In which reverse snobbery rears its head

Ruth and I ran the Shamrock 8K this morning -- details coming in the next post, but suffice to say it was a great race, we both ran well and had a great time.

On the walk back to the car, wearing my well-deserved finisher's medal and cooling down with a bottle of water, I remembered for the first time in a couple hours that I'd had no coffee that morning. We were up just after 6 and out the door at 6:30 to get Theo to his babysitter, so there really hadn't been time.

But now -- with a spring in my step, celebrating our victory over our old couch-conditioned fata$$ bodies, I knew what I wanted -- a large hot coffee from Starbucks, with a shot of espresso. I'm not usually that picky about coffee -- as long as it's more than warm brown water I'm happy to drink Dunkin', 7-11 or Wawa -- but I know what I really like, it's uusally the consistency of road tar and on a morning when I felt like I've done good for my wife and me, I decided I deserved what I really wanted.

Thing is ... we don't go to the oceanfront often enough for me to know where there might be a Starbucks.

I'd mentioned my craving to Ruth and that I was happy to wait until we were driving home, but she said I should go ahead and ask one of the police or volunteers directing traffic -- she didn't mind walking a little bit out of our way if there was one around and after all, they're around for the benefit of the race participants, right?

So I approached one of the clearly marked volunteers assisting a police officer at a traffic barricade. He's a big dude, a good bit older than us, holding his own cup of joe. I asked him if he knew where there might be a Starbucks nearby. He replied,

"Well ... I couldn't tell you where to find one, because I AVOID Starbucks." I thanked him and turned to the police officer, but he was on the radio assisting another pedestrian, so rather than bother him I moved on.

... and a few steps away, I started thinking a little too much about the tone of the volunteer's response and said out loud, "DUDE, What is your problem?" I told Ruth, "Wow, next time can you say 'I don't know' without the reverse snobbery?"

How would I look if this person stopped me in my own neighborhood and asked about a 7-11, but I sprinkled my directions to him with editorial comments about how I prefer either the local non-chain coffee house or Starbucks? What if I saw him buying Natural Ice Light in a convenience store and stopped him to explain how much I prefer Dogfish Head 90-minute IPA?

He'd come away from either situation calling me a pretentious, snobby yuppie jerk and he'd be totally justified in doing so.

The way I figure it, all these different outlets can co-exist because everyone has slightly different preferences. I'm not a purist who is going to claim that the market success of Starbucks means they have the "best" coffee out there -- my taste buds have never been good enough to make me a connoisseur -- but I like it and apparently a lot of other people do too.

But nooooooooo. Apparently there's now something WRONG with finding and expanding a market in a way that makes lots of people happy, if it doesn't make THIS GUY happy too. This guy didn't strike me as either a communist or a coffee purist, so I'm just going to stereotype him as someone who looks down on a consumer product because he doesn't like the people he sees consuming it. See also, "critics of FOX News" and "Dave Matthews Band haters."

So if you're reading this, Snotty Race Volunteer Guy, HERE'S TO YOU for trying to assert your superiority over a CUP OF FRAKING COFFEE, which I had in my hands at our neighborhood Starbucks not an hour after we spoke. I did tide myself over with a cup from THE WORLD'S SLOWEST MCDONALDS (another story that will remain untold), but for the record, it cost over a $1.25 for cup that lasted all of five swallows -- hardly the bargain of the year -- and I didn't like it as much as that Starbucks. Now go on TELL ME AGAIN HOW MUCH I SUCK.

Part of me feels silly for spending more time on SRVG than he deserves, but I keep wondering, who comes out to volunteer for something like this if they'd rather make snide, dismissive comments to the runners rather than be as helpful as possible?

If Snotty Race Volunteer Guy DOES read this, I urge him to get in touch with me -- I will buy you all the Folgers and 7-11 coffee you can drink next year at this time, if you promise not to "volunteer" again.

At a newspaper, it's called "burying the lede."

I noted in the previous post that it was a busy weekend here. We had a mandatory appointment in Cranston, so we decided to combine that commitment with several other "overseas" appointments and make a full day of it.

