The bright side of a Moon
I stopped by the Anti-Wal-Mart protest today. Just chatted with Lauren and picked up a brochure.
They’ve only been working on this for the past two weeks. Trying to get a grass-roots movement going. There will be a meeting tomorrow night at the S.M.I.L.E. station (SE. 13th and Tacoma) at 7:00 PM, and I will be attending.
Damn, I should have taken pictures of their signs. They were getting a lot of honks from drivers passing by, too. I hope those were good honks.
I knew that I’ve been feeling a dark mood descend upon me and my home recently. Turns out there was a reason.
Wal-Mart is angling to put a store (excuse me, a “Superstore”) in my neighborhood.
I found out by spying one of these many flyers (pops in new window; downloads an Acrobat file) while walking home last night. Yes, turns out there is organized opposition to it already. Include me in.
I’ll be stopping by their picket line and pamphlet-handing-out at 4:00 PM this afternoon at the east end of the Sellwood Bridge to see how I can add my support.
It never fails to amaze me when I get an unreasonable response to a resonable request. Of course, being who I am, when I point out such disparities to the responder, it never seems to have an effect; they often only become more unresonable.
Often, the response is one of two things (or a combination of the two): first, to turn around and attack me, denigrate me for even bringing it up or calling attention to it, or second, to parse the language – the classic “that depends on what the definition of ‘is’ is.”
Among a group of friends, someone correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think it’s out of line to ask for an accommodation once in a while. And even then, it’s OK if the others decline. I’m fine with that. But what I don’t get is when I am blasted for even asking, like my asking was somehow so outrageous that I’m a selfish bastard for even bringing it up. In the most recent example of this the person chose the tactic of turning a discussion about this single event into a blanket statement for all time, ever, world without end amen. How is that reasonable?
It’s not that difficult to compromise, people. Here’s an example. My sister and her husband obviously enjoy different types of movies. Having two kids, they don’t get out to see movies all that often. If they had to agree on a movie that would satisfy them both every single time, they would end up arguing for so long that they would never get to the theater. So they have a compromise in place: they alternate choosing the movies. If they’re unsatisfied with the others’ choice, they know that next time they’ll get to choose. It works over the long run, and it’s based on trust. It works. Everybody gets a turn, everybody’s happy.
A key point in a compromise is mutuality: both sides have to concede something. When dealing with a single, one-time only event, then everyone would need to give up some ground. (BTW, if everyone agrees in the first place, it’s not a compromise; it’s a consensus, which is a different kettle of fish.) But when dealing with an ongoing series of events, then the concessions need to be looked at over the course of the series; for example, my example of my sister and her husband.
But back to the outrageous response to a reasonable request. How best to deal with people like that? I for one am flummoxed. If I’m right in principle and right in the facts, then I’m not going to back down. Being backed by the correct position and the prevailing facts should (I would hope) be enough to sway folks’ opinions. It’s not, though, and I have a difficult time comprehending why. And the more I look into this, the more I find that those who can’t be swayed by ethics or principle (which is, after all, the basis of negotiating a compromise) are, in fact, unreasonable and prone to all-or-nothing thinking. The kind of people who start to pick apart individual words and misread them in an attempt to make their point. Or the kind of people who look for others to side with them, hoping that by weight of opinions they can enforce a “majority view”. Or the kind of people who simply attack the other to provide cover for their outrageous actions.
My friends, those who trust me, know that I am capable of admitting I’ve made a mistake. I go out of my way to support my opinions and to make certain that I’m seeing and dealing with the world as it really exists, not as I wish it to be. I am self-correcting. And because of that, I’m OK with my friends pointing out when I’m wrong. It’s actually important for me, because I know that I’m automatically biased in favor of my own point of view, and often others can see things differently enough to point out what I’m missing.
But even when I’m wrong, I think I deserve a level of respect. I am often wearing my Easy-Going Guy Togs and go along with the prevailing view. However, when I request a change in plans, I would hope that my previous history of allowance would gain me some favor, some karma, some goodwill. Is that wrong? Do I set myself up for people to take advantage of my easy-going nature when I don’t speak up except once in a while? Perhaps I should consider that.
