« January 2006 | Main | June 2006 »
March 25, 2006
JUST KIDDING AROUND
"The thing that impresses me most about America is the way parents obey their children."
- Edward, Duke of Windsor
Children, to those brave souls who have them, are angelic, rosy-cheeked nymphs who bring joy and happiness to their everyday lives. To those of us who've decided NOT to propagate, they appear to be the devil incarnate. Okay, that may be pushing the envelope a bit; depending on the place, situation, tidal projections, and lunar cycle, they CAN be tolerated. Unfortunately, bad manners are inherited more often than not, which means when parents act like Neanderthals, their offspring imitate the same knuckle-dragging conduct.
"The age of your children is a key factor in how quickly you are served in a restaurant. We once had a waiter in Canada who said, 'Could I get you your check?' and we answered, "How about the menu first?"
- Erma Bombeck
Sometimes in life, you just want to take adult-type people by the throat, slap them into next week, and ask my sister Jill's inevitable question: "What the hell's wrong with you?" This was the case last week when I joined said sister, her boyfriend Jeff, my roomie Cinderella, and my poor unsuspecting father at a local Mexican restaurant. As we were being seated, the couple next to us and their two small children, were already enjoying a delicious meal. After a few minutes, one pony-tailed cherub decided she'd prefer having her teeth drilled than chow down on a shredded beef taco. Obviously, she'd never had the tacos. And so she proceeded to whimper, then cry, then squirm, then make like some sort of squealing piglet, refusing to be held, comforted, or consoled in any way shape or form. To our delight, the father decided it was time to whisk his screaming rugrat outside, before some other irritated guest did it for him. Soon thereafter, the family departed, leaving only overwhelming silence. And, it was good.
"The restaurant is like a theatre: we do two shows a day, and when you are doing Shakespeare you don't want to throw in something out of Walt Disney." - Benjamin Britten
Unfortunately, this stillness was invariably short-lived. For in the corner booth next to the now vacated table, was something so terrifying, so horrific, so bone-chillingly frightening, we all held our breaths at its very being. It was gruesome, it was grisly, it was downright ghastly. You can't run! You can't hide! You can't get away from ...BADLY BEHAVED CHILDREN!!! It was creepier than "The Blob", scarier than "The Thing", louder than "The Birds", more appalling than "The Fly", and it howled like "The Wolf Man" at midnight. It was two young boys jumping on seats, screaming like banshees, banging on silverware, bashing into tables, chasing each other in circles, and generally running amok. All the while, their so-called parents chitchatted in a margarita-induced haze, laughing giddily, chastising occasionally, and basically ignoring the laser beam stares of every other paying customer. And just like us, in the devious minds of all the surrounding diners, these same thoughts were rolling around their normally civil minds; can we just slap some duct tape on the mouths of these brats?! Can we possibly pummel these tykes without police retribution?! Can we just tell their parents how truly annoying, obnoxious, and insufferable their hyped-up kids are?!
"In the United States today, there is a pervasive tendency to treat children as adults, and adults as children. The options of children are thus steadily expanded, while those of adults are progressively constricted. The result is unruly children and childish adults." -Thomas Szasz
And as the tequila kicked in, and the naughty noises grew up and around the eatery like some gigantic pealing bell, and our ears were subjected to the shrill racket-like-a-racetrack, people began to crack. The first to snap was Cinderella, who whipped her head around like some sort of rattlesnake, hissing out, "Could ya PLEASE quiet those children down?!!!" Once again, there was peace and stillness. Unfortunately, it was the sort of tranquility you could cut with a rusty-toothed McCullough. Forks were dropped. Candles blew out. Fans stopped spinning. Sweat beaded on noses. Ears perked in anticipation. And thus began the great "I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I", Battle of the Blowholes. Men, it would seem, don't ever really grow up. That same kickass attitude they learned early on in the playground never truly leaves them; if someone stomps on their castle in the sandbox, they're just asking for a plastic shovel up the ass. And so at that precise moment, in one very public dining room, amidst the hushed gawking of an enraptured audience, two quasi-adult, male-type human beings reverted back to kindergarten.
"You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance."
- Franklin P. Jones
This salsa-laden scenario is rated PG for some mildly foul language, and testosterone-induced banter. A berated father and a pissed-off boyfriend match up to exchange verbal barbs, and throw down the gauntlet, while their female compadres can only try to placate their ever-growing rage:
"Hey man, what's your problem?"
"Honey, get back here!"
"Your little monsters, that's my problem!"
"Jeff, cut it out!"
"It's a family restaurant, STUPID!"
"Honey, don't!"
"So what? Why don't you take your spoiled brats to McDonald's?"
"Jeff, stop it!"
"Looks like YOU haven't missed too many cheeseburgers pal!"
"Honey, that's enough!"
"Bring it on JERK, I haven't been in a good fight for a long time!"
"Jeff, knock it off!"
"IDIOT!"
"HONEY!!!!"
"BASTARD!"
"JEFFREY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Raising kids is part joy and part guerilla warfare." - Ed Asner
In the end, after the dust had settled, no blood was shed, no blows were felled, no teeth knocked out, and the testy group finally stormed off with babes in arms. And as we gingerly walked between the tables of patrons, expecting to be met with remarks of insult and disgust, we experienced the complete and total opposite. We were given everything but a standing ovation, and the clientele could barely wait to offer congratulations and extend their hands in a show of support. We were brave. We were stars. We were heroes.
"Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them." - James Baldwin
But I can't keep wondering, which situation is worse? Youngsters behaving like little tyrants, or adults conducting themselves in, well, precisely the same way? What can we expect from children, who witness the exact same behavior from grown-ups, that they've just been admonished for? Don't argue, don't fight, turn the other cheek, look the other way, don't rock the boat, but stand your ground, and act like a man. Talk about mixed messages. The media and movies are often blamed for contributing to the apathetic ways of today's youth, juvenile men, in particular. But maybe we should take a closer look at what really molds their attitudes. Perhaps we'll see the responsibility starts with mom and dad, and ends in one famous line of music: "Teach your children well."
Hey, it's better than a kick in the teeth.
"Children are contemptuous, haughty, irritable, envious, sneaky, selfish, lazy, flighty, timid, liars and hypocrites, quick to laugh and cry, extreme in expressing joy and sorrow, especially about trifles, they'll do anything to avoid pain but they enjoy inflicting it: little men already."
- Jean de La Bruyere, Les Caracteres, 1688
Posted by Wendy at 7:38 PM | Comments (3)
March 9, 2006
DOG DAY AFTERNOON
If you want to be liked, get a dog. The people you work with are not your friends. -Deborah Norville
So the Oscars are over, and all the golden statuettes dispersed, and every winner will spend the next 2 weeks sloshing their way through a multitude of droning television interviews, and wondering whether to place the coveted naked award in their Beverly Hills living room, or maybe the cushy salon of their Manhattan townhouse, or perhaps next to the reclining Buddha in their thatched Aruba hut. http://www.oscar.com/ It's a big decision you know. I wish I had such meaningful verdicts to pontificate on, but I'm much too busy paying PG&E and trying to figure out if Mac n' Cheez goes better with Hamburger Helper or if Rice-a-Roni is the better choice.
I love dogs. They live in the moment and don't care about anything except affection and food. They're loyal and happy. Humans are just too damn complicated. -David Duchovny
So many options, how DOES the other half live? How does one choose a Giorgio Armani suit over Dolce and Gabbana? Is the structured Chanel gown worth more photos opts than the sleek Vera Wang column? If I go with Harry Winston jewels instead of Van Cleef and Arpels, will I end up talking to (gasp!) Katie Couric instead of Diane Sawyer? Will the $74 Calvin Klein stockings be more supportive than those $6.00 Gap ones I spied on sale? Is my $23.00 Dior Addict Pearl Shine more plumping than my $6.99 Neutrogena Moisture Shine in Razzle? How can I be expected to even consider carrying last year's Gucci tote on the Red Carpet, when my Prada handbag is at the cleaners, and my handmade diamond Judith Leiber clutch has yet to be delivered? Whew, I'm feeling faint...I need a well chilled bottle of Perrier, an herbal enema, and my Blackberry...now get me to the spa...
I think dogs are the most amazing creatures; they give unconditional love. For me they are the role model for being alive.
- Gilda Radner
It's no secret that I am a COMPLETE and total film freak of nature. Sitting in a darkened movie theatre is my kind of happiness. I know countless pieces of worthless celebrity trivia, I subscribe to Vanity Fair and US Weekly, I can rattle off bits of scene selections at will, and most annoyingly, can actually do entire movies verbatim, much to the chagrin of those around me. Don't even think about sitting in the same room with me during "Young Frankenstein", or "Blazing Saddles", and that also goes for "Barefoot in the Park", "What's Up Doc?", or "Postcards from the Edge". ('That's me, I don't want life to imitate art, I want life to BE art'). Last Sunday, I was glued to the television from 2:30 on for the Academy Awards, with a Lemontini in my hand and a bowl of well-oiled theatre popcorn by my side. So it should come as no surprise that when I adopted my mutt 15 years ago, I named her after a silver screen character.
Why is it that my heart is so touched whenever I meet a dog lost in our noisy streets? Why do I feel such anguished pity when I see one of these creatures coming and going, sniffing everyone, frightened, despairing of even finding its master?
-Emil Zola
I rescued "Hap" from the dismal cement confines of the San Francisco SPCA, where she had been interred after a Good Samaritan called in her owner's bad behavior. I never did find out what sort of inhumane treatment was inflicted upon her, but I can only imagine. I don't get people who torture animals, what is UP with that? The electrodes in their pea brain wiring must be rusted or something, or maybe it's all the Budweiser and Jerry Springer reruns. Hap was named after Audrey Hepburn's last film role, in a lovely little production called "Always", where she plays a scissor-wielding angel giving Richard Dreyfuss an untimely post-mortem haircut. An early Spielberg film, it's worth the rental bucks just to see John Goodman get absolutely drenched in a fire-fighting-pilot-training routine gone hysterically wrong. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0096794/
Dogs don't like to be left alone. It's not like, when you leave, he goes, "Great, time to finish writing my novel!"
-The Truth About Cats & Dogs
By my count, the critter and I lived in 7 different places during the many years we belonged to each other. We ran the gamut between San Francisco, Marin, the East Bay, Alameda, and finally settling here in Fresno. During that time, she was my best pal between boyfriends and jobs, sunset walks and early-morning road trips, holidays, birthdays, sweltering summers, frigid winters, 3 cars and 1 husband. She could have been a sled dog, dragging me behind her every evening, with the drive and purpose of a Husky sloshing through the Iditarod. Anywhere I lived, the neighbors would inevitably ask, "Who's walking whom?" Ha, ha, that is sooooo funny. Wow, that NEVER got old. When one of Hap's back legs was removed due to a bone cancer diagnosis, I was amazed how well she got along afterward. Officially dubbed the "tripod" dog from then on, the official neighborhood remark changed to, "Hey, that dog's only got 3 legs!". Even though I was tempted many times, I always refrained from firing back, "You're kidding, when did THAT fall off!?".
He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion. -Unknown
When Hap had her surgery, I thought it was the toughest thing we'd ever have to go through together. Boy was I wrong, never dreaming it would be so heart wrenching to put her down. She ran around on those 3 legs for almost 6 years, while her sight began to fail and her eyes took on an opaque, iridescent glow. But somehow, she could meander her way around our backyard in the dark, the nametag on her collar announcing her whereabouts. Her hearing steadily declined, but she still cocked her head when called, and trembled in her bed when the gardeners fired up their blowers. It's a tough thing playing God, and deciding the fate of someone who has meant so much to you. Such feelings of guilt and regret; the weighing of differences between your own selfishness and their quality of life.
You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us.
- Robert Louis Stevenson
In the end, I couldn't stand her suffering anymore, and finally had to convince myself it was time. But cradling her little head, and looking into those milky eyes, I believe she made things easier for me. It's as if she were saying it was okay, and she was ready. And even though she's gone, out of force of habit, I find myself glancing out the sliding glass door, expecting to see her lovely face. I loved her like crazy, and miss her terribly. Sometimes, I can still hear the jingle, jangle of the tag on her collar, as she races across the stepping-stones, waiting for me to chase her. If Hap were still here, I'd present her with the Academy Award for Best Supporting Pet in an everyday role, for the thousand licks of a tongue to get me through the movie that is my life. But I think she would have been just as happy with a Milk Bone.
Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really. -Agnes Sligh Turnbull
A good dog never dies, he always stays, he walks besides you on crisp autumn days when frost is on the fields and winter's drawing near, his head is within our hand in his old way. -Mary Carolyn Davies
Posted by Wendy at 7:48 PM | Comments (1)