Goodbye 2009

After a year of foreclosures, evictions (that word remains a knife in my chest), crappy parenting (I H8 Kate + John's 8), congressional wrangling, inflation, more job losses and everyone under the sun wishing the government and MY president to fail? I'm ready to flip the bird at 2009. I have a few years for which I was soooo incredibly happy to say goodbye: 1978, 1983, 1988, 1990, 1995, 2000, 2001, 2005 thru 2007, and now this year. I've decided to give 2008 a break because it looked like good things could possibly happen. I did not cause the banks to fail. I did not cause George Bush the Asshole to push through bailout legislation--NO IT WASN'T OBAMA SHUT UP HE WASN'T ELECTED YET OR IN OFFICE BACK IN SEPTEMBER 2008!!!--and I certainly didn't ask the City of New York to deny me continuing benefits such as help with my back rent, food stamps or begging for Medicaid--which, come to think of it, they STILL want me to do. I also did not cause commercial real estate to tank, which caused the closing of two of the places that fired me: that shitty catering place and Virgin, who laid off over 300+ employees. But! Karma is a motherfucker, as we have seen. Virgin wanted that piece o'real estate in a land grab. Since the banks aren't lending and the property values have tanked? Methinks they're not going to get a decent tenant willing to pay $2500K per square foot. AIN'T gonna happen. NYC as we know it is on its way out.

I have, however, an interesting proposition for you: if the Mayans were correct and 2012 is the end of everything as we know it, wouldn't this be the perfect beginning to the perfect end? Government is failing bigtime, financial institutions are face-planting faster than Paris Hilton drunk in a pair of five-inch heels, and the lives that we take for granted and know are going the way of the VCR. Lying politicians? Sooo Oliver North and 1987. Corporations not giving a shit about their employees and making insane profits? Completely Tishman Speyer (google them, you'll see) and Gordon Gekko. What if, and this is a BIG if, we actually had to change everything to work and care and benefit other human beings? Now before any of you call me a candy ass liberal, I take you back to Karma, that interesting word.

Most people believe Karma is another word for 'payback'. No, karma is the sum total of all good and bad things that a person, institution or entity has done and what will return to them, meaning completed, committed or ignored over the course of their existence. Karma requires that the person/entity receive exactly what's coming to them/it. No more and no less. It's actually metphysical in its makeup, almost scientific in its execution. A cosmic equation if you will: the sum total of all, small portions or nothing at all, solving for x. If you remember trigonometry or geometry from high school? X is solved to the value of 1 or 0. Zero means nothing, or karmically, zero has absorbed what it needs. No payback, just paid in full with nothing left. One is a value, or one thing left. Small, a gift, a puzzle to be laid out and determined later. Karma does not PREdetermine anything, it determines what is left after the sum parts have been calculated, totaled, subtracted, contracted and left to expire, grow or finish. Metaphysical, indeed.

So, I do not continue to harp upon the crap that I am known for, I will be thankful for a few things.

Kanye being made to look like an ass at upstaging Taylor Swift. He has given her more publicity than she could ever pay ICM, CAA or the CMA's could ever provide. You're a jackass, Kanye. Just like my president said.

Lady GaGa. This girl is a gem. A sparkling emerald in a sea of teal sequins. The second coming of Madonna with more media impact and gay street cred than anyone at the Roxy (RIP 1978-2007) could shake a stick at.

Directv, for giving me all my Cspan goodies and political coverage, commercial free. You have thrown TimeWarner Cable into the dust. Ovation TV has saved my life, and The Travel Channel with Adam Richman and Anthony Bourdain have given me new reasons to love my city.

And of course, you. All my readers. It's been slim pickings lately with this blog and with my job situation. I am earning little piddly bucks here and there at odd jobs, but my poor mother had no idea that I would have to drive a car 80 miles and beyond to get a job. How do I know this? Enter my newest friend, a victim of CitiFinancial's mortgage mess. She is of Lithuanian and Norwegian extraction. She drove as far as Winter Park FL-which ain't exactly close-to try and look for minimum wage work. I have a golf cart. Can't afford a car, and neither can Mom. I am also looking into filing for bankruptcy. While I would have loved to pay some of you back? It looks like 2010 or maybe '11 will be the year to do that. Don't worry. I haven't forgotten. I have a large overstuffed yellow ugly notebook with all my bills and lists of people who have helped me. You are in my prayers. It's extremely hard to be demonstrative thru a slow pc like the one I'm typing on, and they small stretch of 7 miles that my golf cart covers is kind of sad, too.

I'm trapped, kiddies. In a strange place that doesn't know what to do with me. That does not mean I have forgotten. You (and all the $$$ I owe) are in my mind constantly. I wake up with two things: Kashi on my head and a list of totals, not unlike a debit column in a ledger. Kashi is cute. The red ink I owe? Not so much.

And that's pretty much it, people.

I will watch the Waterford Crystal ball drop in Times Square. I will toast the roof over my head, since I have nothing else, and I will pray for a miracle to change my life yet again.

I am grateful to you all. No matter what happens, I will not forget. Don't give up on me yet, kiddies. I just need to get a few more tricks up my sleeve.

In Lieu of a Post, I'll Give you a Portrait

The incomparable Patricia Barker standing at almost 6 ft tall en pointe! She retired from Pacific Northwest Ballet on June 10, 2007. I had no money to fly out, but my friend Dan was there. They screamed like a football stadium as daffodils rained down on her head. The man is Wade Walthall, and no, that's not a real moustache.

PNB never acquired the rights to this, so it's not on DVD. Hulu.com has it for free, and this was my first eBay purchase ever. A secretary from the office in Oregon sent me a link to bid! (Only yours truly would have the guts to call up the actual school and demand a copy of this.) It was directed by Caroll Ballard of "The Black Stallion" and "Fly Away Home" fame. The sets were designed by Maurice "where the wild things are" Sendak. The Arabian dance --the one I performed as well as my favorite--has the ballerina dress up like a peacock. That's so close to the book.

This pops up on MY9 or late-night public tv every now and then. YOu can only find it used on eBay or Amazon. It's worth that 1.99 bid, I'll tell ya.

OvationTV is having its Battle of the Nutcrackers all week long--go and vote! I hope they show this one.

I'll keep it light today, since the IRS was nice to me. But I still haven't gotten my other debts straight. Stay posted, kiddies...and enjoy!

Welcome to December

And oh, how happy I am. Pisces? We are finally out of Saturn in Virgo, which has been kicking our fins around since September 2007. Jupiter arrives in January, so we should have a fabu year. It's about damn time.

Me? I'm decorating a whole house and lawn this year, not just my door and living room. Thank god I paid attention to Dyker Heights all those years.

Mom and I have taken in a new roommate whom I shall call Jewel for the purposes of this blog. We found another suffering water sign who's been kicked around by bad employers, crappy family members, and rotten men in her life (sound like anyone we know?) so Jewel is getting the back room, which is technically part of the porch. We never use it, she needs it, and we're getting some rent on top of it. Hey, it feels good to be a human being. I can return the favor after so much was done to help me. The odd jobs aren't paying much, but I'll take it. And, we get along. Plus Dexter has another lady friend to tickle his ears. Mr. Man is about to turn 17 in 2 weeks.

Christmas cards are going out. The money I owe? Well, don't give up on me yet, kiddies. I'm paying down some important bills to plump up my abysmal credit score. At least the IRS hasn't dragged me away in chains yet.