Because that’s what I feel like when this happens. I’ll go along, and go along, and go along, then make a request and suddenly I’m a heartless bastard. Gee, nobody complained when I was silent about doing things I wasn’t so enthused about; why complain now?
Damn, this is all about boundaries, isn’t it? The damn topic comes up too often. Is there a middle ground, where I can make it clear that a compromise is in force, so that later it seems less of a surprise when I ask for a change? Interpersonal communication is hard.
But, again, back to the outrageous responders: I recognize that I’m unable to change them, so for me, my typical response is to point out that they’re wrong and avoid them. I’ve got no particular compulsion to spend a lot of energy on them. Their mendacity is hugely draining. If there’s a better way to deal with them I will be happy to look for it but for the most part, I don’t need them and therefore don’t have any reason to give them more than I’m required by the social circumstances.
I would have sworn that I’d ranted about this before but I did a search and couldn’t find it. It must have been in private email. But I’ve been looking for stuff to post that isn’t about my running and when this topic came up in conversation today I realized I’d found something.
This is it in a nutshell:
There are too many kinds of soda!
Walk into any convenience market and go to the freezer section. Look in there. Start counting – Coke, Cherry Coke, Coke with Lime, Coke with Vanilla, Coke Zero, Pepsi, Cherry Pepsie, Pepsi with Lemon, Pepsi with Lime, Pepsi with Vanilla, Pepsi One… then all the diet versions of those… and now there’s the Splenda versions… then the lesser brands, like Mountain Dew, Sprite, 7-UP, Squirt… and multiple flavors of those… Dr. Pepper and all it’s incarnations… holy crap I can’t even list them all. Do not post in the comments that I missed your favorite flavor because I would be writing forever if I had to actually list them all.
And the sports drinks, like Gatorade and all the knock-offs. C’mon! The only real Gatorade is lemon-lime. That’s why they called it Gatorade — it was named after the Florida Gators! Hello? Has anybody seen a cherry alligator? A blue alligator? I didn’t think so. Alligators are green, motherfuckers. Live with it.
And how many “flavors” of bottled water do we really need? I swear, the next time someone claims to be able to tell the difference between Dasani and Aquafina I’m going to introduce them to Mr. Shotgun.
And that’s just for soft drinks!
There isn’t enough room in a typical mini-mart freezer for all of these. Is that the plan? Soda companies just keep proliferating soda flavors until they push out their competition.
Just 10 years ago, it was Coke, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, 7-Up, and diet versions. Sure, they tried gimmicks like “clear” Pepsi or “New” Coke but they didn’t last. Those offshoots were flashes-in-the-pan and were laughed out of existence. But now, you can’t stop the new flavors coming out. Soon we’ll have Pepsi BBQ or Diet Coke with Cilantro or some shit.
It boils down to this: there are only two good flavors to add to a caffeinated beverage: Vanilla, and Lime. Everything else is crap and, frankly, just a waste. Stop, soda companies, just… stop. It’s over. You’re done. Don’t you know there’s a war on? Stop hurting America. Get some rest.
Just snapped a few quick pictures this morning. I caught him sleeping. I’m sure he’ll torment me later for these.
…and here’s some more!
My new favorite geek joke, from the thread over at Slashdot:
A Mathematician, a Biologist and a Physicist are sitting in a street cafe watching people going in and coming out of the house on the other side of the street. First they see two people going into the house. Time passes. After a while they notice three persons coming out of the house.
The Physicist: “The measurement wasn’t accurate.”
The Biologist: “They have reproduced.”
The Mathematician: “If now exactly one person enters the house then it will be empty again.”
Learned a new word yesterday. I love when that happens.
The word is: bespoke.
It means (in the context I heard it yesterday, at any rate) unique or individually-tailored clothing. Although different dictionaries don’t limit it to clothing (like the Merriam-Webster link I used above; note that you’ll have to click on the word “bespoke” because M-W won’t let me link directly to that version of the word).
