Disturbing Trend

Anybody else notice the proliferation of inane “greeters” stationed next to the entrances of businesses? It’s my theory that this all began with churches, specifically, elderly Sunday school classes. The logic’s the same for both church and the secular, really. They are hoping that by appearing welcoming, people will return – and bring money. Being as we've now entered the "hap, happiest time of the year," I expect that we shoppers will be forced to navigate an obstacle course of bell ringers, greeters, sample trolls, etc. when most of us just want to get our shit and go home.

We have a greeter here at the large medical center where I work. Apparently the prominently marked information desks located close to the entrances are not enough. We need a fat guy sitting outside on a stool, with a portable heater and an entourage of squirrels to make sure Cletus and Lurline know that this here university medical center is just happy as hell to practice on, er, treat them.

My neighborhood Kroger now has a greeter stationed by the door. I don’t understand; it's not like we have any choice -- we gotta buy food. Is it corporate management’s attempt at warmth? Do they honestly think customers will return because there’s an employee with vacant eyes grinning ear-to-ear next to the entrance? (Instead of, say, bagging groceries.) Well, not this customer. I come back hoping to see Mr. Snappy, the homeless guy that takes it upon himself to return all the carts from the parking lot. There’s a happy guy. He’s got a crack bounce to his step and he’s always snapping his fingers to a melody only he can hear.

Ageless rhythms

I got to see Man Man last night and it was a hundred times better than I expected. And, I got to see them in the perfect venue from the perfect vantage point. They performed in a small, stripped-down club that caters to the indie crowd. We were lucky enough to snag a couple of the folding chairs lining the wall. I realized I wouldn’t be able to see a thing if I tried to stand anywhere on the floor, but, I could stand on the chair and not be in anybody’s way. I’m never that lucky.

I must admit I stressed quite a bit over even going. I knew I would be out of my element agewise and was afraid of being perceived as one of those pitiful old bags desperate to hold onto relevance -- trying to be cool. When we arrived, a guy walked up asking for the admission and to see our ID’s, if we were going to drink. My husband had his but I failed to bring mine. The guy says, “I really need to see everybody’s ID.” I said, “Dude, it’s not that dark in here.” He responded with, “Okay, you’re obviously … uh … I mean … over 21.” I said, “Nice save.” We went outside, carrying our drinks with us. One of the managers came out and told us this wasn’t Louisiana and we couldn’t take our drinks outside. So, basically, I got in trouble twice within the first 30 minutes. Then I got over myself. Sure, we were the oldest people there but the many people we talked to seemed genuinely pleased to see somebody, outside of their cohort, that got Man Man.

I didn’t, however, get the opening act. It’s not so much that every song sounded the same. Or that the musical range of the group seemed to consist of three chords. But that the lead vocalist was a whiny bitch about the sound. They fixed the sound. It didn’t help. They seemed to have a devoted core of a half dozen fans that for me, served their purpose. When they cleared out I snagged my primo location from which to view Man Man.

Now, standing on a folding chair is not conducive to much movement. I contented myself to perfecting my head pump (Note to self - next time don’t use hairspray. Kinda ruins the effect.), banging my shoulder blades rhythmically against the wall, and watching the group in front of the stage as they gleefully undulated forward and back -- my son among them.

My perception of the show? Primal rhythms created with an assortment of musical instruments and unexpected objects and vocals that pushed the limits of physicality. All presented in a manner that would put Ringling Bros. to shame. These guys were there to put on a show, to entertain. There was no ego. There was fun. They looked like they were having the time of their lives. And, why shouldn’t they? Why shouldn’t we all.

“I know you need to find
What you thought
you left behind
in a past life.”
Feathers - Man Man

Oh no he di-n't!

I am currently enrolled in a writing course at the local Minnie Me university and I’ve made it a point to never mention any of my classmates or their writing in this blog. Mainly because they all seem to be computer literate and they are all bigger than I am. I don’t think any of them would have a problem with kicking my scrawny ass. Aside from that, they are all decent folk that, like me, only want to learn to write better. We get along well, at least no one’s stormed out in tears -- yet.

It is required that we read our classmates’ work and critique it. This can be extremely nerve wracking for both the reviewer and the writer. Ultimately, the exercise is tremendously useful for both.

We have one student that likes to write Vietnam war stories. Not a genre I would choose to read on my own but hey, if it’s well written, I’m a happy camper (“The Things They Carried” comes to mind). This writer took exception to one classmate after another saying they got bogged down by all the military acronyms contained in his previous story. Some abbreviations were obvious while others defied our attempts at research. We were actually wimping out because the story itself was a rambling, disconnected, pile of suck. We left it to the professor to point that out.

In the current story submitted by this writer, Iwo Jima is mentioned and marked by an asterisk, sort of. This was the mark: @ (that's not the actual mark but the closest I could come given my choices in this format). Hmm, puzzling. Was it a printer turd? I glanced down the page and noticed the same mark next to a footnote. Ah, here’s a first. No one had included a footnote yet. Here, dear reader, is the content of said note:
“If an explanation is needed for Iwo Jima, I would suggest that you stop reading this paper. In fact, I insist you stop reading this paper now, asshole.”

My initial reaction was What the … did he just call me an asshole? Here I am, minding my own business, spending my valuable lunch hour slogging through this fucking 32 page story and this is what I get in return? Insults? I tried to rationalize. Was it his pathetic attempt at humor? Was is rabid patriotism? Because, he couldn’t possibly believe that anyone in that class had never heard of Iwo Jima. Jesus Christ, even if we slept through junior high and high school and Western Civ., there were two major motion pictures released just last year about Iwo Jima. Then I thought about the author, who is the most irksome of assholes. You know, the guy that prefaces his opinions with patronizing, self demeaning bullshit. “I don’t know, I’m just a dumb ol’ boy that prolly doesn’t know half as much as you,” said in a tone that means the exact opposite.

So, I did as the author suggested and I quit reading. Why the heck should I waste my time on work done by someone that holds his audience in such disdain? I’m not sure what I’m going to say when it comes my turn to critique the story. I’ve got a feeling I’m not the only one that was offended, so my bet is that another classmate will unload on him before they get to me. If the guy has any brains at all, he’ll apologize to us at the beginning of the class.