Archive for the ‘Plain Old Fashioned Stupidity’ Category

Stupidity Can Kill You and Me

Saturday, November 27th, 2010

The other day, after a stuper (short for a preposterously stupid person) entered my office building, wandered down its lovely, faux finished hallways to my suite, and accused my assistant of harassing him after she nicely asked, “May I help you?” I decided to take a brisk stroll, and gave my assistant the afternoon off (she deserved it, as we’d been subjected to a barrage of nonstop, sue-happy, completely idiotic callers in the legal non-profit where I work; I left a message for the people at the Guinness World Book of Records to report the phenomenon).

Alas, my walk was not stuper-free, as I came to realize: I may be the target of a hitman. Here’s why:

I waited on a street corner. When the light turned green for me to enter the crosswalk in the smallish, downtown area where I work, I hesitated before I stepped down off the curb, and it was a good thing that I did, because an SUV nearly barreled over me… during my green light.

The crosswalk  was in a medium size, one way street with two lanes; yet, I felt like I was crossing a narrow bridge over a dangerous river with deceitful whirlpools and extraordinarily turbulent waters.

After that first encounter, I bravely entered the crosswalk, stepping out one foot in front of the other and eyeing the traffic from all sides, but before I could make it to the other side, an oncoming motorist drove right through in front of me, a mere three feet away from my person, brakes optional, while I posed, shoe in mid-air. You’ve got to believe me when I tell you that I’m not invisible. Especially while wearing my ruffled, red top. Nor am I overly small, as my four inch heels elongated me, lengthening my height to roughly 6 ft. Two conclusions immediately came to mind: a stuper hired a hitman to mow me down, or 

I was part of a new reality TV show, where unsuspecting peds are nearly hit, just for giggles and ratings. Sheer genius.

The hitman option was not a viable one. First, because hitmen cost a lot of money, and neither of the cars that almost plowed me down were luxury vehicles. I would hope the price on my head would fall in the mid six-figure range.  Also, stupers lack intent. They just act and talk freely, liberally displaying their inadequacies for all to view. They could not even consider hiring an assassin, let alone purposefully behaving like one. It was more probable that I was part of a newly developed reality show. Possibly by Fox, the same folks who put on “The Little Groom,” where a group of tiny bachelorettes competed against average-sized women for the heart of a 4-foot-5 bachelor.

 Or by UBN who brought us, “Amish in the City,” where  five young Amish people were plucked from their traditional lifestyles and encouraged to live life in the city with wild abandon for our viewing pleasure.

The only reality is: stupers exist. To overcome encounters with these determinedly empty-headed beings, we must keep watch over our own minds at all times and create our own realities; not the ones they want to make us believe exists.

 Think for yourself.


Health and Safety and Stupidity

Tuesday, October 5th, 2010

One of the main advancements in modern health and safety is the fact that food service workers wear sanitary gloves when handling food items. But this begs the question: is the glove truly sanitary? Not when a stuper (short for a sensationally stupid person) is involved.


I waited patiently on the public side of the bakery counter at a huge health food market so that I could get two innocent loaves of bread sliced.  I eyed the lone employee’s profile as she expertly ignored me from the other side of the counter. She fiddled with her cell phone, scratched her head and licked some chocolate off a gloved thumb that accidently scraped against a rogue cupcake sitting on a nearby prep table. She continued  texting.  All while wearing food service gloves.

I cleared my throat. She didn’t flinch. I slapped the palm of my hand down on the glass countertop. No reaction. 

“Excuse me!” I cried out for attention.

She didn’t budge. I swear. Granted Madonna was playing from somewhere overhead, possibly completely taking over the sense of hearing of those not properly using their minds. I felt…frustrated. Did I mention that I wanted two loaves of bread sliced?

Finally, I huffed so loudly, she turned her head toward me and asked, “Did you need something?” 

I mutely lifted the unwitting loaves of bread, one in each hand, which I held up for all to see. By this time, an appreciative line had formed behind me.

As you likely predicted, the distracted worker proceeded to slice my bread with the same gloved hands used on her phone, her hair and her tongue. 

“Please!” I kindly screamed. Just in the nick of time.


My one word said it all, as she quickly changed out of her gloves and donned a fresh pair. But this tale doesn’t end here, as stupidity is perpetual. Once the bread was sliced, she removed the sanitary gloves to use her bare hands to shove the bread into plastic bags to hand over to me. To add insult to injury, instead of tying the ends of the bags with those ever present twisty ties that come in all the primary colors plus green and black, she decided to tie the ends in a knot. A double knot. All this in plain view of yours truly.

My mantra lately has been to “lighten up,” as I find myself taking life far too seriously. I tried to grin and bear it. I took the bread when it was offered to me. Double knots, bare hands and all.  Did I mention that I was on the last lag of a 240 mile trip at the time?

When I returned to my car, I forced open a bag and ate a slice of bread. I’m happy to report that was four days ago. I didn’t grow a third arm, turn different shades of purple or even gag intermittently.

Beware of stupers. 


Trying to Provide Assistance to Stupid People

Sunday, June 27th, 2010

Working in a non-profit, legal organization means I receive a hefty amount of phone calls, many of which, I regret to report, are from stupers (short for unimaginably stupid persons). I received one such call from a woman who, at first, sounded like you and me. But then she rapidly showed her stuper stripes. This was not my first encounter with “Stella.” She’d called before, asking me to “research and locate” three attorneys for her that had been recommended by a postal worker, who evidently used lawyers regularly, but had difficulty remembering their names or much else. The only clues Stella provided me were these:

Stella: The first lawyer’s initials are either ESB, BSE, DBA or TBA. The second Lawyer has an office on State Street (take note, dear reader, there are about 185 legal offices on State Street), and the third lawyer carries a Louis Vuitton briefcase. I think she’s a woman.

You might find this a bit bizarre, but believe it or not, I receive many requests from people searching for particular attorneys located in my county, and the only helpful information they provide goes like this:

“He wears Hawaiian shirts a lot” or  “His name is John” or “She’s petite and pretty.” I swear.

I’d like to think these callers have heard of my astute, private investigator type and even telepathic capabilities. Only I don’t have any.

Stella, however, was deeply impressed with my sweet skills because I found her an attorney with the initials “ESB” who had an office on State Street and who carried a Louis Vuitton briefcase. But in the end, Stella decided the attorney I’d unearthed really couldn’t help her after all. She elaborated:

Stella: I need a lawyer who has experience in the Federal Courts.

Me: I only know of one such attorney, and his experience is with military bases.

Stella: My case is indirectly related to the military.

Me: He can’t help unless it’s directly related.

Stella: Well, my case is indirectly and directly related.

Me: What’s your case about?

Stella: It’s about family law, criminal law, civil rights, bankruptcy, social security, personal injury, real estate, defamation, intellectual property…. (I had time to run out of the office and across the street to Nordstrom to buy a pair of running shoes, which I knew I’d need after this conversation, as running is excellent therapy; I returned, not having missed any of her conversation)…animal husbandry and maritime law.

Me: (slightly out of breath) Sounds like a complex case. Too complex for us to handle.

Stella: I need a prosecutor and a defender. What does the guy do that you mentioned who practices Federal law? Is he both of those?

Me: He’s a negotiator.

Stella: That’s exactly what I need. Give me his name.

I rapidly considered excuses to get off the phone. Before I could spit one out, she continued:

Stella: Hold it. I’m talking to you from a disposable cell phone because I thought it was safe.

Me: (to myself) Aren’t throwaway phones only used by Al Qaeda, the CIA and those with a tendency to drop cell-phones down the toilet or to throw at stout, Wal-Mart type workers and paparazzi?

Stella: Gosh darn it! I’m not safe here, after all. Some guy wearing dark, mirrored sunglasses is watching me. They’re watching me all the time. Just hold it. I’m being followed again. I’ll have to talk to you later.

And that was that.

In my stupidity studies, I’ve learned that a necessary component to battling stupidity is nonresistance. The Chinese say that water is the most powerful element on earth, because it is perfectly nonresistant. It can wear away a rock, and sweep all before it. I think it’s often a good idea to make like water when confronted with stupidity.



Stupidity, Suicide and Obesity

Friday, May 28th, 2010

Yesterday on the way to a meeting, I almost committed suicide. It was all because of my pilgrimage to the Ladies Room in Macy’s.

