Crimes Against Suspension of Disbelief

Forgive me, Twitter followers, for I have sinned. I have become utterly and completely obsessed with the #hemyneumantrial, and have subjected you to weeks of endless prattling on about it, though the vast majority of you probably didn't give a crap. But now the trial is over, which means that you won't have to hear about it anymore. Unless there's an appeal. Or unless more information comes out. Or unless you keep reading this post, because I'm about to give you...

My Review of "EVERYBODY Has to Stand Up: the #hemyneumantrial" brought to you by Nyquil: the trial time sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, so you can snooze right through relevant testimony before deciding a man's fate medicine!

by Kimberly Welsh, Exaggeratress in Chief

February 2012 saw the beginning of one of the most gripping dramatic web series murder trials in recent memory. Hemy Neuman was being tried for the November 18, 2010 murder of Rusty Sneiderman, a shooting which took place in the parking lot of Dunwoody Day Care just after Rusty had dropped his son off for the day. In the intervening year and a half, the community at large had learned that Neuman was Sneiderman's wife's boss (draw a diagram if you need to), and that he and Mrs. Sneiderman were potentially having an affair. Now that you're caught up on the background, let's look at the trial itself...

Leaving aside necessarily poor production values and disappointingly conservative camera work, the biggest obstacle between this trial and greatness was its inconsistency. Indeed, I believe this will be held up for generations to come as an example of what happens when two conflicting production teams are left to bicker over the same project, though we must give credit where credit is due - Judge Gregory Adams' direction was a valiant attempt at fluidity and effective pacing. District Attorney James and Assistant DA Geary handled Act I ("State's Evidence") and Act III, Scene 1 ("Prosecution's Rebuttal: the Revenge") with dignity and aplomb, giving them the feel of an expertly edited documentary. I attribute this to the fact that, by and large, they took the courageous risk of using real people who were telling the truth to tell their story. The notable exception here is, of course, Andrea Sneiderman (née Greenberg and hereafter referred to as such because it irritates me to use the same name for her and the innocent victim) with her scenery-chewing Bobble-Headed Unsympathetic Confrontational Sarcasm™ approach to her role, but the DA made even this dramatic abomination fit, through a graceful and seamless mise-en-abîme, by which the very fact that she was acting paradoxically added to the realism of the other testimony. Honestly, the only other fault I find with this portion was the ham-handed advertisement for Coldwell Banker on the witness stand - highly incongruous, in an otherwise very serious scene.

But in Act II ("Defense Evidence"), viewers were subjected to a jarring shift in tone, from the world of the sober, truthful documentary to a parade of spinning pyrotechnics and flashing lasers, framing a tale of passion, 12-foot demons in the guise of 80s pop culture icons, domestic violence, globe-trotting, and the sordid story of two people who made the perverse decision to watch "The Goodbye Girl" voluntarily! At times, I wondered if this was indeed the same mini-series murder trial! At best it was confusing, and for most viewers it proved downright disorienting. In addition to the lack of continuity, a remarkably inept casting made this portion all but unwatchable! I must've heard acting teachers say it a hundred times: if you cannot actually make tears come out of your eyes, DO NOT ATTEMPT A FAKE CRY ON STAGE! And if I ever doubted the wisdom in that, there was no shortage of poorly-acted defense witness testimony to drive home its point. Meanwhile, the majority of the witnesses called to testify on behalf of the defense came across as confrontational, indignant, arrogant, and (in some applicable cases) utterly biased and unprofessional. Overall, it was a disappointing mishmash that meandered aimlessly, though I would be remiss if I failed to acknowledge Dr. Marx's brilliant comic turn in Scene Two ("Cross Examination"). Well done, Dr. Marx!

What we saw in Act III was largely more of the same - gritty, believable reality from the Prosecution and an imaginatively written but poorly acted psychological thriller from the Defense. Act IV brought significantly more drama as the action mounted to its climax. The monologue of Attorney Doug Peters was difficult to watch, owing to the frustration of seeing a clearly accomplished performer with great potential so harshly constrained by the gaping holes in the plot he must advance. Thus it was ultimately District Attorney Robert James who stole what was left of the show after Andrea Greenberg's jaw-dropping performance. His speech, and his visual aids, were set to reveal the surprise ending: this was not a psychological thriller or a true-crime reality show, but an honest-to-God murder trial.

A man is dead. And all the belligerent witnesses, fanciful demons, and friendly Coldwell Banker agents in the world can't change that fact. I honestly think most of the people who watched this trial so obsessively (like me) did so because we were so appalled that anyone would expect Neuman's story to be taken seriously - that's what was funny. The death of Rusty Sneiderman wasn't funny. At all.

In his statement at sentencing, Hemy Neuman began by saying that no one had won; "everybody lost". I can certainly see where he was going with that, and there's no doubt he was standing in a room full of sad people, all of whom had lost something. But Rusty had lost more than anyone else, and there was only one thing anyone could still offer him: justice. And his family, with the help of the DA and his team, got that for him. It's a hollow victory, to be sure. But actually, Hemy: Rusty won.

So rest in peace, Rusty. And rest in peace, #hemyneumantrial hashtag. And rest in peace, this horrible, horrible story.

Unless...

Let's Talk ABOUT the Bathroom

Ah, the ladies room. There are exactly 8 things you're allowed to do in there:
1. Use the potty
2. WASH YOUR HANDS
3. Do yo' hurrrrr
4. Dance
5. Sob uncontrollably
6. Transport yourself to the Ministry of Magic
7. Steal TP
8. Sleep it off

You'll note (OH YES YOU WILL) that "have a long, involved, whispered conversation in the corner" is not on that list. Furthermore, you'll note (OH YES YOU WILL) that the items on this list would make for some incredibly bad background noise for your precious conversation, if you were dumb enough to try and have a conversation in there. And yet. AND YET! There are women in this world who take their private pow-wows directly to the ladies room! WHY? Actually, you know what? I don't care why. "Why" is not the point. The point is that it's WRONG WRONG WRONG. When you insist on having your little chit-chat in the potty room, it means that everyone who comes in for one of 8 perfectly legitimate reasons has completely lost her anonymity from the moment she walks in the door. Because as she walks by, you and your interlocutor are gonna glare at her like she's interrupting, like she has no right to come and pee where you are TRYING to have a conversation. And then she gets to try to do whatever she needed do knowing you are judging her the whole time.

I don't tolerate that crap, and you shouldn't either. But the problem is that most offices still refuse to designate a Bathroom Enforcer, so when you try to evict the chattering class's potty party, you get slapped with the old "YOU HAVE NO AUTHORITY HERE!" nonsense. Don't waste your time. Here's what you do instead:
1. Make eye contact with your foes as you walk in; they need to know you are aware of them and their foul, foul nonsense.
2. Enter the stall even if you only came in to do numbers 2-4.
3. Close the door.
4. Lick your inner elbow
5. Stick your open mouth on your inner elbow and blow, thereby making the loudest, wettest, nastiest fart noise you can.
6. Wait for the Talkative Tinas to beat a revolted retreat.

YOU'RE WELCOME.

For the record: YES, I do this. And you should too. Making gross noises in the stall is not shameful; it is arguably THE WHOLE POINT OF THE BATHROOM. But standing in a restroom to have a conversation? That is shameful. And it needs to stop immediately. Stay strong, people.

The Email You Wish You Could Send

It's weird, being a human person. It's even weirder when people get offended at the idea that we are all descended from apes. Apes are very much a step up from most human people we interact with on a daily basis.

Take me, for instance. Yesterday I decided I wanted a book from the library. (How quaint!) I probably went to the library's website 5-10 times over the course of the day, trying to work out which branches had the book I wanted, which one I could most conveniently stop by, what the hours were, whether I might want to pick up another similar book at the same time... And every time I went to the library website, I saw this:

ATTENTION! ALL BRANCHES WILL BE CLOSED ON MONDAY JANUARY 16TH IN OBSERVATION OF MARTIN LUTHER KING DAY

And every time I saw that, I thought, "Ugh! I KNOW! I get it! You're closed today! Just take me to the stupid catalog page!"

And yet, at 5:30pm, having battled ridiculous rain-induced traffic past my condo and all the way to the other side of town, I found myself standing outside a darkened library building, scratching my head (like an ape!) and saying, "But the website said it would be open til 8! Oh wait... SON OF A!!!!"

Given that breathtaking display of oblivious stupidity, you might think I would be a very compassionate person with an infinite well of patience for those people around me who are similarly oblivious. WRONG!

Take today, for instance. I'll have to modify a few things to protect the innocent a guilt-ridden harlot (yours truly). Let's say I sent this document to someone today:

The Nebraska River Beaver is a very friendly creature. Despite its large teeth, which are ideally suited to eating delicious crunchy snack products, its digestive system is unable to process salt & vinegar flavored potato chips, making it the saddest member of the animal kingdom.

A few hours after sending my masterpiece, I received a reply from the recipient:

To: Me

From: The Get These Beavers Lay'd Initiative

Subject: Document

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Your document bites (STOP LAUGHING THAT'S NOT A BEAVER JOKE). We specifically asked you to stop using the letters Z, Q, and J as of six months ago (see attached). Please revise accordingly and re-send.

ATTACHMENT:

I stared at the attachment, scratching my head, but not like an ape. More like Albert Einstein watching Jersey Shore. Then I pulled up my document and searched for the letters Z, Q, and J. Finding none of them, I figured the search function wasn't working and I myself went through letter by letter, searching for the offending graphemes. After wasting about 15 minutes of my life on this, I came to the inevitable conclusion that The GTBLI was perhaps having an "off" day, and had hallucinated any errors they believed to exist. But how to tell them that, without seeming mean or sarcastic?

To: The Get These Beavers Lay'd Initiative

From: Me

Subject: Re: Document

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hi again Gordon!

I am so sorry for failing to observe the instructions you never sent, but I really appreciate the completely unintelligible email and attachments you sent today to provide me with guidance going forward. After carefully reviewing the document using both 21st-century technology and good old-fashioned eyeball grease, I realized that the document I sent you is already completely in line with all of your requests. Naturally, I immediately travelled to an alternate dimension where these mistakes did exist and corrected them. If you reopen the document now, I think you will find it to your satisfaction. In the event that you see any additional glaring errors, please don't hesitate to ask a reliable adult if said errors really exist before asking me to fix them. Also: if anyone hands you a stamp with a picture of the Mad Hatter on it, DON'T put it in your mouth.

Hugs and Cuddles!

Kimberly

The Salty Tale of Redbeard The Drunk Irish Pirate

Last Friday, I popped into my friendly local liquor store to acquire more Kopparberg (side note: EVERYBODY IN ATLANTA PLEASE GO BUY LOTS AND LOTS OF KOPPARBERG IMMEDIATELY SO MORE PLACES WILL STOCK MORE OF IT). I bought every bottle they had (4). But since it was Friday, and since I had nowhere to be, and since it was a rainy evening, I decided to dilly dally a bit and wander the aisles marvelling at the incredible variety of revolting crap people are willing to put in their faces. As I did so, a group of men in their 20s came into the store. These men definitely did NOT need any more alcohol than they'd already had, a fact that first became apparent when they went straight to the [non-alcoholic] mixers section and proceeded to get very confused that there didn't seem to be any alcohol in the bottles in their immediate vicinity.

 

Oh dear.

 

Then the argument started.

 

Drunk Guy A chose this random moment to loudly declare his Irish lineage. Drunk Guy B cleverly wrong-footed him with a witty retort ("You're not Irish, asshole"). Naturally, Drunk Guy A was infuriated by this assault on both his integrity and his heritage, but as these are sadly not duelling times (if only!), he did the only thing he could do: he demonstrated his Irishness to everyone in the liquor store...

 

"I am so! This jerk doesn't believe I'm Irish! I am Irish! [pause] YARRRR!!!"

 

I guess it just goes to show my own cultural ignorance that I think of pirates as having an English accent, and can't actually name any Irish pirates off the top of my head. For shame! According to Wikipedia, there were at least four Irish pirates! Meanwhile, this guy, who has proven his Irishness beyond any shadow of a doubt by way of his eerily accurate Irish accent (just adding "YARRR!" at the end of every other sentence), possesses a depth of understanding of Irish culture and history to which most of us non-Irish people can only aspire. He probably speaks fluent Gaeilge too!

 

I learned something that night. Thanks, Incontrovertibly of Irish Descent Guy.

Delivery: One Beating With a Baseball Bat. Please Sign Here.

Imagine if you will...

I've posted this on my blog. You, loyal reader, have come upon it by way of my Twitter feed, or your RSS reader, or an email someone sent you (Subject: Who Gave This Girl a Blog?!?!) with a link. In any case, you read over what I've written. And then you click your Farmville bookmark to navigate away, and this pops up...

Aw HELL no!

I bet you'd feel pretty insulted wouldn't you? Because "Kimberly Welsh has requested a read receipt..." is really code for "Kimberly Welsh doesn't trust you as far as she can throw you, and in order to stop you in your lying, cheating, stealing tracks, she wants you to acknowledge HERE AND NOW that you have read this blog post, so when she hounds you about it later, you can't get away with claiming you didn't see it! You big fat lying LIAR!"

I hate read receipts. They are the nasty nose-picking tattle-tales of the virtual playground. Seriously, if we're gonna be this immature, why not also add cooties to anti-virus searches? Because the sender is not sitting at their desk, staring intently at their screen, waiting eagerly to see that you have read their email. That read receipt is just gonna sit in a folder marked "Ammo I Can Use To Pressure, Annoy and Pester People" unless/until they feel compelled to use it as Exhibit A when you go on trial for failing to forward their chain letter to 35 people in the time allotted.

I know all too well that there are people in just about every workplace who blow off their responsibilities. But I don't believe that chasing them around with a piece of paper that says "Jim Bob read this email at 10:15am on September 3rd" is going to motivate them to change their evil ways. Meanwhile, when you attach a read receipt to every email you send, you are accusing literally ALL of your contacts of being lazy immature children who cannot be trusted to do their jobs. Every time you send a read receipt from now on, imagine that this is what comes up on the other person's screen:

(Substantially less headache-inducing when zoomed. Just a suggestion.)

Maybe then you will think twice.

Don't Speak. No, SERIOUSLY.

You know what really juices my rutabagas? People who talk for no reason. If you like to hear yourself talk, I can pretty much guarantee you that NO ONE ELSE DOES. It is my misfortune, however, that even though no one cares what you have to say, lots of other people very much want to hear themselves talk. And what do we have then? We have a cluster of people saying nothing, often very loudly. Sample conversation:
YAPPER #1: What's the weather like today?
YAPPER #2: I heard it was gonna rain.
YAPPER #3: Really? I thought it was supposed to be sunny!
YAPPER #4: I read on the internet that there was going to be a freak dust storm blowing in from the ocean!!!
YAPPER #1 AGAIN: Hey, [YAPPER #5], what was the weather like when you went out a couple of hours ago?
YAPPER #5: It was nice! There were a couple of clouds, but they weren't too big. Although I noticed some grey ones in the distance when I was coming in, so maybe it's gonna rain later.
YAPPER #3: I could've SWORN I heard it was gonna be sunny!

The problem with this conversation is that it is the dumbest thing to come out of Pointless Inane Dumbtown since Paris Hilton published her 365 Ways to Cook With Cheddar Cheese and Heavy Cream! cookbook*. The weather is the singular focus of about a billion different websites, all available free of charge 24 hours a day. I have 3 free weather apps on my phone, one of which came bundled in the operating system. We have windows we can look out of. We could go outside and see for ourselves. And at the point where anyone asks what the weather was like "a couple of hours ago", the conversation has lost any illusion of relevancy. WEATHER CHANGES. OFTEN. RECENT-BUT-NOT-CURRENT NONEXPERT EYEWITNESS ACCOUNTS OF WEATHER ARE POINTLESS.

In the presence of a conversation like that, this is what I hear:
YAPPER #1: HEY LOOK EVERYBODY I AM TALKING!
YAPPER #2: ME TOO I WANNA TALK TOO!
YAPPER #3: YOU GUYS ARE TALKING? COOL! NOW I AM TALKING AS WELL!
YAPPER #4: I AM SO DESPERATE TO TALK THAT I WILL MAKE UP ANY OLD CRAP JUST SO I CAN SAY IT AT YOU.
YAPPER #1 AGAIN: IT'S AWESOME THAT WE ARE ALL TALKING BUT LET'S GET SOMEONE ELSE TO TALK!
YAPPER #5: I WILL TALK! I'M HAPPY TO TALK! I LOVE TALKING!
YAPPER #3: CHECK ME OUT YOU GUYS I'M TALKING AGAIN!!!!

Please. I'm begging you. Think twice before you open your face.

*No such book. Made it up**
**But I would totally buy it if it existed.

This is Why I Never Make New Friends

I have a lot of acquaintances and friends, but I need more really good friends, like D and J. But making friends isn't easy once you're out of school and working at a place where you don't really like anyone. I should know. I've tried a lot of things over the years and I've learned the harsh lesson that generally, when you go out to some sort of "meet new people" gathering, you find that 1/3 of the people there want to sell you something, 1/3 of the people there want to get in your pants, and 1/3 of the people there aren't the least bit interested in speaking to you, much less being your friend.

It's far too pricey a road to depression; I could get the same "wish I was dead" feeling by sitting on my couch drinking cheap cider and eating frozen pizza.

Improv is the closest I've ever come to success, and the last thing I tried before improv was a French language thingy. The last meeting I attended was in 2006. When I left, I was in possession of five business cards from people offering their translation services - a fact which baffles me to this very day, as I was only at the function because I already spoke French, and therefore had no need of translation services. Maybe they just felt that their French was that much better than mine, which is an insult and a decidedly unfriendly thing to imply. With my purse filled to the brim with unsolicited cards, I sought out my friend and asked if she was ready to leave, but...she had met a Frenchman.

God help us all.

This is how I ended up seated beside her on a couch as she flirted endlessly with "Patrique", leaving me open to the unwanted attentions of Whatshisface From Hell. I kid you not, this is how our conversation unfolded (although the original conversation was in French):
HIM: I've met you before.
ME: I think you've mistaken me for someone else; I've never seen you before.
HIM: No no, I've met you before. I gave you my number.
ME: Did you? Because I don't remember...
HIM: WHY DIDN'T YOU EVER CALL ME?
ME: Um, in all seriousness, I really don't recall ever seeing you before in my life. I'm pretty sure you're yelling at the wrong complete stranger.
HIM: I'm playing in a soccer game this Saturday. You should come watch.
ME: Um, OK, well...I'll have to check my schedule.
HIM: I want to take you to dinner sometime.
ME: That's very nice of you, but I'm very busy...
HIM: You can check your calendar and get back to me.
ME: Great!
HIM: ...only this time I will call you. Because you never called me last time.
ME: Again, that wasn't me.
HIM: What's your number?
ME: (Gives him my home number)
HIM: OK. I'll call you and you'll tell me when we're going to dinner.
ME: Right, well just FYI, that's my home number and sometimes I'm not home but if you leave a message.
HIM: What's your cell number?
ME: You don't need it! You have my home number! I get really crappy reception...
HIM: You HAVE a cell phone - I saw you check the time on it a minute ago. WHY WON'T YOU GIVE ME YOUR CELL NUMBER?
ME: (Getting seriously fed up with this crap) Because you don't need my cell number, because you have my home number.
HIM: Are you just trying to avoid me? Is this why you never called the last time?
ME: OH MY GOD I'VE NEVER MET YOU BEFORE IN MY LIFE, BUT SINCE YOU ASK, YES,  I AM TRYING TO AVOID EVER MEETING YOU AGAIN.

That was the end of French Meetup Group.

But as I say, I've been feeling the need to branch out lately, so I thought it might be worth taking another crack at the meetup site. After all, everyone always says that if you find a group of people doing something you enjoy, you'll find that its members are like-minded individuals you can bond with. And anyway, I really am looking for friends - not some kind of speed dating nonsense. Unfortunately, I had a little trouble finding any meetup activities that really strike my fancy...
- Baby Exercise Time
- Mommies Running Group
- Polyamory Club
- Kink Atlanta (note: Just what the hell is "The Midnight Munch?" *Horrified face*)
- Real Estate Trends and Education
- Various "Boot Camps" around town
- Atlanta Fetish Models

Sooooo yeah. I think I pretty much struck out here. Then again, if I tried to identify my interests, they would mostly involve writing, reading, and watching TV - not very social activities in the first place, unfortunately. And in fairness to meetup, it just helped me discover that Atlanta has a skeeball league(!?!). I might have found my tribe after all...