Miscellaneous

I think I’ve heard quite enough of the word extreme lately. We have extreme sports and extreme soda and extreme fashion, among other extremities. There’s even an extreme sex (trendily spelled “Xtreme”) web site devoted to “poz-hungry men into bareback sex”. The word extreme tops my list of the most annoying marketing terms of the late 90’s. I recently heard a radio ad for some snowboard-skate-bungee-bike demo which must have repeated the word about 20 times in 30 seconds. Enough already…

Coming in a close second is fierce, the marketing term of the hiphop/clubkid generation. Lord Martine, token fluffy gayboy columnist for the SF Examiner, manages to use the word at least twice in every column, it seems. Is it just me, or does fierce already sound about as hackneyed and cliched as groovy did in the Brady Bunch years? On the edge and its cousin edgy have held up a little better, but not much…

Cliches from the corporate world are always an easy target too. One more growing our business or empowering our co-workers might push me over the brink of nausea. Growing a business makes me wonder just which potting soil or mulch I should be using. Empowerment in the 90’s usually involving making workers responsible for implementing and defending policies they had no say in creating, which more or less equals getting yelled at so that upper management doesn’t have to.

Of course, upper management is usually too busy officing, networking, downsizing, ramping up, profit-taking, strategizing, and working on goal-achievement models and paradigms. Or (no doubt) selecting the proper fertilizer with which to grow the business.

These same executives can often be found working the web or cruising the Information Superhighway. The Internet has generated a whole new set of annoying and cliched terms which make me nuts. Of course, there’s obvious annoyance factor of cute misspellings like kewl (which should have been banned by AOL about 1995) and shorthand like BTW, FWIW, OTOH, and IMHO (which I admit to using myself on occasion).

My real favorite is, of course, send me an email. I’ve already babbled about this one. I will send you email. I will send you some email. I will email you. But I will not send you an email. Email is a collective plural (just like “mail” and “food”), so I will also not go to the post office and send you a mail or go to the grocery store and buy you a food.

A close second is our Internet address: Would that be your web URL, your email address, your FTP site, the message ID for your insipid Usenet spam, or what?

Then there are your obvious oxymorons like Microsoft Works and America Online (and maybe high-speed modem connection?)…

Redundancy is a big pet peeve too. My favorite right now is sex pervert. Isn’t the sex part somewhat implied? Do sex perverts eat at “food restaurants” and lurk in “book libraries”?

Other terms no one’s allowed to use in my presence this week:

• Celebrating our sexuality: What, with cake? or a covered dish supper maybe?
• The Year 2000: Why not “the year 1998” or “the day Thursday”?
• I could care less: Well…so could I. What I think you mean is “I couldn’t care less”
• Irregardless: Check your dictionary…it’s not a word!!!
• The Gay Community: Just what do I have in common with the yuppie robots and tourists on Castro Street other than a shared passion for sucking dick?

Hmmm…this was fun. Anybody care to add a few?

Anyone read much about Proposition 6, one of the strangest and flat-out silliest ballot initiatives in California in years? This one makes me wonder (again) about the purely Californian notion that any crackpot scheme can be put to statewide vote with a few signatures on a petition. Proposition 6 makes it a felony to sell horsemeat for human consumption.

What the fuck?

Mind you it’s still legal to butcher Mister Ed for dog food or whatever other purpose, so any “animal rights” arguments are completely moot. Dogs, apparently are smart enough to decide what they want to eat. Humans aren’t.

The whole issue would be too fucking silly to merit comment if we weren’t spending tax money to place it on the ballot. To hell with the myriad social and economic problems facing California! Let’s save the poor little horseys from those three or four Californians who want to eat them.

So I’ve posted the first couple of pages of journals from Road Trip 98, including the SF to Cheyenne and Cheyenne to Indianapolis pages, along with the trip “stats”. It is most flattering that so many people are interested in seeing my dusty old vacation slides…

I’ve been back in the rut known as San Francisco for two days now and I’m not enjoying it. I miss places with heat that works. I miss my friends from the road. I miss White Castle, dammit.

Still catching up on the email. Still catching up on the business. Still feeling like absolute shit, but loving the Count Chocula I smuggled in from Minnesota.

And, alas, still just as disillusioned with San Francisco…

Supreme Idiots:

In 1986, the US Supreme Court ruled that Americans have no right to privacy in their bedrooms in a case involving two consenting male adults in Georgia. This week, however, the Georgia Supreme Court ruled that Georgians do indeed have this right to privacy as they overturned the state’s sodomy laws.

Here’s the catch: this time around, the case involved an adult male who was fucking his 17-year-old niece. What this all means is that fags aren’t really worthy of privacy, but when the law won’t let Bubba pork his brother’s daughter, it’s time for some serious action!

Of course, the new ruling also makes us sodomites “legal” too, so it’s a good thing. I guess the “designated idiots” here are mainly the ’86 Supreme Court. But somehow, my impression of the state of Georgia isn’t enhanced all that much either…

Stripping Idiots:

OK…imagine you’re a Bay Area mother in with a 15-year-old daughter. Your precious progeny wants a particularly lewd male stripper at her birthday party. Even though he’s fondling the girls’ breasts and going in their pants, you allow it to continue. You don’t want to “embarrass” her in front of her friends, after all. At the end of the show, the stripper bares his willy, prompted by a big tip.

Now imagine you’re a judge who has to decide who’s the bigger idiot. Is it the mom for letting it happen? Or is it the stripper for thinking no one would get pissed that he was feeling up 15-year-old girls? Hard choice, huh?

Link du jour: Infiltration, “the zine about going places you’re not supposed to go”. Great stuff. Great pictures. Great links. Truly a site after my own heart.

While I’m at it (and avoiding coming up with anything new of my own), check it this well-worded article on why Californians pretty much have no right ever to use the term “storm”. I think I said some of the same things last winter. I haven’t seen anything resembling a storm (or even a good rain) in six years here. It’s a little creepy.

Lastly, was Sunday night’s “Simpsons” (the hippie episode) thoroughly lame and a complete waste of George Carlin’s voice? Or was it just me?

So I should’ve just stayed in bed.

I woke up about 8:45 and noticed the power was out. Dutifully, I got up, took a shower, dressed, and trudged off toward my part-time job, thinking this was just another neighborhood outage. Figuring that grabbing a bus on Folsom would really suck since all the traffic signals were out, I walked upto Mission. I was a little freaked out to notice the lights were still out and that none of the electric buses were running. I kept walking. I was starting to guess this might be a little more than a local occurence. Little did I know that power was out all over the city.

Jeez…what a mess. A million people without power. Minimal transit, no stoplights, nothing. By Fourth and Market, I decided to go back home and just read my book. And I never got my Sausage McMuffin. At least, though, the blackout gave me time to finish the Road Trip 98 saga (once the lights came back on).