Pre-holiday Roundup

What's up, friends and frienemies? I have sufficiently thawed from my New England romp over the weekend and earlier this week. And now I'm preparing for Christmas the way it was meant to be observed: in short sleeves and shorts, and surrounded by palm trees, wild iguanas, and bad drivers.

But first, a few observations:

• You guys know that I've complained for some time that civility was becoming a lost art. I still think we have some work to do. But I've encountered no fewer than a dozen people since I got back to town on Wednesday who deferred their own comfort in order to demonstrate a courtesy to me. In some cases it was something as simple as holding a door for me or allowing me to merge in traffic, after I'd let 10 other drivers merge in front of me. In other cases it was more complicated and work-related, like someone adjusting his busy schedule in order to make himself available to me for an interview, or a customer service person on the phone expressing empathy with me and not acting put out. There's hope. Of course, there's no hope for the mystery neighbor, who after two years of my griping, is still letting his dog(s) bend biscuits on my swale without picking them up, biscuits that I unfortunately stepped in Thursday morning while wearing my favorite Chelsea boots. That neighbor will be extended the courtesy of an arse-whupping and a dog punting, just as soon as I can find them.
• I am a fan of equal rights between men and women, and all that jazz. And I love jazz. But there are limits to how rigid we should be in that arena. Don't get your boxers in a bunch. Read on, first. Jobs, voting, salary, and civil rights, etc? Yes for equality! Nightclubs and the like? No!!! I say this, because a numbnut in NYC is suing a group of nightclubs alleging that he and the other guys from A Night at the Roxbury all men over 21 who have visited these clubs since 2004 have been discriminated against through Ladies Night policies. Roy Den Hollander says that when clubs including Lotus and the China Club offer women-only discounted drinks or entry it costs him. Roy, I've been out of the game for about three years now, but the force is still strong with me. So I can tell you without a doubt, you're barking up the wrong tree. Your logic is bad. Saying that discounts for ladies hurt you is like saying a 70-year-old getting the senior discount at Burger King hurts you, because you paid full price. It's not their fault you're not as old as them. But I feel your pain. There have been ladies nights - especially when I lived in a cold climate - on which I wished I could get easy access to the club. I wished I could get my first drink free, and so on. But unless you're going out to size up other guys - and if you are that's just fine - then you need Ladies Nights, because in a nightclub setting women who might spend freely elsewhere are notoriously cheap. They don't want to pay cover charges and what not. So if it's female companionship and dance-partnership that you seek, drop your lawsuit and give your full support to Ladies Nights everywhere. Or else you risk creating the nightmare of the year-round Sausage Fest.
• Jamie Lynn Spears.
• What? You expected me to say more about her ↑? I could barely bring myself to type the name. OK, fine. All I have to say is be careful that you've not just memorized but also comprehended your sermon notes before you deliver that sermon to the general public.
• May every one of the U.S. presidential candidates, at least those who have somehow managed straight faces while taking cheap shots at opponents, get lumps of coal in their stockings. And Mitt Romney, I applaud your late father's civil rights record, but leave the figures of speech and analogies to the PROfessional speech writers.
• Who knew? Turns out Ms. Puerto Rico was telling the truth a few weeks back when she said her Ms. Universe pageant gown had been sabotaged with pepper spray. She was lambasted after making that claim by pundits (and bloggers) who suggested she was just attention-hungry and that no one had tampered with her dress. I'm gonna chalk the skepticism up to most of us being used to ultra-pretty people using Jedi mind tricks to get us to believe anything they say. I pledge in the new year to cut back on my suspicious nature. This poor woman was simply being honest. One bit of food for thought for you conspiracy theorists out there: Of all the substances that could have gotten on her dress, how did she know specifically that pepper spray had been used? Lucky guess, or has she been maced before?
• Finally, one more time for good measure, I'd like to say Ha ha ha! and Merry Christmas to my friends in Australia. Just teasing. Turns out that whole brouhaha was bunk.

Boycotting Bluetooth, sort of

For the record, I like Bluetooth technology.

I've loved my wireless cell phone headset from day one. Granted, I'm using a wired headset for now, 'cause I haven't seen my Bluetooth in months (probably vacuumed it up, accidentally, or something). But I love the technology nonetheless.

So I was watching the Boondocks last night on Cartoon Network. And while I often cite moments from 'toons like the Boondocks and South Park, I'd never suggest we build our personal moral platforms off the plot of a cartoon. Still, I think I'm gonna conduct a personal experiment based on something I saw on the show last night.

Two wealthy morons were sneaking around in combat gear, burglarizing homes in a high end neighborhood in the fictional Chicago suburb of Woodcrest. While one of them barked instructions and tried to engage the other in conversation as they drove to their crime scenes, the other kept saying bizarre things. Each time the first burglar was baffled for a moment till he realized the other guy wasn't talking back to him. The other guy was talking to a girlfriend on his Bluetooth headset that guy #1 couldn't see.

So for most of the episode, burglar #1 lectured burglar #2 on the "evils" of almost-invisible headsets for phones.

And you know what? He had a point. He argued that the reason we hold phones up to our heads is to let other people know we're busy. In fact, it's how phones were designed. But his logic was sound.

Holding a phone - excluding the 1980s lunchbox-sized cell phones that caused brain tumors and shrank testicles - up to your ear, tells everyone around you that your time, for the moment, is occupied.

It is a preemptive strike against interruptions. People are less likely to approach you and break into your conversation, if they see you're on the phone.

It is also a safeguard against angry reactions to any dumb thing you might say into your phone. Say something stupid into a Bluetooth headset, and you might get smacked by the person standing closest to you on your other side. Say something stupid into a handheld phone, and the worst you'll get is a harsh look.

Plus, there's something about holding a phone that demonstrates the person on the other end has your full attention. Free your hands by way of a headset while you're on the phone, and tell me with a straight face that in less than a minute you're not already using both hands to fiddle with something else that diverts some of your attention from the person you're talking to.

Since rude interruptions, lack of clarity, and divided attention are three of my biggest pet peeves, then for the foreseeable future (until I can't stave off hypocrisy any longer), I am going to hold my phone to the side of my head...and hope that nothing inside my skull or my shorts shrinks or glows as a result of my dedication to civility.

UPDATE: I forgot one exception. If I absolutely have to take or make a call while I'm driving, I'll use my headset.

Lightning and the Lightning Bug

I was talking with a buddy a couple of days ago about the difference in having shame and being ashamed. I love this analogy. That's why I probably overuse it. But it's like what Mark Twain said about the right word and the almost right word. It's like the difference between lightning and lightning bugs.

The subject came up, 'cause we were joking about me being old-fashioned. I don't think I am. "Stodgy" is how I think my buddy put it. He was teasing, of course, but what prompted him to say it in the first place was our reminiscing about the good old days and one time in particular when we were at a black tie event trying to look important and pick up women. There I was in a tux, holding court with a handful of women, and my fly was down. Apparently I stood there like that for at least half an hour. When someone finally pointed it out to me I was mortified. It wasn't that I was ashamed of my naughty bits, covered behind a trusty pair of boxers as they were. I'm quite proud of them. It was that I had shame. Some stuff just wasn't meant for public display.

I'm not gonna be like the crotchety old guy who starts every other sentence with something like "In my day..." On the contrary, today, these days, when I'm in public I'm constantly getting jabbed and pinched by Mrs. B for saying stupid things. I do it on purpose, 'cause I thik I'm funny. I may be the only person who thinks so. And I'm also careful to make sure what I'm saying to her can't be overheard. If someone did overhear me, no doubt I'd be ashamed some times. But I don't think shame exists anymore. And shame can be a good thing, I think. Shame, to varying degrees, is like the manifestation of a properly working conscience.

I'm not seeing that manifestation so much these days among my peers, whether it's brain dead celebutards prancing around w/out drawers on and, coincidentally, bending over to pick up loose change from the sidewalk right when the cameras and flash bulbs come out, Joe Average swearing like a sailor within earshot of elderly women and small children, or 13-year-old girls strutting the mall in tiny skirts and T-shirts with slogans like "Your boyfriend is a good kisser" and "Two boys for every girl" (actual slogans on shirts once sold a popular national retailer for teens).

Mrs. B and I were in the grocery Sunday afternoon - the Whole Foods on Federal Hwy in Fort Lauderdale, if you live in South Florida, and while she was waiting for stuff at the deli I decided to grab a coffee. There was a guy in line in front of me at the coffee counter. And as I walked up, this is the conversation I stumbled on between that guy and the barista:

Barista: So what's going on?
Guy: Nothing, just looking for somone.
Barista: Is he hot?
Guy: You know that guy who works in like frozen vegetables or something, that one with the dark hair?
Barista: He's hot. I think he has something for you.
Guy: Oh yeah, sexy.
Barista: He totally wants to tap that.... (imagine the rest)
Guy: Oh yeah, you know he wants to tap my....
Me (in thought only): You guys are insane. Do you care at all that a total stranger is standing here, listening to you talk about this kind of stuff?

BTW, in case Rosie O'D is reading, if the guy had been straight and talking explicitly about hooking up w/a girl, or it had been a girl in line, talking explicitly about hooking up up w/a guy, I'd have felt the same way.

Shame's good. Shame is the thing that prevents most of us from "actin' a fool," in public, as my Grandma Rosa used to say.

And to the co-worker who paused mid-stride in the aisle about eight feet from my desk and let a butt belch rip earlier - that's right; you know who you are; I saw/heard you - not cool. You, my friend, could use a little shame. You could use a little less protein your diet, but you could use a little shame too.

M.I.A.

Greetings folks, and many apologies for being absent for the past five-and-a-half days. I got busy trying to make deadlines, finish stories, etc. And then I had to take a break. That M.I.A. is not a shout-out for Miami. With respect to all our military veterans, that is definitely for Missing in Action.

For the past few days, Burnettiquette World Headquarters has been relocated to the southernmost point in the United States, lovely Key West, Florida. The pictures you see above are of a six-toed cat at Ernest Hemingway's house, Hemingway's writing studio above a converted carriage house, and me standing on the steps to the writing studio. I needed some creative inspiration. Between the freak cats and the very cool house Hemingway lived in during his years on the island, I think I got it.

I'm trying not to come off like a tourist, though technically I am, since we've never been to Key West, or any of the Florida Keys for that matter. But this place has been great - beautiful weather, nice breeze, no smokey skies. A few more hippies than I tend to prefer, but you can't win 'em all.

It's just as warm as Miami, maybe more. But there's less anger in the air, much less bad driving, and there's a more relaxed pace.

Seriously, I observed at least two locals voluntarily stop on the sidewalk to ask confused-looking tourists what they were looking for and if they needed help. Even though it's less than 200 miles away, I swear the odds are higher that I'd see a bright green alien on the sidewalk tap dancing in M.I.A. than a human offering such help.

Even the dolphins here look chill and relaxed. I've seen Dolphins swimming in the M.I.A. waters, but I'm pretty sure they were reckless swimmers, cutting off the other sea creatures without signaling first. And I know the M.I.A. dolphins were probably armed with handguns.

Enough yappin' though. For the rest of the weekend, this blog becomes largely a photo-driven thing. I'll post more tomorrow.

Whose hood is nice?

I'm curious about your general definitions of civility and whether you think your area has much of it.

Erica AP had this interesting post on her blog about her frustrations with a lack of civility where she lives in California.

I think it's a little like behavioral extremes. Everyone thinks there area has it the best or the worst. It always cracks me up when I'm in a group and someone mentions a crime in their neighborhood and another person pipes up that they have it much worse. Or someone says their 'hood is really clean. And another person blurts out that theirs is cleaner. We don't really know that ours is better or worse, but it's our elaborate way of saying "me too!"

But Erica raised a good point - that the primary issue was the behavior, and the secondary issue was where it took place. She too was curious about whether Cali was just less civil than other places.

So if everyone thinks that their area is padded with knuckleheads, then maybe we really do have a nationwide problem of people just not being nice anymore.

How civil (or uncivil) is your area? Do you have an anecdote to demonstrate your answer?

I keep falling for this

I am starting to realize that I'm a retail real estate sucker.

Retail real estate is what I call that precious square of space in front of a shelf or rack of goods, the spot where you stand so you can get the best view of whatever it is you're thinking about buying.

No one ever wants to give up that space 'cause then you can't sift through what you need as easily. You have to strain your neck or wait for other folks to get out of your way.

Anyway, I have gotten into the bad habit lately of giving up that territory way too easily.

It started innocently enough. Someone walks up and stands conspicuously close to you, so you assume they want to pass you in a narrow aisle. So you step aside to make room, and in the good old days they'd walk by. Or - also in the good old days - they'd approach, see you were looking at something they wanted, and they'd walk back the way they came and browse something else on another aisle until you were done.

Well, lately I've noticed that when I step out of the way to let people pass, they're not passing. Instead they're stepping into the prime spot that I only vacated 'cause I thought they wanted to pass by.

The first time it happened, my jaw dropped, but I let it slide 'cause I figured the person just misinterpreted my gesture to mean I was getting out of their way.

But then it happened over and over and over. There is only one common denominator: the people I'm moving for are senior citizens.

It could be coincidence. But I think subconsciously I'm intimidated by their age. Who wants to stand in the way of someone who looks like their grandmother or -father? So I move, hoping that they'll walk on by and won't take advantage of my kindness. But lately they do...take advantage.

It happened again over the weekend. I was at a store, browsing. An old guy came up and crowded me like we were old friends or more. I took the hint stepped to one side, away from the item I was studying and he jumped right into my space without so much as a blink.

When I grow another set - since I apparently lost my first set in a department store some months back - I'm gonna either start ignoring the prime retail real estate thieves and just deal with them crowding me, or I'm gonna acknowledge them but tell them they're too close, or if I move and they jump in I'm gonna call 'em out and politely explain that I wasn't done browsing. I only moved 'cause I thought they wanted to get by.

We'll see how that works out.