Progressive Manners
While scanning the New York Times, Ben Sixsmith notes the odd parental priorities of author and journalist Jancee Dunn:
The article in question, titled My Marriage Has A Third Wheel: Our Child – and which helpfully includes a photo of the couple’s apparently problematic nine-year-old – can be found here. In it, we learn that the author “would never have dreamed of sharing anything remotely personal with my parents,” but “wanted a different kind of relationship with our daughter.” And hence happily directing a media spotlight onto said youngster while waiting for applause.
Jancee Dunn is the author of How Not To Hate Your Husband After Kids, her account of an attempt to “salvage” a “faltering marriage.”
And yes, the family does live in Brooklyn. And no, they don’t share a surname. And yes, the adults have availed themselves of professional counselling services.
Also, open thread.
Why anyone in the UK, with all the fine beers to be had, would drink Budweiser (not to be confused with the Czech Budweiser Budvar) remains a mystery . . .
Apparently there’s a market for sake that’s really badly made, made really badly, something of the sort.
I’m not a fan of dodgeball, for the reasons mentioned, that the bigger kids use the game to pick on the weaker kids…
On the contrary, it is a great equalizer because the weaker and/or smaller can gang up on the bigger, it teaches small (number, not size) unit tactics. If the Poindexters can’t figure that out, they deserve what they get, Darwinism, and so on.
Meanwhile, Chipotle plans on gouging its customers because of the Mexican tariffs, even though outside of the highly unnecessary avocados which no normal person puts in a burrito there is not a damn thing they make that can’t be made with American ingredients. It is rumored the E. coli will still be free.
Personally, with all the millennials andother riff raff wringing their hands over fargin’ avocados, I am going big into US avocado futures.
*(In original draft)
Dodgeball?? I thought it was banned outright sometime in the 20th century.
You mean to tell me it’s still played in some public school phys ed class… Will wonders never cease?
That’s a good point that I overlooked, Farnsworth. Thanks!
David, another hump fat for Farnsworth, please. On his tab. 😉😈
Heh…
https://www.myrecipes.com/extracrispy/adventures-in-cooking-with-camel-hump-fat
On the contrary, it is a great equalizer because the weaker and/or smaller can gang up on the bigger, it teaches small (number, not size) unit tactics.
This is a pernicious myth that generations of ABC afterschool specials and books aimed at nerdy kids have been promulgating: that if you just gang up on the bully, you can defeat him and he’ll stop. It doesn’t happen because bullies pick on kids that the rest of the group have already ostracized for whatever reason. They go after easy prey.
Clearly the only way to settle this is with a Muldoon/Ream dodgeball grudge match. Clear the floor!
The bikers want to know if they can play…
Wouldn’t it have been fun to watch Errol Flynn and Basil Rathbone have a dodgeball grudge match?
This is a pernicious myth that generations of ABC afterschool specials and books aimed at nerdy kids have been promulgating:…
Except that I predate by more than a few years ABC after school specials and books aimed at nerdy kids and was one (being a new boy and hence an outsider and target) of the organizers of the indoor PE period dodgeball resistance.
The Pawn Sacrifice was:
a) Grab as many of the grapefruit sized balls as possible before the two or three assholes who infected the other team got them thus leaving them with the regulation sized ones which were easier to dodge and/or didn’t hurt.
b) Pick a volunteer to be bait (we had no shortage of bait volunteers because being hit early meant you were out of the game and could cool your heels the rest of the period), while the assholes were concentrating on creaming him, everyone on our side of truth, justice, and the American way, previously dispersed with the rest of the team, converged and nailed them with the little balls that stung like hell.
The Gandhi Variation was to rush the line (we tried walking but that involved having the ex-Navy CPO PE teacher in our faces and pushups) making no move to throw a ball and get picked off in the first wave so we could screw off the rest of the period.
In the first case, the assholes, being easy to taunt, fell for it every time till they got eventually tired of it, in the second, the assholes, and everyone else on the other side eventually stopped picking us off first and it devolved into an ordinary game.
There were other ploys, regardless, it is actually a good indoor PE activity as it involves running, throwing, jumping, and all the dodging (when we weren’t screwing off) good for agility.
in a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.
dodgeball is not only problematic, in the modern sense of displaying hierarchies of privilege based on athletic skill,
Um, I thought that was the point of sports?