First off, fingerprinting with the USCIS. Part of pursuing an overseas adoption is getting pre-approval to bring an orphan into the country and anyone with an open immigration case has to be fingerprinted every year. Our previous experience with this process was a gargantuan cattle call, predictably time-consuming and bureaucratic ... and that was before we dragged a 13-month-old along.

So we geared up for an all-day mission with sippy cups, snacks and toys, clearing our schedule for the day well into the afternoon. So of course, when I opened the door to enter the facility...it was empty. Just the three of us, one older lady, and the USCIS employees. They took our prints, played with Theo, asked a lot of questions about our adoption, commiserated with us regarding the current indefinite waiting period for adopting from China and gave us some advice about what we have to look forward to. Not that our first visit for fingerprinting was bad -- it was what we'd expected -- but the relative ease of this visit was refreshing and set the tone for the day. We even used some of the the extra time later in the day to complete a couple other adoption-related errands that could be finished on a Saturday.

Once the fingerprinting was done, we had some merchandise to pick up at REI, which is fast becoming one of my favorite stores. We spent all the time we'd expected to be at USCIS browsing the clearance sale and Daddy managed to pick up a new pair of sandals and some hiking shoes that are already seeing good use. I don't think I've spent so much on shoes (and they were even on sale) in years, but my feet can't handle being abused by unsupported shoes anymore.

Later, Ruth had an appointment for a dress fitting, so the two boys ran some errands at Babies 'R' Us and Target. BRU on a Saturday was exactly the sort of clusterfuck of oblivious self-absorbed pregnant couples, new parents and prospective grandparents I'd expected, combined with a staff who sees so many cute babies that my cute baby garnered no attention whatsoever. But in addition to the shopping it gave us the time and facilities for a much-needed diaper change and sippy cup fillup, so all the better. Biggest surprise was the small, inadequate changing table setup in the men's room. C'mon, BRU, I get better at a rest stop in Jersey.

By mid-afternoon we were pretty beat up and Mr. Man hadn't had a proper nap, so we made our way home to make sure he got some rest. And Sunday? Sunday was boring. Thank goodness.

One more major development from the weekend: Daddy is no longer the only person in the house staggering drunkenly from room to room, falling forward every four or five steps. I'll have video as soon as I can catch him in the act...

Newport Great Chowder Cook-Off

In the run-up to Grandpa and Grandma being in town, I completely neglected to post about this year's Great Chowder Cook-Off. After attending the past four years, this is no doubt my favorite Newport event, hands-down.

Luckily, Tom and Michelle and...um, Michelle again didn't drop the blog the way I did. Thanks y'all.

We'd fed Theo right before we left, so a full stomach and the hot weather left him without any interest in the chowdah. We'll fix that soon enough.

The hot weather meant big crowds, which I always have an issue tolerating. Our favorite year by far was the year the weather was cloudy and maybe 60 degrees -- very few people came out, even though you'd think that sort of weather would suggest "hot creamy comfort food" more so than 90 and sunny.

As seasoned (and simmered, this year) veterans of the Cook-Off, we were a little disappointed -- there seemed to be fewer participating restaurants compared to years past and very few who had traveled any distance. We all figured that gas prices were probably at least partly to blame. The Blue Mermaid, from San Francisco, was noticeable for having traveled a long way and seemed to be the favorite among the folks we hung out with -- I see from their site that they are a past winner.

Our other gripe: Not enough of the restaurants had servers working the outskirts of the crowd with samples, which caused the elbow-throwing throngs around the booths to become intolerable (Michelle, in her post above, was right on point about the general rudeness). The "I hate people" factor caused us to leave without eating nearly as much chowdah as I'd like, but I still left happy.

Why I don't say every word that pops in my head

I took Theo for a long-ish walk today down Lower Thames St. and back, because we hadn't been down that way in a while. I'd forgotten, until we passed by the yachting center that this weekend is the Newport Spring Boat Show. Not to be confused with the Newport International Boat Show, which is of course in the fall. Phhht. Landlubbers. Luckily, it was early enough in the festivities that I could still navigate the streets without being forced into the street by hordes of old men in white pants and Top-Siders; but I doubt we'll walk that direction again this weekend.

As we passed by the just-barely-starting festivities, I could see that a marketing team from show sponsor HUMMER had set up their booth in one of the parking lots with several of their vehicles and plenty of product literature. They looked kinda bored, so I briefly considered making their day by stopping and screaming over the fence...

HAVE FUN FEEDING YOUR FAMILIES WHEN GAS IS 8 BUCKS A GALLON, PIGS! DOES YOUR IN-TANK NAVIGATION SYSTEM HAVE LISTINGS FOR THE UNEMPLOYMENT OFFICE?

...Because I'm a representative of my wife and by extension the entire USN family, instead of pretending to be an ELF commando, I just kept walking.

And as I thought about it, these guys are probably selling HUMMERs in the right place. If you're coming to Newport with the thought of buying a boat, you don't care if the car runs on $8 gasoline, condor eggs, or the blood of hobbits -- you can probably afford it, and an H2 or 6000SUX or whatever is probably the perfect ground transport to park in the back of your shadow yacht.

Here's what they think of you

WARNING: Politics ahead.

If you're not yet fed up yet with the size, scope and attitude of government in this country maybe Hawaii's smarmy, preening self-important Rep. Neil Abercrombie (D-Arrogance) can change your mind. If nothing else, I have to appreciate him for expressing the government's opinion of itself so clearly.

You'll have to bring up NPR's audio player to hear the story. He starts talking at about the 1:35 mark and goes on for almost a minute. Also note the spirited applause as he finishes.

Don't ask me my opinion of the ethics reform at issue here; I'm always skeptical of the ability of the powerful to police themselves. But if you don't think to yourself "Throw the bums out" (all 535 of them) and "A pox on both their houses" after listening to this, I don't know what else could convince you...

Some people need to be shot laughed at

While walking to our OB appointment this morning (all is well with baby and mommy), we saw a man half-heartedly jogging down our street. He looked like he could've been jogging faster, but he was also pushing a side-by-side jogging stroller with only one baby in it. While yelling into his cell phone LOUD ENOUGH FOR US TO HEAR HIM HALF A BLOCK AWAY.

Poor kid would've been better off being babysat by the TV.

Once at the OB's office, we were sitting in the waiting area. I should note the waiting room is quite small -- 7 or 8 chairs, a tableful of magazines and not a lot of manuvering space around any of them. During our wait, a woman brings in her toddler in a stroller. The woman had clearly been to this office before and the kid was quite old enough to stand and walk, although not like the huge 4-year-olds we sometimes see folded in half and stuffed into an umbrella stroller because they've got their valets (mommy and daddy) trained so well.

Despite this situation that clearly called for leaving her stroller on the porch and walking the child into the waiting room, the woman still thought it was a good idea to heft the stroller up through multiple doors and a tall step (the office is in an old house), then try to muscle the stroller around the waiting area, bumping the magazine table and chairs multiple times along the way. She might have had an easier time if he other hand wasn't involved with steadying her colossal diaper bag, which had probably just barely fit into the back of her SUV.

My first instinct was "I should help her through the door." Then the smarter, less chivalrous part of my brain took over and said, "But I shouldn't enable the stupid and self-absorbed in perpetuating their behavior." If someone enjoys making their own life more difficult, who am I to stop them?

Luckily for everyone who wanted to get out of the office sometime that morning without climbing over the baby, another patient gave the stroller lady a seat away from the rest of the room, with just enough space next to it to park the stroller. That parking spot also prevented anyone from getting within 3 feet of the pass-through window to talk to the receptionist, but that was OK; we all knew who the most important person in the room was.

Within a few seconds, the baby starts getting a little antsy; just some shaking her head, swinging her legs. I would too, if I'd just recently figured out the walking thing but some unbearable hag had imprisoned me in a stroller. Her mother responds by unbuckling the poor girl's stroller restraint, removing her jacket with a comment about how she had to be getting hot...and then buckling her back into the (immobile, not going anywhere) stroller. I guess mommy didn't want her baby messing up her UGG boots by actually standing or walking in them.

As a good friend was telling me last night -- "More and more I don't want to leave the house. People are just that stupid."