I was slightly early for my meeting, so I took an uneventful stroll through Macy’s to the restroom. When I entered, my eyes fell on something that caused me to lapse into a state of unparalleled trauma; I searched for the nearest sharp object to plunge into my chest to divert my attention from what appeared before me. All I found was a discarded Macy’s catalog and a small child waiting for her mother. The small child ran and hid behind one of the lounge chairs.

What turned my usually cheerful nature into that of torment and hopelessness was a person, or what was once a person, who stood before a full length mirror, not to brush her hair or perhaps apply a coat of lip gloss, but to reach a meaty hand down into her onion-skin-thin, black leggings to adjust who-knows-what on her Jupiter size butt.

Yes, she weighed about eight hundred pounds and her top portion was stuffed into an equally thin, black, you-guessed-it, tankini.

It was too much for a delicate person such as myself. There was an oversize stall for the handicapped, which was unoccupied, but stupers (short for unsurprisingly stupid persons) do not mind displaying stupidity in public.

As you may imagine, I stumbled out and onto the street.  Due to my sudden post-traumatic stress disorder, I lost my way to the meeting. I could not remember the block where the office building I was to go to was located and found myself lost in the red-light district of Santa Barbara (now, I know that those of you who have visited Santa Barbara are thinking: there is no red-light district. In fact, as one walks on the main drag towards the posh hotels and the beach, there is an adult book store on the right hand side as well as a sketchy Thai food restaurant).

I finally came to my senses and made it to my meeting, three minutes late. But really, do we not think before we dress ourselves, at least when we step out in public?

Admittedly, I once went out in public, wearing my shirt inside-out, but in all fairness, it was at the break of dawn and one of my children was rushing me.

When we are slim, we should think before we dress, and the same goes for the times we put on weight, no matter if it’s five or five hundred pounds. And please don’t adjust your privates in an open space of any kind where there are others present.  I’ve read that even the heartiest plants wilt under such conditions. Let’s keep stupidity hidden to the extent we can.

Please think.


Stupidity Proofing Your Mind: Keep Stupidity Away

Sunday, May 2nd, 2010

Although I believe I’ve become pretty good at defusing stupidity, I still need reminders now and then in order to keep a positive attitude and to keep the stupers (short for startlingly stupid persons) from getting my goat or taking my peace away from me.

I’m going to let you in on a little secret I personally use to maintain my sanity during the days when the stupid among us raise their empty, thought-deprived heads high enough for me to view them: I wear a dandy little bracelet, made of string, around my wrist that looks something like this:

This lovely trinket is not an exact replica of my actual string bracelet (which I’m currently sporting); mine is homemade and spun of exactly two hastily twisted together threads, in eye-catching colors, and slips off my hand now and then, but only when I’m not paying proper attention, in the shower, or changing clothes. This slippage is appreciated because it constantly reminds me of the purpose of the bracelet which is to stay aware, keep a positive attitude and think.

Of course, such bracelets are not for everyone. Perhaps this may be better suited for some:

This emerald ring by Cartier is a good deal heavier than my bracelet, so slippage would be a non-issue and its dazzling, sparkly color may be just what one needs to make the stupers and their idiotic antics pale in comparison. If jewelry is not your thing, how about this:

A castle with surrounding moat, (piranhas optional). This type of real estate is a surefire method to keep stupers away. Unfortunately, there are no guarantees once one leaves the castle to go grocery shopping or to the post office or other popular stuper-infested destination spots. Idiots are at large in most public arenas.

Gentlemen, I have a suggestion for you also which you may use as a reminder:

Sapphire and diamond cuff-links that decorate the end of one’s sleeves are enough to grab and keep your attention and remind you to think, not so much, “Did I actually spend almost $3000 dollars for these stunning, vintage (1940s) collectible links?”, but “It’s a good thing I bought these rare, authentic cuff-links. They remind me to appreciate the good things in life, like thinking and a positive attitude.”

And finally, for those of us who need an “in our face” reminder, by all means, try driving this:

Turbo Carreras, and similar luxury vehicles, easily take your focus off idiots, especially when in red.

These are all examples of little things we can do to remind us of the importance of keeping our peace and maintaining our sanity.

Just think why don’t you!


Stupidity and the Quiet Among Us

Sunday, April 18th, 2010

I’ve discovered, in my ongoing study of stupidity, that stupers (short for regrettably stupid persons) have zero tolerance for quiet people. By “quiet” folks, I’m not referring to the creepy types who likely end up as stalkers, cult leaders, serial killers, Al Qaeda members or Sears appliance repair technicians.

During a meeting with a handful of executives last week, I heard complete and utter idiot, Sally, whine,

“Do we have to keep Quinn on the Board of Directors of XYZ Organization? I’ve never heard him say a word!”

“Never” in Sally’s meager mind referred to the past three Board meetings, two of which Quinn was not even present. Sally caught Quinn exercising quiet time during one meeting and that, dear readers, in the thimble size mind of the average stuper, means its time to push the eject button. And take note, it didn’t matter what others heard, but only that Sally had noticed Quinn’s silence. Stupers are notoriously self-indulgent in public.

I met “Quinn” for the first time a few months ago. He is soft spoken, pleasant and a gentle soul. Naturally, I took an instant liking to him. I see now that my initial impression of him was accurate. Resident stuper Sally found Quinn annoying and unfriendly. Because he chose to stay quiet during one lackluster meeting.  Background on Sally: she’s a bitch moron. And slightly deranged.

At our last Board of Directors meeting of XYZ Organization a few days ago, both Sally and Quinn were present. When volunteers were needed to assist with a task, Quinn spoke. He volunteered. With a smile, no less.

Sally was too busy watching the paint peel on the ceiling to notice (the building is historic).

How can anyone possibly improve him/herself when they are busy keeping their eyes on the behavior of others? In the case of Sally, rest assured that during the nearly one year time that I’ve been acquainted with her, no progress has occurred. She remains a Class A stuper.

How should we behave around Class A stupers? My initial reaction, as most of my devoted readers know, is to commit bodily harm. However, typically this impulse disappears within weeks, days, a few hours, thirty minutes at most, several minutes, as I tend to come to my senses and realize that beating up idiots like Sally does no one any good. Plus, it’s hard on the knuckles.

Once not long ago, I did commit a beating, not on Sally’s person, but in the form of a brief, verbal assault. It did give me satisfaction, but not very much. And Sally continued pursuing stupidity with her usual fervor.

I don’t know what’s happened in the past experiences of people like Sally to compel them to act unkindly and without compassion or understanding toward others. But I do know that since walnut-size minds cannot be changed, we must change ourselves in a way that expands our own minds and forms a barrier so that morons can’t affect us (try as they might on a daily basis especially where I work; I hear from Sally practically every, freaking day).

I have to believe that it’s the consciousness of one’s own inferiority that makes a person hide behind or choose to act stupidly. We should share our goodness with people of inferior qualities. By exercising kindness toward them (unless, of course, you strongly feel a beating would be highly effective), we maintain our sanity and enhance our own well-being. Just a certain steadiness by the thinking mind can do wonders. In this way, we expand our own hearts and minds. And form a shield that stupers can’t penetrate.

Why not think?


Stupidity, Crowds and Swearing

Monday, February 15th, 2010

I attended the Northern Trust Open last weekend, and as you may imagine, Sunday’s crowd was overflowing. Some of you may be thinking, (those of you who do think), this could mean the stupers (short for ceaselessly stupid persons) were out in full force. You’d be right.

The weather was so perfect, the grounds immaculate, the company ideal, that I completely forgot about idiots until my son and I hatched a plan. We had trouble viewing the tee shots because of the crowd, so we forged two holes ahead of the lead group and patiently waited their arrival at the tee box. Brilliant, no? Son wanted to watch the swings, ball flights, etc. of the big guns, or clubs, in this case.

We waited. Others began to join us. Son said,

“I wish I could get a drink of water.”

Ever obliging, I remarked, “Go right ahead. I’ll save your spot.”

“There’s no way you can save it; way too many people are coming.”

“I’ll just use my famous space saver maneuver like this. Works every time.”

I placed my hands on my hips, elbows threateningly jutting outward, and began to rapidly rotate my upper body (lower half kept perfectly stationary). Unfortunately, I was thwarted by a stuper.

The second I turned sideways, she slipped in and next to me. I threw her my dirtiest look because I do not appreciate when one entire side of my body is needlessly and involuntarily pressed against that of another. She looked right back at me. Every time I looked at her, she stared blankly back.

For the next ten minutes, her shoulder was glued to my arm, the top of which she periodically laid her head to rest.  This, of course, occurred when she wasn’t blowing her nose or coughing in my direction. Any time I turned to look down at her, she stared back. No mercy.

When the fellow on the other side of Son left, Son took one step sideways to restore my space; I rejoiced and praised the Lord. However, the second I moved over, so did she, glued to my side as she was.

For those of you who are motivated to watch this in action, please play the video below. Forward to the 45 seconds mark, and watch the next ten seconds. You won’t see me due to the dedicated plump chap in the lime green shirt holding a microphone just behind golfer, Steve Stricker. The chap preserved my anonymity while entirely blocking my view. But you may witness the stuper of whom I speak. She is the one you can see clearly, next to the lime green shirt, bobbing her body to her right, where I was standing. Pay particular attention to her head action, as she routinely buffeted her head sideways to slam my shoulder. Alas, the video doesn’t show the actual lengthy series of head snappings which I was subjected to.

My remedy for this type of behavior is quite satisfying. In these situations, I swear quite freely… in a different, lesser known language; it’s liberating, no one is offended, it’s highly entertaining for myself and I won’t be removed from the premises. I periodically cried out,

“Goh! Borow gome sho! etc.”

All I got from these magical words was the same blank stare from the stuper. But I felt profoundly better. Works every time. Unless, of course, the stuper happens to originate from the country whose curse words you are borrowing.

Just think.


Stupidity: The Question of the Day and PETA

Saturday, November 7th, 2009

As the sun is setting, say you happen to be walking along a desolate, sandy beach, with your favorite domestic animal companion: five-year-old German Shepherd, Greta Von Brinkerhoff. She’s proved herself loyal, intelligent and loving many times. You can’t help but notice Greta gazing longingly at the gently crashing waves, pausing now and then to stare up at you and pleadingly yelp. You, engaging in that telepathic understanding only a true dog lover and a few random dog whisperers possess, know she is asking for permission to test the waters.  You decide, “Why not?”

You watch, smiling, as Greta dog-paddles her way out and over the waves. Suddenly, Greta disappears beneath a particularly menacing wave, possibly set off by an underwater volcanic eruption (it could happen).

As you anxiously wait for Greta to resurface, you happen to notice Marty, a well known stuper (short for an objectionably stupid person) drowning not far from where Greta was last seen.

Here’s the burning question: Whom should you save? The sweet, loving, canine friend? Or the mentally and aquatically challenged, complete and utter idiot?

The answer is obvious to most of us and has been the topic of much discussion by morality experts such as radio Talk Show host Dennis Prager as well as radical animal activists such as PETA members.

Some points to ponder: yes, human life is sacred. But what about counterfeit human life? Are you more likely to throw away an authentic Benjamin or a phony? If the two bills accidentally fall into a trash bin, which one are you willing to dirty your hands over and nurse back to its crisp, unwrinkled self?

A human is counterfeit when he/she has a perfectly functioning mind, yet not only abstains from using it, but blatantly displays his/her nonuse/idiocy in plain sight, thereby annoying, irritating, if not downright enraging, the rest of us. Think of five stupid people you know. Think of what makes them stupid. Here’s what Dr. Philip Brock, Harvard researcher, has to say,

“Well, I can think of twenty stupid people that I know,” said Brock. “The signs are all there: they don’t listen to me, don’t think about anybody but themselves, don’t understand what I’m saying, don’t get my jokes, like sports, haven’t seen the movies I’ve seen, et cetera.”

My guru, as well as many like him, says, “Let sympathy go out to all.” But are stupers part of the “all” category? Truly thought provoking.

Meanwhile, in my dog vs. stuper tale, chances are high that Greta will find a way to save herself and the drowning stuper. But if for some reason, instinctual perhaps, Greta decided to forgo saving the meager minded Marty, I would hope that I would sympathetically help and bring him to safety. Of course, I may be forced to beat the c*&p out of Marty afterward if he behaved stupidly, but never let it be said that I am unsympathetic.

Why not think?


Stupidity, the Bookkeeper and the Road to Hell

Saturday, October 31st, 2009

It’s Halloween, so I must share a spooky stuper (short for an alarmingly stupid person) tale, only it’s not a tale because it’s completely true. Caution: this is not for the feeble minded.

I currently share an office, as I await a move into a new building. My office-mate and I actually head different charitable-type, organizations. My calls are all of the confidential priest-penitent, shrink-nutcase, child-imaginary friend, privileged sort. But alas, for two freaking hours weekly, I am exposed to a stuper…the bookkeeper, Marian,  who not only stops what she’s doing to listen to my conversations, but maintains a running (or should I say tripping and stumbling?) commentary.

“Is that a misdemeanor?” Marian asks after one of my calls. Only in her voice, it sounds like this:

“IIIIIIs thaaaaaat aaaaaa missssdemeeeeeanorrrr?” And don’t forget to add the rise and fall of many octaves and pitches within that one question, and the fact that this is not my bookkeeper. If she was, she would have been fired the moment she opened her mouth. In fact, she never would have been hired.

On my very first day on the job, Marian said, without taking one breath and with the lilt that would make Mother Teresa want to smash a crystal vase over her head (Marian’s head, not the good mother’s, God rest her soul).

“I would not want to be you. Your job is so stressful. Everything’s a mess. This office is a disaster. The sky is falling. Elvis is dead. Are those Prada shoes?”

As you may imagine, I threw back my head, laughed heartily like the lumberjack after hungrily wolfing down the mile high stack of pancakes, and replied, “Yes.”

Fast forward six weeks. Marian’s ramblings continue, and I move into an adjacent office during the Marian hours. I had to. I grew tired of handcuffing myself to the oversize, industrial strength, heavy-duty copy machine (my desk didn’t do the trick) to refrain from beating Marian to a fine pulp.  But my move proved fruitless, as determined idiots are not easily put off. While I was on the phone, Marian popped her head in and asked in her slow, drawn out, totally moronic way,

“Don’t you hate it here?”

I stared at her blank, but sincere face, her jack o’lantern smile, and realized she was truly the original road-to-hell paver. I replied,

“I absolutely love it!”

I continued my call, and Marian slinked away.

Marian didn’t show up last week, and I stayed in my office. However, this is not my happy ending. Not yet anyway, because Marian is due back this coming week. Sure I’m considering wearing a red boxing glove with large broken-up brick pieces strategically placed inside, but I think instead, I will continue laughing at Marian. Not with her, but at her, as discourteous as that sounds. I’ve noticed people who appear happy put her in a state of shock for a minimum of three minutes. Three glorious minutes.

I will throw her Look Number 4 whenever I notice her on the verge of formulating a nosy question or worthless comment for me.

Fortunately, my office-mate is usually busy working. By the time she looks up to figure out what’s keeping Marian quiet, I’ll quickly change my expression to Look Number 7.

Works every time.

Don’t let a stuper ruin your day by magnifying obstacles and unpleasantries.

Just think.


Stupidity and Questions

Tuesday, October 20th, 2009

So I’m sitting in the dentist’s office awaiting my turn while focusing all my powers of concentration on translating an article in the Latin edition of People magazine to figure out which major cast member is leaving Ugly Betty when I hear,

“How many dentists work here?”

I look up to find one other person sitting across from me in the waiting room.

“Three,” I reply and before I resume my translation of People, I glance at the reception area. The receptionist smiles brightly at me, while another employee mutters to herself and rigorously shakes her head over the appointment book. I turn back to my magazine.

After a few moments I hear,

“Does Rita still work here?”

I again look up. The same person gazes at me expectantly, while sitting on the edge of her seat. This begs two questions: First, who does she think I am?

The Oracle of Delphi? A one woman detective agency? And no, I was not wearing a trench coat, a Fedora, smoking a pipe or holding a magnifying glass.

Second, who the hell is Rita?

As you may recall from your Ancient World Cultures class, oracles were known in ancient Greece as persons of wise counsel or prophetic opinions. The best part? They often spoke in the form of enigmatic statements. Exactly what is necessary to deflect and throw off a stuper (short for an unapologetically stupid person).

I respond, “The spiral world of stars are populated universes.”

I figure that ought to keep her busy until I’m out of here.

She’s quiet for a few minutes, then sputters, “I was just wondering.”

Glorious silence follows in the waiting room.

Too often, we are accosted by ludicrous questions. All the more incentive for us to memorize an enigmatic sentence or two to carry around for just such purposes.

“We could learn a lot from crayons” or “I don’t believe in mathematics” are two such examples (thank you, Albert Einstein, for the latter quote).

Just think.