- Call them Less Than Satisfying Encounters With Humanity,
or LTSEWH, just to create a particularly stupid and unpronounceable acronym.
All names have been included whenever possible in order to ensure fullest
humiliation, though in some cases the more hapless have been spared out
of compassion, and the interests of sparing The Rip Post lawsuits.
-
- LTSEWH #1 - THE UNANSWERED QUESTION
-
- I went out for an evening walk with my first lieutenant,
Annie, and our neighbor, Syb. Both Annie and Syb are female, and I am
not. I understand Yoko Ono's ancient plea to "let your female side
out" and all that, but it doesn't work. Both of my sides are male,
though I admit that my testosterone isn't what it used to be. For instance,
I no longer bark and chase cars, and the palms of my hands have gone bald.
-
- What this has to do with the California Lottery, I will
now explain. Syb is one of those unflaggingly sunny people who believes
she might win the jackpot. She also believes that there are nice people
in L.A., but that's another matter.
-
- Bon apetit, I say, though I have never purchased a lottery
ticket. I don't enjoy the sight of people being tricked out of their
minimum wages by the state of California in a contest where the odds of
winning are not as good as fornication with Oprah.
-
- So I watched Syb lay out dozens of lottery tickets and
punch them into a tiny machine at a 7-Eleven.
-
- "Did you buy all those?" I asked.
-
- And here, dear readers, is where we near the point of
this little tale of gender difference. Syb's reply was, "Oh, these
are old ones."
-
- I stood there, wondering if "oh, these are old ones"
had somehow answered the question about whether she had purchased all
the tickets. And this is where the suspicion that this was not a simple
miscommunication, but rather, a phenomenon of female brain function, entered
the picture.
-
- I walked over to Annie and asked the same question.
-
- "Did Syb buy all those tickets?" I asked.
-
- And as sure as a colossal intergalactic cockroach crouches
on the dark side of the moon, waiting to devour the earth, this is what
Annie said:
-
- "Those are old ones."
-
- See what I mean about being male? Forget all the scientific
research and analysis that suggests or even illustrates how male and female
brains process information differently, this little anecdote is all you
will ever need.
-
- Somehow, both Annie and Syb felt that "those are
old ones" answered the question. Had they assumed that I thought
Syb had just purchased the tickets, despite the fact that I had walked
in with her? Did the fact that these were old tickets somehow convey in
female philosophy that they had been purchased?
-
- "That's exactly what Syb said!" I declared.
"Neither of you actually answered the question! You see? You are
both female!"
-
- I felt momentarily vindicated, then wondered why, and
wound up shaking my head. A distinctly male response.LTSEWH # 2: Testy
Results
-
- I phoned my doctor's office for test results. Or should
I say my doctors' office, as I had been examined and treated by both
of them on different occasions, depending on who was on hand.
- I spoke my name and announced that I was calling for
test results.
-
- "Who is your doctor?" said a woman on the phone,
with all the warmth and compassion of a directory assistance operator.
-
- I explained that, in fact, both doctors had treated me,
so I wasn't sure which one was my official doctor.
-
- "Which doctor do you want to speak to?"
-
- "Neither," I said. "I just want test results."
-
- "Which doctor do you want to speak to?"
-
- Umm. . .hadn't I heard this question already? I tabled
an urge to start singing, "My Friend, The Witch Doctor."
-
- "I don't want to speak to either of them, as I said.
But Dr. (Dingus) examined me this time, although Dr. (Doofus) is my usual
doctor."
-
- "Which doctor do you want to speak to?"
-
- Did the woman have obsessive-compulsive disorder? Was
she also washing her hands and turning in a circle three times? I decided
that no, she was just, well. . .don't you just love it when people are
cooperative, professional, understanding, inquiring, efficient? When they
take bold initiative to sort out complex problems? It just warms my heart,
and makes me feel positively zingy, zesty, zippy! Proud to be alive!
-
- "I told you, I don't want to speak to any doctor.
I'm just calling for test results. You usually give them over the phone.
As I said, I was examined by Dingus, but Doofus is my usual doctor here."
-
- "I'll have someone call you back," she said,
and hung up.
