Category: Stupidity

The stupid hurts

NC Considers Making Sea Level Rise Illegal

There is virtually universal agreement among scientists that the sea will probably rise a good meter or more before the end of the century, wreaking havoc in low-lying coastal counties. So the members of the developers’ lobbying group NC-20 say the sea will rise only 8 inches, because … because … well, SHUT UP, that’s because why.

That is, the meter or so of sea level rise predicted for the NC Coastal Resources Commission by a state-appointed board of scientists is extremely inconvenient for counties along the coast. So the NC-20 types have decided that we can escape sea level rise – in North Carolina, anyhow – by making it against the law. Or making MEASURING it against the law, anyhow

Traditional, biblical marriage

As we are so often reminded, God’s definition of marriage does not change over time and it’s helpful for us to go back and examine the biblical source material. One of the most heartwarming accounts of traditional marriage is the very special love story of Jacob and his wives Rachel and Leah. Jacob, later called Israel, was the (literal) father of the “twelve tribes” and can be seen in many ways as the founder of the Judeo-Christian tradition. This is his story as I learned it in Sunday School as a child:

Jacob, having recently deceived his elderly, blind father in a successful attempt to steal his brother’s inheritance, fled to his Uncle Laban’s place many miles away. Upon arrival, he fell in love with Rachel, his first cousin, and decided that they must be married. So he agreed to work for Laban for seven years in order to buy her.

Unfortunately, at the end of the seven years, Uncle Laban pulled a switch and sold Jacob his older, less attractive daughter Leah instead. Jacob, having been tricked into marrying Leah, was forced to work another seven years in order to purchase Rachel and marry her as well.

Jacob did not care much for Leah (although he evidently had sex with her often enough to produce ten sons) and very much preferred Rachel. God, who apparently does not appreciate his creations playing favorites among their collections of wives, punished Rachel (rather than Jacob) by refusing for many years to let her bear children.

Eventually, however, Rachel had two sons of her own, one of whom led the family to Egypt, where they became slaves for four hundred years.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Thank God for an unchanging definition of traditional, biblical marriage that we can all appreciate and understand.

Sorry, wrong number

When people call and leave a message that makes it obvious that they’ve gotten a wrong number, I usually try to call them back and let them know. I do it so they can then contact the right person and actually communicate whatever it is that they wanted to say to whomever they actually wanted to say it to. About half the time, though, the callers get a little bit pissy when I inform them of their error. Sometimes they even argue with me, not quite getting it when I insist that I really don’t know Ezra or Laura or whomever. And they almost never thank me, even though I’m going out of my way to do them a favour.

That’s just one more bit of evidence, I guess, that the vast majority of people are jerks. Or idiots. Not that I really needed more evidence of this…

Bless this, asshole

One of the hazards of everyday life in the South (and increasingly in other regions of this ever so devout country, I’m told) is constantly being told by restaurant and retail employees to “have a ‘blessed’ day.” It used to be something that came mostly from the mouths of older African American church ladies but it’s becoming rather ubiquitous. I do not find it sweet nor endearing. I find it off-putting and insulting.

It’s a little like telling someone to have an “orange” day–not  really grammatically incorrect, but it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense either. Grammar (and triteness) aside, though, this little greeting is pretty much just a passive aggressive way of introducing religion into inappropriate situations. Cashiers and servers who would be fired or disciplined for saying things that are more overtly religious to their customers feel they can get away with this allegedly more subtle form of proselyting. And they’re right, unfortunately. As a rule, Muslims, Buddhists, and humanists generally do not tell you to have a “blessed” day. This is specifically an evangelical Christian thing. And it’s bad customer service because it involves pushing religion in my face in situations where it doesn’t belong.

Besides, don’t evangelical Christians believe that we are all “blessed” pretty much by default, just by virtue of the fact that a merciful god has allowed us poor wretches to exist in his presence? Isn’t it sort of redundant to tell people to have a “blessed” day when you believe they pretty much can’t help but to be having one already? Isn’t it sort of like telling them to “breathe air?” Yes. That’s precisely it. The only reason, it seems, that a Christian would ever tell someone to have a “blessed” day is (1) to make damned sure the poor slob being so greeted knew that that the person offering the greeting was a Christian, and (2) to hint ever so slightly that the “greetee” might want to concentrate on his own faith just to make sure he recognizes the tenuousness of his relationship with the man upstairs.

In other words, to do a little preaching.

In an inappropriate place like with your customers in a restaurant or a store.

See paragraph #2 above.

So…

My stress level is pretty much off the chart right now to begin with and will be for the next ten days or so.

What does not help is long, rambling 25-minute phone calls from my dad, strategically placed at the precise moment when I’m trying simultaneously to deal with work, a busted computer monitor, and the fact that apparently everyone who’s ever worked in mortgage lending at Bank of America is either an idiot or a flake who can’t return phone calls or email. Or both.

I liked my dad much better when he hated using the phone. And I liked Bank of America much better when…well…I never liked them, but at least I used to never have to interact with them either.

Yes, I realize this is a completely pointless rant, but I needed to yell about it somewhere before going to bed after not getting a damned thing done all night. It was a really bad day. I may need another Portlandia.

 

No limits?

So I keep hearing these radio ads for some Walmart/T-Moblie phone plan. For $35 or something (I can’t be bothered to look it up) you get “unlimited talk, text, and web.” A few seconds later there is reference to “unlimited web for the first 250MB.”

Correct me if I’m wrong but doesn’t that constitute…well…a limit?

Ewww…

While working on the refi, I discovered that my credit report suggests that I maintain a current address in San Francisco. Of course, the address is Mark’s, although I’m not 100% certain how it became associated with my name. Actually, his last two addresses are associated with my name.

Anyway, it’s becoming a bit of a task to get them eliminated. Experian states that one of them  “was provided by a creditor or public record” and won’t even let me begin the online dispute process, which will necessitate a phone call on Monday. It’s just a little nagging annoyance and it will eventually get straightened out, hopefully without screwing up the mortgage paperwork. I can deal with it.

What’s really offensive, though, is the insinuation that I would ever live in San Francisco again. Blecch…

Journalism you can count on

The LA Times just keeps being my “go to” source for serious journalism with no sensational headlines:

I don’t read the SF Chronicle anymore. Has it gone down this same path? Other papers? My local?

Now would probably be the wrong time to look back with amusement at the wood chipper jokes my former roommate and I used to make to my ex from Minnesota around the time Fargo was released, huh? That said, I think tonight may be a Fargo night. It’s been several years…

 

Male enhancement

For a variety of reasons, I’ve been listening to the radio more often lately. And I’ve been noticing lots of commercials for fake testosterone supplements that will make old geezers more manly in very important ways. I can only assume these “spark and passion” inducers are directed toward guys who are in preexisting relationships. Being the fat, middle-aged, single guy I am, the boys aren’t exactly standing in line waiting for their chance at me anyway. The last thing I really need in my life is something to make me more horny.

It seems almost cruel…