Friday, December 23, 2011

Sidewalk Etiquette

A dreary day here in the Bluegrass got me to thinking about a subject that is often not discussed, but most certainly should be: sidewalk etiquette.

There are many types of etiquette (bathroom etiquette [click here to watch a lovely and informative piece on the subject], dining etiquette, golf etiquette, etc). In general, various types of etiquette are based on intersubjectively understood norms (i.e. you do NOT talk to to the guy at the urinal next to you). Granted these norms are occasionally broken, but these exceptions do not disprove the efficacy of the rule.

Sidewalk etiquette, however, is different. Any of you who have to trudge across a college campus know that at least a vast majority of college-aged kids are totally, completely, and utterly incapable of understanding the very basic rules of walking on a sidewalk. I find this to be an epidemic of such magnitude that it made my last sentence contain several redundant adverbs. Emphasis. It's all about the emphasis.

But what good does it do if I merely complain about my sidewalk miseries? None good, is the correct answer. So I'm going to lay out a few simple rules and maybe you can share them with others who are pedestrianly handicapped.

Rule 1: Walk on the Sidewalk Like You Drive Car
Should be pretty self-evident. We are not in Great Britain. Pretty sure our Founding Fathers spilled their blood so that our coins would be reversed on the opposite side, our teeth could be straight, our version of The Office better than the original British version, and so that we could drive on the right-hand side of the road. It is your patriotic duty to uphold this legacy.

Rule 2: Don't Wobble
Somewhat connected to the idea of walking like you drive. This should be simple: stay in your imaginary sidewalk lane. Otherwise, those of us with places to go cannot know the proper way to pass you. I swear to God it's like some people have rear-facing Mexican Fruit Bat sonar. Without looking they can instinctively sense which way I'm trying to go around them and they start to weave that way. 

Rule 3: If Walking in Two's or Three's, Narrow it Down for Others
It seems that many people like to pretend they are in the Hell's Angels and walk together in groups analogous to the way bikers roll down the streets of dusty towns in the movies. It is really cool that you and your posse can take up the whole sidewalk while you talk about UFC or how drunk you got last night, but seriously move over before I spill your Monster Energy drink all over that kick-ass Affliction t-shirt. Thanks guys.

Rule 4: This Ain't the PGA, Get a Smaller Umbrella

I use a tiny umbrella. It's a Totes and it fits in my backpack's water bottle holder. It is really more to show everyone that I'm not an idiot and that I do indeed have an umbrella. Its use is an exercise in futility. That being said, I have no problem with people having bigger umbrellas, but there comes a point when the unnecessary size of some umbrellas creates a hazard for others. Also, I do not know who thought it was a great idea to put sharp, metal points around the perimeter of umbrellas at eye level, but I would like to meet such a sadistic individual. Huge umbrellas that double as vision-ending weapons should not have to be part of one's daily pedestrian commute to class or work. But alas, they are. My suggestion to those who use massive golf umbrellas that clear a sidewalk like the riot police? Get a smaller umbrella and save the rest of us. 

If everyone will follow these four simple rules, all of us can enjoy a happy, safe, and efficient sidewalk experience.

Friday, November 25, 2011

We're Not So different, You and I; or Keep Your Ticks and Your Badonkadonk, I've got a Neon Moon

Those who know me know I love country music. Maybe I love it to a fault; nothing kills a party like some sad song from Gary Allan or Merle Haggard. Country music has not always been something I was crazy about, however.

Growing up in Wayne County I heard my share of country, but usually not by my own choice. Whenever my dad would work on the farm he would leave the windows rolled down on his truck and let Z93 play while he piled brush or some other farm related activity (I was probably supposed to be helping, but was entirely consumed by breaking sticks on trees or throwing rocks in cow piles. You know, important stuff like that). I would, of course, hear songs on the radio. At this point in life, I still hadn't developed any sort of preference in music so I didn't mind it. Only when I was older, in those glorious teenage years, did I start to develop a distaste for the genre. If I heard country on, I would change the station and usually make some sort of unnecessary remark about how it was depressing, sad, or something equally inarticulate. In retrospect, most of my disdain for country was based on image. I did not want to be 'country' in any way. I was fighting back against where I was from without actually trying to understand it. I just knew that I was not going to be some backwards, redneck, cousin-loving hillbilly. In order to prevent that from happening I had to strip country from my musical diet. One twangy chorus or a little too much fiddle and I'd be getting hot and bothered at the family reunion and putting gun racks in my Mazda.

Then I went to college. My accent was there then and it's here now. Thus, as soon as I spoke everyone thought I was the hillbilly I had tried so hard not to become. After moving to Lexington, I quickly realized that I was far more country than I had ever thought. I will always love Monticello, but having the opportunity to move away was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. It took leaving for me to realize that Wayne County was home and always will be, no matter where I may end up someday. But only when I could contrast myself and my upbringing with that of others did I begin to understand who I was.  That is why I plan to go to law school out of state. New experiences allow us to put the old ones in perspective. [Insert forest and trees cliché here].

What does this Hallmark movie, coming-of-age crap have to do with country music? Everything, of course. As I would drive home I found myself more and more often switching over to the country stations. Slowly but surely, I became a fan.

But my love of country comes with many caveats. I do not like much new country music. Much of what comes out now falls into one of three undesirable camps:

1.) Country that sounds like a boy band or pop music in general (only with creepy middle-aged dudes that look like accountants with highlights. Looking at you, Rascal Flatts).

2.) Country music that brags about being a "redneck." (Looking at you, Gretchen Wilson). Country music has always sang about rural people and the working class, but it spoke to hard work, dignity, family, and love. It did not seek to fulfill and perpetuate stereotypes, created in large part by urbanites and the media, that portray rural people as backwards and without tact or class. By tapping into these fictitious images, this type of country music is doing little to show the true character of the people it purportedly represents.

3.) Overly sexualized country. I am not saying country hasn't always had sexual themes (to quote the great Jimmy Cooper "Conway Twitty makes me feel like I need a shower"), but Twitty wasn't singing about a Honky Tonk Badonkadonk either; he was more poetic about it. Maybe what Twitty sang was the Honky Tonk Badonkadonk of his time or maybe I'm just an old, curmudgeonly man before my time (that is most likely).

As an example of country's decline I offer you two songs from the same group, Brooks and Dunn.


 


There is a drastic, terrible shift that happened somewhere in between. Kind of like what happened between Home Alone 2 and 3. Only that involved a changing of lead actors. And in my case the band members stayed the same. So it's a terrible analogy. But you get the picture: something bad happened. Like when Britney Spears shaved her head. Yes. Just like that.

Country music isn't for everyone. But before some of you dismiss it as obnoxious, depressing, or the like I would keep this in mind: what I consider to be real country music is cathartic. Music is a way to express or release emotion. Some can create it. Others, like myself, can only listen. Whether you're belting out Taking Back Sunday on your way to class or singing some REO Speedwagon on the way home from work (or in my case crooning along to Neon Moon) you're using music as an outlet to express something maybe you couldn't otherwise. Even if the lyrics are not your own, they mean something to you. You take those words and assign them a meaning greater than whatever their standard definition may be. The song becomes yours. They may be a person or an event from your past or that new guy or girl that you just met today. And that is the beauty of art in all of its various forms. Yes it can be pleasing aesthetically, but what really makes it wonderful is the way it allows for expression by creator and patron alike. That's what makes it truly beautiful.

To me, that is the difference between 'good' and 'bad' country music. If you see a girl at the market and the first thing you want to do is check her for ticks I would suggest a different girl and probably a new grocery (looking at you Brad Paisley. What the hell happened to Whiskey Lullaby? Another terrible shift. I digress).

The good stuff is about something. It moves beyond the material and the superficial to tap into something just a tad deeper.

Whatever your musical persuasion, I hope it can do the same for you.

Monday, November 21, 2011

I Don't Want a Large Farva

It has become very common to hear people discuss the ever-growing size of the American diet (and waistline). One often hears of the obscene size of American portions when compared to those in Europe (or Lord help if we start talking about people who are suffering from hunger in Africa and elsewhere around the globe). Tonight my roommate and I went to the grocery store and then stopped by everyone's favorite burrito joint, Qdoba. Not getting into a discussion about the ginormous size of their offerings (which I can ashamedly say I finished and it was delicious), there is still room to talk about a new offer they have going. This deal allows you to purchase a cup (made from 50% recycled material!) and reuse it on each subsequent visit. Sounds like a win-win, right? Consumer saves money, business saves money, and you save the whales and the trees of our dearest planet Earth. That would be the case if the only size of cup they offered wasn't large enough to pull things into its orbit:

Yes, that is a normal size tape dispenser. I can't even lift it with one hand.

I love the idea of the reusable cup for all of the aforementioned reasons. But it sort of defeats the purpose when the cup they offer is nearly the size of a swimming pool. Seriously, I could put at least three goldfish in that thing and give them a super neat ceramic castle to play hide-and-go-freaking-seek in. I would have been just as content with a normal 16oz cup. Tickled pink. Happy as a lark. I have little doubt that in order to market this idea, however, Qdoba felt like they had to offer us Americans a "deal." And so we get this 44oz, diabetes-inducing, cavity-forming, make-you-jitterier-than-a-junkie, kidney-blasting, and bladder-rupturing monstrosity. 

Sad thing is, I'll end up drinking the whole damn thing.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Tall Tales

A few notes:

-I don't know how to change the time on here. That first post was not made at 7:30am, you can rest assured of that.

-Previously I mentioned that I did not know why I started this thing up, but I think it has two root causes:

1.) My course load next semester is stupid. I would like to think that I have worked very hard during my undergraduate career to this point: I'm going to graduate in four years with a double major. I'm trying to rationalize that I've earned the right to take 4 pass/fail electives (3 of them online). I'm not sure that is justifiable, and I am likely doing a serious disservice to myself and society at large. I'm going to have an obscene amount of free time, and I need to do something productive to keep myself occupied. Blogging will be one of many distractions (plan on sewing myself a pair of moccasins as well). Also, I'm taking a course on emergency first aid which segues nicely to point numero deux:

2.) Five friends and I are going out West this summer (which seems very far away when it's 22 degrees outside). We're going to spend six weeks together, driving for six weeks and 9,000 miles in a circuit that covers every state in the continental US (sans North Dakota). It should be an amazing trip. My dad went to Europe when he was roughly my age, and he absolutely loved his trip and has told me about it roughly 632 times over the course of the last 22 years. And I have listened eagerly each and every time. Well maybe not every time but most. I find that, when I'm sitting around chatting with my friends, oftentimes the topic turns to a trip we have taken together. Whether it's a short trip to Louisville to grab a bite to eat, or a hot-mess-of-fun trip to New Orleans for New Year's Eve, traveling creates memories that seem to hang on longer and stronger than others. With that in mind, I think a blog will be an excellent way to share parts of our trip, and will also serve as a way to encapsulate some of the sights, sounds, and memories of a trip that is sure to create more than a few tales for my kids someday. 

Fickle

I never thought that I would have any desire whatsoever to have a blog. I don't really like the idea of keeping a journal that only I can see. I usually prefer the idea of doing things, moving on, and not having to go back and reexamine what I've done. But if there is one characteristic that I definitely possess it is most certainly a healthy (or unhealthy, depending on your perspective) amount of fickleness. So I have decided that I want to try out this blogging business. I don't promise it will be funny, insightful, or helpful, and it may very well end up being pretentious, obnoxious, and pointless. I don't really know what my motivation for starting this blog is, but maybe I'll figure that out later. I'm not sure it really matters.

Now that I have all of that nervous pessimism out of my system, I think I'm ready to begin.