So, that's the beginning of my month. More adventures to come...

My Post-Turkey Post (and only one for November)

Gobble, gobble, everyone. The DSL continues to be slow, so I've focused on other things. I hate pc's, miss my Mac, and just haven't had it in me for facebook or blogging. This will change come December. I've accumulated enough experience with local hilarity/racism/ignorance/privilege to truly enlighten you to how shitty Central FL really is.

I actually made it up to NYC two weeks ago. Dorch was very testy and yelled at me a few times, but the extreme stress she's under says a lot. I'll let it pass. Everyone and their dog is on edge due to the whopping 10.9% unemployment stats. Still, my trip wasn't that great. NYC's sales tax is up to 8.875%, the MTA took away the free shuttle to JFK,and I only had $80 on me. However, I managed to get into my storage. My TV, DVD player, Mac, shredder, Gelsey photos, expensive black gowns (I have three), photos, bedsheets, and yes, MY SKATES made it inside that little 14 x 9 storage hole. I cradled my skates as if they were Faberge eggs, that's how astounded I was. My Perfume DVD with Ben Whishaw is missing, though, and my knitting is nowhere to be found. Eh, whatever. At least I've got some things left.

It's going to be Christmas at Target and Walmart this year. No snow, no store windows. No Saks, no Macy's. But I do have a giant lawn to decorate. And an ugly 6 ft. polyvinyl fake tree.

Elf, that Will Farrell movie, is on tonight. It has my three favorite things: Christmas, NYC, and Lou Grant as Santa. If that's not brilliant casting? I don't know what is.

Stay tuned. I'll be taking notes of all the retarded things this one-horse golf course town has to offer.

No picture here

Well, I was going to insert a pic of a question mark, but I see that that wouldn't work. The internet service down here is extremely slow.

Guess what? Con Ed called. I told them I was injured instead of saying I have no way to get back to NY. Amy, the HR rep, told me I have 5 years for my application to be relevant. Funny how they didn't say that before.

Once again, I may have to live in a place where I won't be able to have my cats, and I have no idea if they pay for training. So, I hung up the phone in despair--something I'm becoming altogether familiar with--and I wonder if any of these shit places will call me. I've actually added what I'm calling a "conscience" letter to my applications in these retail places since some of them are still conducting background checks, which is criminal given the economy these days. I've put copies of my legal forms and eviction notice with the numbers blocked out with actual stats from the NY labor dept. so these redneck twits can see that I'm not making any of it up. The problem with a small town is that they don't know how to think 'big'. I may be able to see the scope of downsizing for what it is since I come from an international city (NY, Paris, London, Tokyo, Milan, L.A.-those are the big ones), but these people are INCAPABLE of seeing past their own face. It just doesn't happen. In the hopes that my honesty might actually get me somewhere? This is my newest tactic. I don't know if it'll work, but it makes me feel better to at least educate these unwashed masses in what's going on around them.

I fucking hate it here and I don't know how to get out.

Sorry I haven't blogged, but it takes an extreme act of will to deal with DSL speeds that are as quick as dial-up. I also found out that the local libraries don't have word processing programs like Word, Excel or Corel since folks down here don't know how to use them. I'm a conspiracy theorist at heart--I say the license fee for Microsoft exchange is too much which is why they didn't install them. Ignorance begets ignorance.

It's 47 degrees up north. The ice is going down at Rockefeller Center. I'm not there.

It's 98 down here and my fibro is out of control. I am sick and in pain from this humidity. I must have been a serial killer in another life, because I don't know what I did to deserve this.

I Am Jack's Broken Heart

After watching Fight Club for the 90th time, I would honestly like to borrow Ed Norton's phrase, "I am Jack's Smirking Revenge." But that's not going to happen. Not likely for a long time. My life is up for review.

I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.

Dorchester, a solid and honest friend from my lonely welfare experience of 2008, called my cell in shock upon hearing that I ended up down here. "Why didn't you call me?", she asked. Because I needed to take my cats with me (something Dorch wouldn't allow given her own Alpha male, Dragon) and I need the possibility of low overhead. I want to be the person who can sleep late and not have to pay rent. Fuck you, princesses! I need to lick my wounds and be far away from the place that has caused me so much loss, depression and grief. I can no longer handle reminders of things I cannot live nor have staring me in the face day after day. It's just too damn painful.

I realized somewhere between losing my luggage in Miami the day I flew here and falling asleep with Dexter under my feet while transferring to Orlando that I can't possibly bear any more reminders of merely existing in a place that does not want/respect/support people such as myself: people who were born in NYC. We are chattel, offal, scraps of delapidated drywall to be torn down, ripped away and tossed into the landfill to make room for luxury housing in order to coddle the rich and privileged from Indiana and Wisconsin in their search to live Sex and the City. And, from what I'm seeing, I am part of a mass exodus of the jobless and destitute to another small town, another place that barely fits those that need it.

Enough with my emotions for now. I'm sure some of you don't really know how much I actually gave up. Here's the final count.

I now have no couch, radiator cover, mattress, dresser, bed, or kitchen table. I am missing all of my cleaning supplies, all of my soap and shampoo (and it was SUBSTANTIAL), my microwave, the stand it was on, my blender, chopper, knife set, most of my mugs, most of my junk drawer contents (wine openers, melon ballers, kitchen doodads, and cheese spreaders from 1980-forward), my cookware (excepting five pots and 2 pans), all of my cookie sheets, my silicone bakeware, mops, buckets, swiffer sets (wet and dry), and Butchy's original cat dish from 1975. I bought that with my father in an old pet store, now long-gone, on a cold October day near 88th street. It was red. With Snoopy designs on the side. Butchy would scratch my arms to death. Most of my clothes, my bookshelves, and the contents of my hallway, living room set, and bathroom are now in a heap somewhere. My music, documents, and computer desk was saved. That's about it. I came down with one suitcase of summer clothes and two cats in carriers. Not much at all.

Here is where everyone says, "Let go. It's only stuff." Well, no. IT WAS MY FUCKING STUFF AND NOW IT'S IN THE TRASH. And, dear readers, this is NOT the first time this has happened. It's actually the FOURTH.

The 1st time a minor offing of my stuff happened was in 1982. From 1738 to 6735. A noted mobster bought the land my house was on, and our rent was raised from $175 to $400, a Manhattan amount for what was a tiny beat-down section of mobbed-up Bensonhurst. My beloved Peter Rabbit was left in the basement. I still haven't gotten over it.

The 2nd time was 1999, when I went from the hell of 6B to the closet of 2E. 17 years of stuff in five rooms, four closets and one loooong hallway to a place the size of a college dorm room. More mementos gone, most notably my grandmother's trains and crystal and the $770 lace graduation dress that I graduated in.

The 3rd time was 2001, which was not my space, but the lockers my father kept in the old NY Post. 210 South Street. He had anywhere from 9-12 lockers packed with crap and I was only allowed to clean out one of them. Thanks to the kindness of Patrick Finnerty, I reclaimed some of my old drawings and school pictures he had tacked up.
My other pictures, his shaving set, and most of his work clothes (which I had planned to donate) were gone. More trash. Another landfill.

And now? My wondrous eviction. I hate to admit this, but I don't even know if my skates are safe. I forgot to put them in storage. MY SKATES ARE WHO I AM. Who the HELL am I?????

I can say my cats are getting well-adjusted. I, your little blogger, am falling apart. My worst nightmare has come true: I am stuck in a tiny place that has no history. This compound was built in 1988, another shitty year in my life which is a blog in itself. I am among people who have lived their lives and only want to be near other people exactly like them in order to forget. What am I saying? I have seen a total of 4 black people, 1 puerto rican, 2 asians, and 1 person from the pacific islands. This is a twilight zone episode and I don't have a remote to click myself to another channel.

If there is a lesson in this, I don't know what the hell it is. At least not yet.

I am Jack's inflamed sense of rejection.

Dexter's Tribute

I'm sad, but there has to be some humor I can find. For me. I need it.

Imbued with Dull Color...

And my life at this point is as bizarre as this book. Or, I should say this book the movie was based upon. I am currently amazed at how differently the soundtrack affects me when I play it solo, rather than with the accompanying DVD.

This is 2007 revisited. 2 am and I am up, wandering in my head, lost, scared and not sure where to turn. Another useless day, this time (again) at the hands of the city. Workforce1 is supposed to be helping those who lost their jobs since Giuli...er, BLOOMBERG (they are the same piece of shit to me) has decided to keep the center open later since he cares about...well, getting elected again. Which, if anyone has any sense, will NOT happen again. I waited 3.5 hours on an orientation, only to be told 30 minutes that there was no way 2 intake professionals (translation: people lazier than lazy) could see me. The only reason I registered is to get the free computer classes they offered. The woman there asked me a "pacific" question. Um, do you mean S P E C I F I C ? How do these idiots get jobs? I have to call and beg tomorrow...um, THIS morning. Hey, I'm already up.

I've been job hunting since 2005. With a forty-nine day break when His Name We Abuse hired/dumped me. This is the longest search I've ever had trying to fit in since, well, EVER. My only joy today was meeting up with one of Virgin's previous managers, a love named Eric, who was completely cool and totally knowledgable about music, media, you name it. He was one of the best in World Music. If he was my manager? I would never have been unceremoniously gotten rid of. So, we both laughed at our unemployment situation. Then, at Workforce, I ran into my old figure skating teacher, which truly broke my heart.

Neither one of us is skating anymore. Me? Fibromyalgia and a lack of money. Him? A series of mild strokes and a degenerative spinal condition. Why, oh why, do the greatest 'movers' I've known eventually lose their mobility. He was my Balanchine. And Balanchine wasted away of Jakob-Cruetzfeld's disease until he passed on April 30, 1983. My guy, a funny little Chinese man, was trained by Paul Toomey, a cohort of John Curry's, who spent many years on tour with various shows before he died of AIDS in 1987 or so. I was his best student. I knew that, but today he finally said it. "You are the most resourceful person I know. You're a fighter and have discipline. You haven't changed one bit." My last lesson with him was December 2, 2001. He's going to end up in a wheelchair. And we used to practice pair skating moves and fly around. How still we've become. He's a home health aide now since no one hires computer techs when you're 60. He asked me if I still follow skating, and of course I answered, "Obsessively." It's part of my sanity. Although I didn't tape World's this year due to Johnny Weir's absence, I watched pieces and looked at an entirely younger generation who wouldn't know Toomey, Curry, or Cranston.

I am almost 40 and I haven't a thing to show for it. My intelligence counts for nothing since I've never been able to tolerate asskissing, politics, or games. I could be shrewd if I knew these things, but instead I come across as mean. Bitter, even. I so want to get out of debt and eventually work for myself. A pet store, candles, perfume, or having my own students read to me what I've taught them. One of these things or all of these things would be so damn satisfying. I am such a different kettle of fish that I know for certain I don't fit in anywhere. I'm not changing, I am CHANGED. And I can't go back.

It's only the money that I want. I realize now that my future is going to be my own, my own way, my own concept and I will have to play the game that I hate so much. I am too damn honest and that is a liability. I also cannot lie to myself, something these current narcissists who've ruined the economy seem to relish.

I must blog more. I have to say it does clear my head. Even if I get no sleep.

Update

Well, I haven't blogged lately because 1) the stress of my situation; 2) I love facebook much better; and 3) I've really had nothing to say.

Dad's anniversary passed. It's been eight years since I lost him. I know he 'visited' me because I had the normal wave of sadness come over me on Sunday when I thought of him. It usually happens--an overwhelming sorrow without tears, just a solid grief. I believe that's what he felt in his last years. Letters I've kept proved just that.

As for my job situation, the money at the tutoring school isn't great, but I'll take it. $10 an hour is about as good as it gets, plus it's a 1099 situation. I get paid ALL of it right now and will most likely work full time in the summer. Con Edison has a hiring freeze, they told me to call back in about one month. First time they've had a freeze since the early 90's from what I was told. Proof that this economy sucks.

Mercury retrograde ended, and what a DOOZY it was this year--my cell phone, coffeemaker, tv remote and clock all conked out. Mercury rules communication and electronic devices and Gemini is always a pain in the ass. It's hot, it's cold and back and forth...just get me to July, I'll be much happier.

So that's pretty much that. Just keep praying that I find a few part time jobs or at least one full time to match the tutoring. This landlord is really not kidding anymore. I don't want to lose this place and I don't want to lose my cats...

Facebooking facebooker facebookees....um, addiction is the word!

So, that's where I've been. It's been lively lately. Lots of invitations, events, promises of drinks, phone calls, and what not. I'm digging it.

My fibro nearly knocked me out yesterday with 92 degree hell, but I stayed in and slept. I saw Kathy Searle today on E. 9th street and she told me I looked great, so that was nice. I miss Mike from Toronto horribly (what else is new), I found that my childhood friend from 1981 now has two dogs and is married in Tampa, I'm getting all sorts of funny stuff on Bea Arthur, and two of my ex's are now talking to me. One still in a civil fashion, one finally in a civil fashion. He's married now, too. Which I might have had something to do with, since I'm the one who screamed at him viciously over the phone to grow up around this time, ten years ago.

I promise NOT to twitter, even if I get a blackberry. That's just too damn much!

Next housing court date is May 12. More people are getting letters from the landlord taped to their door.

Con Ed, hire me!!!!! Interview is on May 2. Wish me luck. No, WILL me luck!

More Proof!

See? A little digging on the internet is all you need. Here you go. Turns out Grassroots has been screwing people for a while. I had to DIG to find this. I plugged in "Grassroots Campaigns abuses", then "GCI screws people" then "GCI abused workers" before I found anything. Enjoy!

This is courtesty of Ruthie Kelly, a student journalist in California.

I am posting a story I began working on for a journalism class in the summer of 2007, about the organizations Grassroots Campaigns, Inc., The Fund for Public Interest Research, and CALPIRG. These groups — organizations whose function is largely canvassing progressives for donations, contact information which is then sold to third parties, or signatures for ballot initiatives — have been trying to recruit canvassers and canvass directors from all over my campus, San Diego State University. My focus here is on the pay and working conditions that students who accept these jobs face.

A shorter, less one-sided version was published in the campus student newspaper, The Daily Aztec, which you can view online here. Full disclosure: I am the opinion editor at The Daily Aztec.

A picture of one of the dozens of posters found on billboards around San Diego State University in the summer 2007.

End child poverty. Save Darfur, stop genocide. Campaign to help elect Barack Obama and take back the White House. Help protect the environment, save the rain forests, and prevent pollution.

All while being paid up to $600 a week.

