Vicky and I saw a couple of wonderful films this weekend. Oh, we did plenty of other things and there's a lot I can actually write about… but not after these movies.
They were Before Sunrise and Before Sunset.
Here's the setup. Tim Clostio had bought me Waking Life for my birthday (or was it Christmas?) 2003. I couldn't stop watching it. It's an incredible film filled with so much: animation, humor, philosophy, weirdness… It was amazing. There's always a part of me that wants to watch it again - if I only had the time.
Cut to about a month ago. Vicky and I were at Costco and I was doing my normal consumer dance through the DVD/music/video game section, when I saw these two movies in a two-pack. I'd heard about them because they're made by Richard Linklater, the same guy who made Waking Life… and I loved Waking Life.
But, for all their pedigree, they did have a few marks against them…
1) Romances about young people almost always make me want to dig my eyeballs out with a spoon.
2) Ethan Hawke. Until recently (after buying the films but before seeing them, oddly enough), I had little respect for his abilities.
3) Most filmmakers forgot how to make romances after 1980… even 1970!
4) Linklater made School of Rock... 'nuff said!
So, I was a bit hesitant to see these films.
Then, this weekend came. Vicky and I were looking forward to either Tim visiting or me going to San Diego to visit Tim… wait. Let me rephrase. I was looking forward to it. Vicky was looking forward to getting rid of me. By Friday night, she was sick of me. Sick. Sick. Sick.
I can be trying at times… or so I've heard.
But Tim called me on Friday and said he couldn't make it.
Oh, shit. That's what both Vicky and I were thinking. We just didn't tell each other.
So, Friday night, both of us sick of each other, we decided to make the best of it with some take-out and a pack of cloves. The trip took less than half-hour but, in that short amount of time, we were still able to piss each other off. I joked. She grumbled. I got angry and my jokes got more personal. She got angry and her grumbling became more severe.
You know that kind of state can't last forever. In our case, it lasted to the end of the half-hour. Everything kind of hit a brick wall and yours truly reduced Vicky to tears.
Basically, I felt like shit. Here, I was trying to deal with things by joking around and I ended up making Vicky cry. On the outside, I held her and told her I was sorry. On the inside, I felt about two inches tall.
It wasn't the best start for a weekend.
Then, we watched these two simple films, beautifully shot, enchantingly written, adeptly portrayed. Each of us were wrapped up in these stories of love and hope. I don't know what Vicky was thinking. But here's what I was thinking: I don't ever want to lose Vicky. I was so lucky in finding her and I hope that luck never runs out.
She didn't know I was thinking this. We didn't talk about it too much because she had to go to bed. (Vicky sleeps like normal people - not like me.)
Now, she knows.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Friday, January 28, 2005
And grass is often green...
Just a short something for you this morning...
A recent study found that obese people tend to be couch potatoes.
That's it. Honestly. That's all.
No. I'm not making it up.
Someone performed a study to find that obese people tend to be couch potatoes! I'm wondering when the shock came. "Oh, my lord. Hey! Look at this! According to these results, fatsos tend to be complete loads! No kidding. See there? That suggests that fat-asses have a propensity to be big, fat pigs! I kid you not! The figures don't lie!"
I'm waiting for someone to give me a grant to prove I like ice cream...
A recent study found that obese people tend to be couch potatoes.
That's it. Honestly. That's all.
No. I'm not making it up.
Someone performed a study to find that obese people tend to be couch potatoes! I'm wondering when the shock came. "Oh, my lord. Hey! Look at this! According to these results, fatsos tend to be complete loads! No kidding. See there? That suggests that fat-asses have a propensity to be big, fat pigs! I kid you not! The figures don't lie!"
I'm waiting for someone to give me a grant to prove I like ice cream...
Thursday, January 27, 2005
(burning) Bush continues to flip off the world...
It looks like the next step in (burning) Bush's war against the world has begun.
US Air Force planes are now provoking Iranian defenses, making unauthorized flights within Iranian air space.
The flights, which have been going on for weeks, are being launched from sites in Afghanistan and Iraq and are part of Bush administration attempts collect badly needed intelligence on Iran's possible nuclear weapons development sites, these sources said, speaking on condition of strict anonymity.
Afghanistan and Iraq... makes you wonder why we invaded, doesn't it?
While, on the record: "We are not aware of any incursions into Iranian air space," said Cdr. Nick Balice, chief of media at the U.S. Central Command.
And elsewhere: Ellen Laipson, president and CEO of the Henry L. Stimson Center and former CIA Middle East expert, said of the flights, "They are not necessarily an act of war in themselves, unless they are perceived as being so by the country that is being overflown."
Laipson explained: "It's not unusual for countries to test each other's air defenses from time to time, to do a little probing -- but it can be dangerous if the target country believes that such flights could mean an imminent attack."
"Target Country"? "Not unusual to test air defenses"? "A little probing"? Sounds a whole lot like your typical, Republican double-speak.
Dark times ahead, folks. Sorry to say, it looks like things are getting worse.
US Air Force planes are now provoking Iranian defenses, making unauthorized flights within Iranian air space.
The flights, which have been going on for weeks, are being launched from sites in Afghanistan and Iraq and are part of Bush administration attempts collect badly needed intelligence on Iran's possible nuclear weapons development sites, these sources said, speaking on condition of strict anonymity.
Afghanistan and Iraq... makes you wonder why we invaded, doesn't it?
While, on the record: "We are not aware of any incursions into Iranian air space," said Cdr. Nick Balice, chief of media at the U.S. Central Command.
And elsewhere: Ellen Laipson, president and CEO of the Henry L. Stimson Center and former CIA Middle East expert, said of the flights, "They are not necessarily an act of war in themselves, unless they are perceived as being so by the country that is being overflown."
Laipson explained: "It's not unusual for countries to test each other's air defenses from time to time, to do a little probing -- but it can be dangerous if the target country believes that such flights could mean an imminent attack."
"Target Country"? "Not unusual to test air defenses"? "A little probing"? Sounds a whole lot like your typical, Republican double-speak.
Dark times ahead, folks. Sorry to say, it looks like things are getting worse.
More evidence of election-tampering... no news at 11...
Funny how you never heard about the election recount in the news... and you never heard about the things they found...
For instance:
Several volunteer workers in the Ohio recount in Clermont County, Ohio have prepared affidavits alleging serious tampering, violations of state and federal law and possible fraud. They name the Republican chief of Clermont’s Board of Elections Daniel Bare and the head of the Clermont Democratic Party Priscilla O’Donnell as complicit in these acts.
These volunteers, observing the recount on behalf of the Greens, Libertarians and Democrats, assert that during the Dec. 14, 2004 hand recount they noticed stickers covering the Kerry/Edwards oval, whereas the Bush/Cheney oval seemed to be “colored in.”
More on The Raw Story...
For instance:
Several volunteer workers in the Ohio recount in Clermont County, Ohio have prepared affidavits alleging serious tampering, violations of state and federal law and possible fraud. They name the Republican chief of Clermont’s Board of Elections Daniel Bare and the head of the Clermont Democratic Party Priscilla O’Donnell as complicit in these acts.
These volunteers, observing the recount on behalf of the Greens, Libertarians and Democrats, assert that during the Dec. 14, 2004 hand recount they noticed stickers covering the Kerry/Edwards oval, whereas the Bush/Cheney oval seemed to be “colored in.”
More on The Raw Story...
Let's talk a little more about Wal-Mart...
For those who remember my entry a while back about Wal-Mart, here's just a dash more!
Thanks to the fine folks at This Modern World for the great link.
Purple Ocean is a site that has done some fact-checking on Wal-Mart and it is well worth your time to take a gander.
Here's a taste:
Wal-Mart sales clerks made an average of $8.23 an hour—or $13,861 a year—in 2001. That's nearly $800 below the federal poverty line for a family of three. (Source: Business Week)
In Georgia, Wal-Mart employees are six times more likely to rely on state-provided health care for their children than are employees of any other large company. (Source: Atlanta Journal-Constitution)
Reliance on public assistance programs in California by Wal-Mart workers costs the state's taxpayers an estimated $86 million annually. (Source: UC Berkeley Study)
In the first decade after Wal-Mart arrived in Iowa, the state lost 555 grocery stores, 298 hardware stores, 293 building supply stores, 161 variety stores, 158 women's apparel stores, 153 shoe stores, 116 drugstores, and 111 men's and boys' apparel stores. (Source: Iowa State University Study)
Every year Wal-Mart purchases $15 billion worth of products from China. (Source: Washington Post)
Today Wal-Mart uses over 3,000 Chinese factories to produce its goods—almost as many factories as it has stores in the U.S. (3,600). (Source: L.A. Times)
All else being equal, U.S. counties where new Wal-Mart stores were built between 1987 and 1998 experienced higher poverty rates than other U.S. counties. (Source: Pennsylvania State University Study)
More water to add to the tide of overwhelming reasons why you should avoid Wal-Mart!
Thanks to the fine folks at This Modern World for the great link.
Purple Ocean is a site that has done some fact-checking on Wal-Mart and it is well worth your time to take a gander.
Here's a taste:
Wal-Mart sales clerks made an average of $8.23 an hour—or $13,861 a year—in 2001. That's nearly $800 below the federal poverty line for a family of three. (Source: Business Week)
In Georgia, Wal-Mart employees are six times more likely to rely on state-provided health care for their children than are employees of any other large company. (Source: Atlanta Journal-Constitution)
Reliance on public assistance programs in California by Wal-Mart workers costs the state's taxpayers an estimated $86 million annually. (Source: UC Berkeley Study)
In the first decade after Wal-Mart arrived in Iowa, the state lost 555 grocery stores, 298 hardware stores, 293 building supply stores, 161 variety stores, 158 women's apparel stores, 153 shoe stores, 116 drugstores, and 111 men's and boys' apparel stores. (Source: Iowa State University Study)
Every year Wal-Mart purchases $15 billion worth of products from China. (Source: Washington Post)
Today Wal-Mart uses over 3,000 Chinese factories to produce its goods—almost as many factories as it has stores in the U.S. (3,600). (Source: L.A. Times)
All else being equal, U.S. counties where new Wal-Mart stores were built between 1987 and 1998 experienced higher poverty rates than other U.S. counties. (Source: Pennsylvania State University Study)
More water to add to the tide of overwhelming reasons why you should avoid Wal-Mart!
Bustin' Buster's Dikes...
Education Secretary Margaret Spellings had harsh words for an animated rabbit named Buster. Many kids know of Buster thanks to his show on PBS and, on a show that may no longer be aired, Buster took some time out to visit with some special friends.
Some rather special friends.
Some carpet-munching friends.
According to Spellings, "many parents would not want their young children exposed to the life-styles portrayed in this episode."
Now, here's where I take offense. Because, as it is well known by anyone who has watched any porn or explicit strip shows, lesbians are HOT! Who wouldn't want to see some hot girl-on-girl action? I mean, honestly!
... oh, wait...
There could be two explanations for this. Let's examine them.... shall we?
1) Of course, lesbians are hot. And there they are, all hot and on the screen Maggie's probably getting all worked up and titillated, watching children's programming. Sure, she wants some! Who wouldn't!
I understand fully.
2) This episode of Buster's did take place on a cheese farm in Vermont. I'm guessing lesbian Vermont - onian - esque cheese farmers aren't as hot as, say, your run of the mill strippers or porn stars. And that's probably what Maggie goes for, so...
Somebody get this bitch laid!
Some rather special friends.
Some carpet-munching friends.
According to Spellings, "many parents would not want their young children exposed to the life-styles portrayed in this episode."
Now, here's where I take offense. Because, as it is well known by anyone who has watched any porn or explicit strip shows, lesbians are HOT! Who wouldn't want to see some hot girl-on-girl action? I mean, honestly!
... oh, wait...
There could be two explanations for this. Let's examine them.... shall we?
1) Of course, lesbians are hot. And there they are, all hot and on the screen Maggie's probably getting all worked up and titillated, watching children's programming. Sure, she wants some! Who wouldn't!
I understand fully.
2) This episode of Buster's did take place on a cheese farm in Vermont. I'm guessing lesbian Vermont - onian - esque cheese farmers aren't as hot as, say, your run of the mill strippers or porn stars. And that's probably what Maggie goes for, so...
Somebody get this bitch laid!
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Crash… and Vicky is Vicky…
Heading home last night, another car hit mine. I was listening to The Church, just singing along, and my car was turned into a pinata. It was like in those old Warner Brothers cartoons, when one character would place a bell over the other character's head and strike it with a hammer! Things in my front seat flew into my back seat! And my world shook for several seconds…
I was on the fast lane on the 55 freeway. The guy behind me had received a call from his son and hadn't seen that I'd stopped.
And hit me.
Now, to answer your immediate question, I'm fine. I'm in some pain but I can walk. My car is a bit smashed.
This guy, Felipe, felt terrible about it. Hey, it was an accident. He didn't do this intentionally. How could I be mad at him?
This reminded me of a conversation I'd had with Vicky. She had said, "Anybody hits me, they're going to court!" She was positively feral, ranting about buckets of blood and first-born children and punitive amounts so high their grand-children would still be paying it. This had caused quite a row. I'm not very litiginous; it's just not my nature. (Keep your irony markers honed in the coming weeks.)
Well, when I got home, Vicky wanted to make sure I was okay. We were having dinner guests but she sent me to bed while she took care of dinner. And she was very nice to me all night long.
And she never once mentioned law suits…. not even buckets of blood.
Which kind of affirms my theory about Vicky. It is this: Vicky talks tough. She likes to look tough and act tough. But deep down, she knows what's right. It was more important to her to know that I was all right than to start exacting vengeance upon someone who never meant to hit me in the first place.
Face it, Vic. You're an old softie.
Your secret is out.
And you know what? That's why I love you.
I was on the fast lane on the 55 freeway. The guy behind me had received a call from his son and hadn't seen that I'd stopped.
And hit me.
Now, to answer your immediate question, I'm fine. I'm in some pain but I can walk. My car is a bit smashed.
This guy, Felipe, felt terrible about it. Hey, it was an accident. He didn't do this intentionally. How could I be mad at him?
This reminded me of a conversation I'd had with Vicky. She had said, "Anybody hits me, they're going to court!" She was positively feral, ranting about buckets of blood and first-born children and punitive amounts so high their grand-children would still be paying it. This had caused quite a row. I'm not very litiginous; it's just not my nature. (Keep your irony markers honed in the coming weeks.)
Well, when I got home, Vicky wanted to make sure I was okay. We were having dinner guests but she sent me to bed while she took care of dinner. And she was very nice to me all night long.
And she never once mentioned law suits…. not even buckets of blood.
Which kind of affirms my theory about Vicky. It is this: Vicky talks tough. She likes to look tough and act tough. But deep down, she knows what's right. It was more important to her to know that I was all right than to start exacting vengeance upon someone who never meant to hit me in the first place.
Face it, Vic. You're an old softie.
Your secret is out.
And you know what? That's why I love you.
Monday, January 24, 2005
No Name Calling…
This week is "No Name Calling Week" in many schools throughout America, a week in which children are told not to call each other names.
I have a couple immediate reactions to this.
First, let me show you what one "Christian" group has to say about it, which I think is important since they've gone to such great lengths to insist that their agenda will rule the country thanks to having their man in the White House.
Here's the quote: "I hope schools will realize it's less an exercise in tolerance than a platform for liberal groups to promote their pan-sexual agenda," said Robert Knight, director of Concerned Women for America's Culture and Family Institute.
Yep, that's right. And for those of you playing along at home, let's see if you caught everything:
1) "Fuck tolerance! They're all fags!".... Yep…. Christian…
2) Bob's running the "Women's" Institute?
3) This "Women's" Institute has a "pro-life" (misnomer alert!) agenda and likened Alfred Kinsey to Josef Mengele.
4) You score bonus points if you figured out that these "Christians" are nothing but intolerant, fascist fucks who are so greedy for power that they can't even allow kids to be nice to one another. (Hey, it's hard to promote a pro-war agenda when people are friendly.)
So… that's my first reaction.
Here's my second: So what if they call each other names! Everybody calls each other names! Get over it! This was probably started by a bunch of nerds, anyway! (Only they would be smart enough to organize such a thing.) Hearing this provokes the same impulse I get when I see those "truth" anti-smoking ads - which is to light up!
Ah, hell with it! You wanna hear names?
Vicky's a nip! ("That's Jap.")
Tim's a fag!
Murphy's a Mick! A potato head!
Rich is a beaner!
I'm a frog!
My brother's are polaks!
…. Whew! There. Got it out of my system!
I have a couple immediate reactions to this.
First, let me show you what one "Christian" group has to say about it, which I think is important since they've gone to such great lengths to insist that their agenda will rule the country thanks to having their man in the White House.
Here's the quote: "I hope schools will realize it's less an exercise in tolerance than a platform for liberal groups to promote their pan-sexual agenda," said Robert Knight, director of Concerned Women for America's Culture and Family Institute.
Yep, that's right. And for those of you playing along at home, let's see if you caught everything:
1) "Fuck tolerance! They're all fags!".... Yep…. Christian…
2) Bob's running the "Women's" Institute?
3) This "Women's" Institute has a "pro-life" (misnomer alert!) agenda and likened Alfred Kinsey to Josef Mengele.
4) You score bonus points if you figured out that these "Christians" are nothing but intolerant, fascist fucks who are so greedy for power that they can't even allow kids to be nice to one another. (Hey, it's hard to promote a pro-war agenda when people are friendly.)
So… that's my first reaction.
Here's my second: So what if they call each other names! Everybody calls each other names! Get over it! This was probably started by a bunch of nerds, anyway! (Only they would be smart enough to organize such a thing.) Hearing this provokes the same impulse I get when I see those "truth" anti-smoking ads - which is to light up!
Ah, hell with it! You wanna hear names?
Vicky's a nip! ("That's Jap.")
Tim's a fag!
Murphy's a Mick! A potato head!
Rich is a beaner!
I'm a frog!
My brother's are polaks!
…. Whew! There. Got it out of my system!
I guess I should explain…
Between "existential capitalism" and writing about shit, I suppose there have been a few changes around here.
There have been a few changes inside as well.
Let me explain.
I've been kind of depressed lately. There are a lot of reasons why that I won't get into just yet but, for those reasons I can explain, I suppose I should start on Thursday night.
Vicky and I were up in our room. I was in bed and Vicky was looking at pictures of me, taken back when I did "Whatever Happened to Me." My hair was spiked. My goatee was about as grown out as it was going to get. "This is the haircut you want," she asked me.
"Well," I said, "I think I need a change."
My hair was starting to get long, you see, and I thought that, in lieu of dealing with any of the real issues I have, a new haircut might perk me up. It was a good plan. It might have worked. But it was painfully obvious, after it was cut, that it didn't. I'd had it cut Friday night after work, by one of Vicky's friends named Joey. I'd told Joey that I'd wanted it spiked and she proceeded to make my head look something like a Chia pet. "I guess I didn't know what you meant by spiked," she then told me.
I was hoping to spend Saturday indoors.
Actually, I was hoping to spend Saturday in a very deep hole. The closest our apartment came to that was our living room, playing X-Box games. So…
I would have stayed there all day but I had plans with Sean. (Thank god we were only hanging out and not really going out in public. I imagined roving mobs of trenchant hair stylists fresh from shopping for produce… it wasn't pretty.)
Though my visit with Sean was very nice, by the time I got home, I was irate again.
Maybe it was that "existential capitalism" piece. I really liked it. After I wrote it, I thought, "That could be a piece in a book." But I was done with writing books. I'd committed myself to the theatre! Right? I couldn't go back to books! But hadn't I done that already? Hadn't I already considered working on "Vampire Society"? And what made it worse was the homeless man I saw on the way to Sean's place. Seeing him made me think about when I was in my apartment, when I was homeless in my home. Oh, I had a place to live but it wasn't a home. I could write about that, I thought, about people who live in structures but never feel at home.
Finally, I went outside to smoke a clove and told Vicky that I couldn't take it any more. I needed to write. I couldn't stand it. I was like a man who had several large, prune danishes and many cups of coffee but was not allowed in the bathroom. I was like a man at a whorehouse who hadn't had sex in months but forgot his wallet. I couldn't be picky any more. I couldn't impose rules and restrictions. I needed to write like an allergic needs to scratch.
So, I sat down for several hours and wrote. I didn't know what I would write about. I just did it.
At about 1:30am, I finished the second chapter in this new novel…. and my monitor broke.
Talk about timing.
Sunday morning, Vicky took me to another salon to get my hair… fixed. That was done but it's so short now… its…. my god.
And so a new me has come forth. New hair and new goals. I've decided I'm going to write a book. But I'm leaving my options open. I'm working on this new thing, letting it guide me where it will, with only about 4000 words thus far, while, concurrently, I am also going to keep working on "Vampire Society". It's got nearly 61,000 words; it deserves to be finished. (And due to it's intensity, I don't want more than about 80,000 words.)
I'll keep you posted.
There have been a few changes inside as well.
Let me explain.
I've been kind of depressed lately. There are a lot of reasons why that I won't get into just yet but, for those reasons I can explain, I suppose I should start on Thursday night.
Vicky and I were up in our room. I was in bed and Vicky was looking at pictures of me, taken back when I did "Whatever Happened to Me." My hair was spiked. My goatee was about as grown out as it was going to get. "This is the haircut you want," she asked me.
"Well," I said, "I think I need a change."
My hair was starting to get long, you see, and I thought that, in lieu of dealing with any of the real issues I have, a new haircut might perk me up. It was a good plan. It might have worked. But it was painfully obvious, after it was cut, that it didn't. I'd had it cut Friday night after work, by one of Vicky's friends named Joey. I'd told Joey that I'd wanted it spiked and she proceeded to make my head look something like a Chia pet. "I guess I didn't know what you meant by spiked," she then told me.
I was hoping to spend Saturday indoors.
Actually, I was hoping to spend Saturday in a very deep hole. The closest our apartment came to that was our living room, playing X-Box games. So…
I would have stayed there all day but I had plans with Sean. (Thank god we were only hanging out and not really going out in public. I imagined roving mobs of trenchant hair stylists fresh from shopping for produce… it wasn't pretty.)
Though my visit with Sean was very nice, by the time I got home, I was irate again.
Maybe it was that "existential capitalism" piece. I really liked it. After I wrote it, I thought, "That could be a piece in a book." But I was done with writing books. I'd committed myself to the theatre! Right? I couldn't go back to books! But hadn't I done that already? Hadn't I already considered working on "Vampire Society"? And what made it worse was the homeless man I saw on the way to Sean's place. Seeing him made me think about when I was in my apartment, when I was homeless in my home. Oh, I had a place to live but it wasn't a home. I could write about that, I thought, about people who live in structures but never feel at home.
Finally, I went outside to smoke a clove and told Vicky that I couldn't take it any more. I needed to write. I couldn't stand it. I was like a man who had several large, prune danishes and many cups of coffee but was not allowed in the bathroom. I was like a man at a whorehouse who hadn't had sex in months but forgot his wallet. I couldn't be picky any more. I couldn't impose rules and restrictions. I needed to write like an allergic needs to scratch.
So, I sat down for several hours and wrote. I didn't know what I would write about. I just did it.
At about 1:30am, I finished the second chapter in this new novel…. and my monitor broke.
Talk about timing.
Sunday morning, Vicky took me to another salon to get my hair… fixed. That was done but it's so short now… its…. my god.
And so a new me has come forth. New hair and new goals. I've decided I'm going to write a book. But I'm leaving my options open. I'm working on this new thing, letting it guide me where it will, with only about 4000 words thus far, while, concurrently, I am also going to keep working on "Vampire Society". It's got nearly 61,000 words; it deserves to be finished. (And due to it's intensity, I don't want more than about 80,000 words.)
I'll keep you posted.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
I started writing tonight...
I told Vicky I have to write. There's a panic to my writing - a feeling of urgency. I'm writing like a man drowning, flailing his arms and legs, only I am flailing verbs and nouns.
Here's something I wrote tonight. I rather like it.
This is what I know.
There are writers and there are people. Writers write and people shit. It’s all the same.
People shit because their bodies have processed nutrients and stuff and passed them through organs that extracted every bit of goodness until all that was left was waste. This waste is excreted through their assholes in the form of shit.
Writers write because their minds have processed life and experiences and passed them through hours of self-absorption that extracted every bit of goodness until all that was left was waste. This waste is excreted writing in the form of a story.
Like I said, it’s all the same.
Writers don’t write because they experience some grand epiphany or because they suffer some horrible heartbreak or because they live some incredible adventure. Writers write because they need to shit.
Therefore, whenever you hold a book or an essay or a poem, what you are actually holding is shit.
Here’s my shit.
With any luck, I’ll be able to sell this shit and make a great deal of money off of this shit and people will make a movie of my shit and people will watch my shit. They will watch my shit on immense screens where actor will portray my turds and they’ll eat popcorn and drink soda and they, too, will need to shit.
When I was a boy, my mother used to say, when I said that I needed to write, “I hope you have fun.” This was an absurd statement because writing was the equivalent act, for any writer, to shitting. It would make as much sense to tell anyone going into a bathroom to “have fun”. There are a lot of ways to have fun in a bathroom but for most people, outside of some fetishists, shitting is not one of them.
Writers are painfully proud of their shit, almost as much as someone who has just dropped an enormous, foot-long turd. And just as that depositor would do, they go to their friends and they say, “Look at this! Look at what I’ve made! Have you ever seen anything like it?” And most of their friends reply, “No. I haven’t. That’s really something.” But just like the friends of the turd’s creator, they’re just being polite.
And, so, here’s my shit. I hope you enjoy my shit. Like my shit. Even re-examine my shit or share my shit with your friends. I’m bound to have more shit in the future.
Pax vobiscum.
Here's something I wrote tonight. I rather like it.
This is what I know.
There are writers and there are people. Writers write and people shit. It’s all the same.
People shit because their bodies have processed nutrients and stuff and passed them through organs that extracted every bit of goodness until all that was left was waste. This waste is excreted through their assholes in the form of shit.
Writers write because their minds have processed life and experiences and passed them through hours of self-absorption that extracted every bit of goodness until all that was left was waste. This waste is excreted writing in the form of a story.
Like I said, it’s all the same.
Writers don’t write because they experience some grand epiphany or because they suffer some horrible heartbreak or because they live some incredible adventure. Writers write because they need to shit.
Therefore, whenever you hold a book or an essay or a poem, what you are actually holding is shit.
Here’s my shit.
With any luck, I’ll be able to sell this shit and make a great deal of money off of this shit and people will make a movie of my shit and people will watch my shit. They will watch my shit on immense screens where actor will portray my turds and they’ll eat popcorn and drink soda and they, too, will need to shit.
When I was a boy, my mother used to say, when I said that I needed to write, “I hope you have fun.” This was an absurd statement because writing was the equivalent act, for any writer, to shitting. It would make as much sense to tell anyone going into a bathroom to “have fun”. There are a lot of ways to have fun in a bathroom but for most people, outside of some fetishists, shitting is not one of them.
Writers are painfully proud of their shit, almost as much as someone who has just dropped an enormous, foot-long turd. And just as that depositor would do, they go to their friends and they say, “Look at this! Look at what I’ve made! Have you ever seen anything like it?” And most of their friends reply, “No. I haven’t. That’s really something.” But just like the friends of the turd’s creator, they’re just being polite.
And, so, here’s my shit. I hope you enjoy my shit. Like my shit. Even re-examine my shit or share my shit with your friends. I’m bound to have more shit in the future.
Pax vobiscum.
Friday, January 21, 2005
It's time to play, "Spot the Looney"...
Joe Biden talks to Paula Zahn about Condi Rice... (many thanks to Krup at I'm Just Saying)...
PAULA ZAHN: And joining me now is the most powerful Democratic Senator, Joseph Biden of Delaware. So Senator, do you think Condoleezza Rice was truthful in her testimony before the Senate today?
BIDEN: I think she was evasive in her responses to Senator Boxer's questions about what I think was disinformation. She was literally correct when she said that the intelligence community, a portion of it, said those aluminum tubes were for a gas centrifuge system but, like others in the administration, she didn't point out that a significant portion of the intelligence community said no no, they're not for that purpose. But it was, to use the fancy word, it was disingenuous.
ZAHN: So Senator, you've found her disingenuous. Barbara Boxer your colleague basically said Dr. Rice's defense of the war "overwhelmed her perspective of truth". Isn't that going to be a problem for her?
BIDEN: Look. My standard is, if the person is, in my view, if the person is the President's choice, someone who has the competence intellectually and practically to do the job, then I err on the side of giving the president choice, so I will vote for her. But I wasn't particularly impressed by her performance today before the committee.
ZAHN: Senator, as we leave you tonight, I need some help with math here. You asked Dr. Rice a very pointed question about the number of Iraqi security forces that are really trained to do the job. She contended it was 120,000, you say based on your several visits to Iraq it's closer to 4,000. What are we talking about here?
BIDEN: In the field, if you ask any commanding officer over there, how many Iraqi military are ready to supplant an American force on the ground, you will get a number a heck of a lot closer to 4,000 than you will 120,000, and it's because we've had a really, really lousy training problem up until about three months ago when General Petraeus took over, and further because we have not taken advantage of the offers of the Egyptians, of the French even, and the Germans and others, to train Iraqi forces.
ZAHN: But Senator, we're talking about a 116,000 discrepancy here!
BIDEN: Absolutely positively.
ZAHN: So how can you support Dr. Rice if, in fact, her numbers are vastly different from yours? You don't believe her numbers!
BIDEN: Well, I believe her number in this regard. There are 120,000 people in uniform. Are they trained? No! Are they equipped? No! We are not winning in Iraq. The place is more dangerous. Unless there's a serious course change, we're in real trouble.
ZAHN: So how can you support her if she doesn't have a clear assessment of that?
BIDEN: Because that's the President of the United State's policy. You know, she's not the one that makes the policy. The President of the United States is saying the same things that she's saying. And the fact of the matter is I've never seen such concentration of power, within the White House and the Vice President's office, as I'm seeing now. Are they entitled to do that? Yeah! Is it a smart thing to do? No! Does it shut out other voices? Yeah! I think we're going in the wrong direction, I'm concerned about it, but, once she's Secretary of State, maybe there'll be a bit of an epiphany here. But I'm not counting on it.
PAULA ZAHN: And joining me now is the most powerful Democratic Senator, Joseph Biden of Delaware. So Senator, do you think Condoleezza Rice was truthful in her testimony before the Senate today?
BIDEN: I think she was evasive in her responses to Senator Boxer's questions about what I think was disinformation. She was literally correct when she said that the intelligence community, a portion of it, said those aluminum tubes were for a gas centrifuge system but, like others in the administration, she didn't point out that a significant portion of the intelligence community said no no, they're not for that purpose. But it was, to use the fancy word, it was disingenuous.
ZAHN: So Senator, you've found her disingenuous. Barbara Boxer your colleague basically said Dr. Rice's defense of the war "overwhelmed her perspective of truth". Isn't that going to be a problem for her?
BIDEN: Look. My standard is, if the person is, in my view, if the person is the President's choice, someone who has the competence intellectually and practically to do the job, then I err on the side of giving the president choice, so I will vote for her. But I wasn't particularly impressed by her performance today before the committee.
ZAHN: Senator, as we leave you tonight, I need some help with math here. You asked Dr. Rice a very pointed question about the number of Iraqi security forces that are really trained to do the job. She contended it was 120,000, you say based on your several visits to Iraq it's closer to 4,000. What are we talking about here?
BIDEN: In the field, if you ask any commanding officer over there, how many Iraqi military are ready to supplant an American force on the ground, you will get a number a heck of a lot closer to 4,000 than you will 120,000, and it's because we've had a really, really lousy training problem up until about three months ago when General Petraeus took over, and further because we have not taken advantage of the offers of the Egyptians, of the French even, and the Germans and others, to train Iraqi forces.
ZAHN: But Senator, we're talking about a 116,000 discrepancy here!
BIDEN: Absolutely positively.
