Meet the Parents
“When the adults are away, the children will play.” So the motto goes where at work much of the staff has gone home to get packed up for some out-of-state, week-long conferences. As for me, I’m one of the few, the proud, the brave who has to put up with an office full of squirrelly interns delighted to take over their supervisor’s office space for four days.
Today I read my work evaluation. There wasn’t anything too glaring in my work performance other than my own (self-reported) past frustrations with irrational people who try to blame society’s ills on my public health do-gooding. I wonder though if I am a bit Type A, in that while I was reading my evaluation I was making corrections in some my supervisor’s grammar.
Coming soon to a theatre near you, I will be prospectively meeting the gf’s father this week. Funny how this turned into “Meet the Parents” week, as my mom is flying in on Friday to spend the weekend with me. And yes, plans have been set for Stacy to meet my mom over dinner. To answer the obvious, no- I’m not in the slightest nervous or worried about meeting Stacy’s dad. I can’t answer why, only that I’ve crossed a threshold in my life where people don’t intimidate me all that much. Perhaps it is because I’ve seen in people the Wizard of Oz unveiled from behind the curtain too many times. After a while you just realize that most people are just full of noise and nothing more. They don’t manage to “see to it that you are fired,” or “report you to the credit agency” five days after your bill was due (by law you have thirty days to pay before that happens). You learn after awhile that the threats your parents gave you about disowning you or being angry with you forever doesn’t play out, or that at least you are able to survive without their blessing for your choices. And you learn that life is too complex and short to worry about what others think of you, and what you must do to please them- a goal never to be fulfilled.
Being the honorary Gaylord Focker who is meeting the parent of my gf, my only focus is for Stacy’s parents to see that I care for and respect her. Whether they approve or disapprove of me is tertiary as I’m not dating them.
Fallin’ for you
This blog is dedicated to all the men who have fallen for me… literally.
To the hot-dogger who spilled it big time in front of me while I was sippin' a frozen, alcoholic beverage on my porch- the Australian judge gave you a 8.5, while the generous American in me gave you a 9.2! Not only did you manage to eat it on your bike while attempting a sharp U-turn from the street onto the rock-ridden sidewalk; but you also managed to scurry off into your house quite quickly once you looked over to see if I saw your massive spill. I should give you an extra .03 points, however, for still keeping your latex life-like dildo visible in your kitchen window for over a week now. I wonder though if it is a bit of a distraction sitting there in your drying rack for your dishes.
And to the "oh-shit!"-wanna-be-skateboarder, maybe if you weren't fiddling with your mp3 player between your breaks on the cellphone, you wouldn't have ate a grass and asphalt salad. I give you a 6.3, while China gave you a 8.0 (something about honor). Your low score is due to the fact that nothing on the sidewalk could have possibly stuck your wheels so abruptly. Perhaps while you were scanning for your Black Eyed Peas song your wheels clipped the edge of the grass along the very-wide sidewalk. I did give you a few extra tenth-points for quickly looking over to me to see if I witnessed the wipe-out. It seems to be a common reaction from men who eat it in front of females!
Trademark the Sacred
The tobacco company Phillip Morris is in trouble again with a PR quandary. Recently a New Zealander went to Israel on vacation and found a pack of cigarettes with the words "Maori Mix" on it, along with symbols sacred to the Maoris in NZ. When a tribal coalition against tobacco got wind of this and confronted PM on the matter, one of the spokespersons from the industry giant stated that the sacred symbols "were not trademarked."
This comment upset me to no end. Not only because I find it morally offensive that someone would exploit cultural and sacred symbols for corporate gain on a product that kills people; but also because privatization has become a growing monster that strips people who lack money and power of what is afforded to them by simply belonging to the earth or a group.
Who cares if the Maoris haven't copyrighted or trademarked their own language and cultural heritage? What kind of "socially responsible" industry shows no regard for people's religious and cultural beliefs?
One thing to learn from society, especially the Kiwis, is don't mess with the sacred. It should be an area devoid of financial greed and manipulation. (Did you hear that as well, James Dobson, Jerry Falwell, and Pat Robertson!?) Look at the stink Jesus raised when merchants were making a profit off of swindling religious folk at the temples. He overturned their tables and chased them off with a whip!
I wish I could see the same indignation happen today, and not just with Phillip Morris who claims that they used the Maori symbols and language to show that they are "accepting of cultural diversity."
On a separate note, I pine for the day that music enthusiasts won't buy crappy Christian music just because the words: salvation, righteousness, Jesus, Savior, sanctify, etc… are mentioned dozens of times; and not because the musicians are actually Christians with integrity and have talent (there is an excellent South Park episode on this).
But I digress in my diatribes about exploitation… I must go now and think about what I'm having for lunch. I hear there are Pride Sandwiches being sold with arsenic laced in them. It may kill me, but <shrug> the retailers obviously care about my issues and identity since they put a rainbow on the packaging. (Note my sarcasm, as cigarettes have arsenic in them also.)