It's a job progressive college students dream of. Fliers advertising jobs advocating for these causes have sprouted up on billboards all across campus. They promote not only the campaigns, but the corresponding earnings, which represent the salary of a full-time job at $12.50 an hour, before taxes. These postings represent a chance to get involved and make a difference without having to sacrifice paying the rent. It sounds too good to be true, and in many ways, it is. Most students who agree to work for these campaigns end up with more work and less money than they bargained for. That is largely due to the misrepresentation and mismanagement within the main company behind the postings, Grassroots Campaigns, Inc.

“I started working for Grassroots Campaigns because I wanted to get involved in the campaign, and I also needed money with a job over the summer,” said Ariane Myers-Turnbull, a junior at UCSD who is majoring in political science. “I would have done the same work as a volunteer, but I was excited to get paid for it. I'm vice-president of the College Democrats at UCSD. I've been very active in campaigns all my life.”

Myers-Turnbull began working for Grassroots Campaigns in June. What quickly became clear was that even though the causes seem noble and inspiring, the related jobs being posted on campus boil down to one thing: collecting money. The entry-level position is as a canvasser, which involves soliciting supporters for donations and collecting contact information. Canvassers memorize short speeches, or "raps," regarding the cause at hand, and are paid a percentage of the donation collected, plus a bonus if they meet set goals. The process seems simple, but the result is not the world-changing impact most of the idealistic applicants imagine. And then the discouraging problems crop up.

The first problem is the pay, which has two elements. First canvassers must meet quotas for the amount of donations they solicit, quotas which are high and ambiguous. After meeting quota, canvassers are paid a percentage of the donations they solicit, usually 30 percent. This means canvassers could earn great money if they get a large amount of donations – or they could make nothing at all.

“The $500-600 a week is definitely slanted, but it's not quite a lie,” said Greg Bloom, who worked as a canvass director for Grassroots Campaigns in 2004. “A canvasser takes home 30 percent of what they raise, and in 2004 in the big cities like San Diego, people could work six days a week and raise a thousand or more in a day. There were usually only one or two people in an office with that kind of canvassing talent; everyone else would scrape to make the advertised range.

“In the meantime, canvassers are forced to 'volunteer' several hours in addition the the time they're paid. Even for the lowest level people, it can be a 60 hour a week job. For the office directors, who are still just 20-24 years old, it can be a 90 hour a week job.”

Grassroots Campaigns runs canvassing operations all across the country. Workers in other states report similar problems. In one article for The Daily Page in Madison, Wis., canvassers reported receiving $130 for 37 hours of work, $281 and $340 each for two 50 hour weeks, and once even $56 for 45 hours of work. That works out to $3.51 an hour for the best paid worker, and $1.25 for the worst paid worker. There's no way to predict how much, or how little, the canvasser may get in a given pay period.

Meyers-Turnbull ran into quota problems quickly. “Even with the poor working conditions I continued to work there because I liked the people I worked with, and I believed in the work,” she said.

“But soon it got harder and harder to make money and I began to see people being fired for not making quota, even when they were really fantastic workers. I really never had a problem with making quota, but every day became a struggle. I would have to basically beg people to give me twenty bucks so I could meet my goal.”

Arwen Hawks, a communication senior at SDSU, canvassed for the Sierra Club in 1998 through The Fund for Public Interest Research, the non-profit alternative of Grassroots Campaigns. The pay scale was no better back then.

“We got a percentage of sales, which was not very much. If you didn't make a sale you didn't make any money.”

For Kate Burke, the pay scale was Grassroots Campaigns' biggest problem.

“I was an assistant director for GCI's canvass for the Democratic National Committee in 2004, in the campaign to 'beat Bush,'” Burke said.

“They sent me to San Diego. It's a hard place to raise money. I found myself in the position of being unable to explain anyone's pay scale. Nobody could explain the pay scale -- it was awful. We had these poor, poor people who worked for us and who just wouldn't get paid on time, or at all, in part because they were unable to raise much money.

“I think they make the pay scale purposely ambiguous,” Burke continued. “It wasn't based on how many hours you worked, and after all their conditions, you would make like $50 per day.”

Once the canvassers make quota, there are still difficulties getting the very little they've managed to rightfully earn.

“GCI was unethical with paychecks and reimbursements,” said Burke. “The canvassers would be asking, 'Can I please just get my $18 check, so that I can put gas in my car?' But we didn't have the checks. I was so severely embarrassed. One director gave someone $300 of her own money, just because she felt so bad because this canvasser's pay hadn't come.”

The second problem is the working conditions. In order to make the money being advertised, canvassers usually end up having to work 10-14 hours per day. Field managers and directors have to complete paperwork, answer phone calls, and coordinate operations, but they're still expected to canvass and make the quota. Canvassers work in unfamiliar neighborhoods, walking up to homes of strangers. These arrangements cause a lot of canvassers to worry about their health and safety.

“Grassroots Campaigns, which ran the DNC canvass, has a history of labor disputes, including several law suits settled out of court,” said Bloom. “And it is linked with the Fund for Public Interest Research, which is known for union-busting.”

“It was really hard and a lot of times it was dangerous,” said Myers-Turnbull. “Once I was locked in some Republican's yard as he ranted at me and wouldn't let me out. I was cursed at numerous times, harassed and told that I was a terrible person on a daily basis. But it was all about making quota, so I just tried to move on when that happened. A lot of times I left crying and shaking because of an experience. I know that happened to a lot of people.”

Arwen Hawks also felt unsafe.

“The next day after I was hired, I had my own route and was on my own. They had a van and would drop us off at different places. I remember feeling really lonely, and I hadn't brought food so I got hungry. There were no breaks, unless you liked sitting on the curb or sidewalk. I felt unsafe because I had to knock on strangers doors, and I was out in the open with no ride home or way out. You never knew who would open the door! They would drop us off for 5 or 6 hours or so.”

Kate Burke also experienced problems with working conditions, both with her canvassers and for herself.

“I'd hired a woman who had monitored elections in Bosnia, and she was getting screamed at on the street,” she said. “It was awful.

“After four months, I told GCI that if was time for me to find another way to help 'beat Bush.' I was so completely exhausted that I was ordered bed rest for 4 days by my doctor. But since GCI was closing down another local office, and there was only one other director, I stayed on for two weeks to help wrap everything up. Then after all that, they called me and told me that I 'wasn't pulling my weight' the last week, and therefore they weren't going to pay me for that week! Their reason was that I had not canvassed during that time. Never mind my four months of success as a canvasser and canvassing trainer. I guess running their office alone with one person while sick doesn't count as actual work.”

Because of the working conditions, pay problems, and quota requirements, Grassroots Campaigns has a lot of difficulty keeping staff members. Workers can be promoted quickly if they're a successful canvasser, and are rewarded with an increase in hours and responsibilities. However, the promotion doesn't come with a significant increase in pay, and little to no training on how to meet those new responsibilities.

“My first week I had the highest average of the entire office so I was promoted to field manager,” said Myers-Turnbull. “However, I didn't have any training for that and was just told to do it. Its a very difficult job and easy to screw up, but I just barely managed to figure it out.

“My main problem with the promotion is that we weren't paid nearly enough for the extra work it entails. Its only five dollars more a day, and any overtime over 40 hours, but we usually don't get that. I ended up getting only about 20 more dollars a week for about two or three extra hours of work a day, and more responsibility.

“We also had to drive to the site. I don't like to drive, but they forced me to. They also only pay 25 cents a mile while the government rate is about 55 cents. So I was losing a lot of money on gas. I lost almost 50 dollars a week to driving people around.

“The old director of the San Diego office, my old boss, was the most gung-ho activist I've ever met, but he had to quit Grassroots because he felt sick having to fire good people who didn't deserve it. He was also working about 12 to 13 hours a day for a very low salary.”

All of this results in burnout and disillusionment of progressive youth. This burnout has been documented extensively by Dr. Dana Fisher in her book, Activism, Inc.: How the Outsourcing of Grassroots Campaigns Is Strangling Progressive Politics in America.

“Canvassing does not foster long-term dedication and commitment or develop much local infrastructure,” Fisher wrote in an article for The American Prospect summarizing her conclusions.

“At the end of the campaign, you're left with nothing, basically, because all those canvassers walk out the door. It's not a job that most people do time and time again. So the organizations get members and money out of canvassers, and most of the canvassers go back to their schools or jobs, or move on to an entirely different campaign when it's over. As a result, this type of outsourced politics leaves the grassroots base on the left disconnected and disorganized.”

Arwen Hawks certainly didn't want to repeat her experience. “I would never do that again,” said Hawks. “It was one of the worst jobs I ever had. I would not recommend it to anyone. I think it is totally unsafe and unfair.”

Even though Myers-Turnbull initially thought her sacrifice was for a good cause, she ultimately agreed.

“I left because I felt that the job was too dangerous, I was losing money on gas, I was tired of begging already supportive Democrats for a few dollars just so I could not get fired, I felt that the employees weren't appreciated and that they were firing good people who were also friends. I was tired in general from working 10 hour days and only being paid about 70 dollars a day. I basically lost faith in the organization's ability to truly make a difference.”

This is about more than just overworking some progressive, idealistic college students.

“We're coming up onto another election, and GCI is still operating with highly irresponsible and even immoral practices, still putting the Democratic Party's reputation in danger,” said Burke. “It's not just a matter of hypocrisy with regards to the minimum wage. It's a matter of corporate responsibility. For Democrats, it needs to start here.”

Nice to know, huh? I see I'm two weeks too late. Let's see if they pay me.

Come Work for Grassroots Campaigns, Inc!

Well, after a trying weekend and another adjournment on my court date, I was sent home tonight by a hippie worked from Texas at Grassroots Campaigns, Inc. a "progressive" organization that looks for political people to exploi...er, hire. The deal is, you make $125 for them on your next few times out or you're gone. I'm gone.

I also had to fight to take a phone call from Con Edison, since their hiring for a cushy job with their senior VP. I had no privacy, no cell phone signal, and I'm basically trying to hide the fact that I'm doing a pre-screening over the phone. The HR person is most likely pissed at me and I wonder if I'll even get in. As for the fact that I took the Con Edison field test? Who the hell knows when they'll call, but I hope it's soon. I can't fucking take this any longer.

Grassroots basically uses--in the LITERAL sense of the word--mostly college kids and walk-ins to drag them out to the 'burbs, make them knock on doors for their fundraising efforts, and work them seven days a week. Last week, when I needed a sandwich (there's no lunches available--that's illegal, don't they know?) due to my low blood sugar and a bathroom break, I got a lecture when I came back in from Robin, the resident liberal 'queen' as she calls herself. "We need you for every possible minute so this can't happen again." I guess peeing my pants and fainting is much more important?

You know the funny thing about all this? Well, there's a few funny things. I'll list them chronologically.

1) None of these people, with the exception of myself and maybe two others, are from New York. That makes me believe that they're happier going out to the 'burbs than to apartments. Real New Yorkers would be glad to help. Knocking on doors in Republican areas (Scarsdale, Irvington, Connecticut, Croton, and parts of New Jersey) is THAT much more difficult. Not that they know this.

2) Everyone is in their 20's with master's degrees, from what I can see. If their education actually counted for something, why this field? Wouldn't this be better suited to a college campus? The facts are the facts: when you're in your 20's, you want to change the world. When you're in your 30's and 40's? The world has CHANGED YOU. And most of the people I interviewed with were all downsized, fired, and desperate for money. I saw none of these people last more than a few days, which was the same tenure for me. Chew 'em up and spit 'em out. There's a sucker born every minute. In the name of democracy, of course!

3) I chose the above cartoon because their work practices are the answer to the slaves in the roman galleys. On day one, I had to pick up medication to un-knot my back since I had to climb up hills, knock on all sorts of dark doors, and basically pound pavement. My legs, knees, back and ankles were swollen and throbbing. They couldn't understand why I had a problem, even after I told them I suffer from fibromyalgia. Shut up, and walk. You'll get over it. UM, no. Shades of the AP coming back to haunt me here.

4) They also knew I was in court Monday and bitched about this, too. I guess me getting evicted is part of their plan to make democracy work? They were also miffed that I couldn't work this past weekend. First of all, I have my kids to teach on Saturday afternoons plus I get paid then and there. That's $30 in my pocket for three blissful hours of fun, boggle, mad libs, subjects, predicates, and vocabulary. I'll take that over this shit any day. Secondly, Sunday was Easter. I was baptized Catholic. I might be witchy, but I'll always invoke my god if it gives me some chocolate bunnies and a damn day off. I've worked enough holidays, fuck you very much.

So, another job in the toilet. And for this? I get unceremoniously walked back to a train station on the Metro-North and a "Bye, sorry it didn't work out." Um, I'm sorry you didn't get cancer of the eye, you assholes.

Unfuckingbelievable.

NEXT! As Thelma would say.

My next court date is May 12 or 13. Pray Con Ed field ops calls me before then.

More Drama

Well, I'm still dealing with the landlord. I've also been actively facebooking. So, if you don't see my updates here? Check over there to see what's going on.

News: I passed the Con Edison placement exam. Problem is, I have to wait to be called. Pain in the ass. I have to come up with 1,000 dollars by the end of this month or I'm screwed. I do suspect, however, that my managing agent would be happy to see any such money from me and would work with me. They waited last year? They'll probably wait again. Not that I'm counting on it, but I'm tired of the doom and gloom of lawyers over there.

In the meantime, I have to find something ANYTHING to get my ass ready. I'm putting together a syllabus to take my mind off this mess for my ESL kids, which I teach on Saturday mornings. That will also take time, since the summer program doesn't start until May. I'm also going to contact Baruch's continuing education school, where they're always looking for ESL students.

And one happy note: my childhood friend's sister contacted me because of a funny thing I put up on facebook. I stated, and not quite seriously, that if 20 friends sent me $50? I'd have that $1,000. Well, this funny gal actually did it thru her husband's account. Since I've never given away names (with the exception of Meg, because Meg is truly one of a kind!), I'll call her Deedle, which is part of a longer email address. Very few of you would know her, but if you know my childhood friend, you'll figure it all out.

Facebook, for all its intracacies, has given me part of my humanity back. I'm almost humbled by how many people remember me. And how: words like "intellectual", "tenacious", "grace", "humor", "writer", "joker" and "wonder" pop up in these emails. I am floored.

It's still taken me all this time to realize that I have worth, after all the negativity and sociopathic/pathological behavior I've been trying to shake off these past two years. The negative always sticks with me, I know I've got to work out getting rid of it all. Chef came thru, as well, with $100 so I could pay this lawyer today. I didn't expect it, but he and his wife didn't even blink.

And hopefully, I'll still have my apartment. So, some of you readers will be getting an interesting email.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm worth it.

Spring 1985

One of my favorite memories was seeing this video on the public access station U68 in April of 1985. My love affair with this song remains to this day. I haven't seen the video, but thru the powers of youtube? Here it is.

Oh, and I found a lawyer to help me. A break in the clouds? Maybe.

I Didn't Know I Was So Loved...

Facebook has kicked my ass. I signed up because Mary signed up, she invited me! And now I have two gazillion friends, actual people from my life. I had no idea how many people remembered me. Grammar school, high school, night clubs, my best friend, each of her sisters, their husbands, dogs and cats, I can't believe it! I haven't had that many birthday wishes since....god knows?

Two days to my execution when I get the news from the landlord. Oh, I need the luck of the Irish on that day, don't I.

Despair

Well, I go to trial on March 20. The first day of Spring. How the hell I'm going to find a job in three weeks is beyond me. They want me out, that's clear. It's about money. My biggest fear is that I'll lose everything I have, it'll be stuck in a warehouse and I will be homeless. I'm not kidding. I don't know where I'm going to sleep. Meg, if you can foster my cats that would be great. It would be even greater if you could buy me a plane ticket to get down to Florida. I'm asking around for boxes and whatnot. I am a pariah. NO ONE wants to deal with my situation, it's like they feel I'll 'infect' them with my failure or something.

I just don't know what the hell to do.

Fear is not even the word for what I'm going through. It doesn't even begin to describe the hell I'm in. I am tutoring two students right now for pocket money and that's about it.

Any and every suggestion is great right now.

Eviction Part II

Yup, they're coming after me again, and this time it doesn't look good. I'm trying to find full time work, but it just ain't happening. I did find out from the lawyer's office that a few people in my building are going thru the same thing, hell....the woman I spoke to on the phone has fallen behind on her rent! I don't know what I'm going to do.

Any suggestions are useful. But before you email, let me state

1) I got the one shot deal last summer. The city won't give me another batch of money. That's why it's called a one-shot deal.

2) I can't afford a lawyer, so I'm off to legal aid.

3) If they don't give me a decent amount of time to come up with the past few months total, I have to borrow from someone to get down to Florida with Mom. She's broke.

4) I have no one to take my cats. I also have no way of getting them down to Florida. I might lose everything, but I'm not losing Kashi and Dexter. Dex is 16. If I put him in a shelter? He'd die. That's cruel, and I couldn't live with myself.

Any ideas? You know my email address. God! Why won't someone hire me??????

What comes first... the Chicken? Or the Goiter?

So, it's been six years since RD took me (begrudgingly) for my thyroid biopsy. I still have not been put on any medication. Now, I have a fabulous book in my hands that not only links fibromyalgia TO the thyroid, but also the patches of skin that are itchy, cold, and sore. These patches are also popping up all over my body.

I cannot do anything but think of sleep. I fantasize about sleep. When I'll nap, where I can snooze, I'm even thinking of getting a pet psychic to communicate with Kashi and Dexter so that I can ask them what their naps are like to improve my own.

The feeling is miserable, achey, sore, and constantly there. Last night I had palpitations so sudden in my chest, I bolted out of bed at 2 am. Laying still for 1 hour would not normally result in a heart rate like that of Lance Armstrong going into training, but there it is. I also cannot get any appointments with my doctors. I am freaking out.

I. AM. FREAKING. OUT.

Virgin, the shithole, saw fit to work me until 3 in the morning. So much for early morning blood tests from last summer. Now, I'm down to my last nothings of medication and hoping to god that I can get some type of sample or someone on the phone. Two months of running around with no money for copays is also a shitty thing. Lush worked me like a frantic dog so much that I didn't even have time for any appointments. I also didn't have a Christmas, didn't have a life, and couldn't refill my prescriptions. Now I don't know if I can refill them.

This is hell. This is shit. I am chattel. This sucks. As usual.

I don't know what to do.

...the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve

"We cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace." -President Obama, Inaugural Speech. January 20, 2009

Peace takes time. Pieces are what we retrieve from the battlefields. All of us, heads, hearts, each torn and ripped a bit less now.

Tuesday night, I slept a peaceful sleep, a set of dreams not menacing nor warning me when I arose Wednesday morning. Can I feel comfortable yet? Is this going to change? How bad are things going to get? It's not over yet. I like what I see so far, but I know the selfish, the sociopathic, the narcissistic and the plain ole greedy and rotten will try something.

It's a sad thing, kiddies: for the last 9 years, all I've come to know is fear. Hesitance and caution not only rule my life, they permeate my thinking, my behavior and my expectations of people. Janis Powell, The Doubtful Killer, The Snake, and Crocky (the blessed trinity of evil at AP) in addition to the Jap Yentas from hell truly ruined my faith in any type of office situation. Not getting paid what I was worth, sometimes not being paid at all (December 1, 2006 anyone???)...oh boooy. I think I may have been permanently scarred. Topple this with Richie Perna the wimp dipshit, the head games and misogyny at Virgin, and the shit mess that is NYC's welfare...no, 'workfare' program and I can't honestly tell you I have any faith that I may be able to find a job I really like that also pays well.

If you really want to know what I've been thinking? Bartending and dog grooming. I spent half my youth in bars. Who can talk to people and make them laugh better than I? And grooming...all I need to do is learn dogs. I already know cats. I've been bathing them since I was a baby. Skills and trades are the future, not corporate America's bullshit, which is what I've become soooo sick of. Without worker protections or the total rewriting of NAFTA, GATT and all the other toxic trade laws that Clinton and Bush rammed down America's throat, we will never prevail. Or, maybe I should say "I". I refuse to think of others included with me, I think that was one of my biggest mistakes. Most people are not like me. They do not read, they do not vote, they do not care. They are sheep. Sheep, my friends, get slaughtered. Not a befitting ending for this lady right here. Not when so many actually wanted it and were taking bets as to whether I would.

It's going on two years and there's nothing out there but temp shit with no benefits. I went to college for this?

My only joy IS watching our new prez (god it feels good to write that) take out what he has with the stroke of his magic and intelligent pen.

37 staring me in the face and I have nothing. This is not what I envisioned. And believe me, I did have a plan.

What price freedom? How much will this cost me....

Good Riddance

Because I am so exhausted at having to rage and sneer after these long eight years, I find no words to truly express my hatred for this lie we called the 43rd president now leaving office. So, I will borrow a lovely piece by a lovely writer named Chris Rowthorn.

This appeared on the political blogs yesterday morning. I say ENOUGH!

George W. Bush, on January 15, 2009, you stood before the American people and said that there is a battle being waged between "a small band of fanatics [that] demands total obedience to an oppressive ideology" and "[an]other system [that] is based on the conviction that freedom is the universal gift of Almighty God and that liberty and justice light the path to peace."

Make no mistake, Mr. Bush, you belong to that small band of fanatics. That band of fanatics has been terrorizing people since the beginning of recorded history and probably well before. You are only the latest incarnation of an evil and timeless beast that has worn the faces of Adolph Hitler, Benito Mussolini and Tojo Hideki. Let us not mince words, Mr. Bush, what you did to this country is exactly what those men did to theirs: you stole power by filthy means, you committed the nation to disastrous wars, and left your country in ruin. If this was your goal, then you can pronounce a hearty "Mission Accomplished."

