Clooney recounts an experience with a rather nasty woman, who felt she had the right to tell Clooney just about everything she found horrible about him:

"The other day I was at a party and a woman I didn't know came up to me and said, 'I hated your last movie.' I said, 'Oh. OK. Uh, thank you for your opinion.' She said, 'And I don't agree with your politics.' I said, 'OK. Well, we all have our own point of view, right?' She said, 'And you're a lot older in person than you seem on screen. She was just standing there saying all these things to me and, at last, I'd had enough. I smiled very politely and said, 'You know... those 35 extra pounds of weight you're carrying... they look just fantastic on you.'

She was astonished. She said, 'What did you just say to me?' I said, 'I'm paying you a compliment. I think all that extra weight looks terrific on you.'

She was furious! Called me an a***hole. I said, 'No, look here, I was just standing here minding my own business and you walked up to me and insulted me. Which one of us was out of line here?'

While Clooney's "yeah? Well you're overweight" response isn't the classiest thing I've ever heard, and while it's annoying he felt the need to attack her weight (instead of say, her politics or her dress or some such) to make his point, his overall point is fairly valid: the world is a fairly unkind place, and the concept of "telling it like it is," which Clooney hates, seems to be taking over the world. I think everyone has at least one friend (or former friend) who lacks a filter for such things, the one who drops "well-meaning" insults like, "You'd be so pretty if you just..." or ends every nasty comment with "I'm just sayin. I'm just being honest, because you're my friend."

Clooney recognizes that his fame makes him more susceptible to such comments; after all, he lives a fairly public life, and people often feel that they "know" him enough to come up and insult him to his face. But he argues that such behavior is becoming commonplace, and that people fall back on "telling it like it is" as a means to justify their lack of respect and common courtesy: "I sometimes see a sort of unkindness that's spreading through the world these days," he says, "We've somehow got hold of the idea that we all must have an opinion on every single thing that happens, and even worse, that our opinion must be voiced, no matter how hurtful or offensive it can be."

In the end, Clooney just wants everyone to be nice. Stop "telling it like it is," he says, and try saying something positive instead. I say we take him up on this challenge. Mr. Clooney, you are welcome to stop by and compliment us anytime you wish.

George Clooney: How I Feel About Manners [DailyMail]

Someone wrote the following into the NY Times' etiquette column:

I was heading out of a local bakery, lost in thought. It turned out that a lady had opened the door for me, and I failed to register her kind gesture. When I turned back to thank her, she curtly said, "You're welcome," before I could speak. What do you make of this?

Oh, cruel, cruel! The unkindest cut of all! Is there anything worse that knowing in that moment that you have been judged and found wanting? That a lifetime of careful courtesy and people-pleasing and scrupulous good manners is erased in a moment, and you've somehow let down yourself, your mother, and your generation? For the courteous doormats amongst us? Not hardly.

Of course, you also come away hating the entitled, "you're welcome" smart aleck - yes, he is despicable, too. And then you have anger and shame and guilt all roiling inside you and it takes a lot of ranting (which no one ever sympathizes with!) and a lot of pudding to make it right. Do I speak from experience? Could be. Let's take a visit to the grocery store a few days ago. I had three items - a sponge, an onion, and a bag of navy beans. Since the guy behind me had only a quart of milk, I ushered him ahead of me. Then, since the woman behind him had a fussy baby and only a couple of cans, I waved her ahead too. Finally, I was about to place my own few provisions on the conveyor belt, when a belligerent old woman behind me said, resentfully, "If someone behind me had only one thing, I'd let her go ahead of me! It's the polite thing to do!" Of course, I gritted my teeth and let her put her Carnation milk down ahead of me - she swept by me imperiously, like she'd taught me a thing or two - but I was fuming for the rest of the day.

Obviously, I suffer from the sin of pride. Pride in my own righteousness, which is pride of ancient proportions. And the point of courtesy is to help others and make the world run more smoothly, not to cover yourself in low-rent laurels every time you hold a door. In my saner moments, I know this. But when I feel the sting of unfair judgment, it almost seems as though there is no point at all. I have a terrible temper, but it's a weird, unpredictable kind of temper that doesn't come out at appropriate times and then I snap without warning about strange things. The time I screamed at the old woman is legendary in my family. It happened a few summers ago, when my brother and I were walking one hot summer day through Lincoln Center. I accidentally stepped on the back of an old lady's canvas huarache - what we call "giving a flat" in our house. I apologized at once. But she appeared unmollified, turning to scowl at me as she pulled the canvas over her heel.
"I said I was sorry," I repeated, feeling the rage begin to heat my cheeks. She glared again and began to walk away.
"Did you not hear me?" I said, raising my voice. "DID YOU NOT HEAR ME APOLOGIZE, MADAM? MADAM?" I'm told that here I chased her down the sidewalk. "IN SOME CIRCLES, MADAM, IT'S CONSIDERED COURTEOUS TO ACKNOWLEDGE AN APOLOGY FOR A COMPLETELY UNINTENDED INSULT. BUT, OH, OH, I SUPPOSE THE SIN OF ACCIDENTALLY STEPPING ON SOMEONE'S HEEL IS WORSE THAN PUBLICLY REJECTING A SINCERE APOLOGY? I TRIED! I TRIED! IT'S PEOPLE LIKE YOU WHO ARE DRAINING EVERY DROP OF KINDNESS AND CIVILITY FROM THE WORLD! YOU! YOU!"

The old woman had long since moved down the street. Everyone else had heard, though. My brother gently pulled me away. Later, of course, he related the whole thing to everybody and they thought it was hilarious and off-putting in that "oh, she's nuts" sort of way. People ask me a lot why I can remain calm in the face of actual problems or or insults, but little breaches of courtesy like this set me over the edge. I think it's because it's a reminder that, as the original question-poser said, there are no second chances. You're not judged on a lifetime but on a moment, which is an infuriating reality, and a hard one for those of us too conditioned to please others. That, and that "your welcome" thing is just obnoxious.

Social Q's [NY Times]

The woman quoted above is, MSNBC tells us, at the vanguard of a new movement: recession grammar police. Some people have always been good spellers and had excellent grammar. Loads of folks are bothered by errors. A few have always been kind enough to correct their friends and loved ones. But apparently the economic downturn and the corresponding lack of control people feel over their lives has driven language vigilantes to new heights of activism. The results are sometimes funny, frequently annoying, and occasionally illegal.

To hear MSNBC tell it,

The past few years have seen a dramatic increase in books, broadcasts and puckish blogs that poke fun at common gaffes and proffer usage tips for those not in the know. Language love is celebrated via T-shirts, Facebook pages and shiny new holidays such as National Grammar Day. Even Oprah’s gotten in on the style and usage scene by asking Grammar Girl Mignon Fogarty to clear up confusion about compound possessives.

But for every "'Blog' of 'Unnecessary' Quotation Marks" (yes, that's what it's called) there's an irritated co-worker chafing at constant criticism; for every copy of Eats, Shoots & Leaves sold there's a nursed grudge; for every article on famous authors' spelling errors, there's apparently an obsessive dad who carries color-coded pens and corrects strangers' bumper stickers. As for the illegality, that came about when a couple of folks corrected a historic hand-painted sign in Grand Canyon National Park.

Those who bridle at a misplaced pronoun probably feel themselves on some level to be guardians of the language, a bastion of order in an increasingly anarchic universe. (The fact that Jane Austen, doyenne of order, apparently couldn't spell may or may not reassure them.) Perhaps this is why people are sometimes more than merely annoyed by such criticism: it suggests a fundamental failure. Then too, there is the issue of implicit educational superiority, a naturally touchy subject. The fact that the critic is always right — that there is, in fact, an objective validity to such criticism — can only serve to increase the recipient's sullen truculence. Then too, there is something to be said for appreciating a touch of anarchy: most of us get a kick out of the occasional Tonight Show-style malaprop, and the woman who refuses to eat anywhere with a misspelled name (she counts "Krispy Kreme" and, yes, is the same one whose quote opened this post) is probably an anomaly even amongst high sticklers. Whatever the stakes — and one can certainly make a good argument that proper usage is far more than a mere nicety — anyone who worries about the fraying of society's fabric must acknowledge that civility is at least as crucial.

Fastidious Spelling Snobs Pushed Over The Edge [MSNBC]
6 Wordsmiths Who Couldn't Spell [Mental Floss]

Here's the whole query:

Dear Amy: My husband and I are very friendly with a couple that we enjoy very much. We vacation with them and spend time with them in social gatherings. We love to entertain and are very good cooks. Whenever my friend and her husband come to our home, they always eat everything, and they usually have second helpings. My friend loves to entertain as well and does it well. You always feel very relaxed at their home. Our problem is that she used to cook wonderful meals, but now everything she cooks is fat-free. Her menu is always tasteless. She cooks it all in the morning and reheats it before serving it. She always makes a comment that she cooked too much because there is so much food left over. I would love to tell her it's because no one wants second helpings. My feeling is that most of her guests feel the same way we do. I don't want to hurt her feelings. Do we suck it up for the evening or say something? My husband said that we should just not accept invitations to her home for dinner and just go for parties, and eat before we get there. We were invited for Thanksgiving dinner, and the dinner was awful. Once again, she was overloaded with leftovers. How would you handle this situation? - Friend in Need

Amy says that, in the name of friendship, "Friend" must indeed make the best of the crap food - because "the most important aspect of being a guest is to allow yourself to have a good time, partaking of the fellowship of your friends, even if you don't particularly enjoy the food." Further, "your friend might have health issues necessitating her switch to low-fat cooking, or her tastes and abilities may have changed during the time you've known her."

In my opinion, there are a few details here that must be considered. 1: "friend in need" is something of a boastful jerk with misplaced, petty priorities - and yet, I trust her implicitly. 2: There is nothing worse than being trapped somewhere with horrible food, especially on Thanksgiving. 3: If the bad cook - who has no excuse since she used to be a good one, and how could her "abilities" have changed? - can't eat normal food, she has no business inviting people over and forcing them to conform to her diet. Harsh? Maybe. But if she's going to pull this kind of crap, then her friend can be equally selfish and turn down her invites (since, apparently, going to a restaurant is not an option and their relationship is completely based on foodieism.)

That said: obviously "Amy" is right and if you're a nice person you don't hold tasteless food against your friend and put the most charitable possible spin on her behavior. If you're not actually that nice but know you need to pretend to be, here is what you should have in your purse: beef, turkey or salmon jerky; dried apricots; almonds; if at all possible a Nature Valley fruit bar. (Some advocate a hard-boiled egg but I have had unhappy experiences with broken shells.) If you aren't on the go for a long time, a BabyBel cheese is a good addition, and the ball of wax is handy to have for molding under the table into miniature Easter Island heads. All of these can be downed during a clandestine trip to the powder room. Also: whenever at a deli, grab some of those little salt and pepper packets so as to easily doctor tasteless food on the sly. I know of what I speak: if, like me, you have certain close relatives who have been known to serve one ancient, unrefrigerated, dessicated carrot sticks, week-old supermarket rotisserie chicken with a soupçon of mold on the drumstick, and undefrosted clam chowder, such measures are a necessity.

Ask Amy: When host's food isn't to guests' taste [The Philadelphia Inquirer]

I had just finished eating take-out BBQ (pork ribs) with my fiancé (still hate that word), and had given some of the scraps to my dog because I knew it would be the most exciting part of her week. We were laying in bed watching TV and I got smacked in the face with this horrible, hot fart that was so disgusting that it barely seemed possible that it was even organic. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye to see if he was gonna mention it, but he just kept staring straight ahead at the television. A few minutes later, another, more lethal one arrived. This time, I got up and walked over to the other side of the room and pretended to look for something in my purse. He obviously didn't want to talk about what was going on with his ass, and I thought that since he was too embarrassed to talk about it, it would be even more more embarrassing for me to confront him on it. And I figured that if the smell was any indication, he must be in severe stomach pain.

Thirty minutes and about 15 more incidents like that later I started to get really annoyed. The farts were getting worse and more frequent, and it felt like they were altering the temperature in the room... and the stench was such that it was literally clouding my ability to complete a crossword puzzle. Finally, after another bomb was dropped, I slammed my book down in annoyance and looked at him. In a super bitchy tone I was like, "It stinks in here."

Then he said, "I know. I think Edie [the dog] is farting like crazy." I was like, "Wait, that's not you!?"

He said, "No way! I thought it was you, because I know you just got your period and you have diarrhea and I felt bad for you at first but then I realized that this is so bad that it can't be human." My heart warmed up like a pork-ribs dog fart at the idea that he 1.) knows that I get diarrhea on the first day of my period and 2.) he accepts it as a way of life. We kicked the dog out of the room and locked the door.

The moral of the story is that if we hadn't been so polite to each other, we wouldn't have had to sit in unimaginable stink for a good portion of the night. The problem though, is that farting, accidental spitting, hanging boogers, stinking up the bathroom, etc. are such taboo topics that even etiquette experts are too polite to discuss solutions for how to deal with such situations, so we're left to our own devices to make it up as we go along.

The silver lining is that now I'm mulling over my own etiquette rule for this (not just with my fiancé but with anyone that's stinking up the room with their asses): Ask the person you're with, in a really sympathetic way, furrowed brow and all, if they are feeling alright. Coming off as understanding of a belly ache will diffuse some of the embarrassment, and will also give them the hint to either plug it up or leave the room when they have to release. Then everyone will be able to breathe a little easier.

1.) Give her your seat. Not because she's a woman, but because her shoes hurt more than yours. Like really a lot more.

2.) Get in the cab first. This is something that men just don't get. They try to be polite and open the cab door for a woman to get in, and then the woman has to slide over—usually in a skirt—holding her bag, and it's all awkward and shit, and she kinda slides off the seat of her coat and then the back of her coat is like shifted and kinda next to her, and then there's all his readjusting that needs to happen. Just get in the cab first, ferchristsakes.

3.) Pick up the check. We'll pretend to offer and you'll pretend the offer was real. We honestly don't mind putting our pride to the side when it comes to this.

4.) Wipe the cum off her first before you wipe it off yourself. There's seriously nothing ruder than blowing a big wad all over a girl and then cleaning off your dick first before you go get her a towel or some tissues. Extra points for not getting any cum in her hair.

5.) Offer to do everything for her when her nails are wet. It sucks when a woman pays good money to get a manicure and then she has to get something out of her purse when her nails are still tacky. Help her out by lighting her cigarette, opening her can of soda, or wiping after she pees.

Related: Is Chivalry Dead? [NBC News]

• Something Cameron Diaz and that goiter on our forehead parading as a pimple have known forever: Women are more likely than men to suffer from adult acne. [Science Daily]
  
• A woman whose canoe capsized survived 19 hours at sea, clinging to her bag in the choppy water, until rescuers spotted her off the coast of Maui. Badass. [LA Times]
  
• More confusing cancer studies! Apparently sun exposure may decrease the risk of advanced breast cancer by half. [Science Daily]

• A couple's broken engagement is taking them to court as they fight over custody of the ring. The Emily Post Institute chimes in that a woman must always return the ring unless it's an heirloom in her family. We disagree. If he cheats or he calls off the wedding, the ring is yours to sell on eBay! [Reuters]
• Australian Olympic-medal winner Nova Peris is producing the first "mainstream, all-indigenous" swimsuit calendar featuring Aboriginal women. Progress, perhaps, but do representations of diverse beauty so often have to feature women in skimpy bikinis? [Sydney Morning Herald]