Burnettiquette

Fold it right, or else!

I have great respect for the Wall Street Journal, and the general caliber of the stories it publishes. But I don't know about this one.

If you didn't click the link or don't have time to read another article, its a story about how so many older Gen-Xers (like late mid 30s and older) worked at the GAP and other retail clothing stores back in the day that there is now a clothes-folding obsession forming among that crowd.

In fact, the article suggests that there is tension among some couples 'cause one spouse folds clothes a very particular way that he or she learned at the GAP or a GAP-like place, and the other folds clothes like he is doing so with his feet...and his eyes closed...drunk.

Kidding, sort of.

But seriously, I won't call the article a stretch or anything, 'cause even if I did that would just be my opinion, not researched fact.

And in the interest of full disclosure, I worked in a couple of clothing stores back in the day. In high school I sold Nine West shoes and later men's suits at a Leggett store. I later worked at Structure (before they renamed it Express/Express for Men).

But I was a non-conformist! I never bowed to their folding instructions!

Anyway, I might be really off base here, but I don't see a massive wave of clothes-folding obsession forming among my peers. I won't deny that Mrs. B and I fold clothes differently - especially t-shirts. I occasionally sneak behind her and refold my t-shirts, but just so I can better tell which are crew necks and which are V-necks. But we don't beef over our folding styles. If we really want to fight - and we usually don't - there's legitimate stuff we could pick on each other for.

If you held a gun to my head, I couldn't even begin to remember the folding techniques I was taught at Structure back in the day. My goal after those retail jobs - especially my Al Bundy days selling women's shoes - was to forget everything I learned at work.

What about you?

PC gone awry...again...in my opinion

At what point does a denial constitute an insult?

I wish that question had a funny punchline, but it's legit.

Whatever side of the political spectrum you're on, you probably know that Illinois Senator and presumptive Democratic presidential nominee Barack Obama has spent a significant portion of his campaign denying that he's a Muslim, as has been "reported" - and I use that word loosely - by detractors, critics, gossip-mongers, and plain old fibbers who know full well that Obama has made repeated, public declarations of Christian faith.

His choice of church and pastor? Different story altogether, but in terms of faith and denomination and such, the man says he isn't a Muslim and has never worshiped as a Muslim. And that should be the end of the story.

Except it isn't. In that delicate dance of one step toward getting everyone to like him and one step toward attempting to set the record straight about his personal life, Obama has unwittingly offended a new group: Muslims who support him.

As reported in the Miami Herald recently, a group of Muslim Democrats is offended that Obama felt the need to launch a rumor-debunking Web site in the hopes of easing the minds of uncertain voters who aren't sure what to believe about his personal background.

The group says that the Web-site and Obama's denials are insulting because both suggest that there is something wrong with Islam.

I know this is a serious issue, but it reminded me once again of a Seinfeld episode, this time the one in which Jerry and George are thought to be gay by a student reporter from NYU. Both men spent the entire episode vehemently denying that they were gay and following each denial with "not that there's anything wrong with that!" This essentially is what Obama has been doing with the Muslim rumors.

Maybe I'm dense, but I don't get where the offense comes in here.

It'd be one thing if Obama said "No way! I'm not one of those wacky Muslims!" But he didn't denigrate that religion. All he did was say it's not his.

How is that bad?

We have gotten way too thin-skinned when it comes to what offends us about other people's self-descriptions.

At some point you have to say "I don't care what you think. This is who I am!" It might earn Obama a few more points if he did just that.

I understand there are instances when a denial can be offensive. But if you have one eye and half a brain you'll know it when one of those instances presents itself to you.

Here's a personal example: Back in college, I had friendly acquaintanceship with a female classmate. Every so often we'd study together, or grab coffee after class and share gossip. One day I heard she had gone on a date with someone we'll call "Bill." And during a coffee break I asked her about it. For a brief moment she forgot my appearance and reacted to this effect: "Ewww, no way! Bill? Are you kidding me? He's, he's..." And then she remembered who she was talking to. See, she was Asian. Bill was black. "Black" is the word that she hesitated to say at the end of that denial, the denial she spat out as though it tasted badly. Was I offended? Damn straight. She later apologized to me and said she'd just been raised to steer clear of black guys, and that she didn't mean any harm. Whatever. The point is her denial was more about making sure people didn't mistakenly think she was into icky, icky black guys, than it was about setting the record straight on who she was romantically involved with. She could've denied the date rumor and left it at that. But she took it a step further 'cause she actually found Bill distasteful, 'cause of his race.

You can't tell me with a straight face that Obama's denials and her denials are on par.

Quit being so thin-skinned folks. If you're straight or black or white or Martian or young or old or vegetarian or meat-eating or religious or atheist or agnostic or sexy or gross or whatever, and people get some part of your identity wrong in a way that could negatively impact your life, then set 'em straight.

If they have a real understanding of how the rest of the world works and they're not in denial, they won't mind you saying who you really are.

The Thing About Cheko

Morning folks.

Hope you had a great holiday weekend.

While Mrs. B and I made a point to think briefly about the rockets' red glare and what not, this was a no-blogging weekend out of respect to the late great Cheko the Dog, who succumbed at the start of the holiday weekend to a leg injury and a very, very bad reaction to a vet-prescribed arthritis med that just made him sicker (be careful what you give your elderly dog, even if the vet says its OK!). He had 14-and-a-half good years on earth. I only wish it could've been more.

You who've read this blog since its start, back when we were on Blogger, know that Cheko was the director of security for Burnettiquette World Headquarters, as well as one of the best friends and relatives and step-pets a guy could have.

Mrs. B rescued him when he was a puppy from a ranch in Durango, Colo., where Cheko hadn't read the memo that his breed is supposed to "work" for a living. He may've read the memo, but it didn't move him. He simply refused to herd cattle. So when the rancher mused aloud that he had a bullet with Cheko's name on it, 'cause he couldn't abide lazy dogs, Mrs. B did what just about anyone would have done: she loaded Cheko in the back of the Jeep and got him off the ranch...with the rancher's blessing, of course.

Funny thing though. While Cheko slowed down in recent years, he never proved lazy once in the 14 years since he left that ranch. He even instinctively nipped a few human heels before he learned to behave.

Mrs. B and her mom have hair-raising stories about chasing him along the banks of a rushing river, 'cause he thought it was his duty, even at risk of drowning, to jump and swim after a fleeing duck until that duck decided to stop and surrender.

And there are more times than I can count over the past six years and change that Cheko dragged me huffing and puffing up and down (and often too far off) the hilliest hiking paths along the Milwaukee River.

When a stranger approached, Cheko kept a vigilant eye on him. Never menacing. Just aware. And they knew he was aware. The first time I met him I could almost interpret the barks. He lay on Mrs. B's balcony, as I arrived at her house for our first date. Cheko wasn't a barker. But before I had even turned off the sidewalk and up their walk way, he had jumped to his feet and started.

Woof! Attention everyone, there's a guy coming!

Woof woof! I don't know you, dude. But you should know I see you!

Woof woof woof! Is anyone listening? Take a close look at this guy, in case he turns out to be bad!

That was the first and last time he ever barked at me, except to let me know he wanted to come back inside the house or that he was growing impatient with me for holding his treats hostage till he agreed to shake hands/paws or roll over.

And never let another dog - especially a Husky or a Chow, for some strange reason - even look at Mrs. B or me the wrong way, or Cheko would have given that other mutt what for. I can think of the time a hippie at the end of our block - the guy had a giant school bus painted green with a flowered peace sign on the side - let his three dogs out off leashes, and they rushed Cheko and me, while we strolled, minding our business. Cheko pulled a White Fang, and after a brief dusty tussle that would have made Andy Capp proud, all three attackers turned tail and ran, with the Chow leading the way.

But Cheko wasn't all business. He got to chase thrown sticks into Lake Michigan - which he rarely brought back, chase raccoons away from our campsite, and when we weren't looking roll around in dead fish in the sand dunes in Kohler, Wisconsin.

He sniffed his share of King Crabs and rolled around in seaweed on Virginia Beach.

He hiked mountain trails, drank from mountain streams, and peed on mountain trees in Colorado.

He stalked but never caught geese, ugly ducks, and wild iguana in TY Park here in South Florida. And like the dog who can't resist the toilet bowl, Cheko had an addiction to sipping from our koi pond, no matter how often doing so gave him the trots.

He wasn't fond of our cat, but because he knew Mrs. B dug the cat, Cheko tolerated the scratch happy beast...even when she drank out of his water bowl and tried to steal his snacks.

Perhaps most important though, Cheko was a great companion. When you didn't want to go for that extra long walk, he'd get in your face and release a fish-breathed whine to let you know it annoyed him. But sensing your fatigue, he'd lay on the floor next to the couch where you passed out and wouldn't move until you awakened. When you were elated, he studied your mood and reacted in kind, with crazed celebratory romps in circles around you. He didn't know what he was happy about. But you were happy, so he was too. And in a page right out of Lassie's book, most days when I arrived home from work - 'cause I always get home latest - he was standing at the door looking out to the porch, waiting for me.

If truly there are gods among men, in terms of caliber and quality, then Cheko was a man among dogs.

So R.I.P. Cheko R.A. Burnett. You were the best.

Cheko the Dog, 12/5/93 - 7/3/08

Cheating at high speed

So the topic on my weekly TV thingie this morning was a recent Divorce Magazine survey that revealed just 46% of men and a whopping 72% of women believe a cyber-affair constitutes cheating on one's significant other.

Keeping in mind that cyber-affairs are essentially Web versions of phone sex - romantic and/or dirty talk - with the added "bonus" of Web cams and so on, I have to confess I was surprised the men and women surveyed felt so differently about this.

I ain't delusional. I realize that to some guys a look is a look is a look, and a chat is a chat is a chat, and none of that necessarily crosses a line unless there's physical contact. Of course, the guys who usually believe that are guys who probably don't have really significant others anyway.

Guys who do have real wives or girlfriends or whatever, If you can work that deal out with them, I may think you're a freak, but more power to you. But you're never going to get around the fact that more women believe this is cheating because it requires an emotional bond. And it may even require a stronger emotional bond than an in person relationship, because you don't have physical contact....at least initially.

The survey also revealed this interesting tidbit about contact: Apparently, over the past 10 years the number of divorces caused by "Web-induced" cheating has skyrocketed to one-third of all divorces filed for in the U.S.

And how did they get to that point? Apparently, 30 % of people who have cyber-affairs, eventually have at phone conversations with their cheating partner, and those phone conversations have led to in-person meetings.

And 31% of cyber-cheaters admit that they have eventually met their Web partner and engaged in real sex.

So the bottom line is this, fellas...and ladies too, but to a lesser degree: As with phone sex with strangers, unless you and your partner have some kind of freaky arrangement (that you really shouldn't tell anyone about) save all your racy talk for her or him.

'Cause it's pretty clear that conversation and a keyboard can get you into all sorts of trouble.

I told you the "drank" was just the beginning

Remember the post I did last mont on a new anti-energy drink called purple "Drank?" I said then that corny as it was, it would just be the beginning of a new wave of stupid "energy-related" drinks.

Well there's a new one. Booty Sweat.

That's right, Booty Sweat. And no it isn't being marketed by a rapper.

Seriously, Booty Sweat. There's no such thing as Booty Sweat. Well, there is, but nothing in a can. Well, there is Booty Sweat in "cans," but it's nothing you'd wanna drink....And if you would wanna, then you're nasty!

Anyway, in a bit of shameless product placement, Paramount, the makers of the upcoming Ben Stiller movie Tropic Thunder, has announced that they will be canning and selling Booty Sweat a fictitious energy drink that appears in the movie.

And good news, everyone! Paramount intends to play to "urban (AKA minority)" racial stereotypes. An article in Advertising Age magazine says:

Two versions available
The can's label will be customized for "urban" and "rural" markets. Metropolitan stores will carry the description of the concoction as a "delicious and bump up struttin' energy drink that will pump up a brotha's ass right-pronto. This swill will crank yo' metabolism up skippin' right over jiggy to straight G-pimp level, word to your mutha. Brothas will be layin' down the 2-3 on the wiggy jig focusing the energy flow into cold-face benjamins that will fill yo' pimp pockets to burstin'. Damn straight! Booty Sweat will keep a brotha pitchin' straight game all night to the baby-dolls."

Rural stores will get a can that simply has the Booty Sweat moniker, but no street slang.

As with Purple Drank, any beverage that can only or best be described by its color or the appearance of its can, cannot be good for you.

Don't buy this crap. It'll give you a fat butt and probably turn you blue or something.

Stop or I'll (A) Shoot, (B) Tell on you, (C) Say "Stop" again, (D) None of the above

Unless you're living under a rock, you have probably heard by now that a Grand Jury in Harris County, Texas, decided yesterday not to indict Joe Horn, the Houston-area man who was facing possible murder charges for shooting two house burglars last November.

Texas has a castle law, that allows you to treat your home as a castle and protect it as such if someone is threatening your home and its contents, which theoretically include both the people your home might "contain" and the stuff it contains. So someone breaks in, you don't have to flee and hide till cops arrive. You can fight back with deadly force. We have a law like that in Florida too.

Anyway, here's the twist: The house that was being burglarized was not Horn's. It was his next door neighbor's.

As the story's been reported over and over and what you can hear on the 911 tape is that:

• Horn realized a burglary was taking place and saw the men as they were fleeing the house
• Horn called 911 and told a dispatcher he wasn't gonna let them get away unchecked
• Horn warned the dispatcher that if cops didn't show up tout (de) suite he was gonna go outside and confront the burglars
• Horn warned the dispatcher again that he wasn't kidding and would blast the burglars if he had to
• Horn went outside and warned the burglars he'd shoot 'em if they moved
• They moved and Horn blew them both into the next life.

Immediately and unfortunately people in the Houston area drew lines in the sand along racial and political lines.

Joe Horn is white. The two former burglars were brown. Joe Horn is an American citizen. The two late burglars were illegal immigrants from Colombia.

Horn's supporters argued that he had every right to protect his neighbor's home and property as he would his own. They argued the "castle doctrine" applies to one's immediate community, not just one's own house and property. A police officer, who said he witnessed part of the incident, said that while one of the burglars may have been shot in the back, at least one appeared to be moving toward Horn when he fired. Also, one of the burglars was reportedly armed with a crow bar.

Horn's critics argued that he could've fired a warning shot in the air and gotten the crooks to stop, or that he could've shot 'em in the legs or some place else that might not kill 'em, or that he shouldn't have fired at all 'cause no amount of property equals the value of a human life. They point out that his intention all along was to kill, since on the 911 tape when the dispatcher warns Horn that he'd better not go outside 'cause he's gonna get himself shot, Horn snaps back "You want to make a bet? I'm going to kill them."

I gotta tell you this wasn't a tough one for me, not for more than a few minutes anyway. While I generally cringe at the thought of vigilantism, unless its being committed by Batman (not the frilly 1990s Batman but the one from the 1930s comic books with a chip on his shoulder), I'm not gonna lose any sleep over Joe Horn not being indicted.

Yeah, Horn could have handled this incident better. He could've called 911 and stayed inside his, his house. But he didn't.

And though it's not the PC thing to say, this is the ultimate negative domino effect, meaning none of this might have happened if the burglars had been in a different line of work.

I'm not saying that being a burglar means you deserve a bullet. I admit, in theory your life is worth more than my DVD player. I'm just saying that if they hadn't decided to break into that house they probably would have never met Joe Horn, and he never would have shot them. I kind of doubt if they had crossed paths with Horn in the grocery store or the mall he would have run home, gotten his gun, and returned to shoot them.

When I was in high school in Southeast Virginia, there was an incident in a nearby rural community. Race was not a factor (just as it shouldn't have been in this Horn case), as the young men and the cops were all white. But a group of teenagers stole a car and went for a joy ride along winding country roads. Cops gave chase. The teens' stolen car crashed, and they were killed. Immediately there was a public outcry, because the cop had apparently violated his own department's pursuit policies, which were basically to back off after so many miles, so as not to push the bad guys into driving faster and crazier and putting other, innocent drivers in danger. Even the boys' parents blamed the cop for their sons' deaths.

You could look at it that way, I guess. Again, the cop could have done things differently. He could have followed department rules to a tee and let the stolen car get away.

But - call me crazy - I keep going back to that domino effect. I sort of figured if the car had never been stolen and the kids had never taken it, initiating a domino effect, they might never have crossed paths with the chase-happy cop. One more time, no theft, no chase, no crash. Or am I missing something?

?????

So yeah, what happened in Texas was sad and unfortunate. But how much do you want to bet the rate of home invasions and burglaries in Joe Horn's neighborhood will plummet now?

Sir Walter Raleigh resurrected

I know historians typically don't buy into the story that Sir Walter Raleigh tossed his coat over a puddle so that a lady in his company could step on it and cross the puddle without getting her feet wet. But it is a fun story, regardless.

And I'm on a train platform near the Herald, on my way to the Public Defenders Office (for a story I'm working on, not for me), and I just saw that very thing happen on the street below.

Granted, the guy may've just had butter fingers and dropped his coat accidentally, or he may be working with a drug addled brain. Or maybe the woman walking next to him just dislikes him and stepped on his dropped coat out of spite. But whether he did it on purpose or not, she stepped on his coat.

Since I'm not on street level with them & can't ask if it was intentional, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt for a bizarre but noble gesture.

Gents, is this brand of chivalry dead? If there was no way around a puddle would you toss your coat down for a lady? I can tell you right now, I consider myself a gent and my answer is NO! Ladies would you toss your coat for an elderly person who couldn't get around the puddle?
Sent via Blackberry from AT&T