Analysis of an Apology.

I'm guessing most of my Dear People have seen this:

I'm hoping most of the same have seen this, as well:

All watched up?  Ten minutes of your life down the drain?
Good.  Now let's chat about the apology.

That poor man.  He did a stupid.  People do stupids all the time, and according to him, he simply did not weigh the consequences of his actions well enough before-hand.  Frankly, nobody expects to get fired and receive threats of violence and death from total strangers for posting videos, even if it's written somewhere in their work contract ("If you publicly show yourself to be an ignoramus in such a way that it reflects on this company, thou art fired!") not too many people remember every nuance of their work contracts, they won't be thinking of it when the fiery passion of a holy war shakes the core of their being, which is essentially what happened to this guy, the way he tells it.

Also, what is it with the last few generations and their passion for making death threats to express disapproval?  How, precisely, are any of us in a position to take the moral high ground when half of us aren't even trained on what the moral high ground is? It's a shame that nobody seems to be learning anything from these incidents, but here is a hint: behave like Rachel from the CFA video, and don't make death threats, seriously. You got a six-year-old boy on the youtubes right now getting himself some death threats, he and his family, for this video:

No, really.  Learn to think.  Learn to argue.  Learn to have a little class, please.  Just a smidgen, and this is coming from the girl who hangs her sandals from her belt and walks around the exterior of a public play set singing comic songs from Gilbert and Sullivan.  Think classy, people.  Think, What Would Jeeves Do?

Adam Smith didn't deserve the level of backlash that he got.  Honestly, if I jumped on the bandwagon and did something similar to what he did, I would be appalled to learn that my coworkers were getting threatened: people who had no bearing on my actions whatever.  However, I don't like bandwagons, I don't trust them,  this is why my facebook compadres see very little of the "share if you love Jesus" posts from me.  I do love Jesus, and God, and the Holy Spirit, but I have a stubborn heart, and since I do not like to confuse my brothers and sisters in Christ with my Father, I do not do everything they tell me to do just because they told me to do it.  Pray for me.

I hope the girl forgives him.  I am not in a position to publicly forgive him as a direct response to this apology, he has asked me for no such favours, he did not apologize to anyone except the girl, as an individual, and possibly his coworkers.  He did not even connect the dots and figure out that a lot of people at CFA would have handled the situation exactly as she did because the company thoroughly trains its employees to treat their guests respectfully no matter what, so ya, from his perspective, CFA is still a cesspool of hate. The guy humiliated her in a very public way, with little necessity considering how badly executed his intent was: he didn't even get as far as quoting the proverbs passage at her, and that was the stipulation of the protest he was supposed to be partaking in.  She has a little more to forgive than I do.

I've had such people in the drive-thru when I worked at CFA, with funky agendas to ram down my throat no matter who I was.  I liked it best when they handed tracks through the window: short and sweet and mildly amusing, but they aren't all sniggers and grins.  Once, some lady made one of my favourite people cry, one of the sweetest people I know, because she could not directly substitute something without making the lady pay for the difference.  The situation escalated, my friend couldn't figure out what was wrong, eventually she burst into tears and went to find a quiet place to calm down.  When the lady promised that she'd never be back and stormed out of the building, the rest of us rejoiced and also went to the walk-in fridge to give our weeping friend the good news and a hanky.  It can be a difficult job.  We don't usually look for catharsis after such incidents, we just want to move on quietly, it's not a punishment for the other person and it's not the silent treatment: it's a shield for ourselves.

Back to the next 3/4s of the apology, and Adam Smith's regret at not being the champion for the homosexual community that he wanted to be.  He is now in a position to sympathize with George Zimmerman.  He is probably not GOING to sympathize with George Zimmerman because he cannot look at anything with objectivity.  He realizes his own passion for what he believes is right caused him to say and do many stupid things, to overstep the bounds of civility so dramatically as to bring great personal consequences on himself, but he did not apply that possibility to the very company against which he was trying to make a stand.  He STILL interprets the situation as a hate situation.  He learned a lesson in personal behaviour, but not in human nature.

Can I play a game with you?  Replace all the nouns and proper names with letters.  So, Adam Smith becomes (a), the CFA company becomes (b), the homosexual community becomes (c) the political group of conservatives becomes (d) and Adam Smith's employers, coworkers and family become (e)
Now, in this circumstance, (a) has made an attempt to stand up for (c) by making a political attack on (b) with the result that an unaffiliated entity who doesn't even get her own letter has been considered collateral damage.  Now (a) is reaping the results, with (d) doing everything they can from sneers to death threats to bring him down, and (a) and (e) are both suffering for it.
Let's play again.  This time, Dan Cathy is (a), the homosexual community is (b), the traditional marriage campaign is (c), and the political group of liberals is (d), the CFA company and its employees are now (e)...do you see where I am headed with this?

