Every so often I have lucid dreams, where I recognize I’m in a dream. It’s an interesting position to be in. If I had good control over it I could use it for all kinds of fun purposes. Instead of reigning in control my dream usually ends, I wake up or everything in the dream just kind of falls apart. People turning into zombies or something of that sort.
Last night I recognized I was dreaming, and even remembered how some things in my dreams referenced other dreams I had a long time ago. I was in a book store I remembered from when I was a kid, in a previous dream I had a job there. I remembered that dream within the dream last night, where I was at the same bookstore, and started talking to the people working there telling them how I had a short stint working there. Rather than wake up or have it get screwy I just let things go. Recognizing that nothing really mattered I started not really caring about anything, kind of like when I’m drunk, only with less slurring, shouting and stumbling.
US Government issues every citizen a Jennings 9mm Pistol (only $149.99), one bullet, and a fifth of Gin. Alcoholics that need more than a fifth to get drunk are trying to get a piece of the bailout, but it doesn’t look good.
I have no idea what the hell is going on. Here is the bailout in visual terms:
We could build 8 of these fuckers from Contact and still have enough left over to buy a 12-pack of Icelands and populate them entirely with strippers and clones of Carl Sagan.
The worst part is it would result in as much usefulness as the bailout, but we’d have 8 hot tracks of audio static that ought to sell like hotcakes. They’d better, at a cool trill a track.
As for the actual size of the bailout, while 8.6 Trillion DOES sound like a fuck ton, it really needs to be put in perspective. The bailout is currently using 13 percent of the entire production capacity of our entire species. The Human GDP. That kind of shit really only happens in movies, when some sort of giant rock or fuckever is going to collide with earth and we pool together the resources and ingenuity of humanity as whole to save ourselves. Except it is usually a lot cheaper than 13%, and we usually don’t bailout GM. Movies always have an unrealistic standard of human ingenuity.
Honestly, I was never sure if I would ever see economics of this scale in my life time, but when you throw around humanity’s ability to do shit in 2-digit percentages, I figured it would HAVE to be some sort extra-solar colony ship, a jump gate, terraforming mars, transcending physical form…the list goes on. The least 8.6 Tril should get us is a toaster that fucking works. Imagine if we decided to spend the 8.6 trillion as a grant to medical research. We’d cure every form of cancer, all terminal illnesses, rape aids and even be able to distill the female orgasm to a single, elegant equation. All this before the turkey is done. Black friday will still suck though.
But instead, we’re giving it to a bunch of bullshit fronts so they can zerg up the phat bonuses. Oh, and they’ll leave a little behind so their business doesn’t die and cause a global economic crash. Yes, I’m looking at you, Citibank.
This is silly. The numbers are too big, none of the people making these decisions have any idea what they’re doing at this scale. No one does, because this shit is unheard of. A sensible leader would say, “over half our GDP? lol” and just nationalize these fuckers and sort it out later. Why don’t we just force them to renegotiate all debt to be paid back at 0% interest? It will probably average out to something reasonable and it will actually get paid back, instead of dropping 300 Billion on the home protection fund, whatever the fuck that does. Oh, and why can’t we seize funds received through ‘bonuses’? A bonus is a reward given to someone who excels at their occupation. Someone who excels at destroying the economy and their own bank, then steals a much larger bonus are either highly amoral or lack certain human abilities, like the ability to recognize shapes. We should punish them with forced play of monopoly in solitary confinement for the rest of their natural life, but the bank refuses to deal out the bills to start the game. As artificial life extenders become available, we may be able to prolong the hell even further. But I digress. Everyone in Washington seems to really want to move money around in several steps to insure it goes back into the hands of those who have proven their incompetence. It just seems easier to treat the problem, that being loan sharking through bait and switch, then giving people money to pay back the loan shark.
Whatever, it all just creating all the credit and debt you want, it’s value in that it must be paid back. The U.S. is certainly a fiat system abuser rather than user, but it’s flexible. I’ll just wait it out see what Obama’s radically new policies do. They are totally unprecedented so no one knows what will happen, but he’s a shrewd man. Let’s see how his plays out.
As a last resort, we can always just fuck the national debt over more. If people were freaking when it was at 4 tril, I think it can handle a few more totally ridiculous additions before we have to start actively ignoring it.
1.) I am suppose to declare all the tips that I made that night so the government can tax that.
2.) Add this up with also tipping out an expo, busboy, and bartender 10% of the tips you make.
3.) Getting paid minimum wage, and having to declare your tips/tipping out, ends in making NO money whatsoever.
