What Gives You The Right?

I've commented before in this blog about what I perceive as the ongoing and relentless deterioration of civility and common decency in our society. I've used terms like narcissism and self-entitlement in reference to the behavior I witness - on what seems like a daily basis - among my fellow citizens who seem to think everything and everybody was put on this earth for the express purpose of satisfying and serving them. It happened again this week.

My daughter, God love her, worked hard to graduate in less than four years from college, and accomplished that in December of last year, earning a bachelor of science degree in the field of hospitality management. Like many of her peers and friends, she could have stuffed a backpack and headed for Europe, Eurail pass in hand, and bummed around for a year. Instead, she prepared to start her first post-graduate job, just six weeks after finishing classes, and in the midst of the worst job market since the 1930s. If you sense just a teensy weensy bit of pride in my tone, bank it. I couldn't be more proud.

She accepted an hourly position with a highly-regarded, upscale, international lodging company in the hope of eventually earning a promotion into management. In her front-line customer relations capacity, she deals with guests all day, every day, and it is in this capacity that she has borne witness to, and been the target of, some of the most aberrant and disrespectful behavior one could possibly imagine. And from whom? The top one tenth of one percent of all income earners. The haves. Yes, the very people one would think would, a) know better, and b) have been taught better, and c) had been raised better.

Thankfully, my daughter can handle herself, but even she has been amazed and discouraged by the borderline abusive manner in which these over-indulged, over-pampered "guests" treat the employees at this luxury resort. It is not uncommon for guests to literally scream at her because their room wasn't ready, even though they arrived hours before standard check-in time, or because the valet didn't bring their car around quickly enough. Screaming, in broad daylight, in front of God and everybody. To them, I say, what gives you the right?

Is it because you make more money than 99.9% of the rest of us? Because you're paying a premium price for premium accommodations and you think you deserve even better? Or is it the chip on your shoulders you carry around like a badge of courage because you've come to the realization that all the money you worked so hard for - or inherited - hasn't made you any happier, any less stressed, any more appealing or any more enlightened. But hey, who cares, you've got a black AmEx card! You expect a room upgrade because the bellman didn't open the door fast enough when you arrived or because the hand towels weren't folded perfectly in the shape of a sea shell or because a cloud blocked the sun for 2.7 minutes today while you lounged by the pool. You want your bill adjusted because the complimentary bottled water in your complimentary stocked refrigerator wasn't quite cold enough, nor was it Evian. Give me a break!

There is a bevy of adjectives in the English language used to describe such people. Snooty, uppity, boorish, self-important - the list goes on and on. There's also a fair number of adjectives to describe us poor bastards who have to put up with all those self-important, snooty, uppity boors, but the ones that I believe fit my daughter and me best are beleaguered and beseiged. I love these two words not only because they are so expressive and I'm a writer, but because essentially they are dead-on. They mean having a lot of problems or criticism to deal with. Like most average Americans these days, we have enough problems. We don't need overbearing, overindulged Dolce & Gabbana-draped whiners making matters worse.

I raised my children to live by the Golden Rule, and while we may not live up to that standard 100% of the time, we endeavor every day to come as close as possible. It totally astounds me then, that people who seemingly have everything going for them in terms of what our society deems successful, would treat others with complete and utter disregard for all that the Golden Rule represents. How did they get to be so nasty? More importantly, how did they get to be so successful? It's just more evidence that you can be the biggest a-hole on the planet and do one thing well, and the world will beat a path to your door. Me, I'm still going to live by the Golden Rule, and if it doesn't bring me riches, so be it. I'll shuffle off this mortal coil satisfied that I, at least, did right by my fellow man.

As for all you self-entitled, snooty boors out there, take it down a notch or three and eat a couple pieces of humble pie. If you don't, you might end up with a double room upgrade, but it won't get you any closer to the gates of heaven. Karma has a way of working things out.

. . . Wishin' I Was Fishin

Happy 234th, USA! Now Pass the Potato Salad!

Happy 234th Birthday, America! Ever wonder what we'd be cooking if this holiday fell in, say, October? I mean, the 4th of July conjures up images of Weber grills, red-and-white plaid tablecloths, watermelon, potato salad, burgers, brats and my favorite - ice cold beer. But what if Independence Day was on, say, October 13th? (Imagine, celebrating a holiday every few years on Friday the 13th! Picture Jason with a chainsaw in one hand, a sparkler in the other and his hockey mask painted red, white and blue!)