Now that we've taken the bare bones of the situation and applied it to something else, (and you can do this anywhere! You don't even have to use letters, you can use kittens, zebras and electric guitars! Do it to anything! It's FUN! Someday all our thought processes will look like the cover of a Lisa Frank trapper keeper!) we can kinda see that Adam Smith's defense describes Dan Cathy's actions to a magnified degree.  I say magnified because, to my knowledge, Dan Cathy has never made a deliberate full front attack on the homosexual community.

The trouble is that Mr. Cathy has a political opinion and has donated in his company's name to people who share that opinion, though if these are the companies I remember being under discussion then these aren't people who run smear the queer rallies, they have marriage seminars and make signs saying "vote for this." Ignominy!  He has not joined the kkk of gays and gone around throwing soup in people's faces.  Homosexuals are served with the same courtesy, affection, and friendliness as anyone else, and receive the same standards of employment: be courteous, be flexible, learn to count, don't make out with other people in the walk-in freezer...ever.  It can be stressful if you're not a Christian because Christians tend to flock to Christian-run corporations for employment and they all talk about Christian stuff in their downtime, but that's nothing to do with company policy.  Death threat worthy?  Absolutely...apparently.  But taking Dan Cathy's comments at their very worst, and in the same vein that caused this boycotty mess of doom in the first place, we have on our hands a beautiful, poetic, chiastic harmony, and yet Adam Smith still sees Dan Cathy and CFA alike as a monolith of villainy.

Now, the reason the situations, both situations, exploded the way they did was because CFA and its employees are both more liable to put up a beatific face and a free meal than they are to explode and try to kill everyone.  They got to become martyrs, and trust me, a martyr is a much, much better way to make a point than a screamy yelly death threat.  And as we have just seen, most martyrs don't even have to die nowadays, how cool is that?  The point I'm trying to make here is that if something happens to you that you can't even understand, or if you see some massive injustice on the internets, respond with grace.  If you need to scream and yell at stuff, go play some Zelda, s'what it's there for anyway.  You can come back later and donate money, or say something kind to the injured person, whatever is the right thing to do, but be VERY careful not to hang your anger on your sleeve, be VERY careful not to grab a torch and a pitchfork.  Put the kettle on and read 1Peter 3:13-20.  If old scripture has no bearing on your opinion and behaviour, then just think: What Would Jeeves Do?

Somebody Else

It looked like a gaffe when I first saw it, so I searched for the transcription and/or video of the full original speech.  I found myself liking it; it affirmed a thing or two that I already believed, that greatness is not achieved in a vacuum, that the general on a white horse, raising his sabre victoriously in the air as a shaft of light beams down on him only became what he was because of the various ingredients, the foot soldiers, the Flemmish archers, the bajillion pounds of canon, the God-given rain that allowed thousands to fall before the 800 that he pulled together into a vast, glorious, successful enterprise.  Cool.  Power to the rocking individuals, baby. I mean, individuals are *hardworking* and *intelligent* except that one dude who swore to me up and down that I'd like Twilight, I have no idea what that was about, but yes, even he was hardworking.

Then the President blew it with the phrase, "If you have a successful business, you didn't build that."  Even then I was willing to give him a pass.  It was an extemporaneous phrase, people sometimes say extremely retarded things when they talk all extemporaneous-like, for example all those times that I implied that I was a harlot when all I wanted to say was I was hungry...there is a significant difference between the word "ravished" and "famished" and a glib delivery just makes it worse.

I figure, Mr. Prez probably meant to put the word "alone" in there somewhere.  You know?  Like, "You alone didn't build that," or, "you didn't build that alone," or the grammatically dubious but still well intentioned, "you didn't alone build that."  Unfortunately, he just kept right on talking, "...somebody else did.  Somebody else made that happen."  Okay, somebody else did that?  Maaaaaaaaybe. I mean, workers are hired to build a building, so ya, somebody other than the person who had the idea for the building did that.  The "somebody else made that happen?"  Deario, that's the dark desert highway that mummy should have told you never to travel because that negates all ingenuity, all vision, all.....everything.

It solves the "greatness is not achieved in a vacuum" conundrum by removing greatness.  Because who made "it" happen the most?  The gainfully employed person with the hammer who follows building plans very well (and who, by the way, is an awesome guy, and did a great job, and I love him to death) or the person who decided "you know what would be cool?  Permanent bouncy castles" and then set about getting it done?