4.) I calculated it out at work, and me claiming all my tips means that I actually OWE the restaurant money. Our shifts are about 4 hours and being paid for 4 hours worth of work at a rate of 8$, is not much money at all. Now subtract about 32 from the 80 and what do you get? You get debt.
I don’t declare all my tips, because if I did I would actually be in debt to the restaurant. And yes, good service is a must, but many company’s who pay their employees for giving good service, are paid more because they don’t make tips.
And working in a restaurant, you get a sense of who will actually tip you and who won’t. And I am sorry if I am being stereotypical, but it’s true that Mexicans, Asians, and Blacks, don’t seem to tip much. Now I understand with the Mexicans and Asians, because over in the Spain the tip is included with the bill. Always. In Asia, there are many places where it is rude to tip. And guess what? These waitresses at these restaurants DON’T give good service whatsoever. They just drop the food off and go back to watching the television that’s there.
As for the black community, I actually had a very nice black family the other night. And it’s a little strange that I didn’t post that before Jones posted his blog. And when this happens it makes me take a step back and take a deep breath and try to look at things in a brighter light. But the majority of the black community that come into our restaurant treat all of us like shit. They look down on all of us.
So I don’t understand where the cultural difference is for the black community. You would figure that they would tip just like the white community. Even ones who have plenty of money and will shell out over $100 dollars for their date, they don’t tip much at all. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to claim supremacy for the white community because we do get our share of people who are white that don’t tip. It just doesn’t happen as often. Rarely actually. If you walk back into a kitchen of a restaurant, and you listen to all the waiters and waitresses, you will hear that the majority of shitty tips comes from mainly non-white people. So it’s not just the experiences that I have had, it’s every single goddamn waiter. A few friends of mine are waiters and they agree. The first thing we ask each other is, “what was their ethnicity?”
And what’s worse about the situation, is that when they see you looking at the paid bill and the change they left you, they laugh. Because it’s normally about four dollars on an $80 bill. They think it’s funny that they are tipping you shit, even when you do get all the orders right, make really good conversation, make jokes, make them laugh, and they even take pictures with you. It baffles me.
But in all honesty, waiters and waitresses remember who gave them a shitty tip. Just keep this in mind when you DO give a shitty tip, unless they deserve it. And many of the times that I get a shitty tip, I DON’T deserve it.
And if you feel that you shouldn’t need to tip at all, then you can just go right back home and make yourself your own goddamn food. So stop coming in and complaining about things when you have the choice to go home and cook for yourself.
So over the past few days, a couple of my room mates have been moving out. Now there are two rooms available. I am suppose to be leading the interviews because as Steve (who is so ancient you probably would think he was from the prehistoric times) puts its, “You are the foxy lady who needs to reel them in so Silvia can stop paying for the girls rent.” Nicely put Steve. Thank you. And immensely creepy might I add.
But I do not know what kind of people should be allowed to live in such a luxurious house. If you have been to my house, or have at least seen it from the outside, you can imagine all the types of people we would be getting to move in. Should it be fem or men? Perhaps one of each. I would rather have two gentlemen move in because I normally get along better with them. Women just pester everyone else about their belongings and how things need to be in some orderly fashion. Steve on the other hand, wants two females to move in. He thinks that it would be much easier to handle as oppose two men.
I will admit, it would be nice if another lady moved in seeing as how I am the only one here right now. I don’t find it comforting or anything of that sort, but I do think that having two girls instead of just one in a primarily guy house would make certain situations a little less uncomfortable. Such as the tampon issue. But that thought in the back of my head will always be there when it pertains to living with women. I have lived with other women before and it was always a disaster. They groan about the things others do, and then turn around and do the exact same thing. They are also extremely passive aggressive leaving notes on the toilet, such as my old room mate did. “Your boyfriend doesn’t live here.”
I am sorry that he left the toilet seat up, but honestly, it takes the same amount of effort to put it up as it does to put it down. You are being lazy. And if it is that big of a problem, you should be able to maturily talk about it with me and polietly ask if I can ask him to put it down after he uses it. It seems so straight forward and so logical. She complained about the dishes, I never used any, but she never did any of her own. This doesn’t seem to be adding up correctly.
And if a spotlessly clean house is what you need, then find another place to live. Or keep your room spotlessly clean and don’t let anyone in it, because god forbid they move a candle slightly to the left or walk in with their shoes on.
But men on the other hand don’t seem to do any cleaning whatsoever. At least the ones who I have lived with. They are loud, obnoxious, and don’t ever seem to know anything about personal space. Although when I had first moved to Santa Barbara, my first room mate who was a man, and who is someone we all know, wasn’t that bad. We got along great.
So should it be men or women? One of each possibly? Some feed back would be wonderful, because everyone is fake during the interviews. Claiming that they are well mannered, clean, and nice people. Until after the first month or so.
And I understand that everyone is different, but from a generalized stand point, I think my thoughts about room mates are valid.
Recently, I have renewed my passion for libraries.
During college, I appreciated them, but more in a utilitarian sort of way. I liked them because they were an easy place to study or nap on campus. I also came to enjoy the fact that by borrowing your text book from the library you could avoid paying for it at the bookstore. But all of these things were very practical.
Now I that studying and text books are no longer part of my daily life–at least not for the time being– I have rediscovered some of the more enriching aspects of these fine literary establishments.
As an economically challenged avid reader, I love the fact that I can check out book after book and entertain myself for weeks on end without paying anything (as long as I turn my books in on time). This guesture of good faith toward the community is touching to me. Knowing only a person’s address and name the library is willing to give you free access to all the books you could possibly want. I look up and down the aisles filled with worn books like a hungry child in a bakery examining pastry. It is literary grace.
After having rediscovered the wonders of the library, I have expanded my literary horizons. Now instead of only reading what I have to, or what I know I will like, I am able to experiment with genres and authors learning more about myself and the world around me. Some of the time I end up reading something that I don’t like or agree with, but there is no loss of money, only time and at this point I have plenty of that. Libraries in this way allow people to discover themselves within their walls and pages. And for that I am incredibly grateful.
It was the middle of the day and the sun was beaming down hard. I was sitting on a ledge waiting for a friend of mine to get out of his therapist meeting. We were going to have lunch. I skipped my Calculus class because I was feeling down. I couldn’t bring myself to sit through another lecture, though I needed to go.
I was waiting on the corner of Victoria and State right across the street from Ce Dior. It’s an Italian restaurant I believe and I was admiring the little quaint curtains that framed the window. Then I looked down at my feet. I noticed a hole in the toe of my right boot, and it was my favorite pair of shoes. I started criticizing myself for not having a better job and being broke to the point where you can’t afford the simplest things you need. Then my mind wondered off to my friends. A couple is going through a divorce, and I’ve been trying to hear out both sides. A close friend of mine is being deployed back to the Marines though he was let go with an honorable discharge. It just felt like the world that I have worked so hard to build up was crumbling down all around me. It was one of those moments when you start to think, what is life worth living for if you don’t have anything to offer to it and it doesn’t have anything to offer you. I began to feel shame for letting go of my aspirations and goals. I began to kick myself about not sticking with school, and I started to understand what my mother always told me. “You’ll never be anything more than a maid.”
But the cars stopped passing by because the light was red. I looked up noticing that the sound had stopped. In a small bright red car, was a round woman. She had dirty blond hair with lighter streaks every here and there. She had rosy cheeks and must have been about forty. At first I looked past her. But I started looking at her. I noticed every detail, and probably because it took my mind off things for a moment. She had a dolphin swinging from her rear view mirror. It was blue, and looked like it was made out of a hard gel. She had creases on the outer edges of her eyes and was wearing a floral top. Her hair looked like the 1950’s bob and she looked happy. She rested her head on the top of her seat basking in the sunlight. I admired her joy. She turned to look at me and I like to think she felt what I was feeling at the moment. She held my gaze for a brief second, while most just turn and look away. She smiled at me. Her eyes scrunched up and her creases were easier to detect when she did. But she had a beautiful smile. And it made me smile.
This wasn’t just any ordinary smile though. It was a smile that made my heart skip a beat. I smiled inside and out. It was like light was dancing at my feet and I needed to get up and move away. I like to think that she knew all the work and struggles that have gone throughout my short life. And that she too, went through the same but made it out okay. I couldn’t take it. I looked back down at my shoes. When I looked back at her, she was resting her head against the seat again. This time, a soft and gentle smile was on her face while her eyes were closed. When the light turned green she drove off. But she made my day worth while. It was just her small generosity of sharing a smile with me. Sharing a moment of complete happiness. It washed over me and thinking about it now it seems like something that I just made up.
But I’ve decided to smile at random people more. Hopefully they’ll feel what I felt.
I was first going to write about another topic from my Sociology class, but something happened this morning. So I have decided to blog about that instead.
I was waiting for the bus this morning, and once again it was late. This time by fifteen minutes. I just don’t understand why it is always late. It is meant to be an express bus, getting me to my destination sooner than the rest. But it ends up being about the same time because it is so late. That’s a different story.
Here’s some background information about my views on smoking cigarettes before we move on:
I am a smoker. I love cigarettes. But, I am very considerate of where I smoke and who I am smoking around. I don’t smoke around people when they are trying to eat, unless they are a smoker as well. Or I will politely ask if it is okay if I have one. I do not smoke around children and the elderly. I feel that they should be held on the highest ranks of who to not smoke around because I just want them to have the healthiest well being out of all. I will, on occasion, if I am sitting in a smoking area follow a person who walks by me and who detests cigarettes because they are walking through a place where I am suppose to be smoking. What will happen is that they will make some comment or do that loud “I’m hacking because you are smoking” kind of cough which just upsets me. So I will walk behind you while I am enjoying my cigarette. Come on folks, let’s be intelligent here. So I do not condemn smokers, but I do not try to enhance the addiction either. I feel that a lot of people who smoke have a “bad reputation” because they are not being considerate of someone else’s air. It’s a simple concept, so why do so many people not understand it?
There was an elderly lady waiting for the bus reading the paper. She was sitting next to me. I didn’t catch her name because we didn’t make any conversation. She seemed to be enjoying her paper, so I let her go on with that. She must have been about 70 years old and was hunched over probably due to the fact that her breasts were so saggy they were weighing her down. She wore this bucket/bonnet type hat and had what looked like a life vest on. She looked like a sweet old grandmother. The type who will bake you cookies when you come to visit and stroke your hair while you munch on those delectable delights.
A young couple came up and sat a few yards away from us. I would assume that they were of the ripe old age of 17 or 18. Over all, they looked like white trash. The boy was a pasty white and was wearing black jeans and a black shirt with some sort a white logo and it had a few holes in it. He had many freckles on his face and had a drunken glaze over his eyes. I wasn’t sure if he was drunk, I wasn’t sure if he had just shot up some heroin, but he looked like he definitely had some sort of mental issues. Probably a horrible temper. His lady was small busted wearing a black tank top and some sort of black stretchy pants. She had on lavender kitten heels and was platinum blond. She had quite a bit of acne scars. They were keeping to themselves so I paid as much attention to them as I did the elderly lady next to me.
I got up to enjoy myself a cigarette. I walked away from the elderly lady and walked down by a few more feet away from the young couple. The young girl glared at me giving me that look, “I would come up with some sort of excuse to try and kick your ass right now” type of look. I focused on my cup of coffee and my lovely cigarette. The couple got up to allow themselves in my seat. I didn’t fault them for that. I mean, I did get up, and none of those seats are there for claiming anyways. They sat next to the elderly lady who was still reading her paper but eyeing the children next to her.
I knew something was going to happen. You could feel it in the air. That cold shiver flew up my spine and I knew at some point I would intervene during a fight to try and calm both sides down.
I was right.
The young girl then lit up a cigarette not caring about the elderly lady. Her boyfriend did the same. By then I had gotten myself another seat waiting for the bus just a few feet away. I hear some rustling and turned to see the elderly lady sitting next to me grumbling about something saying terms like “hope they die of lung cancer, that would serve her right.” and “bitch” I asked her if everything was okay.
“That girl over there started smoking a cigarette and I hate the way they smell,” she replied.
“I’m sorry about that,” were all the words that I could find in efforts to comfort her.
The younger man decided to get up and take some action against the elderly lady. He stood just inches away from her from the back of the seat and began to blow smoke in her vicinity. She whipped around and said, “You think you are so funny don’t you? Well you won’t be so funny when you die of lung cancer!!” The boy replied, “I do think I am funny. And you’re nothing more than some old bitch. So why should I care about you?”
I do not accept the way the elderly lady handled the situation, but I was very displeased with the younger boy. You should always treat the elderly with respect. So the term “bitch” threw me off my edge.
I turned around and I told him to go back and sit down where he was and stop disrupting this lady from her morning paper. He told me to go fuck myself. I replied, “I already did that this morning, thanks. But seriously, you are being very rude and it would probably make everyones’ morning run a little more smoothly if you just went back and kept to yourself.” He stalked off back to his sitting area and people were staring at all of us by that point. Him and his girlfriend were talking about something, I was hearing derogatory slander and I chose to ignore it. She stomped up to me and stammered on about me going back to my own country and that the clothing I chose to wear was hideous. But to me, they are just words. I tuned most of what she was saying out and read the paper that I had found. I looked up at her for the first time and there was anger in her face. I smiled at her. She asked me if I spoke English or (improvise with ping pang clang kind of noises). I looked at her puzzled and I told her, “Why, yes I do speak English. Why do you ask?” She turned red realizing that her slander wasn’t getting to me. I went back to reading the paper I had found. She knocked my cup of coffee out of my hands and it splashed all over her shoes. I looked down and shrugged. “I was almost finished with it anyways. And you just spilled it all over her shoes. You’ve made quite a mess.” She looked like she was about to hit me then I just smiled at her. “Instead of ME going back to my country, why don’t you go back to yours. I am assuming that you are making nothing of your life and can offer America nothing more than just coffee on your shoes. So why don’t you be a doll and go back and sit down so we can all finally have some peace.” She made some more Asian noises as she walked back. I grinned. The lady next to me started to talk to me about how inconsiderate teenagers are now these days and how people would never act that way when she was younger.
We ended up having this long discussion about how different people are and how they are always changing from generation to generation. She thanked me kindly as the bus rolled up. I tipped my head down and wished her the best of luck with her day. I hope things got easier for her, but I have a feeling that is just a first of many problems she will encounter today. And I am beginning to ask myself why.
Hey other authors: what is so important that you can’t post? Some of us are moving, and that’s a valid excuse, but the rest of you are just being lazy!
Sorry I had to put this here, but I don’t know how I would even contact half of you!
I had thought about keeping the story to myself and three other people, but I decided that everyone else might get a kick out of it as well. Plus, Moore condemned me for telling him the story instead of blogging about it. So here it is folks. Enjoy.
Work on Sunday was one of the greatest days in my life. It was chaotic towards the end, but the first half hour I was in a state of pure bliss.
My first table was swooped up by another waiter and while he was greeting the customers I decided to reclaim them. I had a good feeling about this table. So I sauntered up and put my hand on his shoulder and told him along with the rest of the table, “So you’re schmoozing on my table I see?” The customers looked confused. Jeff, the waiter, then apologized and slipped back to his hole of failure. The ladies started to cheer. They approved my way of getting what is rightfully mine.
So I told them that it is a new day and era. They all laughed. Now, this isn’t a table of young folk or even middle aged. These fine people where past that. Past their prime, on their way to their deathbeds, but apparently going out in classy style.
So I started the table off with introducing myself and whatnot, the regular routine. I didn’t think that they would take so kindly to me and we started to have a battle of wits and sarcasm.
“So, Ho is your name is it? Well now I know who to talk about to the manager when the service is horrible. Unless you can get us out of the bill.”
“Well sir, maybe if you slip me something under the table, we can work things out. But let me inform you, if you do that, it will more than likely cost you more than the bill would.”
Laughter rose up and other customers stared at us. I think they were wishing that they had a waitress as fun as I. So the gentlemen asked how short was a short, and how tall was a tall when ordering a beer. I just replied that a short is too short. Needing to keep their masculinity, they all ordered talls. The women ordered Jungle Coladas, which is just a smoothie with maybe about 1-1 1/2 shots of Whalers dark rum. A light drink.
So the orders were in, and the drinks were set, and things were running smoothly. I walk back to the table about five minutes later to check on them. The elderly lady, (about 83), had already finished her tasty beverage. She was pretty drunk. I regret not asking her for her name. I checked to see if anyone needed refills, the men nodded and the women passed. The elderly lady wanted another one, but decided that if she had one more she’d be on the floor. So she started drinking someone else’s drink instead. Charming she is.
Then the most wonderful thing in restaurant history happened. I am still shocked and wonder to myself this very day if this even actually took place. But it did.
The elderly lady began to lift up her shirt and I thought that she was adjusting it. I was making small talk about what I wanted to do with my life, become a surgeon or become a pharmacist, and why I wanted to get into the medical field with some of the men. Then I turned to the others and BOOM.
It was like being bitch slapped in the face then being beaten with a pimp cane. Magnificent. It was totally magically and such a great experience.
She had flashed the table.
The table went up in a roar of laughter. I just stared. What do you do? It’s one of those moments where you tell yourself to look away and look away now, but you can’t. You’re body is completely motionless and silence falls all around you. You block out the sound that is all around you and your mind goes completely blank except for trying to regurgitate saggy titties. They all laughed and laughed and it was just a moment of heartfelt happiness. I loved it.
After the bill was paid, and the table was leaving, I held the door open for them like how I always do for customers I like. Some of the men told me about grandsons they think would be perfect for me. I replied with the kindest words I knew. They all hugged me and the women kissed me on the cheek biding me farewell and the best of luck to finding my biological mother. I hope they come back.
I titled this to hopefully help with the Google search for the sake of our blog. And I do apologize for the crude language.
But, one of my customers was a bit of an ass. I don’t think me meant much by it, because he is older.
Here’s the story:
I am Asian. Korean, more specifically (yes this does have relevance to what the story is about). Two couples sitting in one of booths in the section that I waited on tonight came in with the same expectations as any customers do. I have never had a problem racially wise with the customers that I wait on, but I have had problems with the ones that I don’t. He looked to be about mid-eighties and was hunched over like a giant hand was curving him towards the ground. A pudgier little thing with hair so white it would be able to blend nicely with snow.
None of them were all that talkative until the food came out. He made small talk with me like how most of the elderly community does. We touched upon school and I told him that I was studying to become a pharmacist but might be leaning more on the side of a surgeon. He automatically thought that I was trying to become a surgeon’s nurse. So I lied to him and made up some story about different nursing schools that I wanted to go to. He told me that he thought I would make a good nurse, which was sweet of him if that’s the career I was actually intending to get into. Now I figured that he must have misheard me because I did, in fact, had to repeat my name several times before he got it right. After we talked I pretended that I was busy so I could go socialize with myself seeing that I didn’t feel like speaking very much with my co-workers. Except asking them if they would sign the letter I am going to write to PETA.
On a different note, I have so far sixteen yeses and one maybe.
Back to the story: I came back to check on how the food was tasting and to refill some of the beverages. The little man looked at me and said that his friend over there was trying to use chopsticks. I didn’t have much to say so I asked how she did. He said that she did okay, and then she pointed to what chopsticks she used, acting as if the type of chopsticks played a role in how awful she was at using them. I pretended to laugh and he laughed as well not picking up the hint. Then he told me that he thinks that I would do a much better job because I am Asian. Huh. Well, I am Asian, and he’s right. I would do a better job.
This actually doesn’t offend me, (whoa, I just tried to spell offend with an “a”), but figured it was good enough to blog about. Other than that, I don’t have much to say except I am feeling extreme pleasure that my Peta project is soon to go under way.
There was a video that I was going to post, but I forgot what it was plus my youtube isn’t working at the moment.
I have a feeling that I am going to get shit about this blog. Don’t worry, I am preparing myself.
NOTE TO STUDENT DISCLAIMER: This guide is intended only for informational purposes, and is not meant to be a substitute for professional sports instruction. Due to its condensed format, this guide cannot cover every aspect of this sport. Neither BarCharts, its writers, designers nor editing staff, are in any way responsible or liable for the use or misuse of the information contained in this guide.
So far I’m a little angry at the South for not conforming to my stereotypes. Granted, there are a great deal of people cruising around in confederate flag shirts and I have seen more than one sign for Ronald Reagan (!?) around town, but all this could just as easily be found in Bakersfield, California. So far, the biggest difference is the humidity. The air is so thick you can drink it. That and the high temperature guarantee that if I spend more than 5 minutes outside I will come down with what is known here in the South as the vapuhs. So I spend the majority of the day cloistered inside an air conditioned house reading or watching TV. As it happens, I buckled down to the omnipresent ads on TNT and finally watched “The Closer.”
Sweet, Sweet Retributivism
The episode of “The Closer” I watched was mildly interesting and revolved around a spunky Kyra Sedgwick bouncing from one preposterous clue to the next trying to solve the murder of two corrupt Tijuana cops found in pickup truck bed in Los Angeles. By far, the most fascinating part about the show, though, was the ending. Not because of what happened – there was, as in all procedural dramas, a stupid twist – but because of what it suggests about people’s intuitions about morality and punishment. Sedgwick figures out that a liason officer from Mexico that had ostensibly been aiding her investigation is actually crooked and had placed a bounty on the (innocent) suspect’s head so that as soon as he was booked he would have been murdered by other inmates in L.A. county jail. Instead of booking the corrupt cop on another (and, it should be noted, the only provable) charge that he could easily slip out of, Sedgwick arrests him as the suspect – thus ensuring he will be murdered by inmates the moments he is put in prison. That is exactly what happens. So the bad guy gets murdered, the innocent suspect gets away, and the audience is expected to pump their fists and boo-yah.
There are, of course, other shows that embrace a simplistic, stick it to the bad guys morality. 24 comes to mind in particular; the audience roots for Jack Bauer and his Geneva-Convention-be-damned attitude because he’s taking out terrorists, drug lords, and other baddies. Dexter, a much more ambiguous show in terms of morality, still asks the audience to root for the eponymous serial killer/police investigator who takes out the trash that the justice system can’t successfully prosecute. But in each of these shows it’s implicit that what the character is doing is wrong – we either feel it’s justified anyway or it’s just fun to root for an anti-hero. What disturbed me about The Closer was that it portrayed Sedgwick as a squeaky clean, if somewhat irritating, hero whose actions were not only morally justified, but morally right. For a TV show to get away with this, it’s reasonable to assume that they expected the end to be consistent with prevailing intuitions about punishment in the viewership. I think the following two are the most likely candidates:
-That the prevailing intuition for viewers is some kind of retributivism; that we punish crimes because it is ethically correct to do so and any other benefits accrued are purely bonuses. Proportionality often figures into this conception of punishment, too – most people don’t want to punish speeding tickets with death – so the murder of the corrupt Mexican cop would be perfectly justified, since he was also guilty of murder. In essence, the old “eye for an eye” formulation. Wrong deeds deserve punishment.
-That there are several goals or justifications packed into punishment along with retribution, perhaps utility and deterrence, but these all get suspended in favor of retributivism when it’s expedient. Everyone can approve of trying to reform a serial rapist, but if that rapist openly boasts they will attempt to rape anyone who approaches them and will never stop raping, a lot of people would probably look the other way if they were quietly disposed of.
A third way of looking at this, I suppose, could be that our legal system is broken so whatever way one can punish criminals roughly in proportion to their crime, be it legal or extralegal, is justified. That seems unlikely to me, since the show centers around law enforcement. Hell, even Dirty Harry, for all his badassery and devil may care brattitude, was at core a believer in the legal system and spent the whole movie Magnum Force sticking it to vigilantes on the SFPD. It’s because Sedgwick is a cop that her punishment has an air of legitimacy. All three of the outlined intuitions strike me as distasteful, but especially the one that I think is most likely: the second. It’s the same kind of thinking that has delivered humanity unjust kangaroo courts in the past and today is probably one of the main reasons why those involved with the Guantanamo Bay prison can rest easy at night. I certainly hope it isn’t an intuition shared by a substantial sector of the population, but I guess I’ll never know since no one fucking watches The Closer.
Exactly one year ago today, an immense burden was set upon me by the cruel spindly hands of destiny. I was given the task by the forces that be to unleash upon this planet a mixtape of utterly biblical proportions. A mixtape so terrible as to cause the earth to tremble beneath, the oceans to instantly boil, and the skies to open up and call the faithful up to their salvation. The list is as follows. Godspeed sailor.
10. Good Vibrations – Marky Mark.
I know nowadays Mark Wahlberg is supposed to be Mr. Badass I’m from the streets movie star and shit, but in the early 90’s when boy bands roamed the earth, Marky was cultivating a very different image. This song is filled with an interesting combination of vague sexual innuendos and a staunch drug free take on life. Mark feels the need to let you know that his body is healthy, and his rhymes make him wealthy. Also apparently the Funky Bunch helps (he). In the very same song he proclaims how he is Pure Hip Hop®, no sell out. He still saw himself as a Bad Ass from the streets kinda guy, but I guess they were very different streets those days. This must be why this song hit number 1on the Billboard top 100.
That and his mad hip hop skills.
9. Bug a Boo – Destiny’s Child.
Forget the fact that no one has ever in the history of mankind used the term bug a boo before or after this song was released. And forget the fact that Beyonce is really fucking hot, it will only serve to cloud your judgment. This song is about a girl(or ho if you will) being ‘bugged’ by some guy via various electronic methods; Pager(she gon throw it out the window), wired telephone(she gon have the now defunct MCI cut the phone poles and put him on the call block) and email(she gon make AOL have those things stop). To top it off, she don’ even care if the Pope likes the guy. This is why I imagine the antagonist as an Aryan Nazi Superman.
Hey! I’m a no talent ass clown! I want to write a song! I think I am going to steal the synth from a Prince song! Next, I’m going to pick a nonsensical word my daughter calls her horse and repeat it throughout the entire inane song in the most obnoxious voice I can muster! And then you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to make one of the worst music videos of all time to this song AND as a special bonus I’m going to have Quentin Tarantino appear in it (0.58 in). Did I mention that this is one of Patrick Batemen’s personal favorite songs?
7. Who Let the Dogs Out – Baha Men.
This song holds a particularly aggravating spot in my heart. As a person who likes dogs I would just like to reiterate that on the unfortunate occasion that someone does accidentally let the dogs out it will never be productive or fucking funny to “spontaneously” yell out “Who let the dogs out?” punctuated by an extra irritating *woof* *woof*. Hey you fucking whore, while you were doing that ever so cute little routine your precious fucking dog just ran out into traffic and got smashed underneath a green Chevy Suburban. I’m glad they finally stopped playing this song at sporting events.
