oh well, I've already written enough for now. I think it may be time for that walk and some fresh air.

Not gonna lie; I'll probably go down the street and pick up a late-night Coke and a candy bar, but splurging a little now will help in the long haul.

A Smorgasbord of WTF

It's that time again; feast your eyes upon the top ten Google searches which landed people here. I'm fairly certain that exactly none of the people who entered these phrases in the text field were looking for me--not even the poor sap who entered in my friend Ryan's name.



Seriously, cop mustache? What is wrong with you people?

I'm a glutton for gluten.

Tomorrow is our last day of finals, and student concerns/requests are still coming via email. One particular brand of email, I'll admit, is more entertaining than the rest. Here's the basic template:

"OMG, I'm so so sorry I've missed the last few classes, but I've had >insert reference to a vague, yet earth-shattering, life-destroying trauma--most often cited as "personal problems"< at home that I just had to deal with! What did we do for class? Please call me. My number is >digits I don't pay attention to<."

Yes, this is the condensed mad-lib formula from quite a few of the emails this past semester. Honestly, I'm somewhat of a softy when it comes to a student making the effort to let me know they won't be in class, but you'll notice the above example was in the past tense, which usually indicates this effort falls into the "too little, too late" category. Still, I offer them a chance and will typically send a reply reminding them when and where my office hours are, followed closely with an explicit invitation to come see me then. Do they take me up on it? Let's just say that I haven't seen a taker yet, but I wish they'd figure out that it's the best way to work it out; at least it is with me.

I think it's the last bit that kills me. The phone in my office is effectively cosmetic (I mention this on day one), and there's a reason I don't list my personal number on the syllabus, so it stands to reason that I'm not going to call someone who already displays a strong tendency to procrastinate. Receiving calls at any time of the day or night by a panic-stricken student is not something I'm eager to experience. No thank you.

Most of my socks are of an inferior quality.

I graduated. I graduated and got my foot in the door for some teaching experience, which is great, because now I've got a lead on something that could turn into the job I retire from. Until then, I'm existing, and by existing, I mean getting by with rent and bills on adjunct pay--good for a while, but not the best situation for saving or having any sort of life. Oh wait, I didn't really have a life anyway. That's a relief.

Anyway, I had one of those moments today where something went my way in a big way. I had student health insurance through the health center on campus, and once I graduated and tried to cancel the policy, I was told my transcripts would be sent on to the billing office and to just sit back, ignore the bills, and let the paperwork run its course. Since then, I've been getting statements with a steadily increasing sum printed in the "amount due" box, and the most recent have included friendly notes threatening me with all sorts of spooky credit mojo that would haunt me. They apparently have no idea that I've already been haunted, and the first time is the scariest. Not so much anymore. I finally got tired of it and left a message telling them my name and a reminder that I graduated way back in December, and I seem to recall saying, "Fix this, please," before hanging up.

I received what looked like another bill today, but the envelope felt a bit thin. There was only one sheet showing a lump sum credit and a lovely "$0.00" in the amount due box. Maybe it was only a drop in the bucket, but every little bit helps. And it felt like I'd won the lottery.

My lava lamp is talking to me, and he's quite knowledgeable.

I don't think I've ever linked to another blog post before. If I have, I simply don't recall doing so, but this one felt necessary to me. It's arguably a little past the freshness date, but recent enough to warrant sharing.

The Atheist Missionary is one of the handful of atheist bloggers I follow (cyber-lurking or -stalking might be more accurate), and he linked an interview with one of those infuriating brands of Kooky Kristians™ who starts off with strained pleasantries and quickly moves into the inevitable and insincere "WHY ARE YOU ATTACKING ME AND NOT LETTING ME SPEAK!?!???!!???" mode of debate. It was so disturbing that I felt the need not only to blog about it, but to comment on his blog as well. I was so passionate that I missed a typo before posting. The horror!

There's a very good chance I'm outing myself to a few people here, and that's assuming there are people who visit this blog outside of the small handful I'm already aware of, but yes sir, I am an Atheist. Boogety-boo. Then again, when asked by my parents a couple years ago what I wanted for Christmas (yes, atheists do use that word), I replied earnestly that I wanted The God Delusion--and got it in hardcover. Yeah, I'm fairly certain most people I know are aware that I'm not too hip on the Gee Oh Dee tip.

Ok, that's a clear sign I need to be done with this post.

His hat said "Show Me Your Tits." It was for special occassions.