I know, that's sick. But hey, cut me some slack. When it's been pouring rain in what's known as the Sunshine State for the past 3 1/2 days and one finds oneself stuck in the house - again - on what should be a day of picnics, parades and cookouts, one's mind has a tendency to wander (and wonder) a bit!

Seriously, for those of you who, like me, associate food with every joyous occasion, from graduations to weddings, holidays to birthdays, anniversaries to sporting events - and generally most Sundays through Saturdays - what we eat on these special days is an important part of our culture (not to mention our waistlines!). In your mind's eye, picture that third Thursday in November. That's right, turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, etc., etc. December 25th? Ham for some, lamb or a standing rib roast for others, roast beast if you're from Whoville.

New Year's brings us pork and cabbage washed down with Moet. March 17th - although not a legal holiday - finds us filling our plates with corned beef and (once again) cabbage, and slurping copious amounts of green beer (or Guiness for you purists). In our house, Easter marks the return of ham and lamb, and come the fourth Monday in May, we're firing up the grill for - you guessed it - more burgers and brats. After all, Memorial Day heralds the start of summer, and what's summer without charcoal and lighter fluid? Besides, we need practice for that cookout-occasion-of-all-cookout-occasioins, the 4th of July, a mere five weeks in the offing. By Labor Day (the third in the triumverate of cookout holidays), we should be well-practiced and ready, by God, for a throw down with Bobby Flay!

So, on this the second official cookout holiday of the summer, rain or no rain, I'd like to take a moment to pay homage to the fine tradition of chowing down on holidays. Whether you choose traditional fare or opt for more exotic, ethnic, or religiously-relevent palate pleasers on your holidays, I wish you all good eatin'! Now pass the potato salad and say a prayer for our Gulf Coast brethren in Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi and Florida's Panhandle who don't have much to celebrate today. May your BP checks have lots of zeros preceding the decimal point!

. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'

Palin Doing Her Best Dan Quayle Imitation

They say imitation is the highest form of flattery, so I'm guessing Dan Quayle is feeling pretty good about himself these days. Come on now, tell me you didn't notice Sarah Palin does a damn good Dan Quayle. There are inescapable similarities, you know, so it only makes sense. Danny boy always positioned himself as a conservative Republican. Check. When Bush The Elder tapped the obscure senator from Indiana as his running mate in '89, the average voter had never heard of him. Ditto Sarah. Dan became Vice President. Sarah got close. Dan was famous for gaffes and sometimes buffoonish behavior. Need I say more?

There was Sarah, speaking to a crowd at a university fundraiser in California recently, and adroitly tapping her obviously-cavernous knowledge of an icon of Republicanism, Ronald Reagan. After all, what better place to invoke the name of The 'Ol Gipper than before a receptive group of Golden Staters? "This is Reagan country," Sarah practically shouted, "and perhaps it was destiny that the man who went to California's Eureka College would become so woven within and interlinked to the Golden State." Huh? It's bad enough she used the phrase "woven within and interlinked." (Maybe she thought she was addressing a knitting convention?) Apparently she gets her information from bad Wikipedia entries, because those who know even a modicum of modern history know that The Great Communicator was born and raised in Illinois; graduated from Eureka College in Eureka, Illinois; then started out as a radio sports announcer down the road in Davenport, Iowa. Any of those places conjure up images of wine country and Rodeo Drive? Apparently the four colleges Sarah attended purchased their history and geography textbooks from the same guys who make Chinese drywall!

So, there she was, in all her glory, poised to wow her audience on the grounds of that hallowed institution of higher learnin', Cal State University - Stanislaus, cleverly working Reagan into her remarks, completely oblivious to the fact that she really knew diddly about our 40th president. I bet if you asked her who John Hinckley, Jr. is, she'd say, "Isn't he the dude who shot John Lennon?"

You know, I used to think (or is it fear?) that there's a legitimate chance enough ignorant Americans are out there to actually get Sarah Palin the Republican nomination for President in 2012. Now, I pray that there are, because one of two things will happen: the electorate will get exactly what it deserves, giving Letterman, Leno, Kimmel, Fallon, Ferguson, et. al., enough material to last a decade, or, Palin the Pretender will once and for all be shown the door, and she'll retreat back to the igloo from whence she came, never to be heard from again. ("Not on my watch!" exclaims Rupert Murdoch.)

Until then, we'll just have to settle in for a steady diet of Quayle-esque quips and quotes from the Queen of the Northern Lights, always reaffirming that now-ubiquitous observation, "only in America," (or Italy). Sarah, darlin', you go, girl!

. . . Wishin' I Was Fishin'