Shaun Needs a Friend
It’s become pretty obvious that I am in desperate need of a new friend; the kind whose friendship and loyalty are entirely dependent on my paying for dinner and providing a place to spend the night, the kind who’ll tear up my papers, scratch my furniture and get hair everywhere. Enough pulling dying cats out of the gutter, it’s time to adopt a pet.
I’ve been thinking for awhile about getting a cat. They seemed like low maintenance. When I’m working, I can be out of the apartment for 12-14 hours a day, and, being an apartment, there’s no backyard here. But I just don’t understand cats. They bite and scratch when they’re playing. They’re finicky. Plus, I don’t have anyone in the neighborhood to take care of them when I leave town for school or work.
Dogs, I know. I’ve had dogs for about as long as I’ve been alive. I miss having a dog. I still drop food on my kitchen floor, expecting a mongrel to hungrily scarf it up. I miss catch. I miss walks. I miss seeing a long nose poking out my window when I return home. Plus, I can drop off a dog at my folks’ place when I leave town; Alfred could use a friend, too.
So, I started looking for a dog today. I went to the North Shore Animal League. I need an older dog, at least six months but preferably older. I think I need a big, lazy dog. My friend Greg says that big dogs get along well in apartments because “all they do is sit around and fart anyway.” I’d prefer a female. They tend to be calmer and gentler, but mainly I’m not fond of the dangling boy bits. The important qualities are calm, gentle and friendly.
North Shore Animal League’s website is impressively up-to-date. I saw almost all of these dogs at the shelter. I spent an hour with Thelma. She was very shy and scared, much like Alfred was when we got him from the shelter. However, after an hour, she still seemed indifferent to me and wanted nothing more than to return to her cage. A dog like that would likely become fiercely loyal after the first night (and meal) spent at my apartment. I got cold feet because I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon, which would only take about three hours, but I would want to spend the first few days at home with a dog like that and get her acclimated.
Plus, adopting a dog is like buying a home or a car in that you don’t want to just snatch up the first one you see.
I didn’t spend time with Samson, but, in his cage, his demeanor reminded me of the quiet nobility of K.C., the dog my grandparents had while I was growing up. Same black and white coloring, to boot.
So, the search continues. There’s a pet adoption event in Astoria next Saturday that I’ll probably go to, and I’ll likely return to North Shore the following weekend.
I know that I have about 30 loyal readers by now, all of them friends, so I expect your help. Leave a comment or e-mail me.
Finally, I want to say a few good words about the North Shore Animal League. My family has adopted two dogs from the shelter, each an integral and long-standing member of the family. The first was Sophie, a sweet, energetic Corgie-mix that my parents adopted when I was still in diapers. I grew up with Sophie, who was my oldest and best friend when she died 17 years later. Below, at top-left, is a picture of a visit upstate, when we were both pups. My grandparents had a working farm at the time, which included a small herd of goats. Still a nipper, Sophie immediately herded them into a circle, but she had no clue what to do with them once in the circle. Natural instinct is an amazing thing. Top-right, is a pic of the two of us when she was much older.
 Me and Sophie, both pups. |
 My oldest best friend. |
Alfred, pretty much as he looks today (I’m not quite as baby-faced).
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 Alfred, as a high-flying puppy. |
A year or two after Sophie passed away, we got Alfie from the same shelter. He is the sweetest, most gentle dog I have ever known, even if he is a bit of a cry-baby weenie. (Above, top-right, is Alfie before he was fully grown, still possessing the energy of a puppy. Top-left is, more of less, what he looks like today.)
North Shore rescued Alfie from a shelter down south that was preparing to euthanize him. North Shore is a no-kill shelter. The staff and volunteers are gentle, caring and knowledgeable. It’s a shelter that deserves your support.
“…I’ve come to wish you an unhappy birthday…”
It’s my birthday. I’m 26. I’m feeling strangely okay about this.
The server has almost fully recovered from last week’s attack. My e-mail is back up and running, so I’m once again receiving all those helpful e-mails about Rolex watches, bigger penises, larger cumloads and moms I’d like to fuck (all of which, coincidentally, can be found on my birthday present wish list).
Actually, there are two new spams I’ve gotten that are pretty amusing. One is some sort of spray can that promises to make your license plate invisible to those traffic cameras that catch you running red lights. It’s the sort of product that causes one to marvel at the ingenuity of capitalism. The other is software that will help you vote as many times as you want for “American Idol.” I, for one, am encouraged by the youth of today’s zeal for participatory democracy.
I’ll be at Botanica (Houston and Mulberry) tonight, “celebrating.” Please, no autographs.
To Insure Proper Service
Is it bad manners, bad breeding or consumer alienation in our service economy that makes your typical New York Times reader so fucking stupid?
For the second time in recent memory, the Times’ Dining and Wine section has published an article on obvious tipping etiquette. The gist of the message?
At the end of the day New York’s delivery rules are pretty basic: Watch your dog. Have your money ready. Tip well, and do it in cash.
No fucking duh. Earlier in the year, the Times wrote about a couple of websites where waitstaff complain about bad patrons and reveal (gasp!) that customers who are rude and don’t tip will get a little extra spit in their meal. Have these uppity twits never heard the term “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you?” Is it only we socialists who think that working people deserve respect and decent pay?
I’m a picky eater, so I’m a even more careful about pissing off the waitstaff. In a hectic restaurant, every deviation from the menu is a pain in the ass. I know that, but I really can’t stand “goo” (i.e. mayo, mustard, salad dressing, etc.), so in the nicest, politest way possible, I request that it be left out of my meal…and I make sure to tip generously. I actually make a point of being a regular at most places that I eat. It’s just easier. It only takes two or three meals with a pleasant request to abstain from goo and a handsome tip at the end of the meal before the waitress can predict my idiosyncrasies.
“Pineapple fried rice, salad – no dressing – right?” they ask with a smile at 9th and 46th’s Yum Yum Bangkok whenever I eat there. In fact, once I nearly broke up with my girlfriend while dining there. It took forever to get the check. When it came, the waitress was very concerned and said that the chef had noticed that I hardly touched my meal and wanted to know if anything was wrong. It was touching that they cared, and certainly preferable to a little spit. I don’t need to feel like Lord of the Manor when I eat out, and I don’t understand why anybody else does.
So, if you’re one of those twits who doesn’t know how to tip, the rules are pretty basic: Tip your waitstaff at least 20% (if the service is bad, you can tip 15%). Tip your delivery guy 20% no matter how long you’ve waited and cough up more dough if the weather sucks. Tip your bartender a buck or two for every drink; if you’re buying expensive stuff, tip more. Tip anyone who comes to your home to perform a service. Just fucking be ready to tip. Consulting with others with how large a tip you should give is fine, as long as you begin with the belief that people in the service sector deserve extra compensation. They’re not your serfs. They’re just working stiffs whose low wages are the result of the low prices you’re paying. That’s right, the lower prices are just a cheap come-on since you’re expected to make up the difference with your tip. Think that’s unfair? What about your waitress who is trying to make a living on crappy wages and tips that are subject to situations that are beyond her control? Mentally adjust the advertised price and tip accordingly.
Hear You Been To College?
I’ve been hiding a secret. I applied to grad school. When I graduated from Queens College, I was pretty sure that I was done with school. I felt like the higher up you go in higher education, the less actual education there is and the more image-conscious bullshit there is (Yeah, I’m looking at you, Ward Churchill). Besides you can only “study” the labor movement for so long before you become an armchair academic critic. It’s much more of an education to go to work for a union. Get in there and get your hands dirty. You’ll do some amazing work, but you won’t stay ideologically pure, and you’ll be better off for it.
I’ve counseled lots of people to stay away from grad school. Hell, I’ve counseled people to drop out of college if the right gig came along. “Why stay in college? Why go to night school? Gonna be different this time?” I’m frustrated that too many people go from high school to undergrad to grad, all in succession, and find themselves in their mid-to-late-twenties, deeply in debt and knowing lots about little.
Given my attitude, which is well-known among friends and family, you can understand why I decided to keep this under my hat. I applied to the University of Massachusetts – Amherst, but I didn’t just apply to any old grad school program. Through my comrade Matt Andrews, I learned about a special program of the university’s Labor Center, its Union Leadership and Administration Master’s of Science in Labor. It’s a limited residency program for active union staff. The idea is to go through the program while continuing your full-time (and then some) job in labor. You do the assigned readings during your own time, go to Amherst for ten days of instruction a semester and then return home to write your papers. That’s a workable schedule.
The UMass Labor Studies department has a great reputation for being hard-working, down-to-earth and pro-labor. The course listing looks awesome. Besides the core required courses in law, history and research, it looks like there’s some really nitty-gritty administration training in here, like “Union Financial Analysis” and “Human Resources Management for Union Leaders” (a lot of us could use that course!).
One thing that I’ve missed the last few years is a feeling of connection to a broader movement for social change. It’s so easy to get wrapped up in one’s work and miss for the forest for the trees. I think I need to make this sort of commitment to myself in order to maintain links between my work and my union and the larger movement.
Of course, I’m not currently “active union staff,” though I’m working on it. I hesitated before applying. I do so hate rejection. Well, today I officially received the good news that I’ve known for two weeks. I’ve been accepted to the program. My reading assignments come in April, and my classes begin in July. I promise you will hear more about my experience in this program in the coming months and years.