Last I looked, the Olympics isn’t giving all participants a trophy just for showing up and waving to the crowd at the opening ceremonies.
The Triathlon Wave will be introduced next year.
was one (being a new boy and hence an outsider and target)
“Being the new kid” and “being the gamma” aren’t synonymous.
Wouldn’t it have been fun to watch Errol Flynn and Basil Rathbone have a dodgeball grudge match?
Flynn was a terrible – by which I mean dangerous – stage fencer. He was sufficiently wild that they paired him with Rathbone repeatedly because Rathbone, being an excellent fencer, was one of the only actors who could fence with Flynn and not get hurt.
I was small for my age, and not well coordinated. I got pummeled in dodgeball games. I remember once looking at the red spot on my chest after a game and realizing that the ball must have flattened like a pancake when it hit me.
Did I mention that it was the highlight of my day every day that we played it?
Sometimes we didn’t have a ball to play dodgeball outside of school… so Red Rover was the game (which I’m sure would put some of these researchers into apoplexy)
Today’s word is irony.
Going back to the surname thing, if father tries to board an airplane with a nine year old girl who doesn’t share his surname, the airline will hit the big red panic button.
if father tries to board an airplane with a nine year old girl who doesn’t share his surname…
Presumably, the child would likely have a hyphenated surname, part of which would be the father’s. I believe that’s the fashion. (That this fashion has connotations of aristocracy and status is, I’m sure, entirely coincidental.) Though there’s still the problem of how those hyphenated offspring will name their own children. If they follow the same rules as their parents, the whole thing rapidly becomes unworkable and absurd.
“Hump Fat” sounds like an excellent name for a Hong Kong porn film star.
If they follow the same rules as their parents, the whole thing rapidly becomes unworkable and absurd.
Society has handily avoided that problem by simply doing away with marriage entirely in favour of widespread single motherhood. Problem solved!
I think Spanish surnames do this already? I’m sure I’ve come across father-mother named individuals. When they marry the mothers’ names are dropped and they become mr & mrs mansfather-womansfather. It’s a long time since I had Spanish friends, may be this is an old custom since abandoned. In any case the abandonment of the mothers’ names would be unacceptable to feminists.
Problem solved!
It sort-of works as unintended symbolism, a measure of modern feminism. In that, the problem it allegedly addresses isn’t actually much of a problem, and the solution offered is remarkably short-sighted and results very quickly in farcical complication and general absurdity.
“Being the new kid” and “being the gamma” aren’t synonymous.
No, but having been skipped a grade I was a year younger and smaller than my classmates at the time, the size issue having been corrected by the passage of time and natural hormonal factors which solved that problem. In the interim, however, the techniques (and others) above achieved the goal of thwarting the assholery even if it was only by being put out early – they can’t pick on you if you aren’t there (tactical withdrawal, as it were) – and not the sweet sound of one of the small dodgeballs smacking someone in the face. Accidentally, of course, that was out of bounds.
I’m sure I’ve come across father-mother named individuals.
I was going to suggest a similar Icelandic tradition of using both a matronymic and patronymic (e.g., Gunnar Helgasson Bjornsson or his sister, Helka Helgasdottir Bjornsdottir) but these days, when there is often no clue who the father is, I guess that wouldn’t fly.
“…it occurs to me that not taking your husband’s surname…creates complications.”
I have heard of some writers, and others in careers where name recognition matters, keeping their names when they marry. But that’s a special case.
I have heard of some writers, and others in careers where name recognition matters, keeping their names when they marry.
Also, gay couples.
I never expected my wife to take my name when we married and nor did she. I don’t think it’s that big a deal. I admit children’s names can be a complication.
TimT: My number 1 daughter-in-law when she married number 1 son kept her own (Chinese) name — and no worries, she speaks perfect English. However their son has his dad’s (and therefore my) surname and it doesn’t seem to cause complications. But then we live ‘Oop North’ and we don’t have much time for complications: we leave that to our southern softy friends who can dwell on these things with a passion 🙂
Regarding names, there can be legal complications depending on the country. The UK with it’s history of general (sadly diminishing) laissez-faire means you can do pretty much what you like – changing your name is a matter of telling everyone your new name. But my wife is Italian, and is not allowed to take my name (or double barrel it with hers). She has to take my name as a middle name as an almost hyphen, so going from e.g. Lucia Borgia to Lucia Smith Borgia. I can double-barrel mine if I can be arsed. We’re doing that with our soon to be newborn, so she will be (excluding a bunch of middle names) Melania Smith-Borgia. I’m hoping in a few generations we shall have great grandchildren with colossal pseudo-royal mitteleuropa surnames.
