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Archive for February, 1999

Illlumine Project: 7 Deadly Sins

February 26th, 1999 No comments

Sloth: Cardinal Sin or Cute Mammal?
lllumine March Project Entry
Topic of the Week #27

Avery Glasser, Co-Editor
It seems that these days, everybody is interested in biblical sins. We’ve been going after President Clinton due to Lust. We persecute Bill Gates over Greed. Heck, we even chastise people for being overweight (that’s gluttony for the biblically uninclined).

Though I don’t condone people over-reacting about laws and ethics that are over three thousand years old, I can understand most of the rationale behind people getting upset. What I can’t understand is the bible’s problem with Sloth.

The dictionary (conveniently located at dictionary.com) defines sloth as the following:

sloth Sloth, n. [OE. slouthe, sleuthe, AS. sl?w?, fr. sl[=a]w slow. See Slow.]
  1. Slowness; tardiness.
    These cardinals trifle with me; I abhor This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome. –Shak.
  2. Disinclination to action or labor; sluggishness; laziness; idleness.
    [They] change their course to pleasure, ease, and sloth. –Milton.
    Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labor wears. –Franklin.
  3. (Zo["o]l.) Any one of several species of arboreal edentates constituting the family Bradypodid[ae], and the suborder Tardigrada. They have long exserted limbs and long prehensile claws. Both jaws are furnished with teeth (see Illust. of Edentata), and the ears and tail are rudimentary. They inhabit South and Central America and Mexico.

I really can’t believe that the ancient Isrealites would have a problem with definition number one. I mean, sure, slow people are annoying as heck when you’re in line for an ATM (come on, folks… there are only 10 keys to choose from) or when you’re trying to make it through a supermarket line before your ice cream melts. But would you consider this a Cardinal Sin?

Maybe they’re referring to the second definition, but that is just as confusing as the first definition. I mean, in current culture, the concept of the "slacker" defines a whole generation. Hell, almost everyone watches our favorite gluttonous sloth on television every week. We watch him dodge work. We laugh when he avoids spending time with his blue-haired wife and pointy haired kids. We find his abhorrence to exercise amusing… and when he decided to gain 60 pounds so he could get out of doing calisthenics every morning, I’m sure some of you even considered doing the same thing. By this logic, definition number two is not applicable either.

Therefore, the process of elimination means that the definition of the Cardinal Sin of Sloth revolves around a slow-moving sub-tropical three-toed animal.

That just makes me sick.

I mean, come on… I’ve been to the zoo. I've watched Mutual of Omaha and countless hours of the Discovery Channel. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a sloth. I mean, they’re even sort of cute, in an ugly sort of way.

The average sloth spends his (or her) life in the trees, eating leaves and the occasional insect. They aren’t vicious and are generally well tempered. Heck, even if they were ill-mannered, they could only attack you at about two miles per hour, rendering them completely harmless.

I can’t see them being an extreme threat to any other living creature, so why make them a sin? I mean, llamas and camels spit at people and they’re not a sin. Hell, lions, tigers, bears and even that goat who ate the money when Hawkeye was appointed to be the payroll officer by Colonel Potter wasn’t even chastised by Father Mulcahy. Come on folks, there are certainly more appropriate animals to make an abomination against god than the poor sloth.

So, I ask you… why does the Vatican have so much of a problem with the poor sloth?


Janet Glasser, Co-Editor 

So, Sloth is considered to be one of the Seven Deadly Sins. This is something which I didn’t quite understand…I mean, many of the little pieces of advice we hear throughout our lives, like "slow down" "take it easy" "look both ways before crossing" and "slow and steady wins the race" seem to extol Sloth rather than damn it. The tortoise won, right? Unless a future tortoise goes a little too slow and gets hit by a car, slowness should be considered a virtue, rather than a sin. (Sloth can’t be too evil –they named an animal after it, for Pete’s sake.)