-
- Yessirree. It's only your um, oh. . .life. . .in question,
that's all. Only your health. Only a test that could reveal whether you
can continue waltzing about in carefree fashion, or if you need to start
estate planning. No need for courtesy here, let alone doing what's necessary
to get information to you.
-
- You're just the idiot on the phone who doesn't even
know who his doctor is.
-
-
- LTSEWH #2 - Testy Results
-
- I phoned my doctor's office for test results. Or should
I say my doctors' office, as I had been examined and treated by both
of them on different occasions, depending on who was on hand.
- I spoke my name and announced that I was calling for
test results.
-
- "Who is your doctor?" said a woman on the phone,
with all the warmth and compassion of a directory assistance operator.
-
- I explained that, in fact, both doctors had treated me,
so I wasn't sure which one was my official doctor.
-
- "Which doctor do you want to speak to?"
-
- "Neither," I said. "I just want test results."
-
- "Which doctor do you want to speak to?"
-
- Umm. . .hadn't I heard this question already? I tabled
an urge to start singing, "My Friend, The Witch Doctor."
-
- "I don't want to speak to either of them, as I said.
But Dr. (Dingus) examined me this time, although Dr. (Doofus) is my usual
doctor."
-
- "Which doctor do you want to speak to?"
-
- Did the woman have obsessive-compulsive disorder? Was
she also washing her hands and turning in a circle three times? I decided
that no, she was just, well. . .don't you just love it when people are
cooperative, professional, understanding, inquiring, efficient? When they
take bold initiative to sort out complex problems? It just warms my heart,
and makes me feel positively zingy, zesty, zippy! Proud to be alive!
-
- "I told you, I don't want to speak to any doctor.
I'm just calling for test results. You usually give them over the phone.
As I said, I was examined by Dingus, but Doofus is my usual doctor here."
-
- "I'll have someone call you back," she said,
and hung up.
-
- Yessirree. It's only your um, oh. . .life. . .in question,
that's all. Only your health. Only a test that could reveal whether you
can continue waltzing about in carefree fashion, or if you need to start
estate planning. No need for courtesy here, let alone doing what's necessary
to get information to you.
-
- You're just the idiot on the phone who doesn't even
know who his doctor is.
-
-
- LTSEWH #3 - Party Disfavor
-
- Now, this one happened a few years ago, but it popped
to mind recently and is too good, or bad, to leave in the LTSEWH vault.
-
- There I was. . .
-
- At a party---a very rare occurrence for me in recent
years, as I am enough of a party to myself as it is. But there I was,
with my faithful Indian companion, Annie, at the home of a former Herald-Examiner
colleague, a highly regarded critic and her brilliant psychiatrist husband.
-
- Improbable circumstance for the likes of a middle-aged
hack in a battered Grateful Dead cap, I know, but what the hell. I can
take a joke. Besides, the couple wised up and stopped inviting me to their
backyard wingdings shortly thereafter, without explanation.
-
- I wonder if it had to do with this:
-
- A gray-haired guy perhaps 60 or so turned around, and
found himself face-to-face with me and Annie. I began speaking to him,
picking up the thread of a conversation I'd heard him having about oh,
I don't remember, ants, movies, South Pacific Island diseases. . .I made
a friendly little quip, he responded, and I responded, and before we knew
it. . .fledgling conversation! This, I think---but don't hold me to it---is
what people do at parties. They have conversation.
-
- And then he said---or rather, spat:
-
- "I hate conversations like this. They're so superficial
and shallow and meaningless and stupid."
-
- Huh? Well, shut my mouth and slap me silly! Eh?
-
- "Uh...I agree," I smiled, "but oh, what
are you going to do?"
-
- I resumed trying to make polite chit-chat, out of sheer
reflex, but didn't get far. I was, truth be told, caught completely off-guard.
Had this guy really just insulted the nouns and verbs out of us? Why?
Why would a stranger do such a thing, and in such an innocuous setting?
-
- Next, this bearer of glad tidings cast a smartass sneer
at me and Annie, turned his back, and walked away, presumably to speak
to people who might provide him with the sort of elevated discourse he
deserved.
-
- Annie and I looked at each other, befuddled, with the
kind of feeling you get when splashed with mud by a passing truck. After
a moment, we opted to sort of smilingly stroll around to the side of
the house, as if we were having a perfectly splendid time---and then get
the hell out of there.
-
- I didn't realize it until later, but many, if not most,
of the invited guests were patients of the brilliant psychiatrist host.
It might have helped me to understand this. That I was attending a soiree
for quasi-cuckoos.
-
- Ah, no wonder I was invited.
-
- Still, I'd have liked to have picked that guy up by his
lapels and presented him with some more compelling chatter.
-
-
- LTSEWH #4 - Heavyweight Fun
-
- Some LTSEWH's require no social intercourse whatsoever.
Just being in the presence of certain persons is one hell of a LTSEWH.
I would imagine that, say, running into Dick Cheney in the market would
be the granddaddy of them all.
-
- There I was. . .
-
- At Disneyland.
-
- I know, I know, whaddya expect. I'm not going to get
into my trip there, except to say that the hideous and fiendish rape of
Uncle Walt's quaint and cornball fantasy park by demographers and greed-barons
far exceeded my expectations. And my expectations were horrific. A fine
line between heaven and hell, there is. . .
-
- I just want to cite one little scene of many that were
oh, let's say. . .disconcerting:
-
- Four women, each weighing between 300 and 500 pounds,
all using either walkers or electric carts to traverse the place, sitting
on benches in Frontierland, enjoying a little lunch.
- McDonald's burgers and fries.
-
- And you wonder why they call it The Happiest Place on
Earth.
-
-
- LTSEWH # 5 - Overbooked
-
- Call me sucker, chump, fool, dunderhead, simp, moron---it
doesn't matter. No amount of chastising will ever deter me from putting
myself in positions where people might easily take advantage of me. I
was trained well as a youth, you see (long story.) You can't unring a
bell.
-
- So when a Barnes and Noble "community representative"
suggested a small publisher who might want to pick up my novel, "The
Oaks," I followed up. You never know, I told myself. Maybe this time
there won't be a liar/pompous martinet/self-important crud on the other
end of the phone.
-
- I was right. The woman publisher was extraordinarily
pleasant, conversational, and most important, keenly interested in my
book. She kept me on the phone for about 45 minutes! I had the sense
that she was having trouble disguising her excitement over "The Oaks,"
which held a very strong local and nostalgic angle for her audience. We
had a wonderful talk. She asked for a copy.
-
- No, I did not get my hopes up. I did not stupidly assume
that this was practically a done deal. I merely thought that this prospect
held a small bit of possibility.
-
- Like I said. . .sucker, chump. . .
-
- Let me ask you something. If you ask for a manuscript,
are you not bound by professional standards, if not courtesy, to drop
a note in response, confirming receipt? Hi, got your manuscript, thank
you. Will review and get back to you. It could be a couple of months.
. .Yes, I think so, too. But then, this is the 21st century, the era of
"no response means 'no'," and e-mail with no punctuation, etc.
-
- I never heard a word, of course. No note, no carrier
pigeon, no owl from Hogwarts. Nada thing. Well, I thought, that's okay,
nobody's perfect, I'll wait. . .Two months later, I began leaving polite
phone messages---a total of three over three weeks.
-
- You guessed it: nada thing.
-
- Finally I simply wrote a letter asking for the book to
be returned, and enclosed a check to cover mail and envelope. I backed
it up with an e-mail---
- And got a response! Money talks!
-
- "Publisher" pleaded having been out of the
country--- for two weeks. Um, yeah, but what about the other six? Said
she had been on a motorcycle vacation (whoop-tee-doo), liked the book,
but "have not figured out how it can fit into what I am doing."
-
- (Huh? Hint: you publish books. Either you um, publish
it, or you don't.)
- Finally. . .
-
- "I am sorry that you lost faith."
-
- Lost faith. Har. Au contraire, Madame Publishaire, you
merely reinforced my faith---that agents and publishers have nothing
in their heads but live rats running round, tripping random synapses,
occasionally munching on them.
-
- The book was returned, thank you, along with my very
nice original letter. In the corner, Madame had scrawled a big letter
representing her first name, and scribbled these words:
- "SORRY IT DIDM'T (sic) WORK OUT"
-
- I'm not. It didm't seem like much of a publishing company,
anyhow.
-
-
- LTSEWH #6 - Executive Decision
-
- I don't know if you read about the editor at the Seattle
Times who chastened his newsroom staff for bursting into spontaneous
applause at the news that Karl "The Pig" Rove had left the White
House. Actually, it was just a few staffers who clapped (sad to say),
hardly the entire newsroom.
