After Winter Solstice at the Tropic of Cancer

Todos Santos

A cock crows at dawn.

And then the dog crows.

A few other dogs join in.

The human mutters, resettles

in the bed, and drifts back

toward that dreaming quest--

fitfully; Soon a pickup truck rumbles

up the battered dirtsand roadhills.  By and by

other trucks answer the cantor of the Holy

Muffler Choir.  The human's questing dreams

redirect toward potty and coffee.

A silence.

A distant cock crows.

The human restless resettles and listens

again for the song of Morpheus.  Gets

another burst from the pickup cantor instead.

Bare

footsoles on cool stone clay tiles carry the waking

human another day.

Suspicious Plane Crash

From Larisa Alexandrovna

-This can be found at http://www.atlargely.com, or by clicking the title above.

  Jim gave up trying to eat his hot stew.  "How are we going to go about it, Mac? What do we do first?"

  Mac looked over at him and saw his excitement, and laughed.

"I don't know, Jim.  That's the trouble with reading, you see.  We just have to use any materials we can pick up.  That's why all the tactics in the world won't do it.  No two are exactly alike."  For a while he ate in silence, finished off his stew, and when he exhaled, steam came out of his mouth.  "Enough for another helping, Jim?  I'm hungry."

   Jim went to the kitchen and filled his bowl again.

   Mac said, "Here's the layout.  Torgas is a little valley, and it's mostly apple orchards.  Most of it's owned by a few men.  Of course there's some little places, but there's not very many of them.  Now when the apples are ripe the crop tramps come in and pick them.  And from there they go on over the ridge and south, and pick the cotton.  If we can start the fun in the apples, maybe it will just naturally spread over into the cotton.  Now these few guys that own most of the Torgas Valley waited until most of the crop tramps were already there.  They spent most of their money getting there, of course.  They always do.  And then the owners announced their price cut.  Suppose the tramps are mad?  What can they do?  They've got to work picking apples to get out even."

- John Steinbeck, In Dubious Battle, Chapter 3

Crusades Vol. 2003

There died a myriad,

And the best among them,

For an old bitch gone in the teeth,

For a botched civilization.

- Ezra Pound (who lived conflict/crisis/fall and eventually remorse--sheepishly labeling his pro-Musollini-era anti-Semitism "suburban")

Horoscopes in Hell

6.  Opportunity is knocking again  A window of opportunity is right outside your door.  Here comes yet another shot, one more chance for you to jumpstart what's left of your bleak, grainy, black and white docudrama existence: a utilitarian contingency plan meant to ignite you out of the shadows of blue funk mediocrity and into a splash of daylight focused on the newest edition of yourself.

Right there, center stage, the latest re-invention of you, with your cerebral coagulation of half-baked life experiences that, with a little effort, could possibly be organized and edited into a seamless, low-grade masterpiece.

Even though you are much too far-gone to be famous, there's still time to make a minor miracle of yourself.

Opportunity comes a-knock, knock, knocking in the same deliberate cadence as all the other knocks that failed to make you pop the locks and open up and begin again, once again.

This time around you look surprisingly well-equipped.  You seem to be good and prepared for a change, sleeping there with your boots on.  Gung ho, primed for action and long-suffering, coiled and ready to strike at a moment's notice.  You could be a guerilla warrior.

But maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions.

Because the  word on the street is that you are a brooding loner, an anti-social recluse, a sad, solitary individual who has been beaten down by a cruel society that refuses to let you anywhere near the borderline of your destiny, so that you find comfort in surrender and curling up and dying.

This is not the code of the guerilla warrior. It sounds like the behavior of a pathetic head case hiding in the dark, restrained by a jambalaya of mental dissonance.

Horoscopically speaking, there is help for you, provided you seize that unannounced golden opportunity, even if it turns out to be just a stainless steel opportunity.  You can't be too choosey.

And keep in mind that Neptune is overseeing your career and Jupiter is covering you love life.  Whatever that means.

How about just going outside and getting the benefit of some sunshine?  Not too much sun, though, or else you'll get arrested by Al Gore for being environmentally incorrect.

If the sky is partly cloudy, stare at the clouds and play Rorschach test.  It's usually good, clean fun until every cloud you see starts looking like erogenous zones of the human body.  Then again, your public display of perverse enjoyment at gazing at the sky might attract that certain someone who may prove to be the kindred spirit of your dreams.  Or it might be a plainclothes cop.  Or both.

Whatever it is, your next chance encounter with an interested member of mankind may be the last bit of opportunity that comes knocking at your lackluster station of life.

So, embrace the opportunity and don't be a jackass.

- Bob Balogh, Greater Backfish Journal (Denver: Outskirts Press, 2007) 87-89.

Power

"You know what they do, Sybil?

     She shook her head.

    "Well, they swim into a hole where there's a lot of bananas.  They're very ordinary-looking fish when they swim in.  But once they get in, they behave like pigs.  Why, I've known some bananafish to swim into a banana hole and eat as many as seventy-eight bananas."  He edged the float and its passenger a foot closer to the horizon.  "Naturally, after that they're so fat they can't get out of the hole again.  Can't fit through the door."

- J.D. Salinger, "A Perfect Day for Bananafish"

Before the Dance

The blue lights' shine, lost in the foot-

Prints on the flat, thumpy wooden plain--

Really seven lateral strips of plain

Receding to the backdrop--glistens water

Drops near our feet with bright pointy

Echoes of the blue lights' blue.

Ruff Tuff Cream Puff* - McSame and Buffy Chip

*(With apologies to R Crumb for the title)

Hearing of the visit to Sturgis by McCain and wifey, I became somewhat intrigued as to what the Republican Presidential candidate was trying to prove by going there. Misogyny? Anti Establishment? Curiosity? Does he have a bike? Did he and "Buffy" stay for the week to get the full measure of orgiastic fun and games that only a dictator of the free world could appreciate? All of that could be a motive, definitely the misogynistic piece. Slowly as Saturday became Sunday morning, I let the thoughts go to dream world for some possible reorganization, and eventually it dawned on me that he was an old old man, trying to show that he was the tough guy. He might be thinking you won't see Obama showing up in a tough guy place like this and even offering up a compliant wife to a mud wrestle or wet tee shirt contest- or worse. Yes grandpa showed up sans blackhawk helicopters and special ops guys, but he surely has a team of secret service bodyguards all around and was therefore able to stand on the stage with his tiny tiny wife and taunt the sweaty masses with the prospect of seeing his wife demeaned and used. Well no you wouldn't see Obama there with his beautiful wife with or without the secret service. I can't imagine any presidential candidate showing up there for a photo op. Take a look at what goes on there. I'll leave it at that.

Rogue State

Lumpinprollie has been wondering for a couple of years why other world nations don't come to a consensus that the US is a rogue nation and whether they might collaborate to contain the US by force.  The US must look terrifying from the outside, and by the Bush administration's standards the good old US of A's arsenal (including fully developed WMDs) and international belligerence (preemptive strike = invasion and occupation of a sovereign nation, as we now see) qualifies us as a rogue state.  I use the word "terrifying" deliberately, for Noam Chomsky concurs with LP's premises in the context of terrorism (thanks Alice):  

"I use the U.S. governmenrt's official definition of terrorism from the official U.S. code of laws. If you use that definition, it follows very quickly that the U.S. is the leading terrorist state and a major sponsor of terrorism and since that condlusion is unacceptable, it arouses furious anger. But the problem lies in the unwillingness to recognize your own terrorism as terrorism."

Although US practice of brandishing and too often firing guns around is diplomatically flawed, perhaps an international force will come and liberate the people of the United States. 

Gather rose petals.

Sitting Here in Limbo

The view from this other world away is - breathtaking. The Pacific ocean spans out across the bedroom windows and there are no neighbor's houses blocking the view. I feel so privileged to be here. Anywhere else I would have to be very rich to have this view in this beautiful home that we are living in for a week. I think, maybe some day we will stay here in Mexico- my honey and I, and possibly our families, as exiles. That is, if we are lucky enough to weather the storm of the Bush dynasty on our home back in the US. The weather here is a bit brutal, but it is livable most of the year. I am trying not to look at my 401K, which has been ravaged by the banking industry and Wall street and Bush's war. He thinks the 'conomy is just fine. I keep hearing on the financial news - don't worry - everything will be alright and whatever you do, don't take your money out of the bank. Hmm where have I heard that before? I really don't want to be involved in this whole debacle, I'd just like to stay here in this world of no yesterday and no tomorrow. There is one major drawback, (as if there can be in Limbo). My girlfriend, who lived here for many years, who told me to come visit her here, was fairly recently robbed viciously beaten and left for dead in her little casita, where she lived alone. I did not know this until we were all booked for this trip. She finally answered my emails and told me this. I drive by her house daily on my way to town and each time I feel a chill and I get depressed thinking of her suffering. It makes me sad and fearful and I wish she could be here. (She has since moved back to California). I am searching my soul right now as to how I can still live here. But God, it is beautiful!

Metablog

Hopeful News

Of the four stories in today's RealNews, this is one of two hopeful pieces (the other one is about President Michelle Bachelet banning whaling from Chilean waters):

http://therealnews.com/t/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=31&Itemid=74&jumival=1777

For (often selective) information, many - perhaps most - voters rely on television, whose programming is sustained (even Public Broadcasting) by interested corporate Under Writers.

I sustain RealNews - I, along with a whole bunch of other people who make little donations occasionally. Not that I completely suspend disbelief, but I don't feel as if fast hands are disclosing Miraculous Truth from somewhere, as I feel sometimes watching news on my actual TV set - the recognition that this is just another huckster's sales pitch.

http://therealnews.com/t/

But maybe we hear only what we already suspect.

On the other hand, perhaps you saw Jon Stewart interview LARA LOGAN:

http://www.comedycentral.com/videos/index.jhtml?videoId=173871

She may (clearly) have a pitch too, but she seems to be a departure from rules set for embedded journalists in the past seventeen years of my lifetime.

I hardly ever turn on my TV set these days, except to watch the Red Sox or as a monitor for my DVD player.

Oh - the Sunday morning Gasbags are entertaining sometimes, like the Big Time Wrestling stuff we'd watch when we were in sixth grade.

And now this.

Fathers Day

As promised I will now write the eulogy for my father. (Sorry Pat) I will temper it some because of Ellwort, who is a great dad to his kids and I can see a big difference that makes for one's self esteem. Also to be a single mom in America was really bad when mom took on all seven of us kids when my dad turned his back on us. He never helped her, monetarily or in any way. A few short times when she was kicked out of her house he grudgingly took some of us in. My sister Pat remembers that time as years, I remember it as months. I lived with my dad alone for a few months in the summer of '69, as I had run away from the family who had taken me in and they'd had it with me.
He got me jobs- horrible jobs- I worked so hard that I would cry from tiredness and abuse from the "Mom and Pop" duo that owned a beachfront breakfast place in the hotel where we lived. He told me I'd better save some money for school clothes because he didn't have the money. OK. He then took my pay and then "got" me a second job so that I could afford my school clothes. That one in addition to the daily grind, which was washing dishes in the main restaurant of the same hotel 7pm to 11:30 pm. I quit the first day and just cried and tried to think of a way to get out of living with him.
The West Palm Beach pop festival was coming up and it was three days! I told my dad that I was going. He said what about your job(s)? At my age14, I had run away twice. Once with a schyzophrenic twenty year old, hitch hiking across the entire US, stayed in San Francisco in the summer of love, (1968) and hitched back across the southern part of the US. Another time my girlfriend and I ran away to the Florida Keys to join a commune. So there I was- my dad trying to tell me what to do. He was a scary, violent, person, so I listened, halfheartedly. He said I could go to the festival if I did my job in the day and came back at midnight? Wha?? I had a nerdy boyfriend at the time who, when I told him- said OK, we can do that! Wha?? Go to a three day concert and come home every night? Unheard of! Well we did that the first two days but stayed all night on the last night because the Rolling Stones did not come on until 4:30 am. So we raced back after that only for me to be locked out. We slept on the beach. Anyway, happy father's day Dad- hope you come back as a better person in your next life! More to come... There were a couple of good bones in his body, for example he worked in the civil rights movement, but right now I need to vent for Mom's sake.

National Council For Media Reform 06/07/08

Archie’s Journal NCMR June 7, 2008

This morning began at 6:30 AM in the Minneapolis Hyatt with a scramble to get up, get fed, get presentable, and walk the two blocks to get over to the NCMR conference auditorium to see Bill Moyers's Morning Plenary Address.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y0r71L7cojE

Then we had a short break to complete our waking-up and processing of the address and to shop for a few protein and water supplies.

At 11:30, we sat in a large assembly room watching Norman Solomon open a meeting with Phil Donahue (who has just produced the amazing film Body of War), Amy Goodman, Naomi Klein, Sonali Kolhatkar (Bleeding Afghanistan), and Hip Hop Caucus Rev. Lennox Yearwood on Media and the War: An Unembedded View. It was excellent and it was packed; in fact at least 3,500 people showed up for the conference this year, reflecting the annually growing number of activist bodies showing up to reclaim and put the “free” back in free press. At one point, Rev Yearwood dismissively apostrophized the Fox News contingent who was there among a number of other corporate press reportbots and who had made a nuisance of itself after the Moyers thing earlier.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_2IZT4VgDY&feature=related

Short break – don’t remember what we did, other than we were out on the street some.

At 1:00 we went to the big ballroom to have Lunch With the Thousands. Folding chairs around formica-top tables; one line for tacos and one line for subs; plastic knives & forks (but not paper plates).

After lunch we went to find a store to furnish our hotel room with wine and spirits.

A little later – 2:30 – we sat in a partitioned-out assembly room attending to the observations of the two excellentest FCC commissioners, Michael J. Copps and Jonathan S. Adelstein. US House Representative Mike Doyle (D-Pa) was on the panel to add his thoughts on his propitious efforts to promote (by means of local low-power FM radio) the voices of the people – you know: the local folks who live nearby, your homeys.

Dinner: Staccato – little pizza and some Italian pasta dish (& steak if you wanna) place with booths, a couple of tables; music-themed décor since it’s near the symphony-oriented emporium.

8:00 – 11:00: Keynote. Awesome and inspiring, and with any luck rabble-rousing. Since it’s 1:52 AM Minnesota time right now, I can’t even begin to take on a summary of the whole biz. A salient recollection is Naomi Klein observing that (during a power imbalance similar to today’) popular pressure compelled Franklin Roosevelt to confront powerful corporate lobbyists with the ultimatum that either they accept the New Deal or the nation would face a revolution. Yes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=97SzcumnYdc
(only available keynote footage so far. more maybe on YouTube soon or on Democracy Now! Monday)

Fading fast.

What do you think?

NCMR June 7, 2008

Probably Feeling Like You

Feeling like- I just got home from a 9 hour work day and I'm worrying that I might have too much time on my hands! Which reminds me of an AA pal that used to say, " I never go up into my head without a gun and a flashlight."
I read my favorite news sites ( see below), listened to five minutes of Randi Rhodes, then uploaded the Friday episode of Democracy now and it's still waiting to be opened.
I remember how my therapist/spiritual guide Kathie once gave me an essay that theorized, that if each of us beings were a country, how would we run our policies? For instance what causes us to go to war, to batten down the hatches, to sandbag and land mine the perimeters. What causes us to be diplomatic when everything points to war? Which at this time made me think of my ex, who given half a chance would have turned our home into a bunker. I don't know what he was afraid of, it was before Bush 2. But he has his own smoke to shovel.
So I took this essay home and I gave it some thought. (Was still living with the Bunker Boy - soon - to- be - ex). I thought about my land mines and perimeters. I thought about how isolated I felt, that I had two children and no family of my own to run to, and one wrong move would put me into the category of Single Mom. I was not prepared to be a Single Mom, not in this bedroom community in Westchester, NY. Actually not anywhere. Believe it or not in this idyllic community, it just wasn't done. Besides, I did not have anywhere near the education that most of the stay at home moms in my neighborhood had. I was sure I could not provide for myself much less two little kids.
I guess my "country" was an island, as in "no man is..." Plenty of women are. My fantasy island was fruitful and full of life. My children were beautiful and innocent. The island was full of imagination and possibilities. At the same time I lived in fear of the tsunami that would come and take everything. I stepped gingerly, trying not to wake the gods/enemy. I tried to camoflage our habitat, but the enemy is always there, waiting for you to stumble beyond the perimeter and whack you like an insane golfer trying to swing his way out of a sand trap. Somehow my kids and I grew up. They went to college, I tried to. I'm still trying to.
I read a piece in Raw Story tonight about how Santa Barbara has set aside 12 parking areas for the homeless women and elderly who have lost everything due to the down turn in the economy. They are allowed to sleep in their cars in safety from 7PM to 7 AM. 12 parking lots full of the dispossessed in Santa Barbara. Does no one have any shame in this country? Where are all of the great christians? Even though my personal country now is self sufficient and somewhat free, I feel like the flashlight and the gun might come in handy these days. Peace

Mothers Day

Today was the first motherless Mother's Day for me. I never thought that would happen. When you love someone as dearly as I loved my mom, the thought tries not to cross your mind that someday she won't be there. I miss her like crazy. She died on Dec 22 07. A few days before Christmas. Now it's nine months later and I keep trying to look for things she'd like, and  whenever I get close to Ridgefield, CT, where she last lived, I feel that momentary stab when I realize she is no longer there. But then again she still here. I have a little altar on my dish cabinet where her ashes lie in a box in a velvet covered pouch. There is a picture of the first five of us kids beside her and an Audoban bird clock that she loved so much and talked to it toward the end.  Then again she always talked to her plants, real animals she had, and tiny babies. Things that answered her only with unconditional love, which is what she craved and what I felt she gave me.

She came up to live with me in 1994. At that time I believe she would have been around 65 and finally getting a life. She and I had been estranged for many years, for I got out of her house as soon as I could - age 13 - partly due to the nasty, awful, stream of boyfriends that she had after my dad left her. She was on her own with all of the kids, (7 of us and my absent dad's great Aunt) and no money. Dad'd had a mid life crisis and had to become the man-about-town dandy he had always believed he was. And he did. He went out with all the big boobed blonds, some married,  some not. Some young enough to be one of our older sisters. He moved to a resort in the Bahamas and lived like a king. But enough about him. I will give him his due on fathers day. He is no longer of this world either. Not that I am afraid to speak ill of the dead. I don't believe in that. But we shall save that rant for June.

So back to mom: She moved up to NY in 1994, not long after Hurricane Andrew almost struck New Orleans, where Mom had lived since around 1972.  I'll never forget talking to her on the phone while she was watching the massive storm come toward her city. She was wheelchair bound from a shattered ankle.  I was distraught that I couldn't get there to save her; she was fearful of her cats and herself drowning.  I begged her at the time to please come up and live with me. She had to wait until she was totally fed up with the remaining kids who were still living close by in Louisiana. 

I finally convinced my now ex- husband that we needed to buy ourselves a house and get situated.  We had recently done a nine year stint of working in the middle east; I was not going to do that again! So when we looked for a house I always kept in mind that I wanted an extra room for mom. She moved up with us and stayed with me, my two kids and the ex, who made my mom's life miserable, until another angel came into my place of work and gave me the name of a beautiful housing development for retirees in Connecticut.  Not thinking we could possibly get her in there, (New York State has nothing for poor elderly), somehow after we applied and were interviewed, the people at the elderly housing place said they had an opening.  They said openings had never happened like that. So again her karma , her angels, came through for her. She lived out the end of her days there in an idyllic peaceful community with lot's of friends and wonderful caring people all around her. She died in her sleep on Dec 22, three days before Christmas. I miss her, but I'm so glad she didn't suffer.

WTF?

See comment above.

On "Racism" and Radio Days with Maron

It's been great to hear Marc Maron undiluted on the radio these past few days.  A pearl before Air America swine.  Guy makes you think and laugh all at once.

Here's an excerpt from an email I sent to marc@marcmaron.com (don't know if that still works):

Im dreaming of a hot summer

I swear, if the powers that be and the powers that don't be, don't get off their royal arses and  do something rash. I said arse and rash at the same time- ewww! As I was saying  those spotty bummed  ner-do-wells with the exception of a few newbies, plus Senators Sanders and Leahy, Waxman "the mustache of justice" and a couple of others that poke their heads around the corners and lunge and run away. Live to fight another day, which is kind of my MO. I am brave, but I really hate pain . That's why I never played sports. I will fight, but I will not walk head on into a brass knuckle. Which brings me to my point. I was listening to WBAI to the people who survived Kent State.It was the 38th anniversary. I remember at about the same time when  I was fifteen when I ran away to the Washington DC anti-war rally in 1970. I dragged my poor unsuspecting friends that could disappear for a few days to hitch up to DC with me. My best girlfriend thought it was cool as hell. We lived in a church and someone passed acid around, which of course I took, then proceeded to walk away with the kid who gave me the acid around some hoity toity  part of the city. When he got me far from my friends and I was full tilt tripping on some pretty nasty stuff, the kid said he was going to make me freak out. I looked at his little ugly face and and skinny bod and said bullshit. I ran away from him only to realize I was in this strange, very large (and dangerous) city. I was lost and wishing I could find the little shit now.  He lived in the city, he knew where he was. I kept feeling like he was behind me mocking me. At the point of panicking I had an "Angel moment" Which is like when your car is broken down in the middle of nowhere  and at the end of your tether and "Angel" people show up- usually the last people you would think- and rescue you. It's happened many times to me. Well this elderly couple walked right up to me and asked me if I was lost. I said yes and probably started to cry. They gave me a ride right to the door of the church. I thanked them and went thankfully to my cold hard pew to sleep. My girlfriend woke up and yelled at me for leaving the building. She didn't know the half of it! The next morning we were woken and told what our jobs were for the day. We were to light fires in and roll the big municipal trash cans into the road to stop commuter traffic. We we very happy to get to have sanctioned vandalism.  The glee was soon to be a nightmare as a brigade of riot police on Vespas buzzed up ( no I wasn't still tripping ) and one honed in on me and drove straight at me and kicked the side of my knee so hard, I thought it was broken. My girlfriend helped me limp back to the church, where we waited for our next act to be given to us.

Obama's Campaign Lawyer Files Suit Against Clinton's 527

(To see the text of the reference story, click on the title to this post.)

American Losership Committee.

Great!  We thought the invasive Wright Mainstream BS circus could be quieted and that maybe the soapification of this horribly distended primary process might quiet down so that voters could think straight.  No such luck: they'll probably have a field day with this and, if anything, turn up the volume on the non-news - "they" being the usual fatuous blowhards - Gregory, Scarborough, Matthews, and the increasingly marginal (but still maximally fatuous) jerks on Fox News and that fat druggy clown on the radio.

The campaign lawyer, Bauer, appears to have a complaint that would have merit in a court of law, but this will probably be decided in a court of press blather.

I think there are issues of more moment than this endless primary run.  What do you think? 

It's pissing rain and

It feels like the tears of the gods. I'm listening to the father of Jeff Frawley, Mr. Ed Frawley, who made the YouTube video about what his kid and our kids come home to at Fort Bragg: Disgusting barracks, dangerous living conditions, and a new barracks "being built," maybe in our lifetime!  This is just another example of the blatant disregard of the soldiers of whom all four estates deny us any knowledge.  Where are all of the great patriots when it comes to doing our national duty? For example, taking care of our vets? I really, really want to see the screaming right wing chicken-hawks put up their cash dollars and pricey-gym warrior physiques and get on the front lines in their war on just about everything. Put the money where the Big Pie Hole is. It's the 'merican way!  Or if you really aren't as rich as a small minority of Republicans, take your prowar group and show up at Ft Bragg with baskets of golden fried chicken (in your honor) and other goodies; while they are basking in your Christian good will, tell them, "No no boys; you fought for our freedoms and maybe now we owe you something." Then get out the brooms and mops and do something for these guys for crap's sake. OK,  you don't want to give up your precious tax breaks? Then work for it. Like we ALL do, one way or the other. I think a good Christian would not only give up his hard-won tax breaks, but make a pilgrimage to Ft Bragg or the many other bases or hospitals in the area, stop watching TV, and do something.

The links to Caveat Emptor

Caveat Emptor

"And the credit card era was a help to delay the pain and the shame of being poor in America," she writes.  Brilliant! - And brilliantly couched!

Just to eat and "put food on their family" (also shelter), people are living beyond their crappy paychecks, even when they're destroying themselves being "uniquely [North] American" and holding down three jobs.

Then the banks mail promises of Pre-Approved Credit Cards up to $400!!!!  For any reason!  Sometimes there's even a facsimile credit card right there in the envelope, so you can get the feel of the thing.  Power like a handgun.

The radio ads that dominate the blowhard blather shows on the car radio when people are just listening for a traffic report to explain this f**king traffic jam they're in shout the gospel of Unprecedented Low Interest Rates so they can buy (or refinance) that home.  Sure you can afford it.  Don't you owe it to your kids to live in a Nice Neighborhood with Good Schools?

Then when the shit hits the fan, it's your fault.  The good ol' folksy "President" explains that you selfishly borrowed into a property you couldn't afford, and you'll just have to pay the price for that.

The national debt is up to 9,337, 965, 396, 997 dollars - I'm not even sure how to say that in words.  515 billion dollars of that has gone to ill-considered, murderous and self-destructive military adventures in the Middle East.

Who's gonna have to pay the price for this?

New Post

For an example of the stuff I want to see or hear:

I have worked since I was thirteen years old. 99% of that time I have been an honest, reliable, hard working person. 

About the age of thirteen, I stole a mini skirt from a small boutique in Florida and was caught at the door by the screaming owner. She raced me back to the dressing room by the scruff of my shirt. She yelled, "Thief! Thief!" all the way to the back of the store. She finally let me go, heeding my desperate pleas  after threatening first to call the police, then to calling my parents; then, I guess she felt tired of the whole thing and let me go. I can't remember why she let me go but I never stole again. 

No, not in the sense of the real-deal shoplifting, that is unless perhaps you call Goodwill-clothes-dumpster-diving stealing, which my younger sister and I did first as a dare, and then we did it when we were in need of something, anything to spike up our meager wardrobe. We were quite poor at that time, and we would just jump in the boxes with a flashlight. (Easy to get into but not to get back out) . The justification was this: we needed clothes, and the rumor was that probably all the good stuff would be picked over before they went to the Goodwill shop. And if you went to the Goodwill store in 1969-70, you would believe the rumor. Now people throw away a lot of good stuff, so the Goodwill stores are teeming with decent wearable clothing. Why is that? Why do people throw away so many good clothes now? My guess is that now people have more ready money.  Or at least they think so. Credit cards evened out the discrepancy between rich and poor somewhat. I'm afraid to go back to poverty, which I'm sure many of the baby boomers run from. And the credit card era was a help to delay the pain and the shame of being poor in America.  Peace. 

Heya!

Come into my parlor! Please read my plea at the top of my blog. I want to get us all to vent our frustrations at the heavy load we all carry today. Two jobs, no money, debt, debt, debt! War and disempowerment, no healthcare etc. How have we been coping? Thanks for your contributions!