I can however see her name becoming a right pain for various reasons mentioned above…
I’m hoping in a few generations we shall have great grandchildren with colossal pseudo-royal mitteleuropa surnames.
The name and signature boxes on forms will have to be enlarged. It’s a looming stationary crisis, I tell you.
The name and signature boxes on forms will have to be enlarged. It’s a looming stationary crisis, I tell you.
Nah, eventually we’ll all be identified by some hash of a GUID that will contain your family history tree back to year zero. Year zero being the advent of social media. Or 1/1/1970. Which will also be stored in a chip in the scruff of your neck. Or DNA. Which will be problematic with adoptions. Which will be outlawed because cultural appropriation or some such. Though I suppose we could all, adopted or not, have T-cells implanted to generate unique identifying markers embedding this information in the DNA. Of course in the ultimate Brave New World we will all be given serial numbers upon matriculation from the government hatchery.
She has to take my name as a middle name as an almost hyphen, so going from e.g. Lucia Borgia to Lucia Smith Borgia.
This mostly derives from the ancient Roman convention of praenomen nomen filiation cognomenae tribus. There’s a reason many Romans eventually ended up being known largely through nickname slike Quintus (“fifth”).
Which will be problematic with adoptions. Which will be outlawed because cultural appropriation or some such. . . . Of course in the ultimate Brave New World we will all be given serial numbers upon matriculation from the government hatchery.
Logan 6. It’s not every day they authorize a new Sandman.
There’s a reason many Romans eventually ended up being known largely through nickname slike Quintus (“fifth”).
I believe the official custom was to name them in number of birth, in fact. Hence all those Quintuses and Tertiuses (fourth) and so on you see mentioned in Latin literature.
From my reading of the Icelandic sagas, what you seem to inherit as an old Icelandic person is 1) a conventional name, ‘Njal’ or something like that, there seem to be only a limited store of them 2) a last name (your father’s name plus ‘son’, or your mother’s name plus ‘dotter’) and 3) a whopping great genealogy. Every Icelandic saga begins: “There was a man named X, he was the son of …. the son of…. the son of… the son of…” Presumably you’d get an ale horn whacked over your head if you started a saga off and omitted the all-important genealogy. That way madness lies. But nicknames came into it as well. So you get blokes like “Erik the Red” (let me guess – he had red hair?) or “Egil One-Hand”.
Then again, there may be new patronymic practices developing…. according to a joke I heard, a westy Sydney mum goes into Centrelink (social welfare) to collect her dole:
“How many children do you have?” says the social welfare worker.
“Four”, she says. “They’re Shane, Shane, Shane, and Shane.”
“But don’t you have any problems with that?” says the worker.
“Nah,” says the westy mum. “Frinstance, if I want to call them for dinner, I just have to stick me head out the window and say, ‘Shaaaaaaaane! Get ya arse in here!'”
“But what if you want to tell them apart?” says the worker, baffled now.
“That’s even easier! I just call them by their dad’s last name!”
“go out to dinner, just the two of you, and speculate on which members of the waitstaff are sleeping with each other.”
People do that?
It’s a looming stationary crisis, I tell you.
Stationary, what of the embroidered monogram industry ? Might take up a whole tea towel, and on a shirt extend onto the sleeve. Whole new machines will need to be built, larger hoops for the hand embroiderers, the logistical problems are endless.
. . . what of the embroidered monogram industry ? Might take up a whole tea towel, and on a shirt extend onto the sleeve.
Nah, that’s still only going to be a concern for those being sent off to summer camp or so, where the collected laundry will keep having to get sorted out.
For the rest of us, the situation will remain that It’s my closet and assorted drawers and such, therefore that’s my clothing, and doesn’t have to get such twee ID labeling . . .
…twee ID labeling…
More “twee” embroidery from camp…
—you really can’t help yourself, can you ?
Testing
Where’s Bagel Street?
…twee ID labeling…
More “twee” embroidery from camp…
Oh, My, if you really are unable to tell the difference between working adults and that lowest class lot that Must Be Seen Showing Monograms, then you really do need to go upstairs and see what there is outside of your grandmother’s basement . . . .
That this fashion has connotations of aristocracy and status is, I’m sure, entirely coincidental.
My parish newsletter contains a list of all those Christened in the last month.
The double-barrelled names are 100% chavistocratic rather than aristocratic.
Think along the lines of Daenarys Chrystelle Murphy-Bolger or LaShawn Jayden O’Donnell-Byrne rather than Quentin Maximillian Fortescue- Psshaw.
Think along the lines of Daenarys Chrystelle Murphy-Bolger or LaShawn Jayden O’Donnell-Byrne rather than Quentin Maximillian Fortescue- Psshaw.
She Don’t Use Jelly
Oh, My, if you really are unable to tell the difference between working adults and that lowest class lot that Must Be Seen Showing Monograms…
Yet, curiously, you are the one could only think of summer camp. Something subliminal perhaps ? Repressed memories of too many swirlies you got there ?
Regardless, Hal, the only reason you will never have anything embroidered, whether it be a name tape or a tea towel, is you think all your underwear came that why and your name is “Fruit of the Loom”.
Now toddle off and compose another 1800 words quoting yourself and that “Curia” lunacy about some irrelevancy as usual – maybe to prove your changed your name to “Hanes”
Yet, curiously, you are the one could only think of summer camp. . . .
Glory, hallelujah, behold, we have a clairvoyant among us, who effortlessly reads all of our minds!!!
For lack of a table, will you be tapping on the bar next to thus divine your next drink order?
You are coming in broken and stupid again Hal, unlike you, I just read what you wrote – no one can read your mind because your signal to noise ratio has almost zero signal.
Hal, he’s right. Your comment was incoherent.
You are coming in bro . . . . . ent was incoherent.
Siiiigggghhhhhhh.
. . . . . . what of the embroidered monogram industry ?
. . . Following our discussion and review of the desperately and frantically lowest class pretentious and their related affectations, we get a floundering declaration that . . . you are the one could only think of . . . . .
If there are more than three of us reading here, then how, pray tell, could I be that the one without certainty about what anyone else is thinking?
Beyond that, if you’re confused about the use of the word clairvoyant, well, apparently if you have such accuracy regarding the thought of another, you’re apparently supposed to know that inherently as well . . .
I’ll review the bidding for you Hal, as you are of the logic impaired community:
a) semi-tongue in cheek discussion turns to double barreled names which could turn into triple, or quadruple barreled names;
b) David makes comment about how such will affect the stationary industry;
c) I add on with the embroidery industry.
At this point you had two options:
1) Add on, for example, “What of the poor sods at summer camp with their names completely around around the waistband of their underwear?”;
2) That, of course, would have required you to have a sense of humor, instead, you opt for being your usual pompous self and make another absolutist statement, and I quote: “that’s still only going to be a concern for those being sent off to summer camp…” (you might want to look up what “only” means). This is followed by a HalClassic™ mini rant about how you are too good ever to wear anything embroidered because anything embroidered is “twee”.
At this juncture I post a picture of a multicam or OCP name tape to show decidedly non-twee embroidery.
Once again, you were presented with the options:
1) Say something along the lines “OK, yeah, a problem for them too” (it actually is a problem with long names);
2) Drop the subject;
3) Go into full HalMode™ and furiously look up on google what I posted a photo of, followed by an irrelevant link to AR 670-1 (there is a PAM that goes with that, BTW), followed by your typical definition shifting where your previous statement about “only” for one group suddenly also means a bunch of others to include “hipsters”, about whom you have a peculiar pathology, and more of your links to your own rants that you think proves your point (Pro Tip: it never does) while beating your chest and strutting like the proverbial pigeon on the chessboard.
It is OK to admit you are wrong, Hal, but as you have skin so thin it can’t be seen with an electron microscope, you instead go on trying to demonstrate that monograms are a “lowest class pretention” by once again quoting your 1700+ word delusional flight of ideas.
“Lowest classes” – right, this will come as a surprise to one Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Mountbatten-Windsor, whose monogram (not her cypher) is below.
As I have said, get a new shtick, you don’t have to do the same thing every damn time.
Bagel Street? Where the Susquehanna Hat Company is located? Why I believe in Niagara Falls. Funny you should ask. Oddly prescient. Or not.
Where’s Bagel Street?
Thanks. Maybe I should seek out more of their comedies.
Where’s Bagel Street?
Memphis, famous for bars and blues joints, surely you have “Bagel Street Blues”.