Mr. Bush, you have indeed left this country in ruins. In the course of our history, we have faced many determined and terrible enemies, from King George to Adolph Hitler, but none have done what you did: you have brought this country to its knees. When you think of your legacy, you can be sure of only one thing: future historians will point to your presidency as a turning point in the nation's history - the start of a long and perhaps irreversible decline in our fortunes and our prestige.

You, Mr. Bush, are the result of a tragic accident: the apocalyptic convergence of absolute power with the complete absence of virtue. You are the scion of a family that has long used political power for personal gain. Your people are parasites clinging to the jugular of the nation. You used your father's connections at every step of your career: to get into school, to start businesses, to escape from service in Vietnam, to become governor of Texas, and to become a candidate for the presidency of the United States. As a child you tortured small animals, as a Yale student you engaged in sadistic initiation rites in your fraternity, as governor of Texas you executed 152 people. You had blood on your hands when you took office, Mr. Bush, and you have added oceans of blood during these eight long years.

In your speech, you said, "I have been blessed to represent this nation." Mr. Bush, you never represented this nation. You represented only a small group of criminals who used the apparatus of government to channel money - our money - into their pockets. You and your henchmen looted the Treasury of the United States. You ran up debts that we, our children and our grandchildren will have to pay off. You used the entire Middle East as a money laundering operation for corporations like Halliburton, Bechtel and the Carlyle Group. You sent our tax dollars via Iraq and Afghanistan to bank accounts in Houston and Zurich. Make no mistake, you did not represent the people of the United States: you represented a group of gangsters, criminals and fascists. You robbed this country blind and called it government.

In your speech the other night, Mr. Bush, you reminded us that, "I vowed to do everything in my power to keep us safe." On this score, you failed miserably and thousands of Americans are dead because of your failure. One of your first acts as president was to eliminate the cabinet-level position of Director of Counterterrorism and discontinue the Clinton administration's policy of pursuing Al Qaeda and other terrorist organizations. That's right: you stopped chasing the terrorists who threatened this country. And when your top aides warned you about impending terrorist attacks on American soil, you ignored them.

On September 11, 2001, planes crashed into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and into a field in Pennsylvania. Over 3,000 innocent Americans were sacrificed on that day. In a debate with Al Gore in 2000, you boasted that you would respond to any crisis this nation faces with "leadership," but on September 11, 2001, you climbed aboard Air Force One and ran like a frightened rabbit. Then, when the smoke cleared, you did everything in your power to prevent a thorough investigation into the causes of the tragedy and your complete and utter failure to prevent it.

Mr. Bush, in your speech the other night, you claimed that, "As the years passed, most Americans were able to return to life much as it had been before 911." In a speech rife with shameless lies, this was perhaps the most shameless, because you used the attack on our country as a pretext to pervert our nation, trample our Constitution and murder thousands of innocents across the Middle East.

First, you attacked Afghanistan, where you claimed the mastermind of the terror attacks was hiding. You failed to capture him, but he was not the real prize; the real prize was the oil hiding under the sands of Iraq. Despite massive evidence to the contrary - from our own intelligence services and those of our closest allies - you claimed that Iraq was behind 911 and that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction. You knew that most Americans were too traumatized by the attacks of 911 to tell the difference between truth and lies.

Mr. Bush, you ordered the invasion of Iraq and, in doing so, you killed over 100,000 innocent Iraqis. You built prisons and ordered the vilest acts of torture. You allowed the treasures of an ancient civilization to be looted and destroyed. You destabilized the entire Middle East and sowed the seeds of hatred of our country that will bear the fruit of murder and destruction for generations to come.

Mr. Bush, you claimed that, "around the world, America is promoting human liberty, human rights, and human dignity." But we have the pictures from Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay. We know what you did. Those pictures will not go away. You put that man on the box and strapped the electrodes to his fingers. You let the dogs loose on those prisoners. You left those men out kneeling in the sun. You did that, Mr. Bush.

Mr. Bush, over 4000 young American men and women are dead because of you. You sent them to die in Iraq. Tens of thousands more are hideously maimed. They died in the service of your lies. They died because you wanted to make a small group of obscenely wealthy individuals even more obscenely wealthy.

Mr. Bush, this nation was once a model of democracy. This is the nation that defeated fascism in Europe and Asia. This nation put men on the moon. This nation was the hope of all nations aspiring to democracy, freedom and prosperity. But you have soiled the reputation of the United States of America. You have put blood on our name.

Mr. Bush, the soul of our nation is the Constitution. It is a sacred document, for it enshrines the fundamental principles of democracy. It represents the right of the people to rule their own affairs, instead of being ruled by kings. You violated both the spirit and the letter of the Constitution. You made a mockery of the Bill of Rights. You invaded the privacy of citizens. You imprisoned Americans without recourse to lawyers or a fair hearing in a court of law. You declared yourself a "unitary executive," beyond the power of the Constitution, Congress, the Courts and the will of the people. You declared yourself a king like the kings of England our forefathers fought and died against to give us our precious freedom.

Mr. Bush, you not only desecrated our name and our sacred documents, you tore this nation apart. You divided this nation between red and blue, Republican and Democrat, north and south, east and west. You cast those who disagreed with you as unpatriotic. You set this nation at war with itself. Under you, there was only suspicion, discord and hate.

In your speech, Mr. Bush, said, "we took decisive measures to safeguard our economy." No, Mr. Bush, you took decisive measure to bring this country to the verge of a Second Great Depression. When you entered office, this nation was enjoying a $200 billion annual government surplus. But you slashed taxes on corporations and wealthy individuals, committed the military to two ruinously expensive invasions, exploded the Pentagon budget, and eliminated oversight of government spending. Now, as you leave office, the United States is facing a yearly budget deficit of $1 trillion. And this is just the yearly total; in your two terms of office, you doubled our total national debt, bringing it to $10 trillion.

In your speech, Mr. Bush, you said, "For eight years, we have also strived to expand opportunity and hope here at home." No, Mr. Bush, you have presided over the worst economic disaster since the 1930s. On your watch, millions of people have lost their jobs, their homes and their retirement savings. Under you, the stock market has crashed, banks have failed, and the entire American automobile industry is on the brink of collapse. Make no mistake, Mr. Bush, because of you, Americans of all ages and economic classes are significantly poorer. Millions now face hunger, homelessness and an uncertain future. And you did this so that you could transfer the wealth of this nation into the hands of your criminal cronies.

Mr. Bush, the damage you did will hurt this nation for generations to come. We may never again enjoy the prestige or power that we enjoyed in the year 2000. You trashed the NATO alliance and mocked our oldest allies as "Old Europe". You squandered our blood and treasure in the Middle East, while nations like China and Russia were building their own wealth and power. On your watch, North Korea developed nuclear weapons. On your watch, a Pakistani scientist sold nuclear technology to all of our enemies. On your watch, you increased the chance of terrorists acquiring and using a nuclear bomb. That's right, Mr. Bush, if we see the mushroom cloud that you and Condoleezza Rice spoke of, it will probably be a direct result of your actions and your negligence.

Mr. Bush, you mentioned Thomas Jefferson in your speech the other night. There is one thing you can be absolutely sure of: if the Founding Fathers had met you, they would revile you as a base cur, for you represent everything they fought against. You were able to seize power only because of the weaknesses inherent in their design. In truth, you represent the repudiation of American Democracy, for America started as a revolt against taxation without representation, and under your government the masses were taxed but only the kings of arms manufacture and oil extraction were represented.