-
- Well, I have this crazy idea that newsrooms should be
rollicking, haywire, wild-and-wooly collisions of personality, talent,
stupidity, stained ties, and a little booze and smoke. And if the booze
and smoke are no longer tolerated, at least they should be places of chaos
and invention and irreverence and. . .freedom.
-
- Plus I subscribe to the old "comfort the afflicted,
afflict the comfortable" ethos for newspapers. But of course, that
would be "biased" and not "balanced" and all that
other illusory nonsense that has all but choked the life and joy out of
papers everywhere. So I felt I had to drop a note to the editor--- actually,
he's the "executive editor"---of the Seattle Times, who bears
the frighteningly corporate name of David Boardman. I mean, Woody Allen
would have named this guy. Here is my note:
-
- Dear Mr. Boardman,
-
- Your attempt to squelch free and spontaneous expression
in your newsroom is another example of the self-seriousness that has
infected newspapers and helped fuel their circulation decline. Your action
can only stifle the spirit of your newsroom, and generate disrespect and
disgust for you. The cheering for Rove's departure was "not appropriate
for a newsroom," you write. I hope you extend this policy to cheering
for world series winners, or displays of mourning in the event of the
death of a national figure. Best you should weed out all emotional displays
in your newsroom and have your staff sit at their desks with hands folded
like good little boys and girls. I've always wondered what "executive
editors" do, and now I know.
-
- Rip Rense
-
- Lest you think my last comment was gratuitously snide,
I've known a few "executive editors" at two newspapers, and
as near as I can tell, they never did anything but write memos for reporters
to laugh at.
-
- Anyhow, The Board Man. . .wrote back! That's correct!
The ego of these guys! Engaging in tit-for-tat with unknown people in
distant cities! It absolutely bears out my previous impression of "executive
editors." This one had nothing more important to do than write to
Rense! (That's pretty sad.) Here is his response:
-
- Our circulation is up, actually. . .Sent from my BlackBerry
Wireless Handheld.
-
- Yup, he took the time and trouble to respond from his
Blackberry, even.
-
- And if you think I responded, you probably did not vote
for George W. Bush.
-
- I wrote, simply:
-
- No reflection on you.
-
- Well, wouldn't you know it? There was all sorts of hubbub
and foofera on the web about Boardman the next day: at Editor and Publisher,
and Romanesko. Why? Because the executive editor had done exactly what
executive editors do best: he had written a long memo! The kind of big,
flatulent, puffy, sickeningly precious memo that only executive editors
can write. E&P and Romanesko reproduced it in full, so people like
me can have more fun in their day. Here is a sample:
-
- "A good newsroom is a sacred and magical place."
-
- If you think I took the opportunity to write another
note to The Board Man, then you probably have no trouble tying your shoes.
Here is my response:
-
- "A good newsroom is a sacred and magical place."
--David Boardman.
-
- Wow. Now what was I telling you about self-seriousness,
Dave? This quote makes one wonder: do you have animal sacrifices in your
newsroom these days? Baptisms? Do you perform the Mysterious Chinese Linking
Rings trick? Saw women in half?
-
- Rip Rense
-
- The Board Man did not write back. He had better things
to do, at last!
-
-
- LTSEWH #7 - Pedestrian Encounter
-
- I've reported this sort of circumstance before, but it's
so remarkable that I must do it again:
-
- Males walking toward each other on an L.A. sidewalk.
Male # 1: me. Males #2 and 3: younger fellows of foreign (possibly Middle
East) extraction, judging from appearance and accent. Sidewalk: wide.
Wide enough for males to pass one another without collision.
-
- Yet neither Males # 2 or 3 move aside to allow Male #
1 to pass. Seeing this, Male # 1 does not move aside, either, as he already
occupied only about two-thirds of the right side of the sidewalk. Male
# 2 plows directly into Male # 1's shoulder (or vice- versa, if you prefer),
and both spin sideways as a result. Male # 2 merely keeps on walking,
as if nothing unusual has happened.
-
- Territorial imperative lives! Uh! Uh! Hail the return
of Cro-Magnon man! He wins!
-
-
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