Tuesday, February 09, 2010
The Saints and Us [Msgr. Christopher H. Nalty]
In Catholic theology, the saints receive their reward in Heaven rather than on earth. And for 43 years, the fans of the team from New Orleans have lived the asceticism of worldly football struggles. There have been glimpses of paradise: the first kickoff runback by John Gilliam for a touchdown in 1967, Tom Dempsey’s game-winning 63-yard field goal in 1970, Steve Gleason’s blocked punt in the first home game in the Superdome following Hurricane Katrina. But just like a saint who experiences brief glimpses of the glory of God during his earthly life, it always seemed that the Saints were destined to be martyrs, as Archbishop Philip Hannan famously remarked in 1966 when consulted about the choice for a name for the newest NFL franchise.
It’s hard to imagine an American city that has gone through the ups and downs of New Orleans. Founded by the French, ceded to the Spanish, sold to the Americans, populated by the Haitians, challenged by the British, and blessed and cursed by its location and the abundance of natural resources, New Orleans was the wealthiest and third most populous city in America in 1840. But the location and natural resources of the city eventually took their toll. The city had a hard time expanding, and an overreliance on waterborne trade and oil caused the local economy to suffer. And then there’s those hurricanes and floods.
But throughout it all, New Orleanians have never lost our unique joie de vivre. We have our own deep faith, customs, language, music, and food. Text message a New Orleanian that you’re watching the Saints game with a priest and eating red beans, andouille, king cake, and Abita at a bar at the uptown lakeside corner of Tchoupitoulas and Lyons, and he knows you’re talking about F&M’s. And he’s not surprised. And he can pronounce all the words in that sentence.
Although the city has experienced disaster before, Hurricane Katrina was exceptional in its destruction, not only to the infrastructure, but to neighborhoods, local communities, the Church, and morale.
And since the storm, we have needed a symbol for our renaissance. It could have come from the outpouring of charity we received. It could have come from the revamping of city government. It could have come from the commitments of outside businessmen, artists, musicians, actors, and celebrities who have taken an interest in our home and are trumpeting our story. But it is fitting that the symbol of our renaissance is one of our own. It’s the team that was never supposed to win. It’s the team that lost its home to the storm. It’s the team that traveled like refugees for a year, like so many of our residents. It’s a team of misfits and cast-offs and players left for football dead. And they showed us that they could do it. They did it for us, and they did it with us, especially our prayers and our noisy help. And they did it in that dome, scarred by Katrina and marked by the suffering of so many. The Louisiana Superdome is now the Home of the Super Bowl Champions. As the front-page headline of the New Orleans Times-Picayune read on Monday morning: “Amen!”
— Msgr. Christopher H. Nalty is a native New Orleanian. He is the pastor of Good Shepherd Parish on Napoleon Avenue in Uptown New Orleans.
02/09 09:10 AMShare
Call them "cult classics." "Guilty pleasures." "Comfort movies." We all have a mental rolodex of flicks that may not be terribly popular but, for one reason or another, they resonate in a very special way. Maybe you saw it at the right moment. Maybe you just see gold where everyone else sees feces. Whatever the case, these are the special favorites that you keep stashed away for sick days. Here are some of ours.
One of the big news items getting my fanboy heart a-pounding this month is the long-awaited return of Vin Diesel and David Twohy to the "Riddick" franchise. The news broke last week that they are going back for a third helping and then we learned just this morning the first few story details and plans for a "back-to-basics" approach. In this case, "basics" refers to "Pitch Black," the thoroughly enjoyable first movie in the series which celebrates its 10th anniversary tomorrow.
I still remember going to the theater to check out "Pitch Black" with an old high school friend on a snowy February night back in 2000. We'd both seen "Boiler Room," both loved Diesel's character in that movie. That's actually what finalized the decision to see "Pitch Black." That, and the badass-looking alien beasts shown in commercials.
Unlike the overblown, effects-driven blockbusters that are typically associated with science fiction, this is a movie that served up true, character-driven sci-fi. Visual effects are used sparingly, allowing the story to unfold rather than overpowering it.
And how about that story? Like the best horror/suspense flicks, fear is built very slowly. The story involves a group of survivors -- one of whom is Diesel's Riddick character, a dangerous criminal -- who are marooned on a distant planet after their ship crash lands. The sun-baked landscape is exceedingly bright, a result of the three suns the planet orbits. Only rarely does darkness descend on the world... and that's when the indigenous creatures come out to play.
The entire first act follows the group as they explore their new (and hopefully temporary) home. We don't see the fearsome aliens, but there are threats, a few red herring jump scares and, as time passes, the briefest of shadowy glimpses. As our survivors realize what these creatures are and the danger of the setting suns, they prepare for a very long night. However, nothing they do can ready them for the fearsome sight that greets them when the last ray of light fades: the creatures, thousands of them, emerge from nesting holes scattered across the barren landscape and take to the sky, hungry and looking for food.
It's here that the chase begins. The light goes out and the monster is revealed only a short time after the group discovers a possible escape route. Unfortunately, that escape will involve trudging through a gauntlet of the fearsome beasts with heavy equipment in tow. And so we have this ragtag group of survivors who are forced to cooperate if they wish to survive. And their unlikely leader, a vicious intergalactic criminal by the name of Richard B. Riddick.
It's a sharp story, well-written and equally well-cast. And it continues to hold up precisely because of that. This is an easy Sick Day Stash pick for me, one that's been sitting on my list since the column was first conceived. And I thought today, the day before that 10th anniversary, would be a great time to remind you all of why people love the Riddick character so much.
Congrats to David and Vin for keeping the series going this long. I look forward to seeing what you guys come up with for the next one.
There's a reason that McDonald's is considered the dredge, last stop, dead end hub of employment for all of the drug addict, unschooled, crackpots of the world.
It is.
I have worked for the golden arches for the better part of four years and as a boss of most of these self described bottom of the ladder types, I have a perspective unique as to the way these people think, act and react to what is expected of them in the working world.
It's important to realize that not every employee of Mcdonald's fits the above description. The reason for this is that there are a small percentage of people that are good, solid employees. I'd hate to have one of very few persons I actually respect from my years spent in that draconian pit of souls read this and perceive my retrospective malice as an assault on his or her character.
I'll put it simply. Let's say you are a nineteen year old, recently finished with high school, possibly in college, possibly not. Most likely in. You may have had a decent job in High School, you may just be leaving the umbrella of your parents. You have little work experience, at most a crappy stint in a grocery store or fast food restaurant from high school. So, you end up at McDonald's. Because your parents are better than most, you grew up with a certain ethic in regards to your work habits. You go to work each day, do your best, and due to a moderate allocation of brainpower, do a decent job. Of course, you're pretty young and probably not entirely happy with your new role as a fry slinger. I give you at most six months before you realize how incredibly under appreciated you are at your new job.
At this point, you will need the benefit of some elaboration in regards to the persons working above our young hero or heroine. Who calls the shots in the recently initiated journey of life for the new "crew members".
From the above diagram you can see a few basic things. At the very top you have the big cheese, the boss supreme. This person is most often always awful at their job. It doesn't matter how well the store operates, what kind of money comes in, or how many awards their crew receives. From whatever backwater Montana school they barely eked out their shitty BA in business they come from, they never learned the basics of human interaction and business operations. It's ridiculous sometimes the levels of ineptitude you'll witness at the upper echelons of fast food management. I worked for 7 separate store managers throughout my 4 years of fast food time, and only one was even a little apt at what they did. He however was a jackass. Moving down the shit ladder, you'll notice two supposed assistants to the manager. Ah yes, the unfortunate divide in management. The assistant is essentially everyone's boss. This person does the scheduling. This person does the stock reordering. This person deals with most crew problems, and works most every shift, sometimes 60 hours a week. Oh, yeah that's right, even in fast food you can reach the joyous phase of salary pay. Only two do and the top guy (or gal) will not, and I can almost always guarantee this, work more than 40 hours in a week.
Of course, you have to include the meetings at the franchise offices and phone calls at home. I think I could handle that. Work 35 hours a week, get a company car, and have to go to a few stupid meetings a week and answer an occasional late night distress call from some poor night shift manager. Anyways, the assistant is the person you'll be dealing with almost always. And they'll usually be great at their job. This is the shit stop that creates the store managers. The overworking, petty squabbling, and childish bullshit that the assistant puts up with en masse creates the overwhelming urge to hide behind paperwork and push the same crap off on an underling when they are so lucky to ascend the ladder one final time. Next up of course is my favorite stop; the second assistant. Wow, now here's a dead end, crap job if I ever saw one. This is pretty much a back up for if the assistant is ever sick or gone, a buffer to keep people away from the store manager. A glorified shift manager, who nine times out of ten fails to understand the basic tenets of human functioning that allowed our ancestors to stand upright for the first time more than a million years ago. Those are the three levels of management that more or less run the numbers and operational crap of the store. It's never that simple of course. These things will of course trickle down said ladder into the laps of the next level more often than not. Enter the phase I remember best, having spent 3 years in it myself, that of Shift Management. You may think me a bit hypocritical for my bald judgment in these paragraphs, especially in light of the following, but bear in mind, only certain people reach certain levels in this kind of work. It's a peculiar world and pretending otherwise lends it the faced of an officious business that I wouldn't allow near it on the end of a fishing lure if I were baiting it out to club over the head.
The shift management of a fast food restaurant has an entirely different hierarchy of its own. One built on peculiar bits and pieces such as age, education, language, and ass-kissery. No doubt, these factors are all familiar to you in whichever job you spend your weekdays praying for an earthquake or a category 5 tornado to reduce the building to rubble. These are folks that didn't necessarily do amazingly well at their jobs in the first place. These are folks that just didn't leave after those initial 6 months. Usually that's all it takes. You must be intelligible and well spoken enough to argue down a half drunk father of two in the drive thru who swears on the oil dripping from his 96 sedan that he didn't get his large fries to tell 10 slightly dumber persons what to do 5 days a week. I dare you to envision any of your friends or family who actually don't fit this description. The hard part is finding someone like this willing to spend more than 6 months of their life working for the hell hole I've described to you thus far. The final piece of the puzzle is simple necessity. It's shocking and often times disgusting the depths a store manager will lower themselves to find a shift manager when they truly need one. If you find yourself lucky enough to be working for a fast food restaurant at a time when they are mercilessly short of this under appreciated, over worked middle ground worker, you may find yourself the next day in a tie and without that greasy baseball cap.
So, it's not hard to be a shift manager then? So how can I lay them out and explain how they work. It's not as hard as all that really. Let's pretend the management staff is like a distant family. You've got Uncle Bill; nice, full of great stories and always bringing a small gift, but fat and lazy as fuck. Just try and get his fat ass off the couch during a football game. Next is Cousin Willie; this little shit head's in and out of trouble, filching money from his mom's purse, and swearing at her when she tells him to take the trash out. Little Cousin Susie is a classic kiss ass. She always knows what to say and when to say it to the grown ups. She doesn't talk much with the other kids because they know she'll just run to her mommy and get a candy. There's the newest member of the family too, little Timmy, just big enough to visit, shy-eyed and always knocking over your favorite vase. He doesn't quite understand things like pulling on the dog's tail will get him bit. You'll need to be extra patient with him. Last but not least is Aunt Laura. She holds it all together. Fast working, quick on her feet, and always watching the other four, she's the only person you can actually stand, the cool aunt who can barely stand her own children so she's extra nice to you. This is the shift management in a fast food restaurant.
I know none of you ever want to end up in a fast food restaurant under this ridiculous hierarchy of ineptitude, but keep in mind, bad things happen to all of. This is your reminder to do well at whatever job you have, have some savings, and never screw up so much as to be stuck in this hell hole. (If you're a teenager then it's a right of passage. Suck it up and do your job)
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
The Saints and Us [Msgr. Christopher H. Nalty]
In Catholic theology, the saints receive their reward in Heaven rather than on earth. And for 43 years, the fans of the team from New Orleans have lived the asceticism of worldly football struggles. There have been glimpses of paradise: the first kickoff runback by John Gilliam for a touchdown in 1967, Tom Dempsey’s game-winning 63-yard field goal in 1970, Steve Gleason’s blocked punt in the first home game in the Superdome following Hurricane Katrina. But just like a saint who experiences brief glimpses of the glory of God during his earthly life, it always seemed that the Saints were destined to be martyrs, as Archbishop Philip Hannan famously remarked in 1966 when consulted about the choice for a name for the newest NFL franchise.
It’s hard to imagine an American city that has gone through the ups and downs of New Orleans. Founded by the French, ceded to the Spanish, sold to the Americans, populated by the Haitians, challenged by the British, and blessed and cursed by its location and the abundance of natural resources, New Orleans was the wealthiest and third most populous city in America in 1840. But the location and natural resources of the city eventually took their toll. The city had a hard time expanding, and an overreliance on waterborne trade and oil caused the local economy to suffer. And then there’s those hurricanes and floods.
But throughout it all, New Orleanians have never lost our unique joie de vivre. We have our own deep faith, customs, language, music, and food. Text message a New Orleanian that you’re watching the Saints game with a priest and eating red beans, andouille, king cake, and Abita at a bar at the uptown lakeside corner of Tchoupitoulas and Lyons, and he knows you’re talking about F&M’s. And he’s not surprised. And he can pronounce all the words in that sentence.
Although the city has experienced disaster before, Hurricane Katrina was exceptional in its destruction, not only to the infrastructure, but to neighborhoods, local communities, the Church, and morale.
And since the storm, we have needed a symbol for our renaissance. It could have come from the outpouring of charity we received. It could have come from the revamping of city government. It could have come from the commitments of outside businessmen, artists, musicians, actors, and celebrities who have taken an interest in our home and are trumpeting our story. But it is fitting that the symbol of our renaissance is one of our own. It’s the team that was never supposed to win. It’s the team that lost its home to the storm. It’s the team that traveled like refugees for a year, like so many of our residents. It’s a team of misfits and cast-offs and players left for football dead. And they showed us that they could do it. They did it for us, and they did it with us, especially our prayers and our noisy help. And they did it in that dome, scarred by Katrina and marked by the suffering of so many. The Louisiana Superdome is now the Home of the Super Bowl Champions. As the front-page headline of the New Orleans Times-Picayune read on Monday morning: “Amen!”
— Msgr. Christopher H. Nalty is a native New Orleanian. He is the pastor of Good Shepherd Parish on Napoleon Avenue in Uptown New Orleans.
02/09 09:10 AMShare
Call them "cult classics." "Guilty pleasures." "Comfort movies." We all have a mental rolodex of flicks that may not be terribly popular but, for one reason or another, they resonate in a very special way. Maybe you saw it at the right moment. Maybe you just see gold where everyone else sees feces. Whatever the case, these are the special favorites that you keep stashed away for sick days. Here are some of ours.
One of the big news items getting my fanboy heart a-pounding this month is the long-awaited return of Vin Diesel and David Twohy to the "Riddick" franchise. The news broke last week that they are going back for a third helping and then we learned just this morning the first few story details and plans for a "back-to-basics" approach. In this case, "basics" refers to "Pitch Black," the thoroughly enjoyable first movie in the series which celebrates its 10th anniversary tomorrow.
I still remember going to the theater to check out "Pitch Black" with an old high school friend on a snowy February night back in 2000. We'd both seen "Boiler Room," both loved Diesel's character in that movie. That's actually what finalized the decision to see "Pitch Black." That, and the badass-looking alien beasts shown in commercials.
Unlike the overblown, effects-driven blockbusters that are typically associated with science fiction, this is a movie that served up true, character-driven sci-fi. Visual effects are used sparingly, allowing the story to unfold rather than overpowering it.
And how about that story? Like the best horror/suspense flicks, fear is built very slowly. The story involves a group of survivors -- one of whom is Diesel's Riddick character, a dangerous criminal -- who are marooned on a distant planet after their ship crash lands. The sun-baked landscape is exceedingly bright, a result of the three suns the planet orbits. Only rarely does darkness descend on the world... and that's when the indigenous creatures come out to play.
The entire first act follows the group as they explore their new (and hopefully temporary) home. We don't see the fearsome aliens, but there are threats, a few red herring jump scares and, as time passes, the briefest of shadowy glimpses. As our survivors realize what these creatures are and the danger of the setting suns, they prepare for a very long night. However, nothing they do can ready them for the fearsome sight that greets them when the last ray of light fades: the creatures, thousands of them, emerge from nesting holes scattered across the barren landscape and take to the sky, hungry and looking for food.
It's here that the chase begins. The light goes out and the monster is revealed only a short time after the group discovers a possible escape route. Unfortunately, that escape will involve trudging through a gauntlet of the fearsome beasts with heavy equipment in tow. And so we have this ragtag group of survivors who are forced to cooperate if they wish to survive. And their unlikely leader, a vicious intergalactic criminal by the name of Richard B. Riddick.
It's a sharp story, well-written and equally well-cast. And it continues to hold up precisely because of that. This is an easy Sick Day Stash pick for me, one that's been sitting on my list since the column was first conceived. And I thought today, the day before that 10th anniversary, would be a great time to remind you all of why people love the Riddick character so much.
Congrats to David and Vin for keeping the series going this long. I look forward to seeing what you guys come up with for the next one.
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