Mr. Bush, you may try to convince yourself and the world otherwise, but we know who you really are: you are a door through which evil enters the world. You are a tool for forces that you don't even understand. You are the crack along which the jewel shatters. Behind you, lies a wake of death and destruction. Your natural language is the lie. You cannot but open your mouth and falsehoods fly out. You are hate made manifest. You came as a curse upon this great land. You are the revenge of the Indian, the napalm-burned children of Vietnam, the murdered nuns of Guatemala and the martyrs of El Salvador. You are the karma of these United States.

Know this, George W Bush: The corporate media may try to whitewash your crimes. The next president and his allies in Congress may fail to prosecute you. Your family and friends may still treat you like a human being. Your power and wealth may insulate you from your victims. But there are hundreds of millions of people - Americans and non-Americans alike - who know who you are and what you did. We saw every one of your crimes and heard every one of your lies. We will never forgive you. And we will never forget.
_______


About author
Chris Rowthorn is an American journalist based in Kyoto, Japan. He has written for the Japan Times and Kansai Time Out.


Tomorrow, my take on what will be a playful, wonderful day.

A List of Me

Since I am always going on about general events (and have passed the five year mark for this blog), here's some specifics about me you might not have known. I also realize I have some new readers to this blog. Here's a nice hybrid of James Lipton's questionnaire from the Actor's Studio.

What turns me on?
Creativity

What turns me off?
Narcissism, materialism

My favorite curseword: Miserable misbegotten motherfucker (thanks dad, more of a phrase really...)

If I could be anything other than my current (horrific) profession, what would I be?
Choreographer for both ice and stage

Least favorite Christmas carol: Silver Bells

Worst color combo: Candy pink and Acid Green, Red and brown

Something Completely Addictive: kittens

Secret Dream of Glory: Winning the Iditarod Dog Race

A Year I Would Kill to Live Again: 1987

Spirit Animal: Cat (jungle, not the house variety) & Polar Bear

Movies I'd Leave on Eternally: Mean Girls, V for Vendetta, Matrix Reloaded, Better Off Dead, Goodfellas

Songs for a Desert Island:
Slave to Love by Bryan Ferry
Get Here by Oleta Adams
Shake it Off by Mariah
Birthday by the Sugarcubes
A Sort of Homecoming by U2
Biscuit by Portishead
Love, Love, Love by Donny Hathaway
Autumn in New York by Billie Holiday
Pink Cashmere by Prince
Sara by Fleetwood Mac

Favorite Music in General:
Metal: Among the Living by Anthrax
Rock: Physical Graffiti by Led Zeppelin, Who's Next by The Who
Gospel: Believe by Yolanda Adams
R&B: Extension of a Man by Donny Hathaway
Soul: Al Green anything, James Brown anthology, D'angelo Voodoo
Rap: Paid in Full by Erik B. & Rakim
Classical: Tchaikovsky's Symphony #5, Bach's Adagio in C Minor, Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu
Country: Johnny Cash. PERIOD.
Pop: Mariah from Music Box and everything after, Christina Aguilera (thanks, JWe!), Terence Trent D'Arby
Hip Hop Persona: Tupac and the posthumous remixes
Holiday: Mariah, Charlie Brown Christmas, Nutcracker (conducted by Valery Gergiev)

Most Romantic Couple Ever: Billy Martin & George Steinbrenner

Best Fight in a Club: Axl Rose & Tommy Hilfiger

Best Fight on a Streetcorner: Mike Tyson & Mitch Green

Best Fight in a Ring: Muhammed Ali killed 'em all, didn't he?

Worst Ethnic Joke: Leslie Urzua (Kjou just spit coffee out!)

Fragrance sent from Heaven: Snowdrop by Elariia, Sweet Honesty by Avon, Dreaming by Tommy Hilfiger

Favorite Scent: Warm wafts from a laundromat dryer

Most Useful Invention: ballpoint pens

Most Useless Invention: Universal remotes (they always break!)

Best Boyfriend Ever: Chris J. Ferrand

Cat I Miss the Most: Miss Muffins (1989-2006)

Favorite Artist: Degas, Toller Cranston (he paints, too!), Rembrandt

Heroes: Gelsey Kirkland, Johnny Weir, Stephen King

Object of Desire: Toller's broken-leg spiral

Saddest Moment: 9/11. That day in June when they found my father's body and called me

What is Your Legacy? Cats, music, ballet, skating, food & my whacked sense of humor

Love of My Life: New York City & Dexter

=^..^=

:-)

Why Not?

And with these words, a possibility was formed. Yes, Biz, here's your official thanks! These were the words that I saw on my resume when I filled out my initial paperwork. That paperwork is now useless since Lush fired ALL of us Saturday. I went in to get my final hours yesterday. Hey, money's money. I'm not going to bitch. I also love the fact that between inventory & last night? I got a lot of good stuff in my bathroom right now. I almost didn't want to leave. It's so nice to meet a bunch of ragtag hellions who don't conform and don't want to. It's validation for the last five shitty years of my life. You're all young and full of pixie power. Most were born in 1987 or 88, two of the most memorable years of my life. 1987 is sacred to me and anyone/anything born of it. So, I will continue my mantra of "True spirits find each other." It's the message, not the package it comes in. And to think I was starting to feel old. I was always the baby, but life reverses eventually. So, I'm out of a job that I really dug, but don't worry kiddies, Barnes & Noble snapped me up this morning.

I'm very sorry to be leaving you guys. And Miss Maroon: if I knew I was getting the boot, I would have said goodbye properly on Saturday! You looked so sad, I wanted to hug you. The Control Freak (She Who Will Not be Named) and Jen came out to say how sorry they were, but I always survive. You will, too! They are stuck on the little things. These are piddling stupid comments and general sorority school bullshit. Don't go back to smoking to relieve the stress. Meditate, stretch, smile and curse them under your breath and in your mind. It's always the most gifted that get hit the hardest in this life. Grab a Magic bath bomb and cleanse your aura. If that doesn't work? A cup of sea salt, two tbsps of Florida water, and half an ounce of powdered frankincense in the tub will do it.

And then, the most wonderful thing today: I decide to go to Enchantments, which moved down the block. Three glorious chubby black cats swirled around my ankles while I discussed the new store locale (since Halloween, how fitting!) as I found out the witch who started it all for me, Joe, has since moved to Georgia. That made me sad, but change is necessary.

Then, I go up St. Mark's Place. And I find a store worthy of the OLD St. Mark's Place: The Iron Fairies. There's only two: one in Perth, one in New York. Totally witchy. Totally fun. Candles, soap, and iron. All forged by earth, water, and fire. Katie, the store girl, starts talking to me. I tell her about Enchantments, I tell her about Lush. I also tell her I was trying to find an iron key for a prosperity spell I need to do. She walks over to the corner and picks a key (iron, of course) for me. I wouldn't dream of asking, but there it was! Iron is the most powerful protective metal on the face of the earth. It strengthens, fortifies, and repels negativity. It's very auspicious when given at random, either found or handed over. Unbelievable.

So, that was my fabulous day. But I will miss my Lush discount. If there's a rehire thingie going on, ya better call me, Biz! I would come back in a split second, warts and all.

B&N orientation tomorrow! Yippee skippee...