Recent search terms that brought visitors to my blog:
- big naturals brandy
- untightened lug nuts
- dilettante psychology
- dilettante prostitute
- what to do with a dabbler dilettante
- my husband is a dilettante and an asshole
- don imus throat fungus
- something rotting in the walls
- masochist getting in a fight
- dead fish galveston july
- local houston armwrestling
I like the new variations on the dilettante-related searches – my favorite is “my husband is a dilettante and an asshole.” You have to wonder what the motivation was to search for that. Was the person looking for other people who are married to asshole dilettantes? Was the husband the one searching, trying to figure out what his wife meant when she yelled that at him after the wine tasting/company party/class reunion?[imagine a smooth segue here]
Back when I was a bartender, I always worried about getting in a pickle like this. I did my best to cut people off when they’d had too much, and I drove many a drunk regular home in an attempt to keep them (and the cars they would have swerved past on the way home) safe. But when you’re working in a busy bar, you can’t keep an eye on everyone, you don’t always know who is driving and you hope that at least some patrons are able to handle their business like adults.
If you don’t feel like clicking the link, here’s the story. A drunk guy hung out at a bar after hours. Well, he hung out upstairs from a bar after hours with the bar owner and other people. While hanging out up there (and continuing to drink), he fell through an opening on the second floor to the street below. Instead of blaming the fall on his own drunkenness (assuming the guy is smart enough when sober to not fall through an opening in the wall), he decided to sue the owner of the building for not providing a “safe” place.
This story reminds me (tangentially) of the trip I took to Grand Canyon a couple of years ago. I was amazed at the fact that the potential for certain – and sudden – death greeted me at every turn. Being an over-protected American, I’d grown used to “stand behind this line” and safety rails and “do not enter.” At Grand Canyon, honey, you’re on your own. There are a few places that have waist-high railing, but for the most part it’s just you, the edge and a steep drop. It was invigorating to be in a situation where I was responsible for myself. I appreciated the challenge to not do something stupid, which is harder than you’d think. At least for me.
There’s an interesting book (Over the Edge: Death in Grand Canyon) that chronicles all of the deaths at Grand Canyon. There are stories about deaths from early trips down the Colorado to falls as recent as a few years ago. There’s the tale of a father who was trying to make his family laugh by “pretending” to jump off the edge – he’d planned to land safely a few feet below the path but ended up falling to his death. That’s the kind of stupid shit I am prone to do, though I was glad to find that I had enough sense to save the jokes for a time when I wasn’t standing near the edge of the world.
What I’m saying is – if you are an adult, stay away from the edge. It’s your fault if you fall off.[and another segue here]
Finally – my favorite part of this story is the fact that he grabbed a beer on the way out. Way to go, Steve Slater! You, sir, are awesome.