Or maybe the Prez is trying to imply that all people who own successful businesses didn't build them from the ground up 'cause they're all dishonest, and did to "somebody else" what the Eeeeevil Edison did to all 'round nice guy (and only occasionally plagued with lapses of insanity) Tesla - it really was a dirty trick.  Yes, some businessmen steal other businessmen's ideas and leave them in the dirt which is bad.  I watched The Italian Job, I know the real story behind Napster. But since political campaigns are supposed to be all about smoozing people for votes, it might be a misstep in judgement to go about it by insulting the same people you're planning on taxing lots after your re-election.  Let's pretend ol' prezzy boy is smarter than that.  He does that a lot, but I'm sure he has a benevolent reason behind it, like maybe someone told him right before the press conference that a kitten would die if he didn't say something nasty about Fox news, Republicans, rich people or non-racially disadvantaged people (who totally got themselves born white on purpose, the little jerks!) at least once during the speech.

Mr. President then went on with talk of government roads and trucks and whut....?  He's the "somebody else"?  Dear boy, a decade ago, I didn't even know who you were!  (Maybe I'm extrapolating a little too much, but when he talks about the government, he's usually talking about himself.) Okay, yes, the government did take over the contracting of the private sector to build public roads, like a century ago or something and airplanes.  Ya, I'm not a boy, all I really know about them is that clouds are prettier when you're in one so I'll take your word for it and the same goes for trucks but the basic argument that the government is responsible for the rich, so the rich should be responsible for everybody else, but only financially only because otherwise I guess we're reinstating the feudal system, well, it doesn't sit well with me.  I'm trying to imagine how that "asking the rich to give a little more" thing is going to go down.  Do they get formal invitations with party hats?  "You are cordially invited to a fundraiser to get our mandatory healthcare system off the ground"  I kid.  I'm a kidder.  I know what "asking" means 'cause I have a dad who used to "ask" me to clean my room.

What I would like to point out is that back before the government made it its business to give us these shiny highways and airplanes and trucks and stuff, businessmen were still capable of success.  When they needed a road, they hung out with other business men and smooth talked them until *poof!* gentlemen...we have transport.  Again, I'm talking out of my hat on a weak area, but if such things were not so then all those Westerns with Eeeeevil businessmen buying people out to build a railroad or a business or some other eeevil investment need a bit of revamping, and I liked those Westerns!  Anyway, it's different now 'cause if something's wrong with the road but it's still kinda driveable, it'd better be in a good city; otherwise nothing ain't happening (sniffity, oh Pueblo...I weep for you).  As for the trucks that have been allowed to drive freely on the shiny roads...I'm really glad that taxes on petrol are such a high percentage of the actual price, because otherwise the shipping system in the private sector would be *really* complicated.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, "thanks, sweetie, thanks for the shiny technology, but I think probably we could have done most of it ourselves...but you're just so cute behind that podium.  I can't stay mad at you!"

Before I close off, I just want to say: my thanks to the people who invented the Arial font, and the people who invented the non-serif-based font-system, and also the google empire, and whoever invented the keyboard, and the laptop, and also Al Gore for taking the initiative in creating the internet, and the government for inventing either Al Gore or the internet.  Honourable mention for the contributions of Nickolai Tesla and Thomas Edison to the harnessing of electricity.  If anyone is annoyed by my comments, just remember:  I didn't write this post. Somebody else did that.

An Evening Stroll

     My roommate stepped out.  I didn't know where she went or when she'd be back, sometimes she doesn't come back until the next morning.  And it was dark, and the house was so warm.  I checked the weather five or six times, there doesn't seem to be much chance of rain, but for some reason there's a flash flood warning for tomorrow.  Maybe that's wishful thinking on the part of a kindly soul.
     If I wanted, I could pretend I was being active by jumping into one of the flame wars someone dear to me likes to start.  She doesn't care for this city, and she doesn't remember her sense of timing or decorum, she just remembers the hurt that reverbrates from a decade and a half ago and responds with her usual, Pavlovian responses, lashing out at anyone that calls her on it.  It probably wasn't a good idea at that moment, just reading what she had said already only made me want to run around in screaming frenzied circles more, or throw up, or something.
     Cycling through all the photos that people are posting on Facebook isn't as satisfying as one would expect.  The joke photos were funny, even now, but the things some of the people wrote threw me into an impotent mass of energy. I thought about putting in a movie and laying prone on the sofa until my adrenaline slowed - I REALLY shouldn't have read what she wrote - or maybe I would play a computer game, one in which you brutally slay imaginary things, until I felt better. Instead, I worked out for a little bit, I needed the action, and then I took a shower.
  After I got out, my hair dripping and me wrapped up in my night clothes, I put on a jacket, got into my car, and drove.
The cd player, a wise old gadget, played Peter Gabriel, and All American Rejects, and Shiny Toy Guns' rendition of "Major Tom," while I drove West, West, West, into the night, with other cars, other people on the road dispersing my illusion that I lived in a vacuum and can't help anyone, can't reach anyone, can't do anything.  I drove towards the Church because that was a comfortable, Westbound direction to be headed in, and then I skipped that and veered towards Circle, which was even more Westy.  I would drive until I saw the lights, even if it took me into Filmore, past stone, past the interstate, past the evacuation area if need be. But when Circle hit Union, the road rose up and I saw them, so instead I turned North, to follow the lights on my left until they took me somewhere where I could park.
Pulling in to the parking lot at the East library, (Heh, East Library, I guess that just goes to show how far East I live) I counted three other cars doing the same exact thing I was doing, and all the lights in the building were still on even though it was after 10 pm. Maybe this had become an evacuee station.  I parked with a small slough of other cars, and I got out to see rows of people who had the same late-night need that I did, and I saw the lights.
 Families, with pj clad children holding hands between the parents, made their way back to their cars, and groups of teenagers were walking up the hill toward me.  "Look, you can see it better from here," one of them commented.
I mingled among the people with their cameras on tripods, standing, taking photos, looking West.  I didn't regret leaving my camera behind, I'd had enough of photos, I came to see it for myself.  The ridge dotted with dull, angry orange flares, and the sky glowing and glowing, and never stopping, and the barrage of hushed voices chattering.
"...Million dollar homes, burned to the ground..."
"...Up towards Woodland park...."
"...God, they should do something.  Why don't they DO something?!"
"The animals.  Their instincts'll serve them, they'll be okay.  They were probably looooong gone as soon as they smelled the fire."
"Ten thousand years ago," said a man with a wide brimmed hat and a tripod, "there were no humans.  Something like this happened, there was no one to help, it just burned and burned."
"...bulldozers, going through the dead trees trying to block it, that's what they're doing now."
"This is so surreal.  I can't believe this."
Along the ridge, one of the lights flares, brightens, they can see it even at this distance, and they oooooo as if they were watching a fireworks show, several of the cameras click, but they aren't entertained, they're horrified.  Oh!  The volunteers!  I hope they're okay, whatever just happened.
"How old is your kid?" said one stranger to another.
"He's 13," said the man with the wide brimmed hat.  "He's not here for this, he's in California for six weeks with his dad.  I'll have to deprogram him when he gets back."
"Mine's nine," says the other man.  "My ex-wife...."
"This is it.  This is our economy boost, thanks for the stimulus package," and everyone chuckles.
Everything is so broken, but it's still normal.
A woman in her fifties stands at the edge of the sidewalk, staring, silent.  She shakes her head at the lights.  After a minute, she turns, jumps a little when she sees me behind her, and walks back towards the parking lot.
There's a little boy in only his pajama bottoms capering around the base of the hill, doing cartwheels. I walk towards him because the coolness of the green grass feels like a dream, and I wander around the paths for a while, thinking of woods and forests, thinking about ash and smoke, and glowing lights, thinking about all the places that don't exist as of this afternoon.  When I come back to the row of people at the top of the hill, they're still talking.
"Look at the time, it's WAAAAY past my bedtime."
"It never ends, you can see it there, and there, and there, it goes on forever."
"Our mountains were so beautiful, so beautiful."
"It's insane," says a little boy, he looks like he's about five years old.
"It's more than insane, baby," says his mother.
I start to walk back to my car.  A woman with a pretty snake tattooed around her leg helps balance her friend on top of a truck to get a better view, there's a camera propped on top of a small pink box between the friend's arms.
Another woman pulls in with her family, her car is old, there's a trash bag taped over the rear passenger window.  "If anyone steals this car," she announces, "they're desperate."
The CD player offered up to me sounds of Evanescence, one of their very early songs before they got so flipping angry; and some Mr. Mister; and "Goreki" by Lamb: Could we stay right here 'til the end of time, 'til the earth stops turning?  The drive home was much faster than the drive away.  Roommate's car wasn't in the driveway.  When I opened the door, the dog bounced around excitedly to see me again.  Every minute away from me was agony, apparently.   I picked him up so that he wouldn't continue to suffer emotional withdrawl while I opened every door and window I could find to let the night in.  He wagged his tail so hard that his whole body shook.  I sat down at the dining room table and listened to the cars driving along the road.
   If she stays out later than 1am, I'll turn off the porch light and lock the door.

When you look long into an abyss, the abyss looks into you. - Friedrich Nietzche.

The abyss isn't half as impressed with you as you are with it.