ZAHN: So how can you support Dr. Rice if, in fact, her numbers are vastly different from yours? You don't believe her numbers!
BIDEN: Well, I believe her number in this regard. There are 120,000 people in uniform. Are they trained? No! Are they equipped? No! We are not winning in Iraq. The place is more dangerous. Unless there's a serious course change, we're in real trouble.
ZAHN: So how can you support her if she doesn't have a clear assessment of that?
BIDEN: Because that's the President of the United State's policy. You know, she's not the one that makes the policy. The President of the United States is saying the same things that she's saying. And the fact of the matter is I've never seen such concentration of power, within the White House and the Vice President's office, as I'm seeing now. Are they entitled to do that? Yeah! Is it a smart thing to do? No! Does it shut out other voices? Yeah! I think we're going in the wrong direction, I'm concerned about it, but, once she's Secretary of State, maybe there'll be a bit of an epiphany here. But I'm not counting on it.
Sometimes I don't have to make shit up!...
How does this sound:
Conservative Christian groups are criticizing a multicultural children's video featuring SpongeBob SquarePants and other TV characters, claiming it promotes acceptance of gay and lesbian families.
Accepting someone different?! Look, I ain't no christian but I'm pretty sure the LAST THING Jesus would want is tolerance!
I wish it was acceptable to call someone what they are rather than what they say they are. In this case, for instance, these "Conservative Christians" should be referred to as "Nazi Fucks".
Conservative Christian groups are criticizing a multicultural children's video featuring SpongeBob SquarePants and other TV characters, claiming it promotes acceptance of gay and lesbian families.
Accepting someone different?! Look, I ain't no christian but I'm pretty sure the LAST THING Jesus would want is tolerance!
I wish it was acceptable to call someone what they are rather than what they say they are. In this case, for instance, these "Conservative Christians" should be referred to as "Nazi Fucks".
(burning) Bush's next debacle...
I thought I'd post this site for those of you who want more information on Pres. Asshole's scheme to sell of Social Security, i.e. give away your money to the rich.
I was outside thinking about suicide today....
I wasn't thinking about my suicide. I wasn't thinking about the trip I made out to the Grand Canyon, when I wanted to commit suicide, either. No, I was simply thinking about the concept of suicide.
I wasn't thinking about how I didn't commit suicide and how much I have to show as a result. I have Vicky. I have a house. I have far too many pets who love me. All in all, it was a good decision. That said, I have just as many things that make me weary of life, which balances out in the end to a feeling of neurosis.
What I was thinking about are those people who haven't faced the monster. Those people whose lives are miserable and who probably would kill themselves if they'd think of it. I was thinking they probably should. Nobody should live in such misery that they'd kill themselves if only they would think of it. Anyone dumb enough not to contemplate suicide, if only to realize what they have, probably need a little suicide, after all.
Of course, you never get just a little suicide. It's an "all or nothing" deal.
You approach suicide because you think you've reached your end and you have nothing left. Actually, that is wrong, which is the problem with suicide, after all. Even after you've lost everything, as I felt I had, you still have one thing left: your body. You may lose all of your money. You may lose your home. You may lose your loved ones. But you still have your body. Only after you've lost that have you lost everything, and then you're dead.
I had a teacher once say to my class, "We are not all capitalists here. I'm the only capitalist because I'm the only one with capital." Capital is defined as that which you have left after you've deducted all of your liabilities. But even with this definition, we are all capitalists because even after we've deducted our liabilities, here's what we have left: we have our bodies. All we ever really have is our body.
So one might say we are all capitalists. We are all "existential capitalists". This is why, when someone kills themselves, people say they, "Cashed it all in."
We all play a capitalist game every day of our lives. We hold on to our capital even when its net worth is falling because, even when times are bad, we are banking on good times to come. We like to think that, if we wait long enough, our investment will pay off. This isn't always true, of course. For some of us, things never do get better and we've invested poorly. We never know what's around the bend, however, and so some of us kill ourselves. I don't know if this is a wise investment but it sure as hell is aggressive!
You don't hear too much about "existential socialists". Socialists are people who believe that all who have should share with those who don't. It's an ugly word in the land of capitalism, even though most socialist experiments end in failure. They don't end in failure because the system is flawed; they end in failure because the experimenters are flawed. People simply don't like to share.
But there are "existential socialists" out there. Whenever you hear of someone donating a kidney or blood or bone marrow, these are people sharing their only real capital with others. So, when you meet someone like that, you can say, "That was very existentially socialist of you." and you'd be right. With any luck, you'll say that to a Republican and really piss them off.
I was an "existential socialist" once. I gave my platelets to Megan, who was sick. I gave her the only real capital I had. I was an "existential socialist". Oh, I grew more. Socialist, I may be, but I'm not crazy. There's a man who works here who is waiting for a kidney. He can't wait long. He needs a kidney or the disease he has will kill him - dialysis can only do so much and can do it for only so long. Organs are worth a whole lot when it comes to existential capital. This is how to become a real "existential socialist": become an organ donor.
And so I sat out there with my capital, with my body, and thought of people cashing in their last bit of capital and I thought about my own investment scheme and I thought about the kinds of dividends I was being paid. Meanwhile, I smoked a clove, potentially damaging the only capital I have. I thought about how wasteful that was and felt decadent. It was like burning a $100 bill.
And I got up and I came in here and I wrote this.
This story doesn't really have an end. For that matter, I'm not really sure where it began. But there you have it. All you walking bits of existential finance.
I wasn't thinking about how I didn't commit suicide and how much I have to show as a result. I have Vicky. I have a house. I have far too many pets who love me. All in all, it was a good decision. That said, I have just as many things that make me weary of life, which balances out in the end to a feeling of neurosis.
What I was thinking about are those people who haven't faced the monster. Those people whose lives are miserable and who probably would kill themselves if they'd think of it. I was thinking they probably should. Nobody should live in such misery that they'd kill themselves if only they would think of it. Anyone dumb enough not to contemplate suicide, if only to realize what they have, probably need a little suicide, after all.
Of course, you never get just a little suicide. It's an "all or nothing" deal.
You approach suicide because you think you've reached your end and you have nothing left. Actually, that is wrong, which is the problem with suicide, after all. Even after you've lost everything, as I felt I had, you still have one thing left: your body. You may lose all of your money. You may lose your home. You may lose your loved ones. But you still have your body. Only after you've lost that have you lost everything, and then you're dead.
I had a teacher once say to my class, "We are not all capitalists here. I'm the only capitalist because I'm the only one with capital." Capital is defined as that which you have left after you've deducted all of your liabilities. But even with this definition, we are all capitalists because even after we've deducted our liabilities, here's what we have left: we have our bodies. All we ever really have is our body.
So one might say we are all capitalists. We are all "existential capitalists". This is why, when someone kills themselves, people say they, "Cashed it all in."
We all play a capitalist game every day of our lives. We hold on to our capital even when its net worth is falling because, even when times are bad, we are banking on good times to come. We like to think that, if we wait long enough, our investment will pay off. This isn't always true, of course. For some of us, things never do get better and we've invested poorly. We never know what's around the bend, however, and so some of us kill ourselves. I don't know if this is a wise investment but it sure as hell is aggressive!
You don't hear too much about "existential socialists". Socialists are people who believe that all who have should share with those who don't. It's an ugly word in the land of capitalism, even though most socialist experiments end in failure. They don't end in failure because the system is flawed; they end in failure because the experimenters are flawed. People simply don't like to share.
But there are "existential socialists" out there. Whenever you hear of someone donating a kidney or blood or bone marrow, these are people sharing their only real capital with others. So, when you meet someone like that, you can say, "That was very existentially socialist of you." and you'd be right. With any luck, you'll say that to a Republican and really piss them off.
I was an "existential socialist" once. I gave my platelets to Megan, who was sick. I gave her the only real capital I had. I was an "existential socialist". Oh, I grew more. Socialist, I may be, but I'm not crazy. There's a man who works here who is waiting for a kidney. He can't wait long. He needs a kidney or the disease he has will kill him - dialysis can only do so much and can do it for only so long. Organs are worth a whole lot when it comes to existential capital. This is how to become a real "existential socialist": become an organ donor.
And so I sat out there with my capital, with my body, and thought of people cashing in their last bit of capital and I thought about my own investment scheme and I thought about the kinds of dividends I was being paid. Meanwhile, I smoked a clove, potentially damaging the only capital I have. I thought about how wasteful that was and felt decadent. It was like burning a $100 bill.
And I got up and I came in here and I wrote this.
This story doesn't really have an end. For that matter, I'm not really sure where it began. But there you have it. All you walking bits of existential finance.
A writer writes!.... I sit on my ass...
Okay, so I haven't written in a while. My bad!
Actually, this has just been a hell of a week and I have a whole lot on my mind. But the way this works is that I like to have some idea of what's going on before I write about it... and right now, I have no idea what's going on in my life. Sometime between re-injuring my arm and writing about fat kids and shoes, everything got tossed into the air again and I'm waiting for things to land.
Be assured they will next week.
Until then, go forth and have a good weekend!
Actually, this has just been a hell of a week and I have a whole lot on my mind. But the way this works is that I like to have some idea of what's going on before I write about it... and right now, I have no idea what's going on in my life. Sometime between re-injuring my arm and writing about fat kids and shoes, everything got tossed into the air again and I'm waiting for things to land.
Be assured they will next week.
Until then, go forth and have a good weekend!
Monday, January 17, 2005
The freedom...
"Ah, the freedom. Look, we have the gas-line freedom, the looting freedom, the killing freedom, the rape freedom, the hash-smoking freedom. I don't know what to do with all this freedom. " —Akeel, a twenty-six-year-old Baghdad resident on life in the new Iraq
I don't write for you any more...
Hey folks. A couple of things...
I'm typing with a screwed up arm. My right arm (the one I shattered) is giving me attitude so I'm wearing a brace again, which is making typing a world of frustration. This means I won't be writing much today... not on this site, at least...
I'll be getting some disks out in the mail this week, with more to follow next week... um, Mary Kresdmis? (All I can say is, I suck.)
Not much to read, I know. If you would really like to read more, check out my OCMetro contribution about my shoe-shopping experience (only I write about shoe shopping this way...):
A report to all parents or those who might be parents…
Folks, let's cut to the point here. You want to save money, right? You want to help your kids, right? And you want to know that your raising them will give you the piece of mind of both…. Don't ya? Huh? Don't you?
Well, listen up… because I've discovered a breakthrough so HUGE you'll be amazed the world's not standing on its hands.
You see, it all started Saturday night. Vicky (my fiancée) and I were at the Sketcher's outlet store on State College in Anaheim. She was there to buy shoes and I was there… because I got suckered into it. And I noticed something. Fat kids.
Fats kids are sweeping this county (as well as this country)! They're an epidemic! They're a disease! They're an act of visual terror and THEY MUST BE STOPPED!
But how to do it? After all, with it being so wide-spread, it can't just be the fault of a few Big Mac eaters, right? Sure, those curly-fries and chili dogs don't help but it's a bigger problem than that. Much bigger. And it has to be dealt with or your kids will be fat. They'll grow up fat. Eventually, you won't be able to walk through Main Place without being unknowingly pummeled by people backing up. Cars will have to get bigger to fit bigger people and there goes the rest of our fresh air! Finally, you won't be able to find a size medium ANYTHING amongst the XXXXXXX(etc)Larges!
You can't stop 'em when they're old… and installing new hydraulics on their wheelchairs. You can't stop 'em when they're middle-aged… and buying couches the size of mini-vans. You can't even stop 'em when they're teenagers… because they're teenagers!
No, you've got to stop it in childhood. You've got to nip it in the bud.
But how?
I'm typing with a screwed up arm. My right arm (the one I shattered) is giving me attitude so I'm wearing a brace again, which is making typing a world of frustration. This means I won't be writing much today... not on this site, at least...
I'll be getting some disks out in the mail this week, with more to follow next week... um, Mary Kresdmis? (All I can say is, I suck.)
Not much to read, I know. If you would really like to read more, check out my OCMetro contribution about my shoe-shopping experience (only I write about shoe shopping this way...):
A report to all parents or those who might be parents…
Folks, let's cut to the point here. You want to save money, right? You want to help your kids, right? And you want to know that your raising them will give you the piece of mind of both…. Don't ya? Huh? Don't you?
Well, listen up… because I've discovered a breakthrough so HUGE you'll be amazed the world's not standing on its hands.
You see, it all started Saturday night. Vicky (my fiancée) and I were at the Sketcher's outlet store on State College in Anaheim. She was there to buy shoes and I was there… because I got suckered into it. And I noticed something. Fat kids.
Fats kids are sweeping this county (as well as this country)! They're an epidemic! They're a disease! They're an act of visual terror and THEY MUST BE STOPPED!
But how to do it? After all, with it being so wide-spread, it can't just be the fault of a few Big Mac eaters, right? Sure, those curly-fries and chili dogs don't help but it's a bigger problem than that. Much bigger. And it has to be dealt with or your kids will be fat. They'll grow up fat. Eventually, you won't be able to walk through Main Place without being unknowingly pummeled by people backing up. Cars will have to get bigger to fit bigger people and there goes the rest of our fresh air! Finally, you won't be able to find a size medium ANYTHING amongst the XXXXXXX(etc)Larges!
You can't stop 'em when they're old… and installing new hydraulics on their wheelchairs. You can't stop 'em when they're middle-aged… and buying couches the size of mini-vans. You can't even stop 'em when they're teenagers… because they're teenagers!
No, you've got to stop it in childhood. You've got to nip it in the bud.
But how?
Friday, January 14, 2005
Slow day, kids...
Well, there goes my arm again...
Some of you may know about how I shattered my arm (in 12 places) a decade ago... well, this morning, I hurt it and, I'm guessing, broke up further scar tissue... basically, it hurts like hell and I'm typing left-handed. (No cyber-sex jokes!)
Have a great weekend. I'm going to be cluthing my arm in agony...
Some of you may know about how I shattered my arm (in 12 places) a decade ago... well, this morning, I hurt it and, I'm guessing, broke up further scar tissue... basically, it hurts like hell and I'm typing left-handed. (No cyber-sex jokes!)
Have a great weekend. I'm going to be cluthing my arm in agony...
Thursday, January 13, 2005
A few words about Wal-Mart…
Okay, honestly, I wasn't going to say anything. I figured it was beneath my radar and I would just leave it alone.
… but then the barrage began.
Christmas Eve. Vicky and I are at my mom's house, giving presents, and Joe (I'm just too old to refer to him as my step-dad) launches into this jag about how Wal-Mart is such a good corporate citizen. Good corporate citizen, I asked? I was amazed that someone as lower-middle-class as Joe could be so brainwashed by corporate propaganda. They pay their employees dirt, they sell crap, and they're a driving force in the dumbing down of our nation's economy. He didn't buy it. He came back with that tired line about people being able to work elsewhere, shop elsewhere, or live elsewhere is they don't like it. And, of course, this is true, which is why that line is still around and so tired. What people don't consider is that it doesn't HAVE to be true. People CAN earn a better wage. Goods CAN be of a higher quality. Neighborhoods don't HAVE to be ghetto-ized. The fact that this would take some work, however, immediately delivers apathy.
Then, I saw a Wal-Mart commercial. It was about two parents who had worked at Wal-Mart all their lives. They'd met at Wal-Mart. Their son was now working with them at Wal-Mart. They had a house and a college education and their son was going to college as well. I was livid! What phenomenal bullshit! I've known people who work in those environments and they do not foster long-term employment; they burn their employees out and get new ones! They don't pay enough to afford college, let alone a home! And the thought of multi-generational employment reminds me far too painfully of 19th century mill workers or share croppers! The idea is to lift your kids up to a better way of life, people!
I thought that would be it.
I was wrong.
Wal-Mart, it seems has gone on the "defense". According to this Associated Press article, Wal-Mart is taking out full-page ads to help spread their propaganda. They say they their jobs pay well, really well… some at TWICE the minimum wage! TWICE! Okay, who are they kidding? Who's going to buy a home at $10-11/hour?! And how many jobs at Wal-Mart really pay that much to begin with? What kind of idiots do they think we are?
They also say they offer health insurance and 401K benefits…. Okay, let's stop here for a minute. Do you know how much it costs a company to offer these benefits? As little as NOTHING. Employers can offer benefits without contributing any money towards them and, with Wal-Mart not stating what they contribute - and the additional knowledge that they don't provide squat, which I learned during the grocery worker's strike of last year - I'm going to chalk this up as a meaningless statement.
So, how is this a defense? Well, it works fine if you buy into the pack of lies. If, however, you're aware of what's going on in the world - even in such a small corner as your local Wal-Mart (of which there are FAR too many) - you can see right through it and maybe you'll think twice about the effect you have in the world and how, even when you're buying a small item, you can change things for the better.
… but then the barrage began.
Christmas Eve. Vicky and I are at my mom's house, giving presents, and Joe (I'm just too old to refer to him as my step-dad) launches into this jag about how Wal-Mart is such a good corporate citizen. Good corporate citizen, I asked? I was amazed that someone as lower-middle-class as Joe could be so brainwashed by corporate propaganda. They pay their employees dirt, they sell crap, and they're a driving force in the dumbing down of our nation's economy. He didn't buy it. He came back with that tired line about people being able to work elsewhere, shop elsewhere, or live elsewhere is they don't like it. And, of course, this is true, which is why that line is still around and so tired. What people don't consider is that it doesn't HAVE to be true. People CAN earn a better wage. Goods CAN be of a higher quality. Neighborhoods don't HAVE to be ghetto-ized. The fact that this would take some work, however, immediately delivers apathy.
Then, I saw a Wal-Mart commercial. It was about two parents who had worked at Wal-Mart all their lives. They'd met at Wal-Mart. Their son was now working with them at Wal-Mart. They had a house and a college education and their son was going to college as well. I was livid! What phenomenal bullshit! I've known people who work in those environments and they do not foster long-term employment; they burn their employees out and get new ones! They don't pay enough to afford college, let alone a home! And the thought of multi-generational employment reminds me far too painfully of 19th century mill workers or share croppers! The idea is to lift your kids up to a better way of life, people!
I thought that would be it.
I was wrong.
Wal-Mart, it seems has gone on the "defense". According to this Associated Press article, Wal-Mart is taking out full-page ads to help spread their propaganda. They say they their jobs pay well, really well… some at TWICE the minimum wage! TWICE! Okay, who are they kidding? Who's going to buy a home at $10-11/hour?! And how many jobs at Wal-Mart really pay that much to begin with? What kind of idiots do they think we are?
They also say they offer health insurance and 401K benefits…. Okay, let's stop here for a minute. Do you know how much it costs a company to offer these benefits? As little as NOTHING. Employers can offer benefits without contributing any money towards them and, with Wal-Mart not stating what they contribute - and the additional knowledge that they don't provide squat, which I learned during the grocery worker's strike of last year - I'm going to chalk this up as a meaningless statement.
So, how is this a defense? Well, it works fine if you buy into the pack of lies. If, however, you're aware of what's going on in the world - even in such a small corner as your local Wal-Mart (of which there are FAR too many) - you can see right through it and maybe you'll think twice about the effect you have in the world and how, even when you're buying a small item, you can change things for the better.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
A little follow-up to my Social Security story...
Thanks to Bob Harris. Here's some more feedback (and more of Shrub's own damning words) about his painfully flawed system.
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