Polite Savages (tm)

The Office Holiday Party

The office holiday party is the most treacherous of all office events.  You're navigating the narrow waterway of fun between the Scylla and Charybdis of gossip and scandal.  The office holiday party is deceptively relaxing.  You think you can let loose and show your real self to your colleagues.  Don't do it!  You should keep your real self away from those people that can influence your professional life.  Just because everyone else is letting loose doesn't mean that they're not filing away facts for later use.  Even though your boss or subordinate might welcome your fun side, it doesn't mean that they won't judge you come a sober Monday morning. 

No Smoking and No High Heels (Spiky that is)

     The holidays are approaching and the social season begins.  We send and receive invitations to dinners, cocktail parties and the like.  Recently I received a holiday cocktail party invitation through evite, which is perfectly fine.  However, instead of a warm description of the purpose or character of the party I read the following three lines: 

- RSVP by December 7th.

- Smoking on roof deck only (not inside or in front of house).

-  Spiky high heel shoes not permitted on top floor of house.

     I don't have a problem with the first item because a hostess is perfectly within her rights to know who's coming.  The second two things make me want to smoke and wear spiky high heels, two things I don't do.  Those statements are not very welcoming although I completely understand the rationale.  I don't permit smoking in my home and I dread high heels marking our wood floors.  On the other hand, I would hope that as adults and living in a certain society, we all know that smoking is not permitted unless otherwise specified and I've been to many parties where people either offer to take off their shoes or the hosts don't demonstrate their floor fetish openly. 

     I would suggest to these people that they just not bother having the party or they get over it.  As a practical matter, they can ask people not to smoke and close off the floor of their house with the soft floors.   And to boot I hope that their neighbors realize that apparently these hosts think that it's OK for their guests to smoke in front of other people's homes. 

The American Work Picnic

     Yesterday, I went to a uniquely American phenomenon, the work barbecue, held at Krucker's, a self described "catering and picnic grove."   The Krucker's website claims that "the sights and sounds surrounding Krucker's are nothing less than spectacular."  I wouldn't go that far.  To me spectacular means a lot more than a couple of shallow ponds with some anemic turtles and snakes.  But I did leave feeling wholesome and satisfied.  My daughter had a good time and the food was good and the service was very nice.  If you do go, try the sausage and peppers.  And if you can figure out what butter sauce is, then please tell me. 

     My reluctance to go in previous years resulted from my learned belief that work and personal life should not mix.  Maybe it's partially instinctual.  Mixing those two is like putting Lindsay Lohan in a holy water bath.  Someone or something would burn or evaporate.  I succumbed and finally went because it was not on the last day of my daughter's camp, one of my favorite co-workers is leaving and I do actually like some of my colleagues.  Once I was out of the office and drinking keg beer I was able to see my colleagues as three-dimensional people with children, summer homes and eclectic interests rather than cardboard cutouts sitting behind desks in the cubicle farm.  I made an effort to talk to everyone and meet their significant others and children.  It felt nice.  Not that everyone is my new best friend forever.  The reality is that tomorrow I'll pass these people in the hall and leave it at "Hi, how are you?"  The work barbecue is like Christmas in Summer.  It reminds us that we all should just be a little bit nicer to each other with the added bonus that we don't need to exchange gifts.

Chanto and Men in Undershirts

    

     I just came back from the loveliest dinner at Chanto with a dear friend of mine who dissed me on my birthday.  He replied that he would attend and then never showed up.  While he did call later in the evening to let me know, I was not too pleased.  So the lesson from that story is that if you commit to going to an event, you should follow through or else your host just might hate you.  What if your host is relying on a headcount or has prepaid for a meal?  It's just rude not to show up.  Granted if there was a true emergency like he was hit by a car, I would have been more understanding.  But enough berating and preaching.  So my dear friend made up for his absence by spending some quality time with me this evening at a new and delectable Japanese restaurant.  I forgave him after we drank a bottle of sake.  Chanto was stylish and nicely sized without being overbearing unlike certain other pretentious Japanese juggernauts in this city which I will not name.  You can venture a guess.  The quality of the fish was superb and the sushi was beautifully presented.  The deal was sealed for us when we noticed that the clientele was mostly Japanese.  Then you know it's got to be good.

    During our meal we watched the summer night parade of the West Village.  We watched groups of girls struggling to emulate Sex and the City.  There were the usual tourists looking everywhere which no real New Yorker ever does.  Then we saw a good-looking gay couple that decided that it was OK to wear their underwear out of the house.  OK they weren't really that bare.  They were wearing shorts and white undershirts.  Whether they were wearing underpants was unknown to us.  My friend offered to run after them with his new iPhone to take their picture.  I declined.  I think his offer was really a result of him wanting to show off his iPhone. 

     But back to the topic at hand.  What is it about the summertime that causes people of all backgrounds, rich and poor, gay and straight, black and white, man or woman, to think that it is OK to wear undergarments in public places?  Perhaps the heat bakes good judgment out of our heads.  Or maybe it's our crotch-flashing (e.g., Britney, Lindsay and Paris), exhibitionist culture that encourages people to show off their bodies regardless of physical condition?  I just don't know.  But what I do know is that undergarments should stay under something or displayed in the privacy of one's home or at a strip club.  Except perhaps if you're really, really hot, then you can getaway with anything.