6. Achy Breaky Heart – Billy Ray Cyrus.
Am I the only one that to this day still wishes that someone would tell Billy Ray’s heart about the whole breakup situation so that his fucking heart would blow up and just kill this man already? When Weird Al has already mercilessly bashed a song, you know it is a pile of shit.
5. Ice, Ice Baby – Vanilla Ice.
I think the user TUPACCHAMP said it best with his well written dissection of this song on YouTube.
YO foreclov eat a dicc foo
FUCK YOU
AND THIS ICE CREAM FAGGOT
SUCH A WHITE NERDY VOICE WORST RAP RECORD EVER
FAGZ
DUMB ASS FOOs NOBODY WANTS TOO SEE A VANIILA FAGGOT LIKE HIM
ICE ICE?
MANE YOUZ A CRAZY ASS WHITE BOY
YOU THINK YOU DOPE NAH
THE POPE IS DOPER THAN YOU CUZZ
FUCK YOU.
4. Believe – Cher.
This is the shitty ass song that started it all. It gave the world what is now known as “The Cher Effect”.The Cher Effect is the now famous editing process of using Auto-Tune and setting the pitch correction to a speed that is much faster than the actual audio track. This can result in either an interesting Daft Punk song or a horrifically fucking terrible Kid Rock song. Rumor has it that after Cher had finished recording her album she insisted on using this retarded effect on her voice throughout the entire song because she thought it sounded cool. I would like to take a moment to say Fuck You Cher for starting a trend almost as annoying as the shitty song you released.
3. The Taliban Song – Toby Keith.
Hmm, what could be wrong with this one. Could it be a mentally retarded redneck country singer singing a narrative about an Afgani who lives in a two-bedroom cave with his towel covered wife? Could it be his envisioning of them sitting together praying to mighty Allah that he will send U.S. jets to drop bombs all over the holy land and rid them of the Taliban so they can hop on their camels and ride off in the sunset together? Or maybe it’s the patriotic 9-11 references and the praising of President Bush’s skilled diplomacy between Iraq and Iran? Lets be both insulting to a culture and pretend like we are their saviors also! I could have potentially had at least 4 Toby Keith songs on this list but I will take the high road on this one. Besides, it’s not nice to pick on the mentally handicapped.
2. Cheeky Song(Touch My Bum) – Cheeky Girls music video
These two girls are quite possibly the only thing to come out of Transylvania that aren’t fucking awesome. Also setting another unbelievable precedent, these girls are the only two twin sisters in the world that I am not likely to fantasize about having a threesome with. The Cheeky Girls are definitive proof that repeative annoyance in order to achieve name recognition is really not the way to go. This song narrowly avoids the number 1 spot on this list due to the fact they offer up some pretty wise lyrics in this song.
“Come and smile don’t be shy, Touch my bum, this is life.”
If that isn’t absurdist genius I really don’t know what is.
1. My Humps – The Black Eyed Peas.
This song seems to be a rather upbeat story about a young girl triumphing over her severe case of Kyphosis by finding a group of disability fetishists who are so enamored by her lovely lady lump that they will send her expensive purses in exchange for her deformity pictures. She finally meets with some of the fetishists at a disco club and grinds with them. In true internet fashion she at some point decides that if the creepy guys she has been tempting sexually for extended period of time try to touch her hump she will go ahead and start some drama. When you finally figure out that they are in fact not trying to pitch a Disney movie,you start to see why this is the worst song ever.
Know a song that deserves to be on this list? Let Tyrone know about it.
Little in the world is as heartstraining as grabbing the last perrier. You want to drink it, but part of you just doesn’t want to let it go. Not like that. Love made me poke my slippered foot into the den of discarded gull bait, rub it against the package. Maybe there could be one left, maybe this isn’t goodbye. Sorrow clouded my aim. My foot exploded in a crack of white flame as nerves shot watts to my brain. Writhing floorbound in agony, in the throws of most extreme angst, my brutish colleague supposes to characture the nature of bravery.
There is a continuum between bravery and ballsyness. On the former side you have running into a burning building to save a crippled gifted kid, on the latter, anything done at rodeos. Sometimes the line is narrow. Resisting your torturers is slightly more stupid than brave. At least lie or something.
Murphy Moore
Esmé Pestel
Alfred Farnsworth
britcheeks
Lance Uppercut
Jones Octavian
Tyrone Kissinger
Elizabeth Furguson
crusty713
Thurston Thunderfuck