So, for example, it’s probably safe to say that an A-list actress like Demi Moore will probably show up at ceremonies like the Academy Awards wearing bespoke dresses.
Why do I wait for the bus, to take me to the gym, so I can then change and go running?
Is my backpack that heavy?
Is the weather that hot?
Am I saving that much energy by doing that?
A completely-made-up person writes in:
How did the race go? That Mt. Tabor thing? Wasn’t that today?
Fig O. Imagination
Thanks for asking, Fig! (Is that your real name, by the way?)
So… yeah… the race…
I’d been really looking forward to tackling this race again. I think I’ve been training hard for it, too. Kinda made it a test to see how far I’d come in the last year.
Imagine my surprise and disappointment, then, to discover that I had mistakenly ran a longer course than most others in the race.
Weather was perfect; sunny and warm. Maybe a bit too warm, maybe a bit too humid. But it sure beat the rain that had been coming down in buckets yesterday.
They had also changed the course a bit, at least the starting line. Instead of starting at the top of the hill and working down from there, the course started by the basketball courts and went uphill. My careful planning was already taking a bit of a hit. However, since I had planned to hold back the first mile, anyway, the more I thought about it, the more I realized it played into my favor.
Standing at the starting line, the race organizer (never got his name) explained the course. I distinctly heard him say to watch out for the chalk “5” and arrows, since the 8K race was being run over the same area and there were differences. For instance, the 8K-ers had to run up to the top of the hill twice; the 5K-ers didn’t. “Got it,” I thought, “watch for the chalked numbers.” The course was a bit confusing because we went past the finish line twice; we had to circle out around the reservoir, then come back to finish.
For the first third of the course, I did really well. Just under a 10:00 pace for the first mile — good. Managed just under a 9:00 pace for the second mile — awesome, and the hills (downhill for this section) helped me tremendously. I only needed to split the difference or slightly under in order to beat last year’s time! When I was approaching the finish line for the first time, I spotted the sign showing the 3-mile point for the 5K, but it was off to the side on another road coming down from the top. I made a mental note of it.
I and a group of other 5K-ers reached a point on the hill where we had been before, and there were the chalked arrows — but no numbers. Just a confusing tangle of arrows. I realized that we didn’t have to go back up, so there were two choices for downhill. One leading out and around before returning and a shorter course. I thought it was the shorter leg, but a group of three girls who had been keeping pace with me decided among themselves that it was the longer route. We didn’t discuss it out loud. I simply went along with them, figuring that if it was wrong, at least we’d all be wrong together. Another lady followed us, also. Maybe others but that’s all I spotted.
As we proceeded along, I realized that this was not correct, since my watch showed 12:00 and counting for this leg. There’s no way that I had been going that slowly! I had stopped a bit to walk but only briefly. It felt wrong.
When I passed the 3-mile mark for real this time, again, I was on the wrong road. Argh. My total time for that segment was over 16:00, which indicated to me that, yes, I had gone much longer than necessary. After I ran through the finish line, I hunted down a copy of the course map and confirmed my mistake. I don’t know exactly how much extra I ran, though. But it makes my time easier to bear. Tough race.
So, um, argh. I’ll do better next race.
Minor annoyances mar the day:
On the bus in to work. Once the bus has crossed the river into downtown, the bus driver stops and waits at every single stop. Apparently she’s running ahead of schedule and has to make up some time. Fine. Annoying. But fine. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m on my way in to work, where I don’t particularly want to be, and therefore am not in any particular hurry, I’d probably be even more angry.
So. Every single stop. Long wait. Other buses, their drivers having better managed their time, speed past us while we wait. Often we wait through two cycles of the traffic light — green, yellow, red, green, yellow, red, green, go.
Eventually we get to my stop. I’m the only one exiting the bus here. I go out the front door, and as usual, thank the bus driver (I’m a polite boy sometimes). The driver barks out, “Right!” and as soon as I step off the bus, the door slams shut, and the bus lurches into motion and roars through the traffic light as the light shifts from yellow into red.
Yes, she waited until my stop, then ran a red light in her hurry to get moving.
I’m sure it wasn’t directed at me, but, damn…