I may have mentioned before that I fancy myself a writer. I am sometimes asked, as I'm sure many writers are, where ideas for stories come from. The reality is that they come from everywhere, but the most recent incident is from a story I was just reading earlier this evening.

I was reading a story in which one of the main characters was upset with the other, and due to the situation he couldn't do anything to react outwardly, so he went into the bathroom and bit his own arm, drawing blood. See, that's one of those strange scenes/occurrences that hit me weird and then my train of thought goes off the tracks.

• I start to think about what kind of person would bite their own arm when left with nothing else to do.
  
• I start to wonder what else someone could do in lashing out that would be relatively equal to biting yourself.
  
• I try to imagine what would happen if the character had stayed in the room and bitten the other person's arm instead.
  
• I think about how much it would hurt to bite your own arm until you draw blood.
  
• I wonder if I could bite my own arm that hard.
  
• I consider biting my own arm--then decide against it.
  
• I wonder how much harder you would have to bite to just take out a chunk of your own skin.
  
• I start to think about the zombie movie I watched the other night when the damage ranged from a single bite to people being torn apart screaming.
  
• I wonder why I don't take more notice of the people who receive a single bite and scream at first, but then are ridiculously fine and shooting at the zombie horde with the rest of the survivors--that is, until they either sacrifice themselves or the infected bite turns them into a zombie.
  
• I try to think of ways someone could take a bite out of themselves or someone else without there having to be zombies involved, like in the story I mentioned earlier (mostly because zombies seem to be fighting vampires for the rank of trendiest monster, and I don't want to be a bandwagoner).
  
• I decide that it could probably be done (obviously), but since it hasn't come to me right away, I'll put it on a shelf and if it comes to me eventually, then it comes to me. If the initial image is good enough, it'll come to me.
  

So that's a short glimpse into what goes on. Nothing too glamorous, I'm sure. Maybe even a bit disappointing. But if you're ever hanging out with a writer and their eyes suddenly sort of go out of focus on you, snap back, and then they act impatient for no apparent reason, they'll probably appreciate it if you'd wrap it up or allow them a gracious retreat, because they're either going to go write or to the toilet. Either way, there's a massive dump about to happen.

Super-size my science; hold the patriotism.

Posting this video in response to a request about emphasizing climate as opposed to weather.



And by saying "hold the patriotism," I don't mean stop being a patriot, you nutty-nuts who will surely try to label me a gay communist for uttering such a thing (although I'd be willing to bet most people know at least one gay communist without even realizing it). I mean that I don't necessarily see the need for politicizing (accusations of being unpatriotic) during a report about science (climate change). I'd like to think that no matter where you fall in the political spectrum, you can at least acknowledge that the collection of unbiased research on climate change is in everyone's best interests. Let's all take The Science Guy's advice and consult with actual scientists--preferably many of them, as long as they're reputable.

Oh, and please stop laughing triumphantly every time it snows in winter, claiming that the weather (not climate) has proven you know more about climate change than anyone else, ever. Having lived in Iowa all my life, I've seen my share of snow, and I tend to be more annoyed by the extreme cold snaps than the snow--unless we get the sheer amounts that have dropped recently. One thing I did happen to notice during our storm is that the temps didn't drop to anywhere near what they were earlier this season. That prompted me to check some numbers for the nation's capital, where the politics are piling up as high as the snow. Here's what I found:

Feb.6th - Low 25.9 - Mean 29.5 - High 32.2
Feb.7th - Low 18.3 - Mean 24.7 - High 32.5
Feb.8th - Low 21.6 - Mean 27.0 - High 34.5
Feb.9th - Low 24.8 - Mean 29.5 - High 36.9
Average - Low 22.6 - Mean 27.7 - High 34.0

I didn't take the time to factor in wind chill or the "feels like" temps, but that's where it stands. I'm sorry, but even when you average the average, it's not that cold. I even searched around for news reports on the so-called "snowpocalypse," or whatever other buzzwords have been flung about, but I don't recall seeing mention of record low temps mixed in anywhere with the reports of record snowfall. I'm willing to concede that someone who knows a thing or three about meteorology could very well school me here and explain how wrong I am, but I would much rather take their word than, as Rahm Emanuel would say, some fucking retard who's pushing a political agenda. Those people should just grab their shiny red sleds and go tire themselves out on the nearest sledding hill, then warm up with a nice cup of shut the hell up.