a matter of trust

If you are an avid and long-time reader of this blog (and why wouldn't you be?), you know that I am not particularly fond of the word "amazing." Well, to be more specific, the overuse of the word "amazing." It's a perfectly good word when used correctly, that is, to identify something that is truly — as the good folks at Merriam-Webster put it — "causing astonishment, great wonder, or surprise." In my opinion, that really applies to rare and impressive feats of science, like open heart surgery or building and later docking at the international Space Station. Unfortunately, the impact of describing something as "amazing" has been diluted once it had been attached to a really good plate of spaghetti or your kid bringing home an "A" on a book report.

Well, in the roster of "Things That Bug the Shit Out of Josh Pincus," please add the phrase "trust me." I hate — I mean positively hate — when I hear someone say "trust me."

Trust is a very strong, yet very fragile thing. It takes years to earn someone's trust. First, you have to get to know a person. Know their personality, their way of thinking, their beliefs, their morals, their behavior. You have to understand the way they handle certain situations and only then can you truly trust them. However, once that trust is broken, it will take a very, very long time to reinstate it — if it is able to be reinstated at all. If you trust someone and you catch them lying — even it is about something not remotely related to your trusting situation, their trust has gone right out the window. You think, "If they lied about this, then what else are they lying about...and can I ever trust them not to lie again?"

With that in mind, I cringe when I hear a perfect stranger or remote acquaintance say "trust me." Sometimes a little knowing wink is added to seal the asserted trust. Are you kidding me? Why on earth should I trust someone I just met, don't know and is trying to sell me something or influence my beliefs? "Trust me" implies some expertise - presented without any sort of qualification - on a particular topic or item. Some inside information that won't be shared. Just accept the "trust me" diclaimer as a guarantee that this researched knowledge exists. That will suffice. 

I see the phrase "trust me" appear a lot on many Facebook posts regarding movies, restaurants, vacation destinations or any number of things where an opinion is more suited that a statement of unwarranted trust. "We went to this restaurant and you do not want to get the pineapple upside-down cake — trust me!" Why? Why should I trust you, person on Facebook? Perhaps I would like the pineapple upside-down cake despite the fact that you didn't? Why should this be a trust issue? Am I not permitted to form my own opinion? Do you need to have everyone heed your pineapple upside-down cake decree?

When I was a teenager, I went to Walt Disney World with three of my friends. Actually, I went with two of my friends and a guy who was a friend-of-a-friend. It was the first visit to the famed theme park for everyone except the friend-of-a-friend. He had been before and fancied himself the expert. He took this opportunity to appoint himself "Official Tour Guide," pointing out things we should not miss and things we should skip. As we approached to queue line for the Enchanted Tiki Room, he waved his hand dismissively and loudly stated, "Oh, you don't want to go in there.... trust me." So, we trusted him and continued to walk past the entrance. A year later, we went to Disney World again, this time with a different fourth person. It took a year before we were able to experience the joyful attraction where "the birds sing words and the flowers croon" — thanks to someone I didn't really know telling me to "trust" them.

It is interesting to note that the people you should trust are the ones who don't tell you to trust them. They don't have to tell you to trust them. They don't have to tell you anything. Why should they? Trust is an unspoken bond between people. Once you are told by someone to "trust them," a question of their trust immediately registers. Why? Why are you reminding me to trust you? Is there an issue with your trustworthiness? 

Think about who tells you to trust them...

• Politicians - There's not a trustworthy one that ever lived.
• Salespeople (specifically those trying to sell you a car).
• A guy on TV telling you the kitchen appliance he's offering will replace every other appliance in your kitchen.
• Restaurant waitstaff - A confidentially-imparted note of trust on a particular menu item usually means the kitchen made to too much and the waitstaff were given instructions to push it on customers.
• Facebook "friends" you have never actually met.... and in some cases, Facebook friends you have actually met. In this instance, the tried and true process of gaining trust should be employed.

But... for goodness sakes.... don't take my word for it.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

wordy rappinghood

Like most big cities, Philadelphia has its own set of colloquialisms that only Philadelphians understand. Some of these words have become well-known throughout the nation and are no longer Philadelphia-specific. By now, everyone knows what a "hoagie" is, except that Philadephians still pronounce it with that guttural "oh," a sort of "secret handshake" that allows other Philadelphians to identify their homies. The same goes for "wooder*," "Oh-pal**," "Ac-a-me***" and "fil-im****, all common words that true Philadelphians just can't seem to pronounce correctly.

There's another word that is prevalent in the current Philadelphia vernacular. It's an all-purpose word that means many things and is the perfect word for many occasions. Perhaps you've heard it shouted across the Italian Market on 9th Street. Maybe someone said it while they were walking into the Linc. Or maybe you heard it the first place I heard it. In a courtroom in City Hall.

In 1983, I was in my third year of a four-year program at the Hussian School of Art. a small but prestigious art school located on three floors of an office building in Center City¤ Philadelphia. (Yellow Cab occupied several of the lower floors.) One morning, my illustration teacher, a talented and inspirational young lady who allowed the class to call her "Ginny," took our ragtag band of budding artists on a field trip. We assembled and walked as a group to nearby City Hall, a majestic building situated dead center in the intersection of Broad Street and Market Street. Upon completion of its 30-year construction, Philadelphia City Hall was the tallest inhabitable building in the world. The limestone, granite and marble structure is adorned with 250 statues created by artist Alexander Milne Calder, including the massive, 37-foot tall figure of city founder William Penn, which is still the largest statue to top any building in the world. City Hall is the headquarters of Philadelphia's municipal court system and that was the destination of my illustration class that morning. Arrangements had been made by Ginny to have our class observe and draw the occupants of a courtroom during a trial. As a group, we were excited — collectively imagining our work prominently displayed on the 11 o'clock news while Action News anchor Jim Gardner reads a story of some hardened criminal's pending sentencing.

We were ushered into the ornate courtroom by Ginny's legal connection and we shuffled to find seats in the visitors' gallery. A trial was already underway, so we tried our best to remain as quiet and we could. The prosecuting attorney — a novice Clarence Darrow — briefly stopped his questioning as he turned his head to watch us take our seats. When we were all seated, he resumed speaking, only now, it seemed, he was injecting his queries with a more theatrical bravado... after all, he now had an audience. He paced in front of the young man in the witness box as the jury watched intently. The witness, a young African-American gentleman dressed in a popular 80s-style jogging suit, seemed totally disinterested in the proceedings at hand. We had missed the beginning of the case, so we had to figure out what was going on based on current activity. At this point, none of us were drawing. The prosecutor gestured in exaggerated motions and asked his witness, "So, then what you do?"

The witness shifted in his seat and mumbled, "I went and got my hammer."

The prosecutor looked puzzled. "Your hammer?," he repeated, "You got a hammer? A tool to drive nails?"

The witness looked at the prosecutor like the guy had three heads. He frowned, shook his head and answered, "Nah, man. My hammer!" He raised his hand, popped up his thumb until it was perpendicular to his extended forefinger, creating a right angle. He waved his digital approximation of a firearm in the prosecutor's direction and then spoke the word.

"Y'know, man. My jawn!"

The room fell silent. Then a low murmur rippled through the visitors' gallery. "What was that?" "What did he say?" "What does that mean?" The witness shrugged, as though he uttered something as familiar as "Happy Birthday to You." Realizing that his statement was not understood, he leaned forward, his lips almost touching the microphone and said, "My gun.," and leaned back in his chair, lifting the front legs off the floor. The prosecutor was obviously startled, so he changed the direction of his questioning and just let "jawn" go on... unacknowledged.

And I never heard the word again, until some months later.

I was working in my cousin's health food restaurant with a nice guy named Tony... although sometimes he preferred to be called "Gary." One evening, after we closed, Tony was in the kitchen of the restaurant, washing some pots in a sink overflowing with suds. I was carrying the unused portions of casseroles into the kitchen to wrap and pile up in the refrigerator. Tony was working steel wool in perfect time to some awesome jams blaring from the radio Tony kept on the window sill. I asked Tony about the song, one I had never heard before. Tony extracted his hand from the sink and pointed a soapy finger at his boombox.

"That's the jawn!," he said with a smile. In the following weeks and months, Tony said "jawn" a lot. Everything was a "jawn." A casserole in the oven was a "jawn." A serving utensil was a "jawn," My car was a "jawn." My bike was a "jawn." A movie Tony saw the past weekend was a "jawn," too. "Jawn," it seemed, was whatever you needed it to be. An all-purpose word that served all purposes. 

And it was purely Philadelphia.

More recently, "jawn" has hit mainstream Philadelphia vocabulary. It's used on local radio, on local television, in local advertising. Some Philadelphia businesses have embraced and even hijacked "jawn" to give themselves an air of "street cred," thinking it makes them automatically cool. I've seen "jawn" on local billboards for organizations like the Philadelphia Visitors Bureau. And, you know what, I'll give them a pass. They do great things in the name of promoting our fair city. 

But this one, I believe, officially marks the decline — and eventual death — of "jawn."

Oh "jawn," we hardly knew ye.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

*water

**opal

***Acme

****film

¤ Another of Philadelphia's charming colloquial terms, this one for the downtown area of the city.

amazing grace

In this post, I revisit a previous rant, because it keeps coming up. Thank you for your indulgence. — JPiC

We made plans to meet my brother-in-law* and his family for dinner. The chosen restaurant was a small independent Italian place not too far from their home. Mrs. P and I arrived a good fifteen minutes before I saw their car pull into the tiny parking lot. (That, in itself, was a rarity.) While we waited, we perused the surroundings, taking in the atmosphere, as it was our first time there.

The small, boxy building was obviously something else before it was re-purposed as a restaurant. A row of tables lined the front of the building whose wall was a large, multi-pane, picture window. On the other side of a narrow aisle was a diner-like, low counter sporting old-fashioned swivel stools, with wait service from the open kitchen across the sparkling white Formica. In the corner, situated near the cashier, was an imposing coal-fired oven, its glowing embers visible through the brick-lined, semi-circular opening. A stocky fellow, with a bandanna knotted around his perspiring head, shoveled pizza after hand-prepared pizza into the fiery depths of the oven, carefully monitoring the quick cooking time and withdrawing perfectly-browned pies for eager (and hungry) customers. A glass-sided case displayed the many exotic, gourmet pizza offerings. 

Mrs. P and I marveled at the wide array of selections — both the meat and meat-free varieties — all made from various combinations of over two dozen available toppings. They were colorful specimens, decked out in brightly-hued peppers, onions, tomatoes and other assorted vegetables. Others were chock full of huge hunks of sausage, large disks of pepperoni and big globs of ricotta cheese. Each one was an edible work of art, beautifully presented and each more appetizing than the last.

Soon, we were joined by our familial dinner companions, who were equally as surprised that we beat them to our destination. (Obviously, we have gained ourselves a reputation in the "tardy" department.) While we waited for a recently-vacated table to be cleared and cleaned, my brother-in-law began to extol the virtues of this establishment, as he and his family are frequent patrons. 

"The pizza here is amazing." he avowed.

Ugh! There's that word again. "Amazing!" Oh, how I have come to loathe that word. Well, not so much the word itself, but the over-usage and application to everyday, decidedly non-amazing things. I don't know when it started, but "amazing" has become the go-to standard description for anything that is not horrible. And I mean anything. And it has gotten out of hand. Listen for it everyday. People describe everything from their children to a movie to a piece of fish as "amazing." Merriam-Webster defines "amazing" as "causing amazement, great wonder, or surprise." Now, is that an accurate description of a lump of ground beef on a bun? Or your kid bringing home a gold star on a third-grade math test that thirty other kids in the class and hundred other kids in the school took? Does that really evoke "great wonder or surprise?" Amazing? Really? Y'know, if everything is amazing, then nothing is amazing.

I grimaced at my brother-in-law's assessment of the pizza. I told him that I rarely find that any situation begs for the word "amazing" as a suitable description and I have never ever used it in reference to food. I like food. I like food a lot, but I have never had any food that I would classify as "amazing." You can add "life-changing" and "to die for," as well. Food is "good." Sometimes it's "very good," even "excellent," but never — and I mean never — amazing.

Amazing.

"You know what's 'amazing'?," I told him, "The story of Zion Harvey. That's amazing!" I related the story of Zion Harvey, an 8-year-old boy whose hands and feet were amputated after he contracted a life-threatening infection as a toddler. Little Zion underwent a grueling 10-hour operation in which doctors grafted an operational hand onto each of his wrists. He is now receiving intense daily sessions of physical therapy to strengthen his new hands and to enhance his coordination and dexterity. He is admirably brave and, at the same time, blasé about his situation. He stoically stated that he looks forward to one day holding his baby sister. That is, in every sense of the word — amazing. Does a slab of dough decorated with cheese, sauce and a few tomatoes rate in the same category as doctors guaranteeing that a courageous child receives a second chance at a normal life? I don't think so.

Not amazing.

The pizza was pretty good. Very good actually. But amazing? It was just pizza.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com



*not that one, the other one.

keep on using me, until you've used me up

Stop it, goddammit! Just stop it already! Stop saying "utilize" when you mean "use." Those two words do not mean the same thing! I don't know when the corporate world deemed those words interchangeable, because they are not!

Use is defined by the Merriam-Webster online dictionary (the modern electronic version of that big book from which you copied your vocabulary words in fourth grade) as "the act or practice of employing something." To simplify things, I'll provide an illustrative sentence: "I will use this umbrella to protect me from the rain." See? The primary purpose of an umbrella is to shield one's self from the failing rain. Therefore, employing an umbrella for its intended function is the definition of "use" in its purest form. Use. USE! It's a great word and a familiar concept.

Utilize, as explained by that virtual Merriam-Webster tome, is a little tricky. The concept of "utilize" is to make use of something for other than its intended purpose. As an example (and sticking with the scenario of adverse weather conditions): "I'm going to utilize this folded newspaper to protect me from the rain." See the difference? A newspaper's intended purpose is to deliver a convenient, printed report of current events. However, employing a newspaper as a makeshift umbrella when a conventional one is unavailable, that, my language-challenged friend, is the proper time to take advantage of "utilize."

Somewhere in the tangle of corporate meeting catch-phrases like "low-hanging fruit" and "within our wheelhouse," "use" and "utilize" became casualties of war. Pencil-pushing desk-jockeys with a hard-on for face-time with their middle-management comrades twisted the definition of these two innocent, well-meaning words, with the sole purpose of making their feeble speech sound more intelligent. They carefully and deliberately eliminated the pedestrian-sounding "use" from their communication, in favor of the more important tone of "utilize."

Well, using the wrong word is just that — wrong. And it makes you sound like the idiot that you are. If you are going to go out of your way to consciously use an incorrect word, then, for Chrissakes!, go for it! Instead of "use", you might as well say "fellate". It's equally as colorful and just as wrong.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com