Ah, yes! Time to celebrate the workers! Have a day off! Unless you work in retail, restaurants, toll booths, fire houses...not everyone gets a day off. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is most important to note that not all workers are celebrated on this day, and because I was scarred for life during my time as a server (and behind the counter) I want to take this opportunity to remind you to be kind to ALL who serve you.
Please. Thank you. Have a nice day. All those little phrases you mother taught you (if she was worth her salt) may have fallen out of our daily vocabularies, but it is up to YOU as a consumer to bring these words back into vogue.
Hello. How are you? If someone should greet you with these words while you're standing at a counter and staring at a menu the proper answer is not "Give me..." or "I want..." The person behind the counter is not going to GIVE YOU anything! And maybe they care about what you want, but I bet they'd rather hear "May I please have..."
A little manners goes a long way. Never forget these poor bastards are making minimum wage. And I bet their boss treats them like they're expendable, most of the customers before you were rude and the customers after you will suck just as much. Why not lead by example and treat them with respect?
Always make the effort. You just might make their day!
So Happy Labor Day! Remember who really runs this country - the people who fucking feed it! All the bankers and CEO's would starve to death if it wasn't for the minimum wage workers from farm to friggin' plate - or Styrofoam clam shell. I'm betting the magical day when wages reflect this reality will never come - so let's try to pay them in smiles. At least their quality of life will increase, if not their paychecks. And I'll take happy over rich any day.
-HH
Check out this article in the New York Times
Showing posts with label manners. Show all posts
Showing posts with label manners. Show all posts
Friday, April 22, 2011 Walking for Earth Day
Today is Earth Day. So when I was planning on going shopping I thought to myself, "I'll walk!" So I did. I walked about three miles through the center of my hometown of Stamford, CT to reach my destination.
I almost got hit by a car.
Actually, let's call it four cars.
Stamford is not a pedestrian friendly city. We have sidewalks. We have buttons to push to cross the street and lights that start to count down before you're even halfway across. Sometimes there's even a crosswalk between those two pieces of pedestrian technology.
Do the drivers care? Some do. Obviously today there were at least four drivers who didn't give a hoot.
Yeah. Those thick white stripes painted on the road? Not a piano. Not a tribute to Abbey Road. That's for me to walk in while you stop your car in an effort to obey the law. You know, pedestrians having the right-of-way and all that.
You see, in order to actually get anywhere you can't exactly follow the walk/don't walk signs. Sometimes they never change (intersection of Broad and Summer), sometimes cars are turning even though you have the go ahead (Broad and Greyrock) and sometimes people making a right turn from the center lane don't see that you're even there (I'm talking to you Beemer turning onto Tresser from Grove). A person on foot needs to be aware of all the traffic lights, who has a green, who's got an arrow, who's going right on red and didn't consider the option of a pedestrian coming towards them on a sidewalk. Who's going to run a red light regardless of the fact that groups of pedestrians are jumbled up on the curb OBVIOUSLY waiting to cross the street (That's you, three drivers who ran the light in front of Burlington Coat Factory.)
OTHER PEOPLE IN THE WORLD!
But, after all, this is Stamford. Where people have turned rude into an art form. Were you avert your eyes and never say hello. Where friendly is not only the exception but it's Halley's friggin' Comet. Who am I to suggest people be considerate?
-HH
I almost got hit by a car.
Actually, let's call it four cars.
Stamford is not a pedestrian friendly city. We have sidewalks. We have buttons to push to cross the street and lights that start to count down before you're even halfway across. Sometimes there's even a crosswalk between those two pieces of pedestrian technology.
Do the drivers care? Some do. Obviously today there were at least four drivers who didn't give a hoot.
Yeah. Those thick white stripes painted on the road? Not a piano. Not a tribute to Abbey Road. That's for me to walk in while you stop your car in an effort to obey the law. You know, pedestrians having the right-of-way and all that.
You see, in order to actually get anywhere you can't exactly follow the walk/don't walk signs. Sometimes they never change (intersection of Broad and Summer), sometimes cars are turning even though you have the go ahead (Broad and Greyrock) and sometimes people making a right turn from the center lane don't see that you're even there (I'm talking to you Beemer turning onto Tresser from Grove). A person on foot needs to be aware of all the traffic lights, who has a green, who's got an arrow, who's going right on red and didn't consider the option of a pedestrian coming towards them on a sidewalk. Who's going to run a red light regardless of the fact that groups of pedestrians are jumbled up on the curb OBVIOUSLY waiting to cross the street (That's you, three drivers who ran the light in front of Burlington Coat Factory.)
OTHER PEOPLE IN THE WORLD!
But, after all, this is Stamford. Where people have turned rude into an art form. Were you avert your eyes and never say hello. Where friendly is not only the exception but it's Halley's friggin' Comet. Who am I to suggest people be considerate?
-HH
Saturday, February 19, 2011 I Just Can't Take It Anymore!
What the fuck is wrong with people?
I left the house for an hour and my stress level is through the proverbial roof! I should have known. As soon as I saw that woman standing in front of the sausage plant dressed as if she were shopping on Rodeo Drive I should have told my husband to turn the car around and take me home. Something is off in Stamford today. Something more than usual.
I'll stick to the stress hormone spiking highlights.
We go to the A&P. It's some fancy-schmancy A&P now, not the regular supermarket it was when I was a kid. It's got horrible lighting and everything is dark and mahogany, just what you want in a supermarket. Not! The prices were crazy. People think the prices at Fairway are high, well I'll take them any day because the store is at least well lit enough that I can see the prices. But this isn't about prices. This is about people.
As I stumbled my sticker shocked ass into the express lane some fat bitch walks right in front of me with a sheet cake.
"You can go ahead" I said. Knowing that she really had no intention of letting me get in line before her fat rude ass anyway. She didn't say a fucking word to me, just walked right in front of me as if I weren't even there. I actually turned around to laugh because I couldn't believe it.
"Where are we?" I said to my husband.
THEN (emphasis added) some other crazy bitch walks right up next to me. Like RIGHT (emphasis added) up next to me and put a loaf of bread on the edge of the belt.
"I'm just putting this down."
What, is it too fucking heavy for you?
Asshole accommodating me just said "No problem" and then shielded her from my view with my hair. She's standing right there in my personal space, totally blocking my husband from his rightful spot in line with me.
WTF?
I commented loudly as we left "Where are we that people can be so rude?" My husband reminding me that he deals with these assholes 25 hours a week. I mean, really. Really? Really (emphasis added).
Then as we were driving out of the lot we almost got t-boned by a bitch in a red Jeep.
Can't make this shit up.
Why do I leave the house?
-HH
I left the house for an hour and my stress level is through the proverbial roof! I should have known. As soon as I saw that woman standing in front of the sausage plant dressed as if she were shopping on Rodeo Drive I should have told my husband to turn the car around and take me home. Something is off in Stamford today. Something more than usual.
I'll stick to the stress hormone spiking highlights.
We go to the A&P. It's some fancy-schmancy A&P now, not the regular supermarket it was when I was a kid. It's got horrible lighting and everything is dark and mahogany, just what you want in a supermarket. Not! The prices were crazy. People think the prices at Fairway are high, well I'll take them any day because the store is at least well lit enough that I can see the prices. But this isn't about prices. This is about people.
As I stumbled my sticker shocked ass into the express lane some fat bitch walks right in front of me with a sheet cake.
"You can go ahead" I said. Knowing that she really had no intention of letting me get in line before her fat rude ass anyway. She didn't say a fucking word to me, just walked right in front of me as if I weren't even there. I actually turned around to laugh because I couldn't believe it.
"Where are we?" I said to my husband.
THEN (emphasis added) some other crazy bitch walks right up next to me. Like RIGHT (emphasis added) up next to me and put a loaf of bread on the edge of the belt.
"I'm just putting this down."
What, is it too fucking heavy for you?
Asshole accommodating me just said "No problem" and then shielded her from my view with my hair. She's standing right there in my personal space, totally blocking my husband from his rightful spot in line with me.
WTF?
I commented loudly as we left "Where are we that people can be so rude?" My husband reminding me that he deals with these assholes 25 hours a week. I mean, really. Really? Really (emphasis added).
Then as we were driving out of the lot we almost got t-boned by a bitch in a red Jeep.
Can't make this shit up.
Why do I leave the house?
-HH
Monday, December 13, 2010 Handmade Homemade Cards
Today's Dear Abby tells the story of a woman who has been making Christmas cards for 5 years with her niece. A beautiful thing IMO. I'm all for making shit. But this poor lady has such shit friends someone sends her A CHECK IN THE MAIL to pay for "real" cards next Christmas.
Cross her off the list, thank you.
THEN, she asks around her other friends, asking if the cards were cheap - AND THEY SAY YES!
Are you serious?
What?
This is wrong on so many levels. First of all, have you ever made anything in your life? Do you know what things cost? A trip to the craft store to make Christmas cards probably costs 4 times what it would cost to just buy cards. And what is wrong with you? Who raised you? Have you no appreciation of someones efforts? For you!And who says these things? Really? Why even judge a card? Can't you just be happy you got one?
OMG. I gotta calm down.
Abby gave good advice, I thought. But it gives me a bleak picture of the people out there.
This is also why I stay home.
Bang on, my peeps. MAKE SHIT!
-HH
Cross her off the list, thank you.
THEN, she asks around her other friends, asking if the cards were cheap - AND THEY SAY YES!
Are you serious?
What?
This is wrong on so many levels. First of all, have you ever made anything in your life? Do you know what things cost? A trip to the craft store to make Christmas cards probably costs 4 times what it would cost to just buy cards. And what is wrong with you? Who raised you? Have you no appreciation of someones efforts? For you!And who says these things? Really? Why even judge a card? Can't you just be happy you got one?
OMG. I gotta calm down.
Abby gave good advice, I thought. But it gives me a bleak picture of the people out there.
This is also why I stay home.
Bang on, my peeps. MAKE SHIT!
-HH
Sunday, December 12, 2010 Why Do I Leave The House?
Today I found myself at the train station. On my way to New York to audition for a casting director. Why? I don't know.
A few years ago I would have been salivating over the opportunity. But, thankfully, I have outgrown my need for acting fame and fortune...or whatever I thought was going to happen every time I got up at a ghastly hour for an audition.
Today I got up when the need arose, about 9 AM thanks to a hand-me-down Tempurpedic pillow I got from my faboo neighbor, and slowly worked my way to ready. Hair, make-up, outfit - you know, all those things I don't really like to do. As The Headbanging Hostess I usually primp for my videos, but when it comes to dinner you get what you get. Sometimes I don't have the time to put on make-up or do my hair. And I'm not that kinda girl anyway! I love not wearing make-up. Because I hate to take it off. I've been known to take a shower because I'm too lazy to wash my face.
True dat.
Anyway, back to my point, enough about my vanity habits, or lack thereof, I was in the train station for 2 minutes before someone annoyed me in line at Dunkin' Donuts.
"What's a number three?" she asks her friend in line behind me.
Are you serious?
It's a picture menu! There's a picture of a bagel with cream cheese and there's a number 3 in the corner.
"What's a Dunkachino?"
Apparently she's been in a coma for seven years.
Then I get my tea, turn around to go and I trip on the bags of the lazy bitch behind me! Are you fucking kidding me? You didn't think I'd be moving? That I'd need to remove myself from the immediate area of the counter so that you would be able to place your own beverage order? What are you, fucking stupid?
Apparently.
Why? Why do I leave the house?
Even though I don't really care, the audition went well. He gave me some very good notes on my monologue, mostly on my voice, and I got to do it again. But I have no dreams of Broadway. And even if I did "get the call" would I want to give up my Headbanging Hostessness? Not at the moment, no.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower and get this make-up off my face.
Bang on, my peeps!
-HH
A few years ago I would have been salivating over the opportunity. But, thankfully, I have outgrown my need for acting fame and fortune...or whatever I thought was going to happen every time I got up at a ghastly hour for an audition.
Today I got up when the need arose, about 9 AM thanks to a hand-me-down Tempurpedic pillow I got from my faboo neighbor, and slowly worked my way to ready. Hair, make-up, outfit - you know, all those things I don't really like to do. As The Headbanging Hostess I usually primp for my videos, but when it comes to dinner you get what you get. Sometimes I don't have the time to put on make-up or do my hair. And I'm not that kinda girl anyway! I love not wearing make-up. Because I hate to take it off. I've been known to take a shower because I'm too lazy to wash my face.
True dat.
Anyway, back to my point, enough about my vanity habits, or lack thereof, I was in the train station for 2 minutes before someone annoyed me in line at Dunkin' Donuts.
"What's a number three?" she asks her friend in line behind me.
Are you serious?
It's a picture menu! There's a picture of a bagel with cream cheese and there's a number 3 in the corner.
"What's a Dunkachino?"
Apparently she's been in a coma for seven years.
Then I get my tea, turn around to go and I trip on the bags of the lazy bitch behind me! Are you fucking kidding me? You didn't think I'd be moving? That I'd need to remove myself from the immediate area of the counter so that you would be able to place your own beverage order? What are you, fucking stupid?
Apparently.
Why? Why do I leave the house?
Even though I don't really care, the audition went well. He gave me some very good notes on my monologue, mostly on my voice, and I got to do it again. But I have no dreams of Broadway. And even if I did "get the call" would I want to give up my Headbanging Hostessness? Not at the moment, no.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower and get this make-up off my face.
Bang on, my peeps!
-HH
Friday, December 10, 2010 Manners And Automatic Doors
Unfortunately it is time for another blog entry regarding manners, or the lack thereof.
People! The handicapped symbol on the big button that says "push to open" is an indicator. It indicates that the button is to be used by the handicapped to open the door. Not perfectly able bodied lazy assholes!
AAAHHHHH!
Standing in the lobby at school, waiting for my ride on a cold windy day, I can't even count the number of young, healthy students who pushed the button to enter the building, leaving those of us in the lobby wind-whipped and freezing. I mean, really. If you want to be that lazy, do it in the summer. Do you not notice there are other people in the world? Are you completely unaware of the consequences of your actions?
I guess so.
These people are in college?
It reminds me of my younger days, taking the train to and from work. Waiting in the train station for my ride there would always be people standing by the automatic door, opening it with their very presence, and completely unaware. We're waiting inside for a reason, asshole. Because it's fucking cold outside!
I really thought they were too dumb to notice, but maybe they just didn't give a fuck. Regardless, they were not the type of people you would confront. Because if they were that dumb and didn't give a fuck they wouldn't be open to a polite suggestion regarding sensors and automatic doors.
So what's the solution? Stay home? Public shaming? Death penalty?
I like that one...
-HH
People! The handicapped symbol on the big button that says "push to open" is an indicator. It indicates that the button is to be used by the handicapped to open the door. Not perfectly able bodied lazy assholes!
AAAHHHHH!
Standing in the lobby at school, waiting for my ride on a cold windy day, I can't even count the number of young, healthy students who pushed the button to enter the building, leaving those of us in the lobby wind-whipped and freezing. I mean, really. If you want to be that lazy, do it in the summer. Do you not notice there are other people in the world? Are you completely unaware of the consequences of your actions?
I guess so.
These people are in college?
It reminds me of my younger days, taking the train to and from work. Waiting in the train station for my ride there would always be people standing by the automatic door, opening it with their very presence, and completely unaware. We're waiting inside for a reason, asshole. Because it's fucking cold outside!
I really thought they were too dumb to notice, but maybe they just didn't give a fuck. Regardless, they were not the type of people you would confront. Because if they were that dumb and didn't give a fuck they wouldn't be open to a polite suggestion regarding sensors and automatic doors.
So what's the solution? Stay home? Public shaming? Death penalty?
I like that one...
-HH
Saturday, November 13, 2010 Karma, Manners and the MTA
The other day I was rushing to catch a train. I shoved my husbands credit card in the machine, ordered two round trips picked up my ticket and ran. Leaving the second ticket behind. $18.50 out the window. May the guy behind me in line, who OBVIOUSLY took my ticket, experience an equal upsetment.
Yesterday (actually this morning) while coming home on the 1:12 train, I sat next to a woman I'd seen moments before frantically trying to locate her train. I sat in the aisle seat with my ear buds, my chocolate bar and my diet Sprite, ready to endure the ride home after a ridiculously long day.
So this woman, who was sitting there enjoying her own chocolate bar, starts filing her nails! In public! Now this is a pet peeve of mine. It's gross. It's also very unsanitary. Health departments don't inspect nail salons because they want to fill their days with nonsense. They do it because bacteria love fingernails and people can get infections when equipment isn't used properly or sanitarily.
So as she's aerating her biological components I put my candy bar away - wanting so badly to turn to her and tell her off. And if the train wasn't so packed with hockey fans I would have switched seats with a disgusted demeanor. But I couldn't do either, so I turned up my music and tried my best to ignore her.
Then she starts clipping them! ICK! You heard me! Clipping her fucking nails in public on the train. There is no viler sound than a nail clipper. Again I wanted to turn to her and tell her off, but I just wasn't up for the confrontation. So I turned the music up even more.
If I heard something coming over the loudspeaker I took out an ear bud to confirm I was on the right train and after a few announcements and a manicure the train finally took off. Forty-five more minutes and I can go to bed!
Now, if you're not from around here I should say that every train leaving Grand Central stops at 125th street before they proceed onto Connecticut. So the train stops again, announces again where we're going and closes the doors. Bam. She turns to me.
"Is this train going to Stamford?"
I remove my ear bud. "Yup, first stop."
She begins to shift in her seat, worriedly. Nowhere for her to go...unless she wants to jump off a moving train.
When the conductor comes by it all becomes as clear as a topcoat of polish. She got on the wrong fucking train! She needed the local to get off in New Rochelle. So now she had to go to Stamford and get on another train to go back. Ha ha.
That's what you get when you're too busy paying attention to your nails when you should be paying attention to the train conductors announcements!
It was worth the $18.50!
-HH
Yesterday (actually this morning) while coming home on the 1:12 train, I sat next to a woman I'd seen moments before frantically trying to locate her train. I sat in the aisle seat with my ear buds, my chocolate bar and my diet Sprite, ready to endure the ride home after a ridiculously long day.
So this woman, who was sitting there enjoying her own chocolate bar, starts filing her nails! In public! Now this is a pet peeve of mine. It's gross. It's also very unsanitary. Health departments don't inspect nail salons because they want to fill their days with nonsense. They do it because bacteria love fingernails and people can get infections when equipment isn't used properly or sanitarily.
So as she's aerating her biological components I put my candy bar away - wanting so badly to turn to her and tell her off. And if the train wasn't so packed with hockey fans I would have switched seats with a disgusted demeanor. But I couldn't do either, so I turned up my music and tried my best to ignore her.
Then she starts clipping them! ICK! You heard me! Clipping her fucking nails in public on the train. There is no viler sound than a nail clipper. Again I wanted to turn to her and tell her off, but I just wasn't up for the confrontation. So I turned the music up even more.
If I heard something coming over the loudspeaker I took out an ear bud to confirm I was on the right train and after a few announcements and a manicure the train finally took off. Forty-five more minutes and I can go to bed!
Now, if you're not from around here I should say that every train leaving Grand Central stops at 125th street before they proceed onto Connecticut. So the train stops again, announces again where we're going and closes the doors. Bam. She turns to me.
"Is this train going to Stamford?"
I remove my ear bud. "Yup, first stop."
She begins to shift in her seat, worriedly. Nowhere for her to go...unless she wants to jump off a moving train.
When the conductor comes by it all becomes as clear as a topcoat of polish. She got on the wrong fucking train! She needed the local to get off in New Rochelle. So now she had to go to Stamford and get on another train to go back. Ha ha.
That's what you get when you're too busy paying attention to your nails when you should be paying attention to the train conductors announcements!
It was worth the $18.50!
-HH
Monday, October 18, 2010 It Gets Better
Much has been said recently about Dan Savage's "It Gets Better Project." I think it's fantastic that he is reaching out to young gay people in such a true, heartfelt, passionate way. Also circulating the internet is this video of a City Council Member spilling his guts out that could make just about anyone cry.
"It gets better." It's a brilliant message.
And if I may, I'd like to pass the message on to all the awkward Atheist, First-Generation American, oddly dressed, non-conformist young girls out there. And I totally don't mean that as an insult to the movement. I SO IDENTIFY with the whole Gay Movement simply because I know what it is to be different, and there's nothing you can do about it, and people don't seem to want (or ever want) to accept you.
I think a lot of folks have felt like that at some point in their life.
And what if they all thought back on that. And what if they vowed to never cause anyone else to feel like that.
Wouldn't the world be a better place?
Bang on, my peeps!
-HH
"It gets better." It's a brilliant message.
And if I may, I'd like to pass the message on to all the awkward Atheist, First-Generation American, oddly dressed, non-conformist young girls out there. And I totally don't mean that as an insult to the movement. I SO IDENTIFY with the whole Gay Movement simply because I know what it is to be different, and there's nothing you can do about it, and people don't seem to want (or ever want) to accept you.
I think a lot of folks have felt like that at some point in their life.
And what if they all thought back on that. And what if they vowed to never cause anyone else to feel like that.
Wouldn't the world be a better place?
Bang on, my peeps!
-HH
Monday, October 11, 2010 Giant Pumpkins and Gas Station Manners
So there's this guy in Fairfield who grows giant pumpkins. And when I say he grows giant pumpkins I mean he only grows giant pumpkin because, as you can see from the state of his backyard, they take up a lot of space.
Some guy in Wisconsin grew an 1,810 pound one. Biggest ever.
Some guy today at the gas station...grrr. Makes me mad just thinking about it. Who are these people who fill the tank and then go shopping in the mini-mart section of the gas station while you sit there in your car, clearly waiting for them to move their vehicle so that you may go on with your day?
Other people in the world!
-HH
Wednesday, October 6, 2010 Manners and Public Transportation
Last week I had car problems. Both cars wouldn't start. When it rains it pours. So I found myself taking the city bus from Stamford to school in Norwalk - that's two towns over, for those of you unfamiliar with Lower Fairfield County.
Now, I've taken the bus a lot in my life so it doesn't bother me. I don't think it's beneath me and it doesn't bother me that I'm the only white chick who speaks English on the bus. What do I care? I've got somewhere to go and they're taking me for $1.25!
Fuck! For that piddly amount I should be taking the bus all the time!
Anyway, the ride was pleasant enough. It was oddly quiet. It was obvious some people knew each other, they'd exchange greetings. But as the bus took off from every stop at lightning speed no one spoke a word.
Silence but for the sound of an overworked engine.
As I got off the bus I yelled out my customary, "Thank You!"
This isn't about me patting myself on the back. It's about human decency. It's about everyone having kick-ass manners!
I have a friend who's a bus driver. I asked him how many people thanked him as they got off the bus. "Very few, sweetie. We get little respect."
That is very sad to me.
After all, "Thank You" is free!
We may not all ride the bus, but I bet we all could say "Thank You" a little more often.
Bang on, my peeps!
-HH
Now, I've taken the bus a lot in my life so it doesn't bother me. I don't think it's beneath me and it doesn't bother me that I'm the only white chick who speaks English on the bus. What do I care? I've got somewhere to go and they're taking me for $1.25!
Fuck! For that piddly amount I should be taking the bus all the time!
Anyway, the ride was pleasant enough. It was oddly quiet. It was obvious some people knew each other, they'd exchange greetings. But as the bus took off from every stop at lightning speed no one spoke a word.
Silence but for the sound of an overworked engine.
As I got off the bus I yelled out my customary, "Thank You!"
This isn't about me patting myself on the back. It's about human decency. It's about everyone having kick-ass manners!
I have a friend who's a bus driver. I asked him how many people thanked him as they got off the bus. "Very few, sweetie. We get little respect."
That is very sad to me.
After all, "Thank You" is free!
We may not all ride the bus, but I bet we all could say "Thank You" a little more often.
Bang on, my peeps!
-HH
Monday, October 4, 2010 Kick-Ass Cooking, Kick-Ass Music and Kick-Ass Manners
That's what it's all about.
Cooking, obviously, is what started all this bloggingness. I've become a damn good cook over the last 9 months. I've made 24 videos since this all started. Some with awesome dinner party ideas, some with recipes for two and some just for fun. And, not only have I acquired over 300 Facebook fans, I've inspired two time dinner guest Jeff to start his own supper club. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what it's all about.
I can't, of course, leave out the music. I am forever thankful to Facebook for introducing me to the fabulosity that is Arcane Malevolence. Even better than their music is the fact that they're just a bunch of awesome guys, with even cooler girlfriends. And through them I met No Remission and Burn the Bodies (one of them is a cool girlfriend, there's some overlap here) and now I'm looking forward to another night of bands for dinner with The Midnightmares and, of course, Arcane Malevolence.
And now, to the manners. I've blogged about them before - but I think I've barely scratched the surface. There's a lot of mining to be done in the deep, dark caverns of modern "humanity." There I go with those quotes again. I insert them because I don't think we're very humane to each other most of the time. And that is most unheadbanging, to me.
So, that is what it is all about.
Bang on, my peeps!
-HH
Cooking, obviously, is what started all this bloggingness. I've become a damn good cook over the last 9 months. I've made 24 videos since this all started. Some with awesome dinner party ideas, some with recipes for two and some just for fun. And, not only have I acquired over 300 Facebook fans, I've inspired two time dinner guest Jeff to start his own supper club. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what it's all about.
I can't, of course, leave out the music. I am forever thankful to Facebook for introducing me to the fabulosity that is Arcane Malevolence. Even better than their music is the fact that they're just a bunch of awesome guys, with even cooler girlfriends. And through them I met No Remission and Burn the Bodies (one of them is a cool girlfriend, there's some overlap here) and now I'm looking forward to another night of bands for dinner with The Midnightmares and, of course, Arcane Malevolence.
And now, to the manners. I've blogged about them before - but I think I've barely scratched the surface. There's a lot of mining to be done in the deep, dark caverns of modern "humanity." There I go with those quotes again. I insert them because I don't think we're very humane to each other most of the time. And that is most unheadbanging, to me.
So, that is what it is all about.
Bang on, my peeps!
-HH
Monday, September 20, 2010 Things I Learned In School Today
Great title. I know.
Actually, I may only write about one thing I learned in school today, because I can't get it out of my head.
Food and Beverage is the third largest industry.
Now, silly me, I'm left wondering why there isn't some kind of correlation between the third largest industry part and the getting respect from customers part. Oh, yeah. 10 months after leaving my serving job I'm still scarred for life. Actually, I can't blame it all on that. People treat you like crap when you're serving them ice cream and making them cakes, too.
So why is that?
And why the hell am I in Culinary School if I can't stand people so much?
Things that make you go, hmmm....
I've been saying that a lot lately. Hmmm.
Bang on, my peeps!
-HH
Actually, I may only write about one thing I learned in school today, because I can't get it out of my head.
Food and Beverage is the third largest industry.
Now, silly me, I'm left wondering why there isn't some kind of correlation between the third largest industry part and the getting respect from customers part. Oh, yeah. 10 months after leaving my serving job I'm still scarred for life. Actually, I can't blame it all on that. People treat you like crap when you're serving them ice cream and making them cakes, too.
So why is that?
And why the hell am I in Culinary School if I can't stand people so much?
Things that make you go, hmmm....
I've been saying that a lot lately. Hmmm.
Bang on, my peeps!
-HH
Sunday, August 1, 2010 Who Are These People?
When I go on my daily walk to the beach, no matter what time of day, there always seems to be someone camped out on the sidewalk.
Do they not understand the meaning of the word sidewalk?
And I'm not talking about people standing around talking. I'm talking about "put out my beach chair so I can read a book or sun myself" jerks. And I'm talking about people who actually pull a picnic table off the grass and onto the sidewalk. What for? Who the fuck knows. Why they want to be farther away from their daughters softball game is anyone's guess. But are they that oblivious to the existence of others that they completely disregard the actual purpose of the sidewalk and not notice walkers such as myself being forced to walk around them, muttering under our breath and shaking our heads in disgust?
Either they don't see it or they don't care.
Who are these people? Who raises them? And why can't we give them the death penalty?
-HH
Do they not understand the meaning of the word sidewalk?
And I'm not talking about people standing around talking. I'm talking about "put out my beach chair so I can read a book or sun myself" jerks. And I'm talking about people who actually pull a picnic table off the grass and onto the sidewalk. What for? Who the fuck knows. Why they want to be farther away from their daughters softball game is anyone's guess. But are they that oblivious to the existence of others that they completely disregard the actual purpose of the sidewalk and not notice walkers such as myself being forced to walk around them, muttering under our breath and shaking our heads in disgust?
Either they don't see it or they don't care.
Who are these people? Who raises them? And why can't we give them the death penalty?
-HH
Monday, July 26, 2010 One! Singular Tomato!
April 1st I started my seeds indoors. Now, just under 4 months later, I have plucked my first fruit - a tomato the size of a dime.
My husband and I ate it, it wasn't even ripe yet, but the good news is we got to it before the neighborhood squirrel got to it. This is a feat.
Last year the little bastard got each one of my tomatoes, one at a time as they ripened. I know this because I've caught him in the act! I've chased him off my porch in the early morning hours too many times to count. His dexterity and ability to crawl through the smallest opening, around every me-made impediment, is almost charming. The look on his face when he gets caught is adorable. Then he quickly and clumsily scampers away and out what I never knew was an in.
The whole thing is both maddening and amusing.
Here I am, on the second west-facing floor, growing tomatoes out of an icing bucket. It's not remotely cost or time effective. And this summer has been so hot I've been forced to cut back on my usual habit of sitting on the porch staring at the plants and waiting for them to grow.
I've never had much luck with vegetables and yet I insist on growing some every year. Herbs have always done well for me, but this year it seems I bought a bunch of bad ones because three of them have died. It could be that my soil is simply exhausted. I haven't been composting like I should be, but composting on a porch isn't that easy and my husband doesn't really like it. I understand.
But I garden on...
On a somewhat related note, I stumbled upon a group of volunteers at the Bird Preserve today. I'm assuming they were from the UCONN Master Gardener program. I should have asked but I skipped right to asking what they were doing. They were pulling up an invasive weed, they had stacked up piles of it in the path. She told me the name and I quickly forgot it. It had a "Z" in it. Looked like a nice plant to me but they know better than I do. I've read an article or two about goats eating kudzu so I know invasive species need to be swiftly squashed.
"That's cool" was my well educated response. "This is the coolest place in Stamford. I tell all my friends, it's the only place people smile and say hello. Everywhere else in Stamford people stink."
I censored myself by not saying "suck."
They giggled - because I was right. And right is funny.
"That's nice to hear!"
"Well, it's true. So, thank you."
And as I walked around the rest of the path I wished The Headbanging Hostess could throw them a dinner party. Because, ladies and gentlemen, those people are super cool people. They'll get dressed up like mailmen in the outback and pull weeds out of a pond in order to provide a place for wildlife to frolic and for us to enjoy.
And they don't do it for glory, or press. They're not "tweeting" about their work. They do it because it's right. Because it needs to be done.
That rocks!
Bang on, my peeps!
-HH
Saturday, July 17, 2010 Stamford's Best Kept Secret
If I'm as brilliant a writer as I sometimes think I am I have managed to paint a picture of my hometown as a desert of manners, riddled with rudeness and plagued with assholes.
If I haven't done so feel free to use your imagination.
But the one place in town where I am always sure to get a smile and a hello is the Bird Preserve, located behind the girl's softball fields at Cove Island Park.
As you pass the metal gate with seagull silhouettes the screaming parents slowly fade as the sound of nature fills your ears. Swallows swooping by, paired up by color (go figure) - these birds take this mating ritual seriously. Meadow grass almost as tall as me covers what used to be known as Stamford's "stump dump". Now it has been carefully landscaped into a natural setting including ponds, rock formations and bird feeders and houses for every feather.
It's a beautiful place - wild flowers, a butterfly garden, deer, birds, bunnies, beavers, foxes, turkeys and nice people. You heard me. Nice people.
Teenagers, old fogeys, couples, lone men, people who don't even speak English - everyone gives a smile and a hello at the Bird Preserve.
"It's BE-YOOO-TEE-FUHL!" one Eastern European man yelled to me once from deep in the meadow. For all I know he could have been naked from the waist down and commenting on my rack. But let's pretend he was actually enjoying the beauty of nature in good old Stamford, CT.
How fucking cool is that?
Now, I've seen paths in the grass. People trampling their way into the thick meadow to do who-knows-what. And I know they shouldn't be doing it. But I also know they have some big and possibly deadly spiders crawling around there at night. I know this because I poked one with a stick like a genius one night. It was a black widow in shape, but it was too dark to see the markings.
And I had to run and catch up with my husband.
-HH
Tuesday, July 6, 2010 Another Word on Manners
I hope the holiday weekend brought everyone some joy, good times, good friends, good food and good manners.
You know how it is - when you have to put up with that certain family member, your friends spouse who you can't stand or a perfect stranger with no sense of personal space.
One day this weekend my husband and I found ourselves boating on Candlewood Lake. We've been out a few times with our friends on their boat. This time I noticed something new - as we passed other boats they'd wave (most of them) and my hosts would wave back. My husband quickly picked up on it, but I was still unsure.
Come on, this is Connecticut. We don't say hello to strangers. When walking on land we're sure to avoid eye contact at all costs - unless the person is walking a dog, then we give a smile and goofy "hello" to the furry four-legged stranger - as if the owner isn't even there. So why is it different on a boat?
I imagine, for a moment, that these people have money (at least enough to own a boat) and with that money must come manners. I quickly snap back to reality and remember that money and manners don't always go hand-in-hand.
I have worked in a few of the "richer" towns in lower Fairfield County. Darien, best known for its stepford wives and runaway rapists, has a very polite population. At least they did 10 years ago when I last served them. My theory is the old money comes with old school ways - manners are handed down generation to generation.
My time working in Greenwich was marred by total, complete assholes. "New Money" someone told me, "they're living paycheck to paycheck just like the rest of us." Their paychecks just tend to be bigger. Apparently the stress of living like this (it must be just awful having the mansions and the cars and the bling) causes them to treat everyone else in the world like dirt. Or less than dirt - like gum on the bottom of a designer shoe. I'd reference a certain brand but I have zero interest in designer shoes.
Now, working in Stamford... I don't know how to describe it. My hometown has grown tremendously over the past few decades. Corporate headquarters, major banks, constant construction, commuters - people have packed themselves in like sardines. Traffic sucks, going to the supermarket sucks, going to the beach sucks. It just sucks. But most of all THE PEOPLE SUCK.
I won't get into my time at the restaurant working as a server - I just would rather not remember it. I will also forgo stories about the bakery or the ice cream place. However, I must share with you this little ditty.
My husband works at a post office in the richer section of town. Every day he comes home with another horror story of how clueless and rude his customers are. They have taken his morning paper to stuff in their shipment (and you can bet he made them open the package, uncrumple the pages and give it back), he's been accused of stealing a credit card (the woman later apologized when she realized her maid had the card) and he's been nickle and dimed to the point when he's paid the cost of the stamp just to get them out of his face!
My husband don't take shit from no one.
I went to visit him at work once. I parked in the back and went to the entrance. They share the back door with a Subway - and as I was walking in I saw a woman coming out. I, of course, opened the door for her and she walked through and past me without any acknowledgement. So I loudly said, "YOU'RE WELCOME!"
Nothin'...
Now, this is another one of those moments when I wish I'd done something more. Like yelled, swore, called her names and punched her in the fucking face.
"I'm not your fucking servant, lady! I'm a fellow human being. You're not any better than me. In fact, you're less than me, because I have manners enough to acknowledge the presence of someone else and to make their day that much better by opening the door for them in a gesture of kindness, community and camaraderie. We're all in this life together, bitch! Now say "thank you" before I kick you in the connie!"
What the fuck is wrong with people?
And this is not an isolated incident. This happens all the time - and it's about time that those of us with manners stood up for what was right and demanded respect.
Many moons ago at the train station in Fairfield (another town rich in money but apparently not manners) I witnessed three "grown women" belittle the guy selling tickets. They apparently didn't understand the train schedule (the exact times and dates printed in red ink apparently didn't register in their pea brains) and when the ticket seller informed them he didn't have time to explain it to them because he had a line of people needing to buy tickets for the train that was coming (during the Christmas rush with the times and dates clearly printed in red ink so a moron could understand) they got all snotty with him - like his job wasn't important, the other people in line weren't important and aren't we all far below them in status, us train takers.
FUCK YOU, LADIES!
I still wish I'd said something to them bitches - a fact that has propelled me to open my mouth on numerous occasions since then. But not enough. I need to do more.
So watch out you rude bastards. The Headbanging Hostess is out for blood - a pound of your rude flesh. Because if you think you're better than me you're wrong and I'll be more than happy to prove it.
Bang on, my peeps! And teach them fuckers a lesson!
-HH
You know how it is - when you have to put up with that certain family member, your friends spouse who you can't stand or a perfect stranger with no sense of personal space.
One day this weekend my husband and I found ourselves boating on Candlewood Lake. We've been out a few times with our friends on their boat. This time I noticed something new - as we passed other boats they'd wave (most of them) and my hosts would wave back. My husband quickly picked up on it, but I was still unsure.
Come on, this is Connecticut. We don't say hello to strangers. When walking on land we're sure to avoid eye contact at all costs - unless the person is walking a dog, then we give a smile and goofy "hello" to the furry four-legged stranger - as if the owner isn't even there. So why is it different on a boat?
I imagine, for a moment, that these people have money (at least enough to own a boat) and with that money must come manners. I quickly snap back to reality and remember that money and manners don't always go hand-in-hand.
I have worked in a few of the "richer" towns in lower Fairfield County. Darien, best known for its stepford wives and runaway rapists, has a very polite population. At least they did 10 years ago when I last served them. My theory is the old money comes with old school ways - manners are handed down generation to generation.
My time working in Greenwich was marred by total, complete assholes. "New Money" someone told me, "they're living paycheck to paycheck just like the rest of us." Their paychecks just tend to be bigger. Apparently the stress of living like this (it must be just awful having the mansions and the cars and the bling) causes them to treat everyone else in the world like dirt. Or less than dirt - like gum on the bottom of a designer shoe. I'd reference a certain brand but I have zero interest in designer shoes.
Now, working in Stamford... I don't know how to describe it. My hometown has grown tremendously over the past few decades. Corporate headquarters, major banks, constant construction, commuters - people have packed themselves in like sardines. Traffic sucks, going to the supermarket sucks, going to the beach sucks. It just sucks. But most of all THE PEOPLE SUCK.
I won't get into my time at the restaurant working as a server - I just would rather not remember it. I will also forgo stories about the bakery or the ice cream place. However, I must share with you this little ditty.
My husband works at a post office in the richer section of town. Every day he comes home with another horror story of how clueless and rude his customers are. They have taken his morning paper to stuff in their shipment (and you can bet he made them open the package, uncrumple the pages and give it back), he's been accused of stealing a credit card (the woman later apologized when she realized her maid had the card) and he's been nickle and dimed to the point when he's paid the cost of the stamp just to get them out of his face!
My husband don't take shit from no one.
I went to visit him at work once. I parked in the back and went to the entrance. They share the back door with a Subway - and as I was walking in I saw a woman coming out. I, of course, opened the door for her and she walked through and past me without any acknowledgement. So I loudly said, "YOU'RE WELCOME!"
Nothin'...
Now, this is another one of those moments when I wish I'd done something more. Like yelled, swore, called her names and punched her in the fucking face.
"I'm not your fucking servant, lady! I'm a fellow human being. You're not any better than me. In fact, you're less than me, because I have manners enough to acknowledge the presence of someone else and to make their day that much better by opening the door for them in a gesture of kindness, community and camaraderie. We're all in this life together, bitch! Now say "thank you" before I kick you in the connie!"
What the fuck is wrong with people?
And this is not an isolated incident. This happens all the time - and it's about time that those of us with manners stood up for what was right and demanded respect.
Many moons ago at the train station in Fairfield (another town rich in money but apparently not manners) I witnessed three "grown women" belittle the guy selling tickets. They apparently didn't understand the train schedule (the exact times and dates printed in red ink apparently didn't register in their pea brains) and when the ticket seller informed them he didn't have time to explain it to them because he had a line of people needing to buy tickets for the train that was coming (during the Christmas rush with the times and dates clearly printed in red ink so a moron could understand) they got all snotty with him - like his job wasn't important, the other people in line weren't important and aren't we all far below them in status, us train takers.
FUCK YOU, LADIES!
I still wish I'd said something to them bitches - a fact that has propelled me to open my mouth on numerous occasions since then. But not enough. I need to do more.
So watch out you rude bastards. The Headbanging Hostess is out for blood - a pound of your rude flesh. Because if you think you're better than me you're wrong and I'll be more than happy to prove it.
Bang on, my peeps! And teach them fuckers a lesson!
-HH
Thursday, June 3, 2010 Headbanging for Human Decency
Yesterday, while signing up for college classes, my path crossed the path of one cross young woman.
I hesitate to call her a young lady, which is why I didn’t. She was rude, attitudinal, belligerent, crass, crude, unrefined, classless and guilty of conduct unbecoming a Headbanging Hostess.
As I stood at the Records Office counter I listened, cringing, as she barked her demands to the poor woman on the other side of the counter. The woman was more than twice her age. Apparently no one teaches respect for your elders anymore. This girl apparently was raised to believe we are all here to serve her and meet her demands exactly as she sees fit.
There’s a word for her. But I won’t use it. I won’t even say the first letter.
But she was.
And I can’t be blamed for pointing it out. I didn’t make her that way. She was very comfortable in the role – making everyone else within earshot uncomfortable.
Good for you, Girlfriend. I hope it all works out for you.
NOT!
How’s about signing up for Manners 101?
This was one of those times when I wanted to say something. To do something - stand up for human decency. But I didn’t.
The chick wasn’t rational. If I had said something I might be waking up with a black-eye. Or in jail. Or in a hospital.
So I kept my mouth shut.
Is this the best course of action for The Headbanging Hostess in a situation such as this? Do I need to take some Karate classes along with my Culinary Training?
What do you think?
-HH
I hesitate to call her a young lady, which is why I didn’t. She was rude, attitudinal, belligerent, crass, crude, unrefined, classless and guilty of conduct unbecoming a Headbanging Hostess.
As I stood at the Records Office counter I listened, cringing, as she barked her demands to the poor woman on the other side of the counter. The woman was more than twice her age. Apparently no one teaches respect for your elders anymore. This girl apparently was raised to believe we are all here to serve her and meet her demands exactly as she sees fit.
There’s a word for her. But I won’t use it. I won’t even say the first letter.
But she was.
And I can’t be blamed for pointing it out. I didn’t make her that way. She was very comfortable in the role – making everyone else within earshot uncomfortable.
Good for you, Girlfriend. I hope it all works out for you.
NOT!
How’s about signing up for Manners 101?
This was one of those times when I wanted to say something. To do something - stand up for human decency. But I didn’t.
The chick wasn’t rational. If I had said something I might be waking up with a black-eye. Or in jail. Or in a hospital.
So I kept my mouth shut.
Is this the best course of action for The Headbanging Hostess in a situation such as this? Do I need to take some Karate classes along with my Culinary Training?
What do you think?
-HH
Saturday, May 15, 2010 A Headbanging Hostess Tip
A Headbanging Hostess is always a hostess. Even when you are out and about in the world, one should be as welcoming as possible when people enter your space. This is assuming, of course, that they are equally welcoming. If they should happen to be rude then fuck'm. Unfortunately, that is overwhelmingly the case in this thing we call civilization out of tradition more than definition.
We've all been there. You know, that trip to the supermarket when apparently nobody got the memo. The memo that there are other people in the world. They block the aisle with their carts or their asses, barring access to the one thing you went to the store to get. Or they're just moving so fucking slow and completely centered in the middle of the aisle so you can't get past them at all and you know they can see you out of the corner of their eye but they don't care!
I hate people like that.
But I digress.
The Headbanging Hostess has spent what seems like a lifetime serving customers. Anyone who's done it knows that a single 8 hour shift can last a lifetime. So when The Headbanging Hostess finally reaches the check-out she not only has her own bag that she knit out of cotton and has been using for at least 3 years, she has her freakin' manners! They're free, people. "Hello!" "Please" "Thank You" - don't cost a cent. I actually stole that advice from a very young, hot, angry waiter.
I digress again.
A Headbanging Hostess always greets the cashier with a "Hello, how are you?" and a big smile. The poor fuck's been standing on their feet ringing up all the idiots you've been dodging in the aisles for who knows how long. For nothing. Minimum wage, minus taxes and probably union dues. And minus dignity, because people aren't nice to cashiers - at least round these here parts. If you live in Nicepeopleland let me know where it is.
If you are lucky enough to have a bagger give them a smile and a hello. If you are lucky enough that they recognise that big pile of cotton yarn at the end of the belt as your hand knit grocery bag give them a big "Thank You!" with an exaggerated lilt, as if you're speaking to a four-year old or a dog. They probably don't speak English, so you're communicating with your tone more than anything. Tone is universal. When you see porn in a foreign language you still know they're enjoying it, even though you don't know what the fuck they're saying.
Digressing.
Always end with a "Thank you! Have a good one!" I substitute "good one" for day/evening/holiday so I never really have to be sure what time of day it is. Or what day it is. Covers all my bases.
Does this make the world a better place? No. But it makes my world a better place for a few moments - exchanging pleasantries with another person as if we really were "civilized."
After that it's back to dodging idiots on my way out through the parking lot. Idiots driving cars are dangerous, very dangerous.
Now, back to my movie...
Bang on, my peeps! ;)
-HH
We've all been there. You know, that trip to the supermarket when apparently nobody got the memo. The memo that there are other people in the world. They block the aisle with their carts or their asses, barring access to the one thing you went to the store to get. Or they're just moving so fucking slow and completely centered in the middle of the aisle so you can't get past them at all and you know they can see you out of the corner of their eye but they don't care!
I hate people like that.
But I digress.
The Headbanging Hostess has spent what seems like a lifetime serving customers. Anyone who's done it knows that a single 8 hour shift can last a lifetime. So when The Headbanging Hostess finally reaches the check-out she not only has her own bag that she knit out of cotton and has been using for at least 3 years, she has her freakin' manners! They're free, people. "Hello!" "Please" "Thank You" - don't cost a cent. I actually stole that advice from a very young, hot, angry waiter.
I digress again.
A Headbanging Hostess always greets the cashier with a "Hello, how are you?" and a big smile. The poor fuck's been standing on their feet ringing up all the idiots you've been dodging in the aisles for who knows how long. For nothing. Minimum wage, minus taxes and probably union dues. And minus dignity, because people aren't nice to cashiers - at least round these here parts. If you live in Nicepeopleland let me know where it is.
If you are lucky enough to have a bagger give them a smile and a hello. If you are lucky enough that they recognise that big pile of cotton yarn at the end of the belt as your hand knit grocery bag give them a big "Thank You!" with an exaggerated lilt, as if you're speaking to a four-year old or a dog. They probably don't speak English, so you're communicating with your tone more than anything. Tone is universal. When you see porn in a foreign language you still know they're enjoying it, even though you don't know what the fuck they're saying.
Digressing.
Always end with a "Thank you! Have a good one!" I substitute "good one" for day/evening/holiday so I never really have to be sure what time of day it is. Or what day it is. Covers all my bases.
Does this make the world a better place? No. But it makes my world a better place for a few moments - exchanging pleasantries with another person as if we really were "civilized."
After that it's back to dodging idiots on my way out through the parking lot. Idiots driving cars are dangerous, very dangerous.
Now, back to my movie...
Bang on, my peeps! ;)
-HH
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