So I looked it up. Supposedly, Sloth is a Deadly Sin because we’re supposed to hop-to to god’s commands. So, shame, shame on you if you’re not giving the So-Called Supreme Being’s commands your full and undivided attention. Well, if there is a god (which I sincerely doubt) then I’m definitely going directly to hell without passing Go and without collecting $200, because I revel in Sloth.

The television has the honor of winning the Invention Most Likely To Keep Me In A Slothful State award. Like many people these days, I love the TV. Whenever we’re home, it’s on, no matter what we’re doing. Folding laundry? TV’s on. Reading a magazine? TV’s on. Surfing the ‘net? TV is on. Even when there seemingly "nothing on" TV, there’s something on. It’s just an illusion. You can always find something, even on a Sunday afternoon. You turn it on, watch a little Yan Can Cook, a little E! News Weekend, flip around and land on a cheezy 80’s movie you’ve seen five times, get bored, flip again and land on an Afterschool Special-esque made-for-HBO movie about two middle-aged women who realize their love for each other, and commit to watching the entire movie just to see how it ends. Before you know it, the whole afternoon has gone by and it’s starting to get dark out, and you haven’t moved off the couch for hours, save to get some snacks from the kitchen.

Prime-Time TV is no different. Take Mondays, for example. You need to find something to watch from 8:00 – 9:00, since at 9:00 you’re still tuning in to watch Ally McBeal for some reason, but Melrose Place has started to get boring so you watch Tracey Takes On and Dennis Miller Live instead, then Ally, then the new episode of Road Rules is on, and you might as well watch it since you've already seen the first few minutes, then all of a sudden it’s 10:30 PM, and you're still on the couch in front of a coffee table area littered with dirty dishes and take-out containers left over from dinner.

But I can’t blame it all on TV. Something as simple as just sitting on the couch can make you slothful, what with all the other, non-TV distractions like the pile of magazines that have accumulated and the computer positioned oh-so-conveniently on the coffee table directly in front of the couch. I believe that our couch itself may, in fact, have the secret hidden power to suck the life right out of us. Witness these common situations: Us, on updating Scowl: Avery mid-websurf: "We really have to write. We haven’t updated in 4 days." Me, looking up from a magazine: "I know. I have so many ideas." Both, still sitting there: "Yeah." And it carries over, even after you get up off of the couch: Me, walking by a pile of mail for the umpteenth time: "I really have to reconcile that bank statement." Walking down the hall: "We should really bring all those wrapped pennies to the bank someday." Walking into the bathroom: "Someone really has to clean this floor. It’s like a sandbox in here!" This is what is known as the March of Great Procrastination.

Speaking of procrastination, Sloth isn't something that affects me only on evenings and weekends. At work, I am the Queen of Procrastination, waiting until the last possible minute, waiting until a project verges on becoming an unnecessary, messy crisis. I prefer to think of it as living for the thrill of the moment rather than being lazy, but I think that Lazy put in a teeny-tiny appearance somewhere along the way.

So, yes, I spend a great deal of my waking hours in front of one screen or another, but I learn from these screens: I actually learned the meaning of the word "ersatz" after hearing Allison use it in a sentence on Melrose Place, prompting me to look it up. And the procrastination problem? Whattaya talkin' about? I function well under pressure. As a matter of fact, I'm typing this very sentence on the very night that this very project is due.

Sin or no sin, as the logey Sloth will always have its treetop, I will always have my couch.

Categories: Topics of the Week (1990s) Tags:

Oh yeah, like we'll excercise there.

February 25th, 1999 No comments

The advertising firm for 24-Hour Nautilus…excuse me, 24-Hour Fitness, as they now like to be called….should be hit in the head with the reality stick a few times. First there was that billboard that showed some (skinny) aliens and stated "When they come, they'll eat the fat ones first." This billboard actually incensed a group of overweight people so much that they staged a protest right in front of a 24-Hour Fitness here in San Francisco, and I agree, they should feel offended by the ad. The gym's message is poorly delivered on more than one level. For one thing, for every success story of the person who dropped 100 pounds by changing their sedentary lifestyle, there are others, other "fat" people who exercise frequently, but will never, ever be a size 8, or even a 10. Now, I'm not obese by any means, but what I do know is when I moved here five years ago, I weighed 35 pounds less than I do now. I've joined gyms, I've bought low-fat pudding and light butter, low-fat cookies and chicken instead of beef, I drink lots of water and walk everywhere since I don't own a car. I work out three times a week now, 1 01/2 to 2 hours a time, and guess what? The scale hasn't budged in over a year, no matter what I do. So, not every overweight person can buy a gym membership, go a couple of times a week, and then go shopping at Jil Sander.

For another thing, why do overweight people have to be constantly mocked and vilified? As if they they don't already hear enough shitty comments. As if they don't already have low self-esteem. I'm sure that the lady who used to get on my bus in the morning, who has to walk with a cane and can't fit into the regular seats, really enjoys being overweight. Why do we have to be privy to yet another fat joke, plastered on a billboard in 20-foot high letters this time? What if someone replaced the word "fat" with the word "black?" Is it funny now? Would that be tolerated? I think not.

As if that ad wasn't bad enough, their most recent one depicts a Cindy-Crawford lookalike dressed in a black formal gown, spaghetti straps and all, with huge, HUGE boxing gloves on. Just standing there looking vapid with her mouth half open, in a gown and boxing gloves the likes of which I've never seen before, they're so huge. (I thought they had to be fake, but Avery thinks they may be the kind of gloves used for "Foxy Boxing." Ugh, double ugh.) Here's a novel idea: why not use a real woman who boxes for their ad? Contrary to the narrow-minded ad-man's belief that all women boxers are built like brick shithouses and named Olga, real women who box are usually quite in shape, and many of them are *gasp* actually attractive! Do they really think that men will run to their nearest 24-Hour Fitness trying to meet the kind of fantasy woman in the ad? Do they think that women will sign up for a years worth of treadmilling on the chance that they may get results of supermodel-like proportions? I'd like to think that the general public isn't that stupid…but then again…  

Categories: Scowls Tags:

Archived Observation

February 21st, 1999 No comments

When Janet and I went to get new glasses two weeks ago, the doctor performing the eye exam noticed that there was a slight anomaly with my optic nerve. It seemed that the nerve in my left eye was smaller than the nerve in my right eye, Though it wasn't anything to panic over, he decided that it would be prudent for me to get my eyes dilated so he could do a more thorough exam. Since we were his last appointment of the day, he asked if we could come in on the 20th for the dilation.

Fast forward to yesterday. We wake up about an hour before the appointment, so we have to head over to the optometrist's… in the pouring rain… with no food in our stomachs. We get into the shop, he puts in the drops, and we are sent to the waiting area while the drops take effect.

Over the next 20 minutes, the drops did their duty… making everything fuzzy and really, really bright. The doctor brings me in, shines a light-house power beam into my eyes and informs me that the nerve looks fine and healthy… but to get it checked again in 2 years to make sure that it's not a degenerative problem.

Five minutes later, Janet was given a clean bill of [ocular] health and we left for home… with a smashing headache, a crashing blood sugar level and no sense of humor.

Needless to say… yesterday afternoon just sucked.

Categories: Observations Tags:

Archived Smirk

February 21st, 1999 No comments

Janet and I got a subscription to the Best of Broadway series this year, and the first show of the series was Evita, which we saw Thursday night.

I wasn't really keen on seeing this show. I love musicals, but I just don't like Andrew Lloyd Webber's stuff. Phantom of the Opera makes me gag, and I really don't like Cats… so I wasn't looking forward to watching a two-and-a-half hour Webber snooze fest.

However, the show really impressed me. The staging, choreography was absolutely amazing. The acting was great (aside from the woman playing Evita, who was a little stiff)… and the male lead (playing the role of Che) was outstanding. When the intermission hit, Janet and I were anxiously waiting for the second act.

But as most musicals go… the second act was choppy and rushed (though there were some great moments in the staging of the second act)… and what some people might have called an ending was absolutely atrocious.

My overall opinion is that the new staging of Evita is very good, and has the chance of winning some awards if it makes it to Broadway. Still, I have three reservations with this production:
1) The music was by Andrew Lloyd Webber
2) The lyrics are by Tim Rice
3) The story is about Eva Peron
If they could just take care these three things, I would list this as one of my absolute favorite shows of all time.

Categories: Smirks Tags:

A long week…

February 21st, 1999 No comments

Four PM, Friday afternoon marked the end of a long, dragging week. So, we decided to go to the Toronado for an end-of-the-week beer.

Friday: 5:10 PM – after exiting the 71 Limited that brought me back from the brink of hell (that is to say, the Financial District), I immediately crossed the street, making a bee-line for the Toronado. As I walked by Rosamunde, I noticed that Jeff (the owner) was tending shop, so I decided to stop in to see what he was up to. What he was up to, I immediately found out, was

Lamb and Lentil Stew… and Weiner Schnitzel.

Aah… Jeff’s Weiner Schnitzel. He only makes it once in a blue moon, but as soon as the word gets out, his shop is practically overrun with locals wanting a plate of his perfect Schnitzel. If you’ve never had Wiener Schnitzel, let me describe it for you. Weiner Schnitzel, aka Vienna (Wein) style fried port cutlet. Jeff takes thin-cut pieces of port, seasoned and then dredged in flour. He then pan-fries the cutlets and serves it up with sweet and hot mustards. I placed an order for the Weiner Schnitzel and then promptly walked over to the Toronado to have an anticipatory beer.

The beer… Speakeasy IPA (which I still call Barfly Pale). The bartender… Pauly (and Steve). The Weiner Schnitzel… as perfect as always.

Janet made it about 30 minutes later, and she ordered up a Blanche de Meteor, a belgian witbeer which is similar to Hoegaarden White, but a little less sweet with a nicer yeast taste. I took this opportunity to order up a Speakeasy Prohibition Ale. I really need to drag my ass back to Speakeasy to say hi to Forrest, Eric and Steve.

At 7pm or so, Ian came in… so we decided to stay for another beer. Janet had another Blanche de Meteor, while I decided to have a Lagunitas Hairy Eyeball (a dark, hoppy ale).

We left at 7:30, making a stop at Rosamunde for a take-home bowl of Lamb and Lentil Stew and a second stop at Sunshine Market for a few British candy bars.

Saturday, 10pm… post sushi – Janet and I decided to make a quick hour-and-a-half trip to the Toronado. Ian and Robert were on shift, which means that we could have stayed as late as we wanted… but we had stuff to do at home, so we cut it short. The beers… Janet had a pair of Guinness and I had a Lagunitas Maximus (IPA) and a Speakeasy Barfly Pale. I really hope that Forrest and Eric decide to continue making the IPA, because it’s quickly becoming one of my favorites.

That’s all for now.

Categories: The Barfly Chronicles Tags:

Y2K

February 21st, 1999 No comments

The other day we noticed some anti-yuppie stickers that someone had plastered all over one of the bathrooms at the Toronado (the bathroom with the huge “GO HOME YUPPIES” painted in on the wall with silver paint.) “Y2K –Yuppies 2 Kill.” is printed on the corner of each of them, along with messages like “Go home, Yuppies, we hate you and some of us are armed” and “Go buy a house on the peninsula before it’s too late.” Other than that, though, it’s been weird going out lately. So…blah. So…nothing happening. So…same old, same old. I hope it’s just a short boring section in the cycle of life and not a case of permanent malaise.

Categories: The Barfly Chronicles Tags: