I've been inside all day so didn't notice until just a few minutes ago. Got on my bike to ride the two miles home. It's 37 degrees outside with a strong breeze. Quick, here's what you do. Go to your linen closet and pull out all of the old blankets you don't use anymore. Yes, all of them. Next, call a couple of your friends and tell them to do the same. Seriously, there's not much time! As soon as you are ready, go pick up your friends, with your several blankets, and drive around town looking for homeless people. Check out the bus stops and near liquor stores and parks and wherever there are benches for the public. You will find homeless people in metro areas and in suburban areas too, like shopping centers and malls, behind Walmarts and Targets and such. Once you find these people, just hand them a blanket, don't ask them if they want one, it doesn't matter, they need one, or two.
And, if you have the chance, pick up some dollar burgers at McDonalds and give them out too, some coffee as well, if you dare to care that much. Now! I mean it. Go!
25 Şubat 2013 Pazartesi
IT'S COLD !!!
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Adam Lanza And Asperger's pt 2
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Part 2
I can't tell you the depth of despair and depression I experienced since last Friday, and the Sandy Hook incident. Pretty much any time I relive events of my past, I also relive the emotional pain and turmoil from then too. Add to that the current sadness we all have been feeling over the Sand Hook incident, and I was feeling overwhelmed. I wanted to write about it when it happened, but it was too difficult. Several days have passed now and I'm feeling better about it. The depression has subsided, but so has some of the desire to write this. I will write, but I can't guarantee how much effort I'll put into it.
To understand Adam Lanza, you really must understand how Asperger's Syndrome affects people (again, it must be said that Asperger's doesn't make people violent) And to understand the motivation for his shooting spree, you must understand the environment Adam was living in, you must understand the psychology and dynamics of his family, especially that of his mother.
I have no doubt that my own family shits a collective brick every time I write about them. But that's perhaps the crux of the problem of our own family dysfunctionality. I no longer talk with my family, except for brief chats with my nephew. Some time a ago my parents moved and did not give me their new address or phone number. I only know that they moved to Arizona to be near my brother. But all of this is of little importance. What is important for the telling of this story is the environment I was living in as I grew up at home, and how my family reacted when I displayed symptoms of Asperger's.
It is also important to understand how relatively new the diagnosis of Aperger's Syndrome is. It was first discovered in 1944, but didn't become a part of mainstream psychiatry until the 80s and 90s - long after I had left home and eventually became homeless. As a child I was suffering from an unknown condition, so, as is often the case, my parents were led to believe that I didn't have a condition. It was then easy for my parents to believe that the problems I was having were of my own selfish creation.
Every human being has an innate desire to belong, to be a part of and participate with other human beings in all the activities that make up life. To do this successfully, humans must be able to communicate with each other. One of the biggest problems for people with Aspergers involves communication. Not only do Aspies have difficulty communicating their own thoughts, ideas and interests with others verbally, they have a difficult time understanding what other people are trying to say back to them - especially in a social context. I believe that is why for some Aspies they are drawn to, and excel at, other types of non verbal communication - it's about the desire to connect and belong, and compensating for a lack of verbal skills.
Although I did well enough in other areas of study in school, I did rather poorly in English, especially with spelling. Instead of getting me some specialized help to overcome this problem, my parents accused me of a variety of negative things, of being lazy, of "not paying attention in class", of "not trying hard enough", of "day dreaming", etc. And for these infractions, my parents thought that the proper corrective action was to punish me. It was this punishment that created feelings of guilt, which in turn started my lifetime of depression. The punishment, and the disapproval of my parents for things I had no control over was painful, and damaging. Now, there was period when I was about 6 or 7 years old, when my parents were considering sending me to a psychiatrist. But first they thought they should talk to my school teacher. I have no idea how that conversation went, but afterwards, my parents gave up on the idea.
Funny, but I just remembered something similar which happened about the same time. The whole class was sent to the school nurse for eye exams. I struggled to read the chart. I told the nurse I could not see the letters. She said to me, "you're making yourself not see them." She was under the impression that I just wanted to have a pair of glasses. She said that my vision was fine. During that summer I joined little league baseball. The coach noticed I had a hard time catching the ball. After playing catch with me for a couple throws, he suggested to my mother that I get a real eye exam. Not only did the optometrist discover my need for glasses, he was astonished that I could function with such poor eye sight.
Yes, we need to appreciate the job that school staff does for students, but we need to also remember that they are not experts in everything. If only my parents had gone ahead and sent me to a psychiatrist way back then, I probably wouldn't have had the problems I've been living with all these years. But I digress. I searched for it, but could find nothing to indicate that Adam was seeing a psychiatrist at the time. If anything, psychiatrists can teach a person the coping skills necessary for dealing with the difficulties they face in life.
Stay tuned for part 3
My First Book of Many
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It's finally here. The first in the series of books, The Homeless Guy Blog In Book Form is now available on Kindle, through Amazon. (if you don't own a Kindle device, you can easily download the book app and read the book on your PC or other device)
I am transposing this entire blog into book format. The blog certainly has enough content to make several books. The first book has over 48,000 words long, though it includes only the first few months of the blog. Having the blog in book format makes it much easier to read, it flows, and you don't have to fish through the old archives as you read.
Just follow this link, The Homeless Guy Blog In Book Form.
The book costs only 99 cents, of which I will get 35 cents for each one sold. The next book in the series will be ready by March 1st.
At Caiola's: Party of One
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Back when I was waiting tables, which seems like a lifetime ago at this point, I’d often hang out at bars, by myself for two reasons: 1) I got free meals at work and was too lazy to cook the rest myself, and 2) What is at one moment a quiet, thoughtful afternoon of solitude can become an afternoon filled with bemusing stories of camaraderie. 100% of the time if I’m dining alone I will take a seat at the bar instead of a table for one. It’s so much more entertaining. Which is part of the reason why this woman dining alone at Caiola’s was so fascinating to me. Her back to the room, facing the window, she almost mocked me and my need for togetherness.
I took Mandy out to Caoila’s for her birthday. She’d never been, and I decided I’d rather spend an evening enjoying outstanding food and drink rather than take a chance on a gift that she’d feign excitement over and consign a respectable 12 months later. We had an amazing time! The food was decadent and complex, but not so complex that I couldn’t understand the menu, if you get my drift.
It was a Wednesday night, and we were in the back room, through the kitchen. Being the sous chef that has to stand near that door must be the worst. There was a group of three respectable upper-middle-aged guys in the corner to my left, one had a Southern accent and I heard them talking about Marketing, television, and the Bangor Daily News. (Hmmm). Behind Mandy was a younger couple who left shortly after we arrived. Then a woman, about 62ish, waltzed in and sat at a two top against the wall diagonal from us, facing the window. The waitress only put down a single place setting, water glass and menu. Table for one.
I knew almost immediately that I wanted to be her. She had a black cardigan, a simple canary-red blouse underneath, with a mid-calf ivory colored a-line skirt that had, like, ribbing or piping instead of stripes throughout. It was a beautiful skirt- hip, yet age appropriate. Her ballet flats, undoubtedly leather, matched her blouse as though they came together. Perhaps they were in fact ordered from the J.Crew catalogue at the same time. Dark framed reading (?) glasses hung low on her face, probably Michael Kors or Kate Spade or some designer brand. My favorite part about her was the bag she carried. It was my dream bag. A caramel leather tote whose sides slouched in around the handles the same way my canvas bags do. It was my dream bag. I think if Diane from Cheers was a real person and lived to be 62, this woman is what she would be like.
Out of the bag she pulled a pristine hardcover book, and inevitably tuned out everyone except for the waitress, who was forced to break into her line of vision when she brought yet another Grey Goose martini with a twist. Or maybe this woman opted into the Buy Local movement and ordered a Cold River martini. I liked that she didn’t like it dirty. I tried a dirty martini once, it was like salty... salty... it was like drinking the ocean if the ocean was made out of olives.
Occasionally she’d pull out a legal sized pad and take notes. On what, I’m not sure. By the way, I wasn’t trying to stare. She was directly in my line of vision.
I imagine after her iceburg salad, steak or bacon wrapped scallops and three martinis she probably pulled out of the parking lot in her 1992 Volvo Station wagon. Although her 3,000 square foot home with its commercial-grade kitchen was only 1/6 of a mile away, you know she didn’t drive because you never see fancy women like that just walking around the West End. Her youngest daughter usually uses the Volvo but she’s WOOFing in France now. It had better visibility than the Mercedes anyway, plus she liked the sentimental value of driving it. Yeah, she was a little tipsy but it was a very short drive if cops are going to venture into the West End, they don’t make it past Brackett, Spring, and the hospital respectively.
One thousand feet later, she pulled into the secret road between Carroll and Vaughn Streets in the West End that connects all of the garage/back entrance/guest houses and settled in for one more cognac in her fucking jacuzzi tub.
Or maybe she was just too exhausted from running her law firm all day to prepare herself a meal. Maybe she didn’t want to sit at the bar because she wanted some peace and quiet for a change. Maybe she was supposed to meet up with the Oshers and they’re still in San Francisco, or the Hagges, but they were at a fundraising dinner and this was her back up plan. All I know is while she was sitting alone at that table, with the dim lighting, Amelie soundtrack and blowing $65 before tip on a meal for one person, I wanted to be her. Minus her imagined kids.
Back when I was waiting tables, which seems like a lifetime ago at this point, I’d often hang out at bars, by myself for two reasons: 1) I got free meals at work and was too lazy to cook the rest myself, and 2) What is at one moment a quiet, thoughtful afternoon of solitude can become an afternoon filled with bemusing stories of camaraderie. 100% of the time if I’m dining alone I will take a seat at the bar instead of a table for one. It’s so much more entertaining. Which is part of the reason why this woman dining alone at Caiola’s was so fascinating to me. Her back to the room, facing the window, she almost mocked me and my need for togetherness.
I took Mandy out to Caoila’s for her birthday. She’d never been, and I decided I’d rather spend an evening enjoying outstanding food and drink rather than take a chance on a gift that she’d feign excitement over and consign a respectable 12 months later. We had an amazing time! The food was decadent and complex, but not so complex that I couldn’t understand the menu, if you get my drift.
It was a Wednesday night, and we were in the back room, through the kitchen. Being the sous chef that has to stand near that door must be the worst. There was a group of three respectable upper-middle-aged guys in the corner to my left, one had a Southern accent and I heard them talking about Marketing, television, and the Bangor Daily News. (Hmmm). Behind Mandy was a younger couple who left shortly after we arrived. Then a woman, about 62ish, waltzed in and sat at a two top against the wall diagonal from us, facing the window. The waitress only put down a single place setting, water glass and menu. Table for one.
I knew almost immediately that I wanted to be her. She had a black cardigan, a simple canary-red blouse underneath, with a mid-calf ivory colored a-line skirt that had, like, ribbing or piping instead of stripes throughout. It was a beautiful skirt- hip, yet age appropriate. Her ballet flats, undoubtedly leather, matched her blouse as though they came together. Perhaps they were in fact ordered from the J.Crew catalogue at the same time. Dark framed reading (?) glasses hung low on her face, probably Michael Kors or Kate Spade or some designer brand. My favorite part about her was the bag she carried. It was my dream bag. A caramel leather tote whose sides slouched in around the handles the same way my canvas bags do. It was my dream bag. I think if Diane from Cheers was a real person and lived to be 62, this woman is what she would be like.
Out of the bag she pulled a pristine hardcover book, and inevitably tuned out everyone except for the waitress, who was forced to break into her line of vision when she brought yet another Grey Goose martini with a twist. Or maybe this woman opted into the Buy Local movement and ordered a Cold River martini. I liked that she didn’t like it dirty. I tried a dirty martini once, it was like salty... salty... it was like drinking the ocean if the ocean was made out of olives.
Occasionally she’d pull out a legal sized pad and take notes. On what, I’m not sure. By the way, I wasn’t trying to stare. She was directly in my line of vision.
I imagine after her iceburg salad, steak or bacon wrapped scallops and three martinis she probably pulled out of the parking lot in her 1992 Volvo Station wagon. Although her 3,000 square foot home with its commercial-grade kitchen was only 1/6 of a mile away, you know she didn’t drive because you never see fancy women like that just walking around the West End. Her youngest daughter usually uses the Volvo but she’s WOOFing in France now. It had better visibility than the Mercedes anyway, plus she liked the sentimental value of driving it. Yeah, she was a little tipsy but it was a very short drive if cops are going to venture into the West End, they don’t make it past Brackett, Spring, and the hospital respectively.
One thousand feet later, she pulled into the secret road between Carroll and Vaughn Streets in the West End that connects all of the garage/back entrance/guest houses and settled in for one more cognac in her fucking jacuzzi tub.
Or maybe she was just too exhausted from running her law firm all day to prepare herself a meal. Maybe she didn’t want to sit at the bar because she wanted some peace and quiet for a change. Maybe she was supposed to meet up with the Oshers and they’re still in San Francisco, or the Hagges, but they were at a fundraising dinner and this was her back up plan. All I know is while she was sitting alone at that table, with the dim lighting, Amelie soundtrack and blowing $65 before tip on a meal for one person, I wanted to be her. Minus her imagined kids.
Hi, I'm here. Remember me?
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This post started a few months ago as a farewell letter. I was about to retire this blog, and for that, I apologize.
Last week two of my blogger friends inspired me to come back here. 1) Ally over at Broke207 was kind of like, "Hey guys, I've been really bummed out lately and haven't written here in a couple of months. Sorry!" But in doing so, she made me laugh out loud with a quip about skeevy internet people and their intentions. She helped me realize that although I don't feel like I have anything to write about sometimes that's okay. Back in 2009, I only posted like 4 times. That was the year that I was REALLY unhappy at my job and knocking boots with all sorts of inappropriate people. Maybe I'm just in a little bit of a creative rut. What's it to ya?
I also got an email invitation to meet up for blogger happy hour. One of my favorite things is when internet friends transition to in-person friends. Yes, it can be awkward at first (but it can also be awkward when you see a friend from real life for the first time in over a year and they know exactly what's been going on in your life.) The happy hour was I think around May or June? I met two nice ladies Samantha and Greta, among others, and I had a great time hanging out. The problem is though, in good conscious how can I go to a blogger happy hour knowing I'm thisclose to abandoning this thing. This is our paraphrased conversation Me: "Kate. I'm like a loser who never blogs anymore. Can I still come?" Other cool blogger: "Yes! And start blogging again, dummy"
Now probably more than ever, I spend my time listening to podcasts and cooking. Or... watching Hart of Dixie. I'm not afraid to admit that I love that show! Rachel Bilson had me hooked when her character fell for comic book loving Seth in the OC. Actually, Seth from the OC My new favorite callers at work are the ones from rural areas with thick accents who can’t find our products anywhere. Because I imagine them living in someplace like Bluebell. Oh, did you just yawn? Me too. I’m sleepy despite the fact that I've literally done nothing all day.
So where do I stand now? I don’t know. I’m in a happy, reasonably healthy relationship, working at a job that has plenty for me to write about, but I can’t because it is a real job. (Meet me for a drink off the record and maybe I'll give you an anecdote or two.) I have no major life plans on the horizon and although I know that there may be shenanigans to write about, it's difficult to say what my immediate or intermediate future may hold, and what will be good fodder for the blog. My cat is still crazy and I still run into ex-lovers at unexpected times and places. But sometimes you just run into exes, high school classmates, random people who you're like, "You look so familiar."
I'm applying for an MFA in Creative Nonfiction Creative Writing. Since procrastination is my forte (can't fail at something you don't finish! Ha! Except... there was that SIXTY FIVE dollar application fee...), you can probably credit this post as the final procrastination straw. If I'm accepted into the program, get ready for a whole lot of creativity up in this bitch. In the meantime, I think I'll take up a practice from my days of more frequent posts- keep a list of blog ideas. There might even be a few on deck at the moment, but it's difficult to be certain.
Consumed during this post: 3 or 4 'servings' of Simply Naked multigrain pita chips, 1-2 servings of zesty spice and garlic hummus, this cocktail but with blackberries instead of mango (my mango went soft.)
This post started a few months ago as a farewell letter. I was about to retire this blog, and for that, I apologize.
Last week two of my blogger friends inspired me to come back here. 1) Ally over at Broke207 was kind of like, "Hey guys, I've been really bummed out lately and haven't written here in a couple of months. Sorry!" But in doing so, she made me laugh out loud with a quip about skeevy internet people and their intentions. She helped me realize that although I don't feel like I have anything to write about sometimes that's okay. Back in 2009, I only posted like 4 times. That was the year that I was REALLY unhappy at my job and knocking boots with all sorts of inappropriate people. Maybe I'm just in a little bit of a creative rut. What's it to ya?
I also got an email invitation to meet up for blogger happy hour. One of my favorite things is when internet friends transition to in-person friends. Yes, it can be awkward at first (but it can also be awkward when you see a friend from real life for the first time in over a year and they know exactly what's been going on in your life.) The happy hour was I think around May or June? I met two nice ladies Samantha and Greta, among others, and I had a great time hanging out. The problem is though, in good conscious how can I go to a blogger happy hour knowing I'm thisclose to abandoning this thing. This is our paraphrased conversation Me: "Kate. I'm like a loser who never blogs anymore. Can I still come?" Other cool blogger: "Yes! And start blogging again, dummy"
Now probably more than ever, I spend my time listening to podcasts and cooking. Or... watching Hart of Dixie. I'm not afraid to admit that I love that show! Rachel Bilson had me hooked when her character fell for comic book loving Seth in the OC. Actually, Seth from the OC My new favorite callers at work are the ones from rural areas with thick accents who can’t find our products anywhere. Because I imagine them living in someplace like Bluebell. Oh, did you just yawn? Me too. I’m sleepy despite the fact that I've literally done nothing all day.
So where do I stand now? I don’t know. I’m in a happy, reasonably healthy relationship, working at a job that has plenty for me to write about, but I can’t because it is a real job. (Meet me for a drink off the record and maybe I'll give you an anecdote or two.) I have no major life plans on the horizon and although I know that there may be shenanigans to write about, it's difficult to say what my immediate or intermediate future may hold, and what will be good fodder for the blog. My cat is still crazy and I still run into ex-lovers at unexpected times and places. But sometimes you just run into exes, high school classmates, random people who you're like, "You look so familiar."
I'm applying for an MFA in Creative Nonfiction Creative Writing. Since procrastination is my forte (can't fail at something you don't finish! Ha! Except... there was that SIXTY FIVE dollar application fee...), you can probably credit this post as the final procrastination straw. If I'm accepted into the program, get ready for a whole lot of creativity up in this bitch. In the meantime, I think I'll take up a practice from my days of more frequent posts- keep a list of blog ideas. There might even be a few on deck at the moment, but it's difficult to be certain.
Consumed during this post: 3 or 4 'servings' of Simply Naked multigrain pita chips, 1-2 servings of zesty spice and garlic hummus, this cocktail but with blackberries instead of mango (my mango went soft.)
24 Şubat 2013 Pazar
E-mail from Greyhound's CFO
To contact us Click HERE
Tonight I received an e-mail from Andy Kaplinsky, Greyhound's CFO. Andy wants to talk to me next week about the Gift Ticket Fee.
I'm excited. I anticipate a robust and professional conversation. It would help the petition cause if we had hundreds of people sign the petition over the weekend.
Thank you for your support - I am amazed at we had over 8200 people sign this. You are all awesome; lets all push this petition hard over the next few days. This weekend could make or break the cause to end the $18 Gift Ticket Fee!
Shawn
Tonight I received an e-mail from Andy Kaplinsky, Greyhound's CFO. Andy wants to talk to me next week about the Gift Ticket Fee.
I'm excited. I anticipate a robust and professional conversation. It would help the petition cause if we had hundreds of people sign the petition over the weekend.
Thank you for your support - I am amazed at we had over 8200 people sign this. You are all awesome; lets all push this petition hard over the next few days. This weekend could make or break the cause to end the $18 Gift Ticket Fee!
Shawn
Just got off the phone with Andy Kaplinsky - Greyhound's CFO
To contact us Click HERE
First off, I want to publicly thank Andy Kaplinsky for taking time to call me today. We had a good free-flowing conversation on several topics relating to Greyhound, customer service, etc. He apologized for the long delay in getting back to me, and took a great deal of time to thank me and the petition signers for their concerns.
According to Andy, 80 - 90% of their charge backs are related to the "gift tickets." Charge backs for gift tickets primarily fall into 2 categories: 1) Fraud - someone steals a credit card and buys a bus ticket; 2) A person buys a ticket for someone else, the person doesn't show up, and the purchaser wants their money back. Andy freely admitted that the gift ticket fee has been a topic of discussion off and on at Greyhound for the last couple of years, and while "Greyhound is exploring ways we can address the issue," that due to the large amount of charge backs, the company just isn't comfortable with that. Andy also admitted that the fee is a convenience fee as well.
In addition, according to Andy, the company is looking at ways to invest in the technology to better "sniff out" fraudulent purchases, however, from an operational standpoint, Greyhound has chosen to first invest in new buses, and investing in customer service training. (Note - Andy was very clear in saying that Greyhound needs to improve in customer service - he compared it to turning a freighter in the ocean).
I made a couple of suggestions to Andy for some "short -term fixes" which would help with the chargebacks:
1. When someone purchases a "gift ticket" - have an additional screen stating that gift tickets are nonrefundable if the person does not show up, etc. with a check box stating that the user agrees to these terms and conditions, etc. This would provide Greyhound with evidence that the purchaser knew that the ticker was a non-refundable ticket, etc.
2. On fraud, I asked Andy if Greyhound would consider charging the gift ticket fee for bus ticket purchases made within 14 days of travel. In other words, 3rd party tickets purchased more than 14 days out would not be subject to the fee. This should reduce fraud exposure to Greyhound.
Andy wanted to express his appreciation for the feedback and response to the 8,000+ plus people who have signed the petition. It was a great conversation.
So...where do we go from here?
I let Andy know that I was going to continue the petition drive. IMHO, I gave Greyhound some steps to begin eliminating this fee. By singing the petition, you can send a clear message that you want Greyhound to implement the steps I just recommended, and to invest in the technology needed to reduce fraudulent purchases for bus tickets.
Thanks to all of you for signing! We are making a difference. Please sign, share, and post a link to the petition on your Facebook or Twitter Walls. You are all awesome!
Best,
Shawn
http://www.change.org/petitions/greyhound-eliminate-the-18-gift-ticket-fee
First off, I want to publicly thank Andy Kaplinsky for taking time to call me today. We had a good free-flowing conversation on several topics relating to Greyhound, customer service, etc. He apologized for the long delay in getting back to me, and took a great deal of time to thank me and the petition signers for their concerns.
According to Andy, 80 - 90% of their charge backs are related to the "gift tickets." Charge backs for gift tickets primarily fall into 2 categories: 1) Fraud - someone steals a credit card and buys a bus ticket; 2) A person buys a ticket for someone else, the person doesn't show up, and the purchaser wants their money back. Andy freely admitted that the gift ticket fee has been a topic of discussion off and on at Greyhound for the last couple of years, and while "Greyhound is exploring ways we can address the issue," that due to the large amount of charge backs, the company just isn't comfortable with that. Andy also admitted that the fee is a convenience fee as well.
In addition, according to Andy, the company is looking at ways to invest in the technology to better "sniff out" fraudulent purchases, however, from an operational standpoint, Greyhound has chosen to first invest in new buses, and investing in customer service training. (Note - Andy was very clear in saying that Greyhound needs to improve in customer service - he compared it to turning a freighter in the ocean).
I made a couple of suggestions to Andy for some "short -term fixes" which would help with the chargebacks:
1. When someone purchases a "gift ticket" - have an additional screen stating that gift tickets are nonrefundable if the person does not show up, etc. with a check box stating that the user agrees to these terms and conditions, etc. This would provide Greyhound with evidence that the purchaser knew that the ticker was a non-refundable ticket, etc.
2. On fraud, I asked Andy if Greyhound would consider charging the gift ticket fee for bus ticket purchases made within 14 days of travel. In other words, 3rd party tickets purchased more than 14 days out would not be subject to the fee. This should reduce fraud exposure to Greyhound.
Andy wanted to express his appreciation for the feedback and response to the 8,000+ plus people who have signed the petition. It was a great conversation.
So...where do we go from here?
I let Andy know that I was going to continue the petition drive. IMHO, I gave Greyhound some steps to begin eliminating this fee. By singing the petition, you can send a clear message that you want Greyhound to implement the steps I just recommended, and to invest in the technology needed to reduce fraudulent purchases for bus tickets.
Thanks to all of you for signing! We are making a difference. Please sign, share, and post a link to the petition on your Facebook or Twitter Walls. You are all awesome!
Best,
Shawn
http://www.change.org/petitions/greyhound-eliminate-the-18-gift-ticket-fee
Pittsburgh Isn't Dying
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Aside from a few metros in Texas, you would struggle to find a place doing as well as Pittsburgh. This fact is hard for the libertarian crowd to swallow. Taxes are high. Pennsylvania isn't a right to work state. The population is in decline. I expect Jack Welch to rush in at any moment and claim the federal government is cooking the books. Reluctant confessions from the Allegheny Institute for Public Policy:
Eds and meds isn't the only game in town. Along with the tech boom, there's a glut in financial services job openings. Heck, according to the same article, there's a glut in eds and meds job openings. Pittsburgh is hiring!
The rub is that the local labor supply can't keep up and all those naysayers have built up a formidable barrier to inmigration. Pittsburgh is on the national mental map, in a negative light. The city is in the Rust Belt. It is dying. That puts an upward pressure on wages, which is a lot scarier to a business than the red herring of high taxes.
Aside from a few metros in Texas, you would struggle to find a place doing as well as Pittsburgh. This fact is hard for the libertarian crowd to swallow. Taxes are high. Pennsylvania isn't a right to work state. The population is in decline. I expect Jack Welch to rush in at any moment and claim the federal government is cooking the books. Reluctant confessions from the Allegheny Institute for Public Policy:
In terms of job growth, the Pittsburgh region‘s long-dominant education and health care sectors have a new challenger: professional, technical and financial services, recent employment data show.
“Eds and meds” institutions still employ the biggest slice of the seven-county region‘s 1.18 million jobs, say economic experts, but “pros and techs” are gaining.
“The leadership in job growth has changed from eds and meds to financial services and professional and technical services,” said Jake Haulk, economist and president of the Allegheny Institute for Public Policy, a think tank in Castle Shannon.
Eds and meds isn't the only game in town. Along with the tech boom, there's a glut in financial services job openings. Heck, according to the same article, there's a glut in eds and meds job openings. Pittsburgh is hiring!
The rub is that the local labor supply can't keep up and all those naysayers have built up a formidable barrier to inmigration. Pittsburgh is on the national mental map, in a negative light. The city is in the Rust Belt. It is dying. That puts an upward pressure on wages, which is a lot scarier to a business than the red herring of high taxes.
Germany's Ann Arbor Dilemma
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I'm fond of saying, "You go where you know." It's a catch phrase that conveys an important migration concept and fleshes out rational choice theory, "Move to improve." A migrant has a number of places he or she could go for better economic opportunity. As a rule, most relocations cover short distances. Proximity is a good predictor of destination because people are risk averse. For someone in Cleveland, the economy might be better in Pittsburgh and Los Angeles. Because Pittsburgh is closer and likely more familiar, it is the more typical choice. You go where you know.
Conversely, you don't go where you know if you have a negative perception of a place. You've seen all the Detroit ruin porn. There is no way you are moving there for a job, even if there are thousands of positions available in your field. Detroit's black mark extends to Ann Arbor, home to the University of Michigan. Despite being a lovely college town with a fantastic quality of life, Ann Arbor struggles to attract talent. I call this the "Ann Arbor Dilemma". Ann Arbor is cursed with the geographic stereotype (i.e. ruin porn) of Detroit.
Germany is cursed with its own Ann Arbor Dilemma. The OECD claims that the country desperately needs immigrants for economic growth. The relatively liberal immigration laws aren't helping:
Instead of heading to Germany, young adults are heading from high-employment Spain to low-unemployment Mexico. This migration pattern is unexpected because the legal barriers are much lower within the European Union. Perceived barriers are more formidable than actual fences. Just ask Ann Arbor.
Germany has already lost the war for talent. Mesofacts are notoriously difficult to change. Mexico or Brazil are where it's at for the young and unemployed in Europe, particularly Spain. Where a few pioneers have ventured, thousands will follow.
I'm fond of saying, "You go where you know." It's a catch phrase that conveys an important migration concept and fleshes out rational choice theory, "Move to improve." A migrant has a number of places he or she could go for better economic opportunity. As a rule, most relocations cover short distances. Proximity is a good predictor of destination because people are risk averse. For someone in Cleveland, the economy might be better in Pittsburgh and Los Angeles. Because Pittsburgh is closer and likely more familiar, it is the more typical choice. You go where you know.
Conversely, you don't go where you know if you have a negative perception of a place. You've seen all the Detroit ruin porn. There is no way you are moving there for a job, even if there are thousands of positions available in your field. Detroit's black mark extends to Ann Arbor, home to the University of Michigan. Despite being a lovely college town with a fantastic quality of life, Ann Arbor struggles to attract talent. I call this the "Ann Arbor Dilemma". Ann Arbor is cursed with the geographic stereotype (i.e. ruin porn) of Detroit.
Germany is cursed with its own Ann Arbor Dilemma. The OECD claims that the country desperately needs immigrants for economic growth. The relatively liberal immigration laws aren't helping:
The problem is perception, particularly on the part of employers reluctant to hire from abroad, as well as the notoriously difficult German language. Barriers include dwindling numbers of German speakers in the European Union – and fewer institutions offering German language training compared to English, Spanish, or French. ...
... But it’s not just highly-trained personnel the country needs. Drivers, laborers and hotel staff are also in demand. So why aren’t they coming in droves from euro-zone countries with high unemployment?
The short answer is they perceive the barriers – linguistic, regulatory, or cultural, as too high. And small to medium-sized enterprises lack awareness about how to hire them.
Instead of heading to Germany, young adults are heading from high-employment Spain to low-unemployment Mexico. This migration pattern is unexpected because the legal barriers are much lower within the European Union. Perceived barriers are more formidable than actual fences. Just ask Ann Arbor.
Germany has already lost the war for talent. Mesofacts are notoriously difficult to change. Mexico or Brazil are where it's at for the young and unemployed in Europe, particularly Spain. Where a few pioneers have ventured, thousands will follow.
Density And Talent Supermarket Metros
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We know cities make talent more productive. Concisely put, better to work in an urban area than a rural one. The returns are so much greater in a city. The density dividend:
If you read that paragraph carefully, you should note there is no mention of a density dividend. The quality of the workers in the room or neighborhood makes all the difference. Yes, proximity matters. But that is a function of distance, not density.
If you are looking for better workers, hire international migrants. Just so happens that dense cities do a great job of attracting talent from a bigger geographic cache. That's the birthplace diversity dividend. The movers are the shakers.
Such observations lend themselves to natural experiments. Take a dense city, such as Nairobi, Kenya, and find the neighborhood with the most migrants. That's the urban economic engine:
The Eastleigh neighborhood is more open to global capital flows. That's the "Borderless Economics" dividend. You can find many other similarly dense places in Nairobi. They aren't producing 5% of Kenyan GDP.
However, better to have Eastleigh in a big, dense global city than in one of the globalization backwaters. Somalis are more likely to run into top tier talent from other parts of the world. The quality of collision is much better. The question of density is rather beside the point.
We know cities make talent more productive. Concisely put, better to work in an urban area than a rural one. The returns are so much greater in a city. The density dividend:
In 1993, James Rauch wrote a seminal paper showing that holding individual education constant, wages rise with the skills of metropolitan areas. Enrico Moretti has taken over this topic and written sophisticated papers that look both across metropolitan areas and within firms, showing that supermarket workers get more productive when better workers are in their shift.
If you read that paragraph carefully, you should note there is no mention of a density dividend. The quality of the workers in the room or neighborhood makes all the difference. Yes, proximity matters. But that is a function of distance, not density.
If you are looking for better workers, hire international migrants. Just so happens that dense cities do a great job of attracting talent from a bigger geographic cache. That's the birthplace diversity dividend. The movers are the shakers.
Such observations lend themselves to natural experiments. Take a dense city, such as Nairobi, Kenya, and find the neighborhood with the most migrants. That's the urban economic engine:
Depending on whom you're talking to, the Eastleigh market is either a tangle of back alleys where Islamist terrorists and pirates go to launder money, or it's one of the brightest spots of African capitalism, a dynamic 24-hour shopping center that's the only place for hundreds of miles where you can buy new jeans and sneakers at 2 in the morning.
Part of the reason Eastleigh attracts such investment, and such suspicion, is that Somalis make up the majority of people doing business there.
"When you come to Eastleigh, you feel that you are in Mogadishu or in other parts of Somalia, so you don't feel that you are an outsider," says Mohammed Shakul. "You feel at home." ...
... "The Kenyan government started to actively question what is the nature of this money," Kantai says. "And part of the questioning was motivated by the American counterterrorism push in East Africa."
He says what a Kenyan audit uncovered was $2 billion being quietly piped into Eastleigh through Somali channels — this in a year when Kenya's total GDP was about $40 billion.
"In this way, the Kenyan government began to understand the size of Somali capital. And one of the reactions, and this is a natural reaction from any government, was absolute panic," Kantai says. "It's like, how is it possible, that there is this kind of money, floating about, and we don't know about it?"
He says Kenya's reaction did not have to be one of fear — it did, after all, discover that its economy was 5 percent bigger than originally thought.
The Eastleigh neighborhood is more open to global capital flows. That's the "Borderless Economics" dividend. You can find many other similarly dense places in Nairobi. They aren't producing 5% of Kenyan GDP.
However, better to have Eastleigh in a big, dense global city than in one of the globalization backwaters. Somalis are more likely to run into top tier talent from other parts of the world. The quality of collision is much better. The question of density is rather beside the point.
23 Şubat 2013 Cumartesi
Washington Examiner - 'Gun prosecutions under Obama down more than 45 percent'
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The calls from Liberals for more Gun Control keep growing. Lets forget that basically none of the new proposals would have prevented the last gun crimes. Instead keep in mind that the Government is not even taking violations of existing gun laws very seriously. With that comes the news that 'Gun prosecutions under Obama down more than 45 percent'. From the Washington Examiner:-------------------- 
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The calls from Liberals for more Gun Control keep growing. Lets forget that basically none of the new proposals would have prevented the last gun crimes. Instead keep in mind that the Government is not even taking violations of existing gun laws very seriously. With that comes the news that 'Gun prosecutions under Obama down more than 45 percent'. From the Washington Examiner:Despite his calls for greater gun control, including a new assault weapons ban that extends to handguns, President Obama's administration has turned away from enforcing gun laws, cutting weapons prosecutions some 40 percent since a high of about 11,000 under former President Bush.As I mentioned in a previous post, the Government is barely going after any criminals who violate gun purchasing laws. It's almost as if they want criminals to be out and about committing crime. Unfortunately, all this means is that the Government creates more victims. It seems that the best defense is having a gun and shooting criminals yourself as it appears more and more that the Government is no longer in the business of punishing criminals, other than those who cheat on their taxes and other economic criminals. Take this from 'Project Exile' which was intended to go after gun criminals by using Federal gun laws:
"If you are not going to enforce the laws on the books, then don't start talking about a whole new wave of new laws," said a gun rights advocate. - Washington Examiner
From the left, Project Exile was condemned, as racist, by Families Against Mandatory Minimums, and opposed by several members of the Congressional Black Caucus on the grounds that in targeting its enforcement at inner city communities such as in Richmond and Atlanta, and the disproportionate effects the federal gun laws' "prohibited possessor" categories have on African-Americans. - WikiOf course these laws would have a disproportionate effect on African Americans but you can bet that African Americans are also disproportionately effected by gun crimes and end up as victims at a disproportionate rate. And when you look at it that way, it is proportionate. However, since the criminals happen to be black, going after them is racist, so we can't do it. And it is the greater black community that mostly pays for voting soft on crime Democrats into Congress.
Crazy - "40 percent of deadly Illinois crashes involve drivers who don't have a license"
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This is what happens when you do not fairly enforce the laws of our country. First you ignore the immigration laws. They you are forced to abandon enforcing driver licensing laws as well as drunk driving checkpoints, as special interest groups will accuse you of 'unfairly' targeting illegal aliens.
Keep in mind that this is a group that generally has 'broken no laws' except our immigration laws, and driver laws, and employment laws and taxation laws, and identity theft laws. It's not their fault, really. If you stupid Americans would just give them a little more..... they'll demand something else.
In the case of Illinois, they are going to give illegals drivers licenses. So that that the illegal aliens can be just like you and me, and the 9/11 hijackers.-------------------- --------------------
This is what happens when you do not fairly enforce the laws of our country. First you ignore the immigration laws. They you are forced to abandon enforcing driver licensing laws as well as drunk driving checkpoints, as special interest groups will accuse you of 'unfairly' targeting illegal aliens.Lawmakers believe there are as many as 250,000 undocumented immigrants on Illinois roads and that more than 40 percent of deadly Illinois crashes involve drivers who don't have a license. - NBC ChicagoYou can surely bet that a majority of those drivers did not have insurance either, not that is going to help any dead people. However, just how many accidents overall involve illegal aliens?
Keep in mind that this is a group that generally has 'broken no laws' except our immigration laws, and driver laws, and employment laws and taxation laws, and identity theft laws. It's not their fault, really. If you stupid Americans would just give them a little more..... they'll demand something else.
In the case of Illinois, they are going to give illegals drivers licenses. So that that the illegal aliens can be just like you and me, and the 9/11 hijackers.
Mayor Bloomberg - 'Let Them Eat Pain!'
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Now lets keep in mind that State and Federal Governments have already been putting restrictions on these types of medicines, some of which need to be accounted for pill-by-pill. But since drug addicts are still finding ways to obtain these drugs, the Mayor's next plan to fight this kind of drug abuse is to take the drugs away from those who will legitimately benefit from them. This is not really a surprise given that this is the same solution he has for combating gun crime, basically targeting those who legally own and would like to legally own weapons.
Mayor Bloomberg's latest rant is that he is going to restrict the availability of painkillers to people who need them at NY area hospitals. His reasoning is that there are people in New York City who are addicted to them. This however will do nothing but punish responsible people who do not abuse these medications, leaving some in pain.
So because people are dying from prescription medicine abuse, abuse that I have no control over, the Mayor's logic is that I must have less or even no pain killers because people who don't need it, are consuming too much.
As for Mayor Bloomberg's comment that some people are just going to have to suffer a little bit, this is the same guy who can't suffer for a minute and wait for his car to cool down on a hot summer day and has his car cooled down by a custom-made air conditioner system. All this from the same guy who puts strict anti-idling laws in place and then breaks them.
Enough with the politicians who think they are better than the rest of us. If we are going to start openly treating people as part of distinct social classes, then lets do it all the way. This way we can stop treating the majority of the population like crap because of a tiny minority. Lets single out this tiny minority and give them the fair treatment that they have earned.
-------------------- --------------------
Now lets keep in mind that State and Federal Governments have already been putting restrictions on these types of medicines, some of which need to be accounted for pill-by-pill. But since drug addicts are still finding ways to obtain these drugs, the Mayor's next plan to fight this kind of drug abuse is to take the drugs away from those who will legitimately benefit from them. This is not really a surprise given that this is the same solution he has for combating gun crime, basically targeting those who legally own and would like to legally own weapons.Mayor Bloomberg's latest rant is that he is going to restrict the availability of painkillers to people who need them at NY area hospitals. His reasoning is that there are people in New York City who are addicted to them. This however will do nothing but punish responsible people who do not abuse these medications, leaving some in pain.
“Number one, there’s no evidence of that. Number two, supposing it is really true, so you didn’t get enough painkillers and you did have to suffer a little bit. The other side of the coin is people are dying and there’s nothing perfect … There’s nothing that you can possibly do where somebody isn’t going to suffer, and it’s always the same group [claiming], ‘Everybody is heartless.’ Come on, this is a very big problem.” - Politicker
So because people are dying from prescription medicine abuse, abuse that I have no control over, the Mayor's logic is that I must have less or even no pain killers because people who don't need it, are consuming too much. As for Mayor Bloomberg's comment that some people are just going to have to suffer a little bit, this is the same guy who can't suffer for a minute and wait for his car to cool down on a hot summer day and has his car cooled down by a custom-made air conditioner system. All this from the same guy who puts strict anti-idling laws in place and then breaks them.
Enough with the politicians who think they are better than the rest of us. If we are going to start openly treating people as part of distinct social classes, then lets do it all the way. This way we can stop treating the majority of the population like crap because of a tiny minority. Lets single out this tiny minority and give them the fair treatment that they have earned.
At Caiola's: Party of One
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Back when I was waiting tables, which seems like a lifetime ago at this point, I’d often hang out at bars, by myself for two reasons: 1) I got free meals at work and was too lazy to cook the rest myself, and 2) What is at one moment a quiet, thoughtful afternoon of solitude can become an afternoon filled with bemusing stories of camaraderie. 100% of the time if I’m dining alone I will take a seat at the bar instead of a table for one. It’s so much more entertaining. Which is part of the reason why this woman dining alone at Caiola’s was so fascinating to me. Her back to the room, facing the window, she almost mocked me and my need for togetherness.
I took Mandy out to Caoila’s for her birthday. She’d never been, and I decided I’d rather spend an evening enjoying outstanding food and drink rather than take a chance on a gift that she’d feign excitement over and consign a respectable 12 months later. We had an amazing time! The food was decadent and complex, but not so complex that I couldn’t understand the menu, if you get my drift.
It was a Wednesday night, and we were in the back room, through the kitchen. Being the sous chef that has to stand near that door must be the worst. There was a group of three respectable upper-middle-aged guys in the corner to my left, one had a Southern accent and I heard them talking about Marketing, television, and the Bangor Daily News. (Hmmm). Behind Mandy was a younger couple who left shortly after we arrived. Then a woman, about 62ish, waltzed in and sat at a two top against the wall diagonal from us, facing the window. The waitress only put down a single place setting, water glass and menu. Table for one.
I knew almost immediately that I wanted to be her. She had a black cardigan, a simple canary-red blouse underneath, with a mid-calf ivory colored a-line skirt that had, like, ribbing or piping instead of stripes throughout. It was a beautiful skirt- hip, yet age appropriate. Her ballet flats, undoubtedly leather, matched her blouse as though they came together. Perhaps they were in fact ordered from the J.Crew catalogue at the same time. Dark framed reading (?) glasses hung low on her face, probably Michael Kors or Kate Spade or some designer brand. My favorite part about her was the bag she carried. It was my dream bag. A caramel leather tote whose sides slouched in around the handles the same way my canvas bags do. It was my dream bag. I think if Diane from Cheers was a real person and lived to be 62, this woman is what she would be like.
Out of the bag she pulled a pristine hardcover book, and inevitably tuned out everyone except for the waitress, who was forced to break into her line of vision when she brought yet another Grey Goose martini with a twist. Or maybe this woman opted into the Buy Local movement and ordered a Cold River martini. I liked that she didn’t like it dirty. I tried a dirty martini once, it was like salty... salty... it was like drinking the ocean if the ocean was made out of olives.
Occasionally she’d pull out a legal sized pad and take notes. On what, I’m not sure. By the way, I wasn’t trying to stare. She was directly in my line of vision.
I imagine after her iceburg salad, steak or bacon wrapped scallops and three martinis she probably pulled out of the parking lot in her 1992 Volvo Station wagon. Although her 3,000 square foot home with its commercial-grade kitchen was only 1/6 of a mile away, you know she didn’t drive because you never see fancy women like that just walking around the West End. Her youngest daughter usually uses the Volvo but she’s WOOFing in France now. It had better visibility than the Mercedes anyway, plus she liked the sentimental value of driving it. Yeah, she was a little tipsy but it was a very short drive if cops are going to venture into the West End, they don’t make it past Brackett, Spring, and the hospital respectively.
One thousand feet later, she pulled into the secret road between Carroll and Vaughn Streets in the West End that connects all of the garage/back entrance/guest houses and settled in for one more cognac in her fucking jacuzzi tub.
Or maybe she was just too exhausted from running her law firm all day to prepare herself a meal. Maybe she didn’t want to sit at the bar because she wanted some peace and quiet for a change. Maybe she was supposed to meet up with the Oshers and they’re still in San Francisco, or the Hagges, but they were at a fundraising dinner and this was her back up plan. All I know is while she was sitting alone at that table, with the dim lighting, Amelie soundtrack and blowing $65 before tip on a meal for one person, I wanted to be her. Minus her imagined kids.
Back when I was waiting tables, which seems like a lifetime ago at this point, I’d often hang out at bars, by myself for two reasons: 1) I got free meals at work and was too lazy to cook the rest myself, and 2) What is at one moment a quiet, thoughtful afternoon of solitude can become an afternoon filled with bemusing stories of camaraderie. 100% of the time if I’m dining alone I will take a seat at the bar instead of a table for one. It’s so much more entertaining. Which is part of the reason why this woman dining alone at Caiola’s was so fascinating to me. Her back to the room, facing the window, she almost mocked me and my need for togetherness.
I took Mandy out to Caoila’s for her birthday. She’d never been, and I decided I’d rather spend an evening enjoying outstanding food and drink rather than take a chance on a gift that she’d feign excitement over and consign a respectable 12 months later. We had an amazing time! The food was decadent and complex, but not so complex that I couldn’t understand the menu, if you get my drift.
It was a Wednesday night, and we were in the back room, through the kitchen. Being the sous chef that has to stand near that door must be the worst. There was a group of three respectable upper-middle-aged guys in the corner to my left, one had a Southern accent and I heard them talking about Marketing, television, and the Bangor Daily News. (Hmmm). Behind Mandy was a younger couple who left shortly after we arrived. Then a woman, about 62ish, waltzed in and sat at a two top against the wall diagonal from us, facing the window. The waitress only put down a single place setting, water glass and menu. Table for one.
I knew almost immediately that I wanted to be her. She had a black cardigan, a simple canary-red blouse underneath, with a mid-calf ivory colored a-line skirt that had, like, ribbing or piping instead of stripes throughout. It was a beautiful skirt- hip, yet age appropriate. Her ballet flats, undoubtedly leather, matched her blouse as though they came together. Perhaps they were in fact ordered from the J.Crew catalogue at the same time. Dark framed reading (?) glasses hung low on her face, probably Michael Kors or Kate Spade or some designer brand. My favorite part about her was the bag she carried. It was my dream bag. A caramel leather tote whose sides slouched in around the handles the same way my canvas bags do. It was my dream bag. I think if Diane from Cheers was a real person and lived to be 62, this woman is what she would be like.
Out of the bag she pulled a pristine hardcover book, and inevitably tuned out everyone except for the waitress, who was forced to break into her line of vision when she brought yet another Grey Goose martini with a twist. Or maybe this woman opted into the Buy Local movement and ordered a Cold River martini. I liked that she didn’t like it dirty. I tried a dirty martini once, it was like salty... salty... it was like drinking the ocean if the ocean was made out of olives.
Occasionally she’d pull out a legal sized pad and take notes. On what, I’m not sure. By the way, I wasn’t trying to stare. She was directly in my line of vision.
I imagine after her iceburg salad, steak or bacon wrapped scallops and three martinis she probably pulled out of the parking lot in her 1992 Volvo Station wagon. Although her 3,000 square foot home with its commercial-grade kitchen was only 1/6 of a mile away, you know she didn’t drive because you never see fancy women like that just walking around the West End. Her youngest daughter usually uses the Volvo but she’s WOOFing in France now. It had better visibility than the Mercedes anyway, plus she liked the sentimental value of driving it. Yeah, she was a little tipsy but it was a very short drive if cops are going to venture into the West End, they don’t make it past Brackett, Spring, and the hospital respectively.
One thousand feet later, she pulled into the secret road between Carroll and Vaughn Streets in the West End that connects all of the garage/back entrance/guest houses and settled in for one more cognac in her fucking jacuzzi tub.
Or maybe she was just too exhausted from running her law firm all day to prepare herself a meal. Maybe she didn’t want to sit at the bar because she wanted some peace and quiet for a change. Maybe she was supposed to meet up with the Oshers and they’re still in San Francisco, or the Hagges, but they were at a fundraising dinner and this was her back up plan. All I know is while she was sitting alone at that table, with the dim lighting, Amelie soundtrack and blowing $65 before tip on a meal for one person, I wanted to be her. Minus her imagined kids.
Hi, I'm here. Remember me?
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This post started a few months ago as a farewell letter. I was about to retire this blog, and for that, I apologize.
Last week two of my blogger friends inspired me to come back here. 1) Ally over at Broke207 was kind of like, "Hey guys, I've been really bummed out lately and haven't written here in a couple of months. Sorry!" But in doing so, she made me laugh out loud with a quip about skeevy internet people and their intentions. She helped me realize that although I don't feel like I have anything to write about sometimes that's okay. Back in 2009, I only posted like 4 times. That was the year that I was REALLY unhappy at my job and knocking boots with all sorts of inappropriate people. Maybe I'm just in a little bit of a creative rut. What's it to ya?
I also got an email invitation to meet up for blogger happy hour. One of my favorite things is when internet friends transition to in-person friends. Yes, it can be awkward at first (but it can also be awkward when you see a friend from real life for the first time in over a year and they know exactly what's been going on in your life.) The happy hour was I think around May or June? I met two nice ladies Samantha and Greta, among others, and I had a great time hanging out. The problem is though, in good conscious how can I go to a blogger happy hour knowing I'm thisclose to abandoning this thing. This is our paraphrased conversation Me: "Kate. I'm like a loser who never blogs anymore. Can I still come?" Other cool blogger: "Yes! And start blogging again, dummy"
Now probably more than ever, I spend my time listening to podcasts and cooking. Or... watching Hart of Dixie. I'm not afraid to admit that I love that show! Rachel Bilson had me hooked when her character fell for comic book loving Seth in the OC. Actually, Seth from the OC My new favorite callers at work are the ones from rural areas with thick accents who can’t find our products anywhere. Because I imagine them living in someplace like Bluebell. Oh, did you just yawn? Me too. I’m sleepy despite the fact that I've literally done nothing all day.
So where do I stand now? I don’t know. I’m in a happy, reasonably healthy relationship, working at a job that has plenty for me to write about, but I can’t because it is a real job. (Meet me for a drink off the record and maybe I'll give you an anecdote or two.) I have no major life plans on the horizon and although I know that there may be shenanigans to write about, it's difficult to say what my immediate or intermediate future may hold, and what will be good fodder for the blog. My cat is still crazy and I still run into ex-lovers at unexpected times and places. But sometimes you just run into exes, high school classmates, random people who you're like, "You look so familiar."
I'm applying for an MFA in Creative Nonfiction Creative Writing. Since procrastination is my forte (can't fail at something you don't finish! Ha! Except... there was that SIXTY FIVE dollar application fee...), you can probably credit this post as the final procrastination straw. If I'm accepted into the program, get ready for a whole lot of creativity up in this bitch. In the meantime, I think I'll take up a practice from my days of more frequent posts- keep a list of blog ideas. There might even be a few on deck at the moment, but it's difficult to be certain.
Consumed during this post: 3 or 4 'servings' of Simply Naked multigrain pita chips, 1-2 servings of zesty spice and garlic hummus, this cocktail but with blackberries instead of mango (my mango went soft.)
This post started a few months ago as a farewell letter. I was about to retire this blog, and for that, I apologize.
Last week two of my blogger friends inspired me to come back here. 1) Ally over at Broke207 was kind of like, "Hey guys, I've been really bummed out lately and haven't written here in a couple of months. Sorry!" But in doing so, she made me laugh out loud with a quip about skeevy internet people and their intentions. She helped me realize that although I don't feel like I have anything to write about sometimes that's okay. Back in 2009, I only posted like 4 times. That was the year that I was REALLY unhappy at my job and knocking boots with all sorts of inappropriate people. Maybe I'm just in a little bit of a creative rut. What's it to ya?
I also got an email invitation to meet up for blogger happy hour. One of my favorite things is when internet friends transition to in-person friends. Yes, it can be awkward at first (but it can also be awkward when you see a friend from real life for the first time in over a year and they know exactly what's been going on in your life.) The happy hour was I think around May or June? I met two nice ladies Samantha and Greta, among others, and I had a great time hanging out. The problem is though, in good conscious how can I go to a blogger happy hour knowing I'm thisclose to abandoning this thing. This is our paraphrased conversation Me: "Kate. I'm like a loser who never blogs anymore. Can I still come?" Other cool blogger: "Yes! And start blogging again, dummy"
Now probably more than ever, I spend my time listening to podcasts and cooking. Or... watching Hart of Dixie. I'm not afraid to admit that I love that show! Rachel Bilson had me hooked when her character fell for comic book loving Seth in the OC. Actually, Seth from the OC My new favorite callers at work are the ones from rural areas with thick accents who can’t find our products anywhere. Because I imagine them living in someplace like Bluebell. Oh, did you just yawn? Me too. I’m sleepy despite the fact that I've literally done nothing all day.
So where do I stand now? I don’t know. I’m in a happy, reasonably healthy relationship, working at a job that has plenty for me to write about, but I can’t because it is a real job. (Meet me for a drink off the record and maybe I'll give you an anecdote or two.) I have no major life plans on the horizon and although I know that there may be shenanigans to write about, it's difficult to say what my immediate or intermediate future may hold, and what will be good fodder for the blog. My cat is still crazy and I still run into ex-lovers at unexpected times and places. But sometimes you just run into exes, high school classmates, random people who you're like, "You look so familiar."
I'm applying for an MFA in Creative Nonfiction Creative Writing. Since procrastination is my forte (can't fail at something you don't finish! Ha! Except... there was that SIXTY FIVE dollar application fee...), you can probably credit this post as the final procrastination straw. If I'm accepted into the program, get ready for a whole lot of creativity up in this bitch. In the meantime, I think I'll take up a practice from my days of more frequent posts- keep a list of blog ideas. There might even be a few on deck at the moment, but it's difficult to be certain.
Consumed during this post: 3 or 4 'servings' of Simply Naked multigrain pita chips, 1-2 servings of zesty spice and garlic hummus, this cocktail but with blackberries instead of mango (my mango went soft.)
22 Şubat 2013 Cuma
Brain Drain And Xenophobia
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Local jobs for local people. This mindset fuels xenophobia. Matthew Yglesias making a false distinction between fear of immigrants and fear of outsiders:
Domestic xenophobia, from Okies to Hillbillies, is alive and well.
You were born here. Used our hospitals and schools. Once graduated, you will toil and pay taxes. Talent, we (i.e. the community) own you:
I've heard it all before, ad nauseum. Wait a second ... How did I get from fear of Hillbillies taking over Chicago to the connection between talent retention slavery and xenophobia? Local jobs for local people.
Three people apply for a position. One is foreign born. Number two is from out of state. The last is born and raised in Middleamericaville. Who should be hired?
I say the company should be able to hire whomever it sees fit to hire. Who cares where they were born? If you worry about brain drain, then you care. You are a xenophobe. Such xenophobia informs ridiculous policies such as the one in Hungary.
By hook or crook, carrot or stick, trying to stop brain drain is wrong. Helping someone through school doesn't give you a claim on what that graduate does. Restricting geographic mobility does a world of harm. Promoting geographic mobility unleashes economic growth.
Those who seek to plug the brain drain are no better than the folks chanting anti-immigrant slogans.
Local jobs for local people. This mindset fuels xenophobia. Matthew Yglesias making a false distinction between fear of immigrants and fear of outsiders:
When people hear about a town that's attracting many new residents, they say it's "booming" not that the newcomers are poaching a fixed supply of jobs. Nobody in Texas seems to have proposed trying to close the state to migrants from the Northeast and Midwest; rather, they see the state's attraction to migrants as one of its strengths. The "foreign-ness" of newcomers from other countries distracts people from fundamental dynamics that they understand in other contexts.
Domestic xenophobia, from Okies to Hillbillies, is alive and well.
You were born here. Used our hospitals and schools. Once graduated, you will toil and pay taxes. Talent, we (i.e. the community) own you:
When Mr. Szabo, 24, graduates soon from law school, he will be free to go wherever in the world he wants. But Mr. Birtalan, 18, was required to sign a contract at the beginning of his first year as a sociology major because of a new rule introduced in September. As a beneficiary of the state-funded university system, he will be obliged to work for two years in Hungary for every year of his subsidized studies. ...
... The Hungarian government sees the contracts as necessary means to combat “brain drain,” said Zoltan Balog, the government minister in charge of human resources, referring to graduates’ choosing to work abroad.
“How can it be that we are training several hundreds of doctors every year — which costs the taxpayers a whole lot of money — who after graduation immediately go to Norway, to Sweden, to England?” Mr. Balog said in an interview.
“I don’t want to enslave them,” he said of Hungarian students. “I want to have a balance between the individual interest and the national interest. This country is investing in higher education, so whoever graduates should also use their knowledge to further the interest of the country.”
I've heard it all before, ad nauseum. Wait a second ... How did I get from fear of Hillbillies taking over Chicago to the connection between talent retention slavery and xenophobia? Local jobs for local people.
Three people apply for a position. One is foreign born. Number two is from out of state. The last is born and raised in Middleamericaville. Who should be hired?
I say the company should be able to hire whomever it sees fit to hire. Who cares where they were born? If you worry about brain drain, then you care. You are a xenophobe. Such xenophobia informs ridiculous policies such as the one in Hungary.
By hook or crook, carrot or stick, trying to stop brain drain is wrong. Helping someone through school doesn't give you a claim on what that graduate does. Restricting geographic mobility does a world of harm. Promoting geographic mobility unleashes economic growth.
Those who seek to plug the brain drain are no better than the folks chanting anti-immigrant slogans.
Ethnic Social Hall Revival
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Rust Belt suburban brats are moving back home to ironic locations. Instead resettling in neighborhoods like the ones where they grew up, they seek out the places their parents or grandparents worked so hard to leave. Rust Belt culture is not working class culture. The ghettos and Pittsburgh potties are relics that stoke the fires of nostalgia and pride. Being Polish and from Cleveland is authentic. It's cool. It's Rust Belt Chic:
A Rust Belt Chic venue is where the eldest and youngest generation of adults come together and party. Hit up the Cadieux Cafe in Detroit. Mingle with the two martini lunch crowd and University of Minnesota art students at Al Nye's Polanaise. Boogie down at the Pittsburgh Banjo Club.
With all due respect to the above, Bat Shit Crazy Cleveland is king. If you like Richard Florida urbanism, he's building a Creative Class theme park in Miami so he can chest bump nightly with Akron's Lebron James. Many of us from the Rust Belt prefer the budding scene at ethnic social halls over Brooklyn boutique. This is where the next great innovations will occur and why President Obama is touting Youngstown, Ohio in his State of the Union address. Na zdravie!
Rust Belt suburban brats are moving back home to ironic locations. Instead resettling in neighborhoods like the ones where they grew up, they seek out the places their parents or grandparents worked so hard to leave. Rust Belt culture is not working class culture. The ghettos and Pittsburgh potties are relics that stoke the fires of nostalgia and pride. Being Polish and from Cleveland is authentic. It's cool. It's Rust Belt Chic:
And while many ethnic social halls sadly are dying off, some are being reborn. Rick Semersky, the new owner of Sterle’s, has reinvigorated the decades-old restaurant by adding craft beers and bringing in music that appeals to a younger clientele. As "Rust Belt Chic" gains popularity, so too it seems does the polka revival.
The unlikely comeback couldn’t occur at a better time, says Andrew Votaw of the radio show Polka Changed My Life Today, which airs weekly on WRUW 91.1. Many of Cleveland’s once-ubiquitous ethnic social halls now struggle with attendance. Votow hopes the revitalized polka scene will inspire more young people to take an interest.
“The challenge is to get the younger crowd to show up at an actual polka dance at an ethnic dance hall," says Votaw. "Usually, I’m the youngest person at the event. There’s a polka event going on most nights of the week here -- you just have to search for it.”
Votaw, who was recruited as co-host when he began calling in as "Andrew the Mailman" (he’s an actual mail carrier in Lakewood), says his own greatest regret is not celebrating polka music with his grandparents before they passed away. “They spoke Slovak,” he recalls. “They always had polka music blasting in their house.”
A Rust Belt Chic venue is where the eldest and youngest generation of adults come together and party. Hit up the Cadieux Cafe in Detroit. Mingle with the two martini lunch crowd and University of Minnesota art students at Al Nye's Polanaise. Boogie down at the Pittsburgh Banjo Club.
With all due respect to the above, Bat Shit Crazy Cleveland is king. If you like Richard Florida urbanism, he's building a Creative Class theme park in Miami so he can chest bump nightly with Akron's Lebron James. Many of us from the Rust Belt prefer the budding scene at ethnic social halls over Brooklyn boutique. This is where the next great innovations will occur and why President Obama is touting Youngstown, Ohio in his State of the Union address. Na zdravie!
The End Of Density
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Cities are sacred and profane. As students of urban geography know, great density was abhorred. The masses crowded together and created a petri dish of disease. Thomas Jefferson extolled the virtues of the yeoman farmer:
Jefferson disparaged the urban. In the Age of the Creative Class, great density is sacred. Jefferson's contemporary counterpoint is Jane Jacobs:
Jacobs turns American Exceptionalism on its head. The urbanist reverence for density is a geographic fetish, as was Jefferson's utopian ideal. Such policy thinking is density for density's sake. Tony Hsieh's magic number for innovation:
Emphasis added. Fittingly, Hsieh's density evangelism comes from a misunderstanding. How many people you pack into a room isn't important. It's all about circulation. A party with less density and better circulation is better for knowledge exchange. Isolation (i.e. corner office), not lack of density, is the problem. The redevelopment of downtown Las Vegas is based on a poorly understood metaphor.
North Korea could build the densest city in the world and it wouldn't matter:
The circulation of people will beat density every time. There is nothing inherently magical about cities and density. Through people, a collision of two places can happen. Such serendipity is much more likely in South Korea than North Korea, density be damned.
Cities are sacred and profane. As students of urban geography know, great density was abhorred. The masses crowded together and created a petri dish of disease. Thomas Jefferson extolled the virtues of the yeoman farmer:
He told James Madison: "I think our governments will remain virtuous for many centuries as long as they are chiefly agricultural; and this will be as long as there shall be vacant lands in any part of America. When they get plied upon one another in large cities, as in Europe, they will become corrupt as in Europe."
Jefferson disparaged the urban. In the Age of the Creative Class, great density is sacred. Jefferson's contemporary counterpoint is Jane Jacobs:
What are proper densities for city dwellings? … Proper city dwelling densities are a matter of performance … Densities are too low, or too high, when they frustrate city diversity instead of abetting it …
Very low densities, six dwellings or fewer to the net acre, can make out well in suburbs … Between ten and twenty dwellings to the acre yields a kind of semisuburb …
However densities of this kind ringing a city are a bad long-term bet, designed to become a grey area. …
And so, between the point where semisuburban character and function are lost, and the point at which lively diversity and public life can arise, lies a range of big-city densities that I shall call “in-between” densities. They are fit neither for suburban life nor for city life. They are fit, generally, for nothing but trouble …
I should judge that numerically the escape from “in-between” densities probably lies somewhere around the figure of 100 dwellings to an acre, under circumstances most congenial in all other respects to producing diversity.
As a general rule, I think 100 dwellings per acre will be found to be too low.
Jacobs turns American Exceptionalism on its head. The urbanist reverence for density is a geographic fetish, as was Jefferson's utopian ideal. Such policy thinking is density for density's sake. Tony Hsieh's magic number for innovation:
Tony Hsieh talks about his Internet juggernaut Zappos in the same way that urban planners talk about cities. In fact, the language is uncanny. He believes the best ideas – and the best form of productivity – come from "collisions," from employees caroming ideas off one another in the serendipity of constant casual contact.
This is only achievable through density, with desks pushed close together in the office, or – in the case of Hsieh’s ambitious plans to leverage the new Zappos headquarters to remake downtown Las Vegas – with company employees and community members colliding into each other on the street. For the kind of "collisionable" density he’s looking for in downtown Vegas around his company, he figures the neglected area (not to be confused with the Vegas Strip) needs at least 100 residents per acre. ...
... His evolution in thinking, he says, comes more from his earlier days as a party planner. Close one bar in the corner of a room for example, he says, and you eliminate congestion points and enable people to better flow through a party. The challenge is all about creating circulation and serendipity.
Emphasis added. Fittingly, Hsieh's density evangelism comes from a misunderstanding. How many people you pack into a room isn't important. It's all about circulation. A party with less density and better circulation is better for knowledge exchange. Isolation (i.e. corner office), not lack of density, is the problem. The redevelopment of downtown Las Vegas is based on a poorly understood metaphor.
North Korea could build the densest city in the world and it wouldn't matter:
Of the 70-odd countries I've reported from, North Korea is perhaps the most illuminating. The world's last Stalinist dictatorship is hermetically sealed from the outside world. Hardly anyone is allowed out, and hardly anyone is allowed in (it wasn't easy getting a visa.)
Because North Korea shuts out people, it shuts out ideas. That's one big reason why it is a starving backwater. Its more open cousin, South Korea, which welcomes foreigners and sends hordes of students and businesspeople abroad each year, is 17 times richer.
South Koreans worry whether their children will make it to the right university; North Koreans worry whether their children will make it to the age of five.
The central message of my book, Borderless Economics, is that when people move around, they spread new ideas, mostly for the better.
For example, the world's cheapest fridge was born of a marriage of minds between Indians in America and Indians in India. Three Indian-American engineers (Uttam Ghoshal, Himanshu Pokharna and Ayan Guha) were working on a cooling device, based on technology used to cool laptops, that they thought might work in a fridge. One of them had trained at IBM, so he knew a thing or two about computers.
While back in India visiting relatives, they decided to show their design to an Indian manufacturer called Godrej and Boyce. It so happened that Godrej was already working on a super-cheap fridge for poor rural Indians. The two teams joined forces and produced a little fridge called the Chotu Kool that will sell for a mere $70 - less than half the price of rival fridges.
The circulation of people will beat density every time. There is nothing inherently magical about cities and density. Through people, a collision of two places can happen. Such serendipity is much more likely in South Korea than North Korea, density be damned.
IT'S COLD !!!
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I've been inside all day so didn't notice until just a few minutes ago. Got on my bike to ride the two miles home. It's 37 degrees outside with a strong breeze. Quick, here's what you do. Go to your linen closet and pull out all of the old blankets you don't use anymore. Yes, all of them. Next, call a couple of your friends and tell them to do the same. Seriously, there's not much time! As soon as you are ready, go pick up your friends, with your several blankets, and drive around town looking for homeless people. Check out the bus stops and near liquor stores and parks and wherever there are benches for the public. You will find homeless people in metro areas and in suburban areas too, like shopping centers and malls, behind Walmarts and Targets and such. Once you find these people, just hand them a blanket, don't ask them if they want one, it doesn't matter, they need one, or two.
And, if you have the chance, pick up some dollar burgers at McