K. Lorenz
Well, it looks like class and fashion took another leap backwards last week when Michelle Obama, Queen of America, stepped off Air Force One wearing shorts, a tank top, and running shoes . If we, the tax payers, are coughing up hundreds of thousands of dollars to haul her butt out to the Grand Canyon, ON A PRIVATE JET, the least she could do is wear a “skort“.
Her appearance is a classic example of the death of Noblese Oblige, the theory that “nobility” has the obligation to show us commoners how to act. If you’re stepping off Air Force One you shouldn’t look like you’re making a quick run to Speedway to pick up lottery tickets and a pack of Kools.
“Oh, but it was hot out,” squeal her impecunious supporters. Well I’m pretty sure it was hot back when Jackie Kennedy was First Lady and I’m pretty sure it was hot for Laura Bush, Barbra Bush, Pat Nixon and the rest. Heck, even Hillary “The Human Cankle” Clinton had enough class to wear a pants suit when she came unglued at a press conference and she was in Africa! I’m guessing it was hot in Africa.
Look at the two service men standing next to the stairs. They’re out in the same sun Mrs. Obama is, imagine the uproar if they were wearing cut-offs and a wife beater t-shirt. She should be showing them the same respect that they’re showing her. That’s how a well bred society works.
I have a theory on the Obamas’ total lack of class; they’ve made a pretty good living preaching that rich people are evil, thus they have to appear to be not rich. If you’ve become a multi-millionaire by convincing the ignorant public that millionaires are bad then you better not hop off your private plane wearing Prada.
And aren’t we in the throes of some sort of economic crisis? Is now the time to be flying around the world spending millions of public dollars on yourself? It doesn’t seem all that long ago that liberals were having a fit about automotive executives flying on private planes. Isn’t that a bit hypocritical? They’ve been in office seven months and how many trips have they taken? Europe, Hawaii, date night in New York, a couple weeks in Martha’s Vineyard, The Grand Canyon, Yosemite National Park, Camp David…how about spending a little time in Washington?
Maybe they like to spend our money on travel because the Mother-In-Law is sitting back at the White House. Man, they sure have put the cloak of invisibility on that woman, I’ve a feeling she’s in the basement playing Shoots and Ladders with Joe “Weekend at Bernie’s” Biden and then getting in a big fight when Biden cheats. I wonder how much it’s costing us to food, house, and protect her for four years.
But it’s not just the classless first couple that slap the face of civility. How about Brett Favre? The guy shows up at the press conference to announce he signed with the Vikings and he looked like he just got done milking the goats and brewing moonshine.
Nice hat, Brett. Was the one you used to plug the oil leak too clean? Or maybe you left your good hat next to your razor?
I realize the Obamas and Favre have huge teams of marketing people around them telling them how to dress to convince us commoners that they’re “one of us”, that their popularity (and income) might wane if the public were allowed to see the real person. Well I’m not falling for it and I’m not giving in. I still believe class and manners have a place in our little bee hive. I think if someone is coughing up millions of dollars for you to do a job for them you should at least have the courtesy to show them a little respect by appearing presentable in public and maybe taking the time to wear a Viking hat. I’m not saying they should walk around all snooty, but a little class shouldn’t be that tough to display. They’re millionaires many times over; they should act like it. And if they really have a problem putting on airs, well,…force one.
Mmmmm…Tacos….
By Tracy K. Lorenz
I just got back from a trip to Taco Bell at noon. No one, ever, should have to go to Taco Bell at noon. A good reason to stay in college is so you can become an executive and eat at a time that isn’t noon at a place that isn’t Taco Bell.
The problem is the people in line are, well, idiots. They’ve been standing there for fifteen minutes and yet when the person behind the counter asks them what they’d like to eat the customer acts as if it’s a pop quiz, like they had no idea “May I help you” was on the horizon. They look up at the menu and squint and then ask “What’s in a bean burrito?” Seriously, the woman in front of me asked that. I wonder if when she goes to Wesco she asks what’s in a blueberry muffin?
Here’s the thing about Taco Bell; it’s all the same food only in different shapes. If it’s curved it’s a taco, if it’s flat it’s a Mexican pizza, if it’s crunched up it’s nacho’s. IT’S ALL THE SAME!!!!!
So the lady who didn’t know what was in a bean burrito placed her order, moved a couple steps to her left to wait for her order, and when the guy brings out her order she denies it’s hers. She got this weird look on her face and said “I didn’t order that.” So the cashier took the lady’s receipt, looked at it and said “Yes you did.” And burrito lady responds “Well that’s not what I wanted” and then walked away in anger holding her tray.
Lucky for me I was between her and the woman behind me. The woman behind me was a nurse and was the classic fast food line fake out artist. You see one woman, but she’s actually ordering lunch for three hundred of her co-workers. But here’s the cool part, she did it from memory by looking up at the menu, “Um…I need two beef soft taco’s…and, um,…six hard shell taco’s, two with no tomato,…um….” And then when she got done and the cashier was reading the order back to her she pulled a list out of her pocket to cross reference! Here’s an idea, why not just read from the list to start with and reduce the margin for error. She was a nurse for gosh sakes, she should be concerned about the blood pressure of those poor saps steaming in line behind her.
But yesterday’s foray doesn’t even crack my top ten Fast Food Fiascos. I was at a McDonald’s in Grand Rapids when they ran out of hamburger. I was at a KFC on 28th street when they ran out of chicken. I was at another McDonald’s in Jenison, at noon, when they had ONE woman working the counter. There must have been thirty five people waiting in line, when I finally got up to the counter I said “Why don’t you get more help at the register?” and she, I swear to God, replied “We’re never busy at noon.”
Perhaps my favorite fast food memory is when I went to some now defunct Mexican chain (it might have been Ole’ Taco’s) in Grandville. I was with guys from work and one of the guys, Ken Fusee, placed his order and the server said “Would you like Spanish rice with that?” Ken, who appeared uncertain about the question said ‘What do I do with Spanish rice?” to which the server replied “You can stick it up your ass for all I care.” It was not the response we were expecting.
Luckily I don’t eat fast food (at noon anyway) nearly as often as I used to. It has nothing to do with the nutritional level of the food, it has to do with my stress level when surrounded by people who don’t know what’s in a bean burrito. It’s stress like that which could ultimately send a habitual fast food eater straight to the…Mayo Clinic.
The Better Choice Chair
By Tracy K. Lorenz
My son Q started Pre-school last week and, I must admit, I didn’t even know what preschool was. I dropped him off at the same place I do every day but for some reason when I dropped him off last Monday it was “Pre-school” as opposed to “Daycare”.
A parent was supposed to attend this grand event and interact with their child in some liberal-dream manner and I was the parent of choice. So we walk in and BOOM! he’s off to play with his friends just like every other kid in the room, they didn’t want to interact with their parents, they wanted to interact with each other as God intended. This left a bunch of parents standing there wondering how long we had to look enchanted before we could split.
But one thing in that room caught my eye. It was a single orange chair, smack in the middle of the room. Above the chair was a sign with a frowning face