Pulped

Whilst browsing the shelves at my local grocery store last night, I decide to make an orange juice purchase. Orange juice is not something I've consumed in quite some time, and I was excited about my decision to re-enter the OJ market.

As I approached the chilled juice area, a feeling of nausea swept over me as subterranean temperatures from the open air storage cooler mixed with my worst fear: making a personal choice in public.

I understand its orange juice people. I understand no one is judging me by which brand of OJ I select or even which carton size I decide to purchase. And I KNOW I'm not at Barnes & Noble or Best Buy where my choice could impress the 'not really hot but I'll flirt with her anyways cashier' enough that I'd leave my phone number instead of my John Hancock. BUT. I really HATE making decisions in front of people in public places.

So after a few quick glances each way down the aisle, I came to a halt. In a few moments the thirty-something blonde in those pink warm-up outfits and too much make-up would meander my way and realize I'd been trying to pick out an OJ for a suspiciously long period of time. THEN it would be over: I'd be found out. I needed to make my choice quick-like, and sneak the selected OJ carton into my hand held cart like I was stealing it.

Then it hit me.

There are 13 fucking styles of Tropicana Orange Juice and 14 fucking styles of Minute Maid Orange Juice:

Tropicana: Pure Premium Orange Juice: No Pulp, Some Pulp, Lots of Pulp, Calcium + Vitamin D, Lots of Pulp Calcium + Vitamin D, Specialty Orange Juice: Fiber, Low Acid, Healthy Heart, Healthy Kids, Antioxidant Advantage, Light 'n Healthy Orange Juice, Light 'n Healthy with Calcium, Light 'n Healthy with Calcium with Pulp, and Organic Orange Juice

Minute Maid: Country Style, Active, Multi-Vitamin, Heart Wise, Vitamins C&E plus Zinc, Home Squeezed Style, Home Squeezed Style + Calcium and Vitamin D, Kids+, Low Acid, Original, Original + Calcium, Pulp Free, Orange Passion, and Orange Tangerine.

Who decided this was necessary?

Pick an orange, juice it, and pour it into a glass. Done. Period. Don't add calcium or vitamin D. Fuck Fiber. If you can't handle the acid, then drink Tang. It's orange juice, you can't make it any healthier. Sorry Minute Maid, but I'm just not a Home Squeezed OJ kind of guy.

I'm done with you orange juice. You and the uber-competitive front you've established to hide your oligopolistic bastardization of what was once a simple and tasty juice.

Discourse's Deathbed

"If everybody thought before they spoke, the silence would be deafening."
-George Barzan

The American market of public ideas and discourse has been making me uncomfortable. I feel... agoraphobic. I don’t want to venture out and be accosted by O’Reilly or Maher. I don’t want to get caught in the Crossfire. I don’t want to feel that flush of Middle West embarrassment listening to a morning “shock jock” describe his bodily functions. And why, exactly, do we need “shock jocks?” How, in today’s world, are we shocked by anything?

I’m shocked by what we have become. By how we speak to one another. By how we treat “communication” and “dialogue” as afterthoughts – as traditions that are outdated and inadequate for this new, shiny age of "You"-ness. As a Puritan-founded country, there was sure to be some slippage. But if we look around, if we take a moment to listen to how we’re talking to each other, the slippage resembles more of a free-fall.

Don Imus’ firing was justified. Not because it was the politically correct thing to do, but because it was the responsible thing to do. I'm not one of those people who think that violence on TV and video games is coarsening our children and our society. It is our lack of setting limits, our failure to set an example, our failure to say "You know what, THAT is not okay" that is causing the coarseness.

What Imus said was wrong. It was offensive and hurtful on the basest of levels. The language itself was riddled with "code" -- the women were thugs, the women were rough, the women had tattoos, the women had "nappy" hair -- these codes were meant to subjugate, to put these women in their "place" because the speaker feared them, was intimidated by them and strove to make himself feel and look better, smarter, stronger. It was prejudice. And because Imus is who he is, he had a responsibility to avoid such prejudice, to shun it. He didn't. And for the first time in a long time, someone crossed a line and someone else said, "Enough. No more." In Les Moonves' email to his staff he included this paragraph:

"One thing is for certain: This is about a lot more than Imus. As has been widely pointed out, Imus has been visited by Presidents, Senators, important authors and journalists from across the political spectrum. He has flourished in a culture that permits a certain level of objectionable expression that hurts and demeans a wide range of people. In taking him off the air, I believe we take an important and necessary step not just in solving a unique problem, but in changing that culture, which extends far beyond the walls of our Company."

Consider the line "...he has flourished in a culture that permits a certain level of objectionable expression that hurts and demeans a wide range of people." We don't think of that often enough. We don't consider the "effects" of language. Because words matter. They have tremendous power and they hurt, they scar. I feel as though our words have been getting sharper, more biting. They have to. To keep our attention. To make a point. In this chaotic public market of speaking, speaking, always speaking, everyone is shouting and insulting and putting-down.

We have allowed this coarsening to ground down our discourse so our words are nothing more than metal on metal. There is no buffer, there is no cushion of understanding or empathy or open-mindedness. Our words come flying out with no consideration for each other or other points of view and they simply clang against one another in midair.

It's all you really hear anymore, this "clanging." You hear it on playgrounds, you hear it on the radio, you hear it on cable television shows. Don Imus was fired because his words struck a different chord, they clanged a little louder than all the rest -- and we sat up and took notice.

I'm glad someone heard it and said, "That's not okay." I'm glad someone enforced the limits. I don't know if it will reduce the coarsening or lessen the clanging, but I think it's a start. A reasonable, responsible start. And if we continue down this path, if we continue to enforce our limits maybe we can, as Moonves hopes, “change the culture.” I’m not optimistic, but I’ll hope for it. I’m tired of hiding from the clanging of the public market. I’m tired of covering my ears.

I’ll Father Your Children Right After I Deliver the Mail and Find Dry Land

Fucking Idiot Coworker (FIC): So [redacted] totally won the office pool on who the father of AN’s baby is.
M: There was an office pool?
FIC: Yeah. I knew she would win…she seriously does nothing all day. She probably did the fucking dna test herself.
M: […]
FIC: I knew you would be all disapproving.
M: I didn’t say anything.
FIC: I know what you’re thinking. Why is it any different than a basketball bracket? It’s totally deductive reasoning.
M: Who did you pick?
FIC: Kevin Costner.
M: […]
FIC: I stand by my choice.

Oh Really, Washington Post?