North of Normal

Oh, my

From today's Free Press:

Sidelined for six games in December -- the most ever except for knee surgery -- Detroit Red Wings captain Steve Yzerman returned to the ice recently with a new religion.

A new groin religion.

Heh. As a lifelong resident of Hockeytown, let me assure you--there's nothing new about the Church of Yzerman's Groin.


I'd do a roundup of other news right now, but between the holidays and the cold, I have no idea what's going on in the world.

However, in my head, there is some turbulence. Here's a pondering for you: Who decides what's offensive? The offended or the offender? How much does intent matter?

I don't mean things like racial slurs or officeplace assgrabbing. I mean in the social realm, when a mostly well-intentioned dolt blunders into a minefield. In an attempt to be funny, or witty or charming or the center of attention, somebody says something so staggeringly tasteless that people nearly drop their drinks. Do you call him on it right there? Goggle and gasp "I can't believe you just said that!" Suppose you laugh and let it pass and think later, when I'm sober and less appalled, I'll take him aside and tell him . . . what, exactly? When that later comes, and he still doesn't get it because he didn't mean any harm, who decides that he has done something wrong? How much do his good intentions matter? At what point do you have to say to him, "No, I don't care. You were wrong whether you meant to be or not, and if you can't see why, there is something greater wrong with you"?

On a shallow level, I suppose I'm wondering what to do about my asshat friend. On a deeper level, I'm wondering who enforces the social contracts. Obviously we don't all observe the strictest rules of formality with each other all the time. If we did, we'd be living in a Jane Austen novel (though I'm not sure that's a bad thing). This is especially true amongst longtime close friends--the rules went out the window a thousand sleepless nights ago. But there's still things you don't say or do, still lines. What do you do when they get crossed? Roll your eyes and go on ignoring it? Speak up? Assign an official tact officer?


Mind my manners: