Sorry about not talking to you for so long.
My grandmother, also known as Gram, passed away after a righteously fought battle with cancer. It's been a rough couple of weeks, so I've just kinda let my wounds heal up ragged and broken...
And yet things are going well all over the rest of me... working a job that requires none of my mind and preparing for one that will definitely use all of it (we'll discuss that one in detail when we're sure things are five by five..)
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Monday, January 16, 2006
The Difference Between Cabbage and Lettuce: First Lettuce
You can spend all day on one thing or one day on everything. Either way something is going to be fucked up at the end of the proverbial date.
My grandmother is really ill, and lately I've felt horrible about it. The temptation in this post is to analyze it and try and make a coherent storyline post about it but I just can't.
I've spent so much time during the years after school trying to make some headway in my fight against whatever beast I'm currently absorbed with. But nothing has made a dent. Mostly I'm left with the bitter ashes of regret and a sense that the harder I fight the worse my personal life will get.
I talked to my man, 100 grand, about it and he reminded me of an earlier experience... see? Retreated right back into my typical mode. But I'm not ducking, so I'll go ahead and tell the story.
Bob Moses, legend of the civil rights movement, came to our university. He was, in no small way, like a tiny beacon of light for me and others. I was really excited to hear him talk. Through a series of accidents and miscommunications, my man 100 grand and I ended up driving him to the airport. Needless to say, it was an honor.
On the way back I asked him how he accomplished balancing his personal life (i.e. actually having one) and his organizing life (SNCC, Freedom Summer, etc.) and his response was that basically he didn't know how to do that. It seemed, according to Bob, that he was just one of many on the board with SNCC. Sure, he was a powerful guy and people listened to him... but at home he's loved and missed. His relationships suffered because of his organizing, and in the end he's been through a divorce.
Looking back, I realize that what he was REALLY telling me was that if I wanted something other than a gang of angry relatives, I needed to work at it. I have to find a way for everyone, as impossible as it seems.
My grandmother is really ill, and lately I've felt horrible about it. The temptation in this post is to analyze it and try and make a coherent storyline post about it but I just can't.
I've spent so much time during the years after school trying to make some headway in my fight against whatever beast I'm currently absorbed with. But nothing has made a dent. Mostly I'm left with the bitter ashes of regret and a sense that the harder I fight the worse my personal life will get.
I talked to my man, 100 grand, about it and he reminded me of an earlier experience... see? Retreated right back into my typical mode. But I'm not ducking, so I'll go ahead and tell the story.
Bob Moses, legend of the civil rights movement, came to our university. He was, in no small way, like a tiny beacon of light for me and others. I was really excited to hear him talk. Through a series of accidents and miscommunications, my man 100 grand and I ended up driving him to the airport. Needless to say, it was an honor.
On the way back I asked him how he accomplished balancing his personal life (i.e. actually having one) and his organizing life (SNCC, Freedom Summer, etc.) and his response was that basically he didn't know how to do that. It seemed, according to Bob, that he was just one of many on the board with SNCC. Sure, he was a powerful guy and people listened to him... but at home he's loved and missed. His relationships suffered because of his organizing, and in the end he's been through a divorce.
Looking back, I realize that what he was REALLY telling me was that if I wanted something other than a gang of angry relatives, I needed to work at it. I have to find a way for everyone, as impossible as it seems.
Friday, January 13, 2006
On Poverty Pt. 1, or, "Who Wants A Piece of the Dark Fantastic?"
Transnational corporations have taken control of much of the production and trade in developing countries: For example, 40 percent of the world's coffee is traded by just four companies; the top 30 supermarket chains control almost one-third of worldwide grocery sales.
A trade surplus of $1 billion for developing countries in the 1970s turned into an $11 billion deficit by 2001.
The income ratio of the one-fifth of the world's population in the wealthiest countries to the one-fifth in the poorest went from 30 to 1 in 1960 to 74 to 1 in 1995.
Of the 100 largest economies in the world, 51 are corporations; of those, 47 are U.S.-based.
The overall share of federal taxes paid by U.S. corporations is now less than 10 percent, down from 21 percent in 2001 and over 50 percent during World War II; one-third of America's largest and most profitable corporations paid zero taxes -- or actually received credits -- in at least one of the last three years (according to Forbes magazine).
Back in 1980 the average American chief executive earned 40 times as much as the average manufacturing employee. For the top tier of American CEOs, the ratio is now 475:1 and would be vastly greater if assets, in addition to income, were taken into account. By way of comparison, the ratio in Britain is 24:1, in France 15:1, in Sweden 13:1.
Pre-Civil War slaves received room and board; wages paid by the sweatshops that today serve many U.S. industries will not cover the most basic needs.
Smoke clears my sinuses, but not in the same way that hot tea does. I love the way a good bottle of green tea feels early in the morning, especially on overcast days like today.
But I don't like the fact that in order for me to drink my favorite kind of tea, people get paid thirty cents a day to roll the leaves and put them into boxes. So I stopped going to Starbucks for a long time, knowing that I was denying myself of one of the few drinks that I have during the day that is worth any minor nutritional value. Add to that the more pertinent idea that something I enjoyed was causing someone anguish, and its no surprise that I'm branching out in my attempts to locate free trade food and drink for regular consumption.
My boy here at the Activist Haven had a job with a grocery store (a UNION grocery store no less) making good dough. But it was killing him. We could all see it in his face and how it was fucking with his brain. We all urged him to quit and he knew it was time. So he quit, like a champion. It's hitting him in the pockets something awful, and he's financially hurting for about five minutes, but he'll soon find something better (and may already have.)
Combined we make about as much as my mom. Twenty five years ago. After taxes for her, before taxes for us.
I don't feel poor, but I imagine I am.
More later. This is a developing idea.
A trade surplus of $1 billion for developing countries in the 1970s turned into an $11 billion deficit by 2001.
The income ratio of the one-fifth of the world's population in the wealthiest countries to the one-fifth in the poorest went from 30 to 1 in 1960 to 74 to 1 in 1995.
Of the 100 largest economies in the world, 51 are corporations; of those, 47 are U.S.-based.
The overall share of federal taxes paid by U.S. corporations is now less than 10 percent, down from 21 percent in 2001 and over 50 percent during World War II; one-third of America's largest and most profitable corporations paid zero taxes -- or actually received credits -- in at least one of the last three years (according to Forbes magazine).
Back in 1980 the average American chief executive earned 40 times as much as the average manufacturing employee. For the top tier of American CEOs, the ratio is now 475:1 and would be vastly greater if assets, in addition to income, were taken into account. By way of comparison, the ratio in Britain is 24:1, in France 15:1, in Sweden 13:1.
Pre-Civil War slaves received room and board; wages paid by the sweatshops that today serve many U.S. industries will not cover the most basic needs.
Smoke clears my sinuses, but not in the same way that hot tea does. I love the way a good bottle of green tea feels early in the morning, especially on overcast days like today.
But I don't like the fact that in order for me to drink my favorite kind of tea, people get paid thirty cents a day to roll the leaves and put them into boxes. So I stopped going to Starbucks for a long time, knowing that I was denying myself of one of the few drinks that I have during the day that is worth any minor nutritional value. Add to that the more pertinent idea that something I enjoyed was causing someone anguish, and its no surprise that I'm branching out in my attempts to locate free trade food and drink for regular consumption.
My boy here at the Activist Haven had a job with a grocery store (a UNION grocery store no less) making good dough. But it was killing him. We could all see it in his face and how it was fucking with his brain. We all urged him to quit and he knew it was time. So he quit, like a champion. It's hitting him in the pockets something awful, and he's financially hurting for about five minutes, but he'll soon find something better (and may already have.)
Combined we make about as much as my mom. Twenty five years ago. After taxes for her, before taxes for us.
I don't feel poor, but I imagine I am.
More later. This is a developing idea.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
The Makings of
So I lied a little when I said tomorrow.
------
When asked if medicine held the answers to acheiving goals of reform in Cuba, Che's original response was that the revolution could be done through his career path, but it couldn't be done in the suburbs. You can't practice medicine in the rich part of town and go down to the slums once a month. That just doesn't work, according to Guevara. It has to be a lifetime commitment.
I'm about to turn down yet another position because I can't get out of Gaithersburg alive. Between my family and my need to eat food and drink water, I'll be unable to move from here for a significant amount of time. My debt is now bordering on the criminal, my work has completely crossed over that line, and now I'm going to have to start doing things that I really don't like to get back into just to survive.
And I'm not alone in this.
There's a whole sector of society that is now populated with us, the victorious college educated underclass. We're all saddled with enormous debt, intelligent through independant and collegiate knowledge, and underemployed through no fault of our own. I may be an exception as an expelled undergrad, but I know I'm not the only person on Blogger who isn't currently serving the corporate master because they could either do that and eat healthy food or eat fast food and live in a box.
I'm not going to be the dude who cries out "Let's change this" and goes back to slanging rock, but I will be the dude who says that making a difference shouldn't cost you your ability to shit in a comfortable place. It shouldn't mean that your relatives can take turns beating the piss out of you with their patented "We're From The Golden Age of Protest" stick and at the same time quietly profess that the way that they got their job had a little something to do with the way that they looked or the fact that someone they knew from waybackwhen had a job there and they got in on the sly.... And it DEFINITELY shouldn't mean that you aren't successful in the eyes of society.
I'll probably touch more upon this later when I talk about poverty later on ( this time I won't promise tomorrow...)
------
When asked if medicine held the answers to acheiving goals of reform in Cuba, Che's original response was that the revolution could be done through his career path, but it couldn't be done in the suburbs. You can't practice medicine in the rich part of town and go down to the slums once a month. That just doesn't work, according to Guevara. It has to be a lifetime commitment.
I'm about to turn down yet another position because I can't get out of Gaithersburg alive. Between my family and my need to eat food and drink water, I'll be unable to move from here for a significant amount of time. My debt is now bordering on the criminal, my work has completely crossed over that line, and now I'm going to have to start doing things that I really don't like to get back into just to survive.
And I'm not alone in this.
There's a whole sector of society that is now populated with us, the victorious college educated underclass. We're all saddled with enormous debt, intelligent through independant and collegiate knowledge, and underemployed through no fault of our own. I may be an exception as an expelled undergrad, but I know I'm not the only person on Blogger who isn't currently serving the corporate master because they could either do that and eat healthy food or eat fast food and live in a box.
I'm not going to be the dude who cries out "Let's change this" and goes back to slanging rock, but I will be the dude who says that making a difference shouldn't cost you your ability to shit in a comfortable place. It shouldn't mean that your relatives can take turns beating the piss out of you with their patented "We're From The Golden Age of Protest" stick and at the same time quietly profess that the way that they got their job had a little something to do with the way that they looked or the fact that someone they knew from waybackwhen had a job there and they got in on the sly.... And it DEFINITELY shouldn't mean that you aren't successful in the eyes of society.
I'll probably touch more upon this later when I talk about poverty later on ( this time I won't promise tomorrow...)
Monday, January 02, 2006
Hi! My Name Is Reece...
And I once again deal in material suitable for a perk and jerk.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: dealing porn is truly where it's at.
My parents call me a deadbeat.
My friends call me a champion.
Women vomit.
Men mail me money (no shit.)
I am The God of Porn.
-------
My new job doesn't take much of my time during the morning hours, so I'll post then.
Keep an eye out for my series of writings about bellringing as well.
Sorry for the infrequent updates and Happy New Year.
More tomorrow, this I promise.
For now, sleep.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: dealing porn is truly where it's at.
My parents call me a deadbeat.
My friends call me a champion.
Women vomit.
Men mail me money (no shit.)
I am The God of Porn.
-------
My new job doesn't take much of my time during the morning hours, so I'll post then.
Keep an eye out for my series of writings about bellringing as well.
Sorry for the infrequent updates and Happy New Year.
More tomorrow, this I promise.
For now, sleep.
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