Exercises in Authoritarianism

Where I live, you can't park on my side of the street on Mondays so the town can do what it laughingly calls street cleaning. By this they mean some guy in a modified zamboni sprays water on the street and rotating brushes push the dirt around some. There are signs posted on every street, saying you can't park on this side on a certain day, between 9 am and 4 pm. The police, having nothing better to do, watch this like hawks, ready to swoop down in an instant so they can temporarily relieve themselves of the stultifying boredom of policing a town that has roughly 5x more patrol officers than it could ever possibly need.

Sometimes, I forget about this, and park in front of my house on Monday.I did so back in November, and received a ticket, probably the instant I was out of sight. The ticket used to be $25, but it's apparently been bumped up to $50 now, since the government always keeps up with inflation, except where wages are concerned. That or someone's been on their backs to crack down on this epidemic of people parking inconveniently. There was a court date on the ticket, set for later in this month. I suppose there's such a backlog of felonious reprobates such as myself that it takes that long to get down to me.

I went back and forth over whether I would attend the court date or not, and today I decided I might as well just pay the ticket. The last couple times I'd paid in person, the police dept. was kind enough to reduce the fee to roughly half. So like a responsible citizen doing his civic duty, I went down to the police station. When I went in, there were two officers chatting behind the counter. One broke away and approached the foot-thick bulletproof glass that separated him from the dangerous world outside. He asked what I needed, and I explained that was there to pay a parking ticket. He informed me that the Village Hall now handles parking tickets. I thanked him and left.

Maybe it was the blast of cold air, but the moment I stepped outside I was filled with dread. The police in this town are hardly shining beacons of public servants, but they are occasionally able to tell the difference between a hardened criminal and a simple mistake. But the soulless automatons of Village Hall are a bunch of pencil pushing, by-the-numbers, unbending bureaucrats if ever any existed. They weren't going to be doing me any favors. I'd be lucky if anyone there stepped around me if I accidentally stood in one of the ruts they'd worn into the floors during their daily routine.

But being that I was out and about already anyway, I headed down there. The power games began the moment I approached the counter. Like the police station, there were two people standing around talking when I entered. However, all similarities ended there. No one stepped away from their chat to see if they could help me. In typical government worker, neither of them so much as acknowledged that I was in the room. I imagine had I been naked, on fire, and pronouncing their doom in the voice of God, I would have gotten the exact same treatment. At one point, a third person approached and joined the conversation. She managed to enter the room, talk, and leave without even pointing her body in my general direction.

Eventually, the conversation ended, and the two women retreated to their desks. Moments after that, one of them said "I'll be right with you, sir." I thought the "sir" was a nice touch. It seemed to say "We couldn't care less about whatever stupid reason you have for darkening our doorstep, but that doesn't mean we don't respect you." Granted, for all I know, she was speaking to her stapler, since she didn't even look up from her desk when she said it.

A while after that, the other woman approached, fixed her gaze on something over my right shoulder,  and asked what she could do for me. I held out the ticket and my checkbook, and said that I wanted to pay a parking ticket. She asked someone in my general vicinity if I could take it out of the envelope it had been placed in. I did so, and though she didn't ask me to, I unfolded it for her as well.

Having an excuse to stop pretending to look at me, she took the ticket and examined it. She evidently didn't actually read anything on it, because she asked me how much it was for. I told her I thought it was for $50, and she said that sounded fine. Too bad I didn't say I thought it was for $10. I just might have gotten away with it.

I explained I would be paying by personal check, and she told me who to make the check out to. I asked for a pen, and she shot an invisible person next to me a dirty look and gave me one. As expected, she didn't even offer to reduce the fee.

As I left, she thanked me. She actually thanked me. Her actual words were something like "Thank you very much," but what I heard was "Thank you for bowing meekly to our draconian authority. Next time be prepared to pay in blood, mortal." And these people wonder why "bureaucrat" is a dirty word.

-Long Days and Pleasant Nights

Think, People, Think!

I've been waiting for an excuse to break out my old "Think, People, Think!" series of blogs, but I hadn't found anything worthy for a long time. I even managed to convince myself that people weren't just blinding believing any old thing they read on the Internet.

Well, silly me. There's a new hoax out there, one that people who napped during critical thinking lessons in school are falling for. Though the merry pranksters coming up with these merry pranks are getting smarter. This one wasn't posted as an anonymous facebook post or chain email, this one was lovingly crafted to look like an actual ad.

It doesn't surprise me that someone made this. There's always someone out there pathetic enough that they think inflicting chaos for the sake of chaos is some sort of twisted social darwinism. And I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that people fell for this baloney. Apple has carefully cultivated a reputation as miracle workers for decades, striving to make themselves appear so advanced that any other comparable product is still in the Stone Age.

So I can accept the fact that people looked at that ad and their first thought was "Oh, wow, that's cool." What does surprise me is that their second thought wasn't "Wait, how could that possibly work?" The problem comes from the fact that the average computer user has absolutely no idea how technology actually works, and assumes their phone, tablet, etc, runs on magic.

It's like the old Three Stooges gag (seen here at about the 5:30 mark) where Curly drills holes into a sinking boat. When Moe asks Curly why he did that, Curly explains that he's "letting the water out." We laugh at Curly's stupidity, because you don't have to be an engineer to understand why his plan won't work.

Yet with a computer, you can apparently say "This software update will make your hardware waterproof," and folks will believe it. The obvious solution is to increase our understanding of computers so that trolls can't make people throw their brand-new phones in the bathtub. But there's a simpler solution, use your own (lack of) knowledge to your advantage.

It goes like this: you read about how the new ios7 can make your phone waterproof. Stop for a second. Can you think of any way that could be possible? Of course not. That makes the information suspect. Question it. If you can't answer for yourself if that sounds real, do some research. It won't kill you.

So, that's my advice. Remember the old adage, "If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is." Similarly, if you read something that stretches your conceptions of what's possible. question it. Even if it doesn't, question it. Never stop questioning. Asking questions and seeking answers is what made us humans what we are. The houses we live in, the cars we drive, the iPhones we throw into bathtubs, all down to asking questions. Never stop asking questions. Never.

-Long Days and Pleasant Nights

What a story Harvey!

Just a little something I whipped together when I realized that Tommy Wiseau looks like a poorly-aged version of Harvey Keitel in Taxi Driver.

 

Not everything is a Righteous Cause

Recently I read an article on notalwaysworking.com about a person who quite literally saw everything as racist in some form or another. There was one thing in it that caught my attention, for she used a term I scorn, though it doesn't seem to be in the way it's normally used. The term she used is "reverse racist."

Now, the general usage of "reverse racism" is to refer to something that's discriminatory against white people. I know at one time it was a popular term for white supremacists to use, though they may have moved on since then. Anyway, the term is ridiculous, since it implies that "regular" racism is something only white people do. Ironically, that makes the term "reverse racism" itself a racist statement.

Urban Dictionary lists two different definitions for reverse racism. Obviously, since the site is basically a wiki and more often than not used as a joke, I'm not try to cite them as a valid source. But I do want to use it to illustrate the point I will be elaborating shortly. Here's the specific entry I'm referring to. Now, the first definition is the one I've been talking about, and even the guy posting it notes how silly it is. The second definition seems to make a bit more sense on the outside (reverse racism is favoring someone because of their race), but it smacks of dangerous implications. Besides, there's already a term for that; positive discrimination. Granted, that's not a whole lot better than reverse racism, but I don't want to go off on a tangent here.

I'm not going to discuss the other definitions offered, suffice it to say that I have my own idea of what reverse racism is, and that's what I'm here to discuss. Going back to my first link, I'd like to point out the second incident the poster described. He said that his co-worker, a self-described "Social Justice Warrior," was attempting to uplift a Hispanic custodian so he could rise above the menial work he was forced into. The man she was trying to free from the shackles of ignorance and hate pointed out a few flaws in her argument. One, he applied for the job he had. Two, he didn't mind sweeping floors for a living. Three, he's Hawaiian, not Hispanic.

None of these points made any dent in the Social Justice Warrior's armor. She started accusing him of perpetuating the problem, and stormed off in a huff because he wouldn't let her help him. Now, this is what I want to draw your attention too. Twice in her diatribe, she states that she can "help" him. Here's where my personal definition of reverse racism comes into play. I'm not going to fault her for thinking he was Hispanic. I have no idea what the guy looks like, and while I hope I could tell the difference between a Hispanic and a Pacific Islander, for all I know the guy may have looked Hispanic. No, what bothered me was the woman's insistence that the man needed her help. That he was powerless on his own to free himself from the shackles of (imagined) oppression.

Call it what you want; gall, arrogance, what have you. It just seems to me that it was mighty presumptuous of this person to think the custodian needed her help. That, to me, is reverse racism. The idea that minorities can't become equal unless Mighty Whitey swoops in to save the day. I call it reverse racism because she clearly didn't realize how racist she was being. I get the feeling the woman in that anecdote subconsciously operated under some racist beliefs herself, and was so shamed by it that she spent her waking hours attempting to end all injustice, real or imagined.

Now, I'm not saying that minorities aren't facing injustice. I'm not saying that they wouldn't be glad of help in creating social change. But the thought that those in the minority need those in the majority, that they can't do for themselves, is asinine and insulting. It's patronizing to say that they can't do for themselves without a flicker of light from the Great White Hope.

I guess what I'm saying is, be willing to lend a hand, but don't force it. And certainly don't get angry when your unasked for help is refused.

-Long Days and Pleasant Nights

Feelin' the Burn

I've recently discovered that where there used to be a Lutheran Church in my neighborhood, there's now a rather half-assed attempt at a park. It's got some planters, a few trees, an arch in the middle of nowhere, and some exercise equipment. No word yet on how the Lutherans in the area feel about all this.

The exercise equipment in particular caught my eye, as I'm currently in the middle of my 547th attempt to try and get serious about fitness. They've got this stair climber machine, a sort of upright bench press machine, a chin up bar, and some other stuff, including something called "Tai Chi Wheels" whose exact purpose I have yet to divine.

Now, I have a rather old elliptical at home, and I use it almost daily, in between getting repairs done on it. And I've noticed some difference, like increased energy throughout the day, but I don't feel like I'm actually burning any fat using it. So for the last few days, I've been attacking the stuff in that park, especially the ones that work on upper body strength.

The first time I tried it, I was thoroughly depressed by my performance. I couldn't do a single pull up, though that hardly surprised me, I couldn't even do pull ups in High School, much to my gym teacher's chagrin. The most I got out of that was some popping sounds as my spine decompressed from having my weight taken off it. Situps were likewise a fiasco, I think I did about five. I managed about 10 or 15 pushups, which heartened me a bit, and I did pretty good with the bench press thing (though I didn't realize till later that I had it on  the lowest possible setting).

So the last couple days, I went all out. I did as much as I could make myself do at each station, walked about a mile, then did it again. I could really feel it last night, and I was sure I'd wake up today sore as hell, a sure sign I pushed myself. And I do feel a bit sore in spots, but not what I was expecting.

So, I guess I'll just have to keep pushing myself. This time, I will get rid of that spare tire around my waist, and this time, I mean it. Just like every other time.

-Long Days and Pleasant Nights

Taking it too far, or just far enough?

People don't often tell others what their interests are, aside from innocuous things like reading books. Partly this can be attributed to a desire for privacy, but I think there's another, perhaps more important, reason. They don't want to be associated with the obnoxious vocal minority that tends to dominate people's perceptions of any hobby or interest.

For instance, if you told someone that you thought of yourself as an animal rights activist, their kneejerk reaction would usually be to think of you as one of three kinds of people.

1) A doe-eyed, idealistic hippie who cries herself* to sleep at night at the thought of an animal so much as stubbing a toe.

2) A frothing at the mouth vegan crusader who will happily drop everything to berate and verbally abuse a complete stranger for half an hour because they're eating a hamburger.

3) An "animals are more important than bastard humans" eco terrorist who would throw a baby into oncoming traffic without batting an eye if it meant keeping an animal out of danger.

These depictions are caricatures, of course, but they exist for just about any subculture you can think of. Take Star Wars fan boys. When you think of one, do you imagine a guy who grew up loving the movies, has fond memories of holding mock lightsaber duels with his friends, and thinks that watching the movies would be a great way to bond with his own children? No, you don't, because Star Wars fans are all obese losers who are too busy screaming "HAN SHOT FIRST!" or "don't come down here, mother!" to meet a woman** with whom to have children.

Whenever someone discovers that someone else has a secret passion for, say, fly-fishing or model trains, and then discovers that he or she is not a pants-crapping monomaniac about it, there's a tendency to say things like "Well, you're not like those other enthusiasts, you're normal." Here's the thing, though, the vast majority of people who have an interest or hobby are perfectly normal people who understand that there is a time and a place for their fandom. Your typical Trekkie doesn't run around all day dressed as a Klingon, and saying "like that time in Episode 326 when..." Most will say something like "The episode where Picard was turned into a Borg" or "The Best of Both Worlds" if they happen to remember the episode name.

If you think about it, just about everyone has some interest that could be taken to excess. For the sake of argument, say that you like Soap Operas. Do you think you'd be one of those people who follows the lives of the characters more closely than you're own families, and would be unable to differentiate between the character and the actor? Or would you be more likely to DV-R the show while you're at work, watch it in your free time, discuss the show with others who like watching it, and then not worry about it overmuch the rest of the time? You'd probably be the latter of the two. Similarly, if you like cats, would you be more likely to own one or two cats, or 15?

Of course, there are people who fit the stereotypes. Yes, there are crazy cat people. Yes, there are Trekkies who can't divorce the show from reality. Yes, some of those people might need help. But they're extremists, and therefore in the minority. Most people, even those with interests that others consider "weird" or "nerdy" are just like anyone else you might meet on the street. Because, when you think about it hard enough, that's exactly what we all are.

-Long Days and Pleasant Nights

*Note that I automatically assumed the animal rights activist was a woman. Yet another pitfall of public perception, the assumption that a woman would be more empathetic to animals than a man.
** Again with the gender stereotyping. I have a lot more to say on this topic, but that's for another time.

Stop making so much sense, straw man!

I've been on Twitter for a good year or so now, and there's one thing I don't really understand. I follow several actors on there, which is one of the main draws for Twitter. And many of these actors, being human beings, have political views. Sometimes strong political views, which they like to express on social media like Twitter. All of this is perfectly normal. What I don't get is when people who disagree with some actor's political views level ad hominem attacks against the actor, rather than address the actual issue.

Of course, ad hominem attacks are nothing unusual in and of themselves. There wouldn't be a word for it otherwise. And it's Latin, so there's nothing new in this idea.The thing about it is that the attacks are usually along the lines of "Don't you hate it when washed-up has-beens try to get involved in politics?" What does one's fame (or current lack thereof) have to do with anything? How does being on a television show disqualify you from having an opinion?

I've been trying to determine the line of thinking that leads to this kind of comment, and while I'm sure it's not a conscious process, I imagine it goes something like this.

1) The person making this comment has an opinion that differs from mine.
2) My opinion is the (only) correct one.
3) I don't have enough information to defend my position in any meaningful manner.
4) Childish insults are my only recourse.
5) When I think of this person who disagrees with me, all I can think of is something s/he did in the past which gave them a measure of celebrity.
6) Therefore, that must be the only thing the celebrity can think of him/herself.
7) I am jealous of that celebrity.
8) I will attack the person from that angle.
9) The celebrity will either see the error of his/her ways, and/or retreat into a dark corner and weep uncontrollably.
10) The world shall crown me Grand High Victor of the Universe.

Ok, I went a little overboard at the end there.

-Long Days and Pleasant Nights

You know what your problem is? I'll tell you what your problem is.

I have a friend, and I'm sure many of you do too, who I can only handle in small doses. He's a decent enough time, and we have some laughs together, but he's got this infuriating habit of being a dime store psychiatrist. He's certain he has the solution to all my problems, real or imagined. He's so convinced of this, he never even bothers to ask me what I think my problems are. He explains to me what's wrong with me, and then tells me what I should do about it, usually in maddeningly vague terms. Things like "If you want something, you can't just sit around and expect it to come to you, man. You gotta go out there and get it." Or "You gotta do like the exact opposite of what you're doing." Statements like these are usually followed by "I used to be just like you, and look at me now." Which is rather jarring, since his unsolicited psychoanalysis generally comes on the heels of him complaining to me about his own problems.

I get the feeling he's doing it for his own benefit, rather than some misplaced sense of altruism, and that's why it always comes right after he ruminates on his own regrets. He figures that by running through a laundry list of my supposed issues in life, followed by lightly condescending "help." he'll look better by comparison.

What really gets me about all this is the bit I mentioned before about him not even asking me what I think is wrong with my life. He seems to think he not only knows better than me what the solutions are, he also has a firmer idea of what's vexing me than I do. And more often than not, it's all built on false assumptions about what my goals are and where I think I need to improve my life. I can't tell if it's projection (He must really want this because I really want this) or he's just making it up as he goes along. Usually I assume the former, but every now and then he'll say something that as far as I can tell has no basis in reality, let alone either of our lives.

Even on the rare occasions when he does seek input on my own feelings about my life, he still turns it back around to himself. I can remember a recent one where I was talking about a job I'd just gotten (this would be the one I quit earlier this month), and he asked me how I liked it. When I confessed I didn't, but I could use it to pad my resume, he asked what I planned on doing from there. I told him my plan was to work there a year (I only lasted about two months in fact), then start farming out for a job that fit better with my experience. He asked if that was what I really wanted to do, and when I gave a half-hearted shrug, he starting going on about the his start-up company for about half an hour.

I don't mean to rag on this guy too much. Like I said, he's not really a bad person, and I've known him since High School, so I must see some reason to keep him around. But man, he can really try one's patience.

But I guess I'll keep listening. Even fortune tellers occasionally get one right by pure chance, so maybe in all that yammer he might hit on something that I'd actually like to work on, and chuck out some solid advice. And it seems to make him feel better to have someone he can unload on like that. I don't mind helping someone else unburden themselves. It's not like I gotta carry it around for them.

-Long Days and Pleasant Nights