"Not Everything's Black or White, You Know"

Sometimes people say that to me. Often I consider these people to be stooopid. Because duh, of course not everything is black or white. Only a moron would classify everything as being black or white.

But many things are easy to categorize. Like people. People are easy to categorize. All you have to do is say "There are two kinds of people in this world..." and then complete the sentence with whatever you think is most descriptive. Lately, I've come up with a bunch. And I'm sure now that I'm thinking about it there'll be a lot more, so feel free to check back:

There are two kinds of people in this world-

• The kind who think audience participation is fun, and the kind who wish their chair wasn't bolted to the floor, so they could use it to bash in the heads of the people who like audience participation.
  
  
• The kind of people for whom the yellow light indicates to proceed with caution, and the kind of people who are already think of explanations in case they get pulled over for running what was really barely a red light anyway.
  
  
• The kind of people who stand back and wait for an elevator to empty before entering, and the kind of people who press their noses to the metal, just waiting for the car to arrive at their floor so they can launch themselves in as soon as it opens. Because, of course, there wouldn't be anyone else on it waiting to get off.
  
  
• The kind of people who like to try new foods, and the kind of people who dry-heave at the mere mention of things like curry, or sushi, or, and I can barely type this, tofu.

My four extremely loyal blog readers can feel free to share their own.

With This Ring...

Sophocles said "One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life; That word is love." But things have changed since Sophocles' time, and today sometimes the one word even more freeing than love is bail, as in "your bail has been posted."

Maybe you don't agree, but I suspect dentist David W. Wielechowski, 32, of Shaler, and his newly betrothed, Christa Vattimo, 25, might. On Saturday night, these two lovebirds were arrested at a Holiday Inn in Pittsburgh, after getting into a brawl in a seventh floor hallway and attacking two guests from another wedding party who tried to come to the bride's aid.

The entire story is pure poetry. I can only imagine how much fun it must have been to write. My favorite line: "Wielechowski left alone, sporting a swollen eye, tuxedo pants, a bloody T-shirt and one shoe."

Takeaway? There's no more auspicious place to begin a life together than the Holiday Inn in Pittsburgh, and nothing rounds out the wedding photo album like a thoughtfully composed mug shot.

Read the whole story here: http://www.cnn.com/2008/CRIME/04/29/newlywed.brawl.ap/index.html?iref=mpstoryview
I mean really, you should read it. If nothing else it will make you appreciate your spouse.

It's a Bird

Overheard today while I waited at the social security office in Fairfax:
"Starling is a bird. You live in Sterling. Not Starling. Starling is a bird."
The SSA employee was sharing her knowledge of ornithology with a slightly bemused Indian man, who clearly just wanted to take his paperwork and go.
For some reason, no one else in the waiting area found this as funny as I did. I guess humor really is subjective.

Big Pimpin' (Or "What I Did This Weekend")

I've often heard it said that there's no prettier a place than Virginia in the springtime. Everything's in bloom. There are amazing sights to see, made all the more beautiful by nature's glory. And this weekend I happened to capture one of those amazing sights:


Notice how the flowering tree and bright green grass dramatically set off this pimp's finery. Okay, I'm not sure he's really a pimp. And to be honest, he'd have been quite a site to behold, nature's glory or not.

Of course, all of this may lead you to wonder exactly how I spent my weekend. Alas, nothing quite so interesting as researching a documentary on the world's oldest profession. In fact, it was just another bike race. And not even any place interesting. The building in the upper lefthand corner of the photo is actually my office, around which the Tysons Corner Circuit Race travels. Big points for convenience--it was quite cold here yesterday, and a warm building with internet access and a coffeemaker is not a luxury one enjoys at every bike race. More generally, it's freezing cold or getting sunburned because I forgot sunblock, and seeing how long I can wait to pee, because at literally any bike race, I'd rather pee my pants than set foot in the portable toilet.

I happened to be sitting on the curb, waiting to snap the bikers coming around again, when I heard a strange clomping noise behind me. I looked up and spotted Huggy Bear. In the most heartwarming moment of the day, two small children rounded the corner a few minutes later with their dad, laid eyes on Huggy, and shouted "Santa!" The older one gave him a quick hug around the knees before they continued on up the street.

You see a lot of weird stuff at bike races, at least when you've been to as many as I have. But yesterday definitely made the top of the list. Apparently, though, the guy was just there to watch the race like everyone else.

P.S. Ruth, I mean it. I really do know my sight from my site. Geez. I'm so embarrassed. I may never blog again...

F%$#^*G Girl Scouts!

This is the last day of March, which is delightful news as far as I'm concerned. Why, you might ask? (You know you asked.) Because today is the day the f%$#^*g Girl Scouts will go back to their cheery, helpful holes, and stay there until next March. And they'll take with them the few boxes of overpriced, under-delicious Samoas, and Thin Mints, and Tagalongs that they didn't manage to pawn off on poor unsuspecting grocery store customers, office workers, and teachers the nation over.

Since my current co-workers don't have Girl Scouts of their own, I'm mercifully no longer cornered at my desk with the grease-stained, ink-splotched, barely decipherable order form, listing fellow employees who succumbed to the Cookie Mafia. ("Jesus Bob, four boxes of Samoas?") But just like the real mafia, they find you eventually. In my case, it's because they've staked out every godforsaken grocery store from here to D.C., and a person's got to pick up supplies sooner or later.

The first weekend when I rolled into Trader Joe's and saw the dejected moms standing guard at the cookie table, while a gaggle of nine-year-old girls turned cartwheels and jumped up and down and threw paper cups at each other, I thought about turning around and coming back once it was past their bedtimes. But since TJ's is a 20-minute drive, I steeled myself and stepped out, immediately assaulted by the shrill cries of "GET YOUR GIRL SCOUT COOKIES!!!" and "THIN MINTS, SAMOAS, DO-SI-DOS!" over and over like a broken record. I steeled myself to run the gauntlet, grabbed a cart, and hustled inside. Just like in prison, or if confronted by a vicious dog, the key is to avoid eye contact at all costs.

Of course, it doesn't matter how you did on the way in, how you managed to perfectly time your entrance while two scouts were helping "customers" and the third was busy with back handsprings. If you go in, you're going to have to come out. And even if you succumbed on entry, you're not assured future immunity. After all, how are they supposed to keep track of every moron who gives them $4?

Ironically, it's not even a good deal for the little satan spawn, who only receive 60 cents for every box of cookies they sell. And that rate is only for troops who rack up a certain number of sales. It's a racket, people. Which is all beside the point, because it doesn't really matter to me whether the Girl Scouts are savvy enough to identify a good business proposition. My only desire in this situation is to enter the grocery store in peace. To this end, I propose the Girl Scouts cease their lazy "bake sale" system and go back to the traditional pavement-pounding method of harassing people at their offices and homes. At least that way I can hit the deck when the doorbell rings and wait until they go away.

Until then, a whole blissful 10 Girl Scout-free months. See you next year, Green Demons!

People Who Definitely Totally Suck, Part I

A few days ago, I introduced a new feature here at Yankee Scum: People Who May Not Suck. Yesterday, a quick glance at the headlines indicated that a far more important feature might be: People Who Definitely Totally Suck.

Of course, given my outlook on humanity, one might think this feature could become somewhat overwhelming. You know, as in take over the whole blog and leave no time or space for my insightful commentary and pithy observations. But rest assured, dear reader, that my prudent approach to posting, née laziness, will rule the day. It's a foregone conclusion that posts here, including ones about people who suck, should stay pretty manageable.

But on with the show. How to pick a subject appropriate for the inaugural post about people who suck? The good news--it sort of picked itself. On CNN (sometimes I like my "news" in small, digestible bites--sue me) I read that Wal-Mart had successfully sued a severely brain damaged woman (and former employee) named Deborah Shanks, to recoup $470,000 in medical bills that the company paid after a debilitating car accident left Shanks brain damaged, disabled and penniless.

The problem, apparently, is that Shanks received a settlement from the trucking company at fault in the accident. The balance after legal fees, somewhere around $470,000, was placed into a trust to cover the astronomical costs of her future long-term health care. But according to the fine print of its medical plan, Wal-Mart (which netted $90 BILLION in sales in just the third quarter of 2007) doesn't have to pay health care costs for enrolled employees who've received a legal settlement. The policy apparently doesn't take into account how desparately that money might be needed, but what does Wal-Mart care? It also took them three years to realize that this woman was sitting back enjoying the spoils of Wal-Mart's hard work, but hey, justice doesn't punch a clock, right?

A week after the verdict, the woman's son was killed in Iraq. Her brain damage is so severe that despite being told about his fate, she regularly asks how he is doing. And did I mention that her husband had to divorce her so that she could qualify for Medicaid?

Who says corporate America isn't totally awesome? And congratulations to Wal-Mart CEO Lee Scott, who earns the honor of my first "People Who Definitely Totally Suck" post.

People Who May Not Totally Suck, Part I

Yeah, yeah, I haven't blogged for a while. What are you going to do about it?

And in that same spirit of kindness and generosity, we (that's the royal "we") introduce what could quite possibly become an irregular feature here at Yankee Scum: People Who May Not Totally Suck. Whilst I believe that most people suck practically beyond measure (and am generally proven right time and time again) every once in a while I come across someone I don't wish to run over with my car.

Tonight, while not paying attention to the Evening News with Brian Williams, I nonetheless heard a story about this year's Congressional Medal of Honor recipients. Among those honored was a man named Don Schoendorfer (this guy):


(yeah, I know, it's quite a moustache,) who founded an organization called Free Wheelchair Mission. According to the organization's website: "Twenty seven years ago, the sight of a crippled Moroccan woman crawling across a dirt road planted a seed that germinated in 1999 when Don Schoendorfer...invested his education and professional expertise as a PhD Mechanical Engineer to create a simple, rugged, and inexpensive wheelchair" like this one:


The website gets a little "God's Love"-y from there, but you get the idea. Based on Schoendorfer's pretty incredible concept, the organization has donated just under 300,000 wheelchairs to some of the world's poorest, most disadvantaged people, in 70 countries around the globe. That's just cool.

So, Don Schoendorfer, should I happen upon you crossing the street, trust that I will not swerve to hit you. To the rest of you, don't be so sure.

For more information about the organization, and how the wheelchairs are made and distributed, go to www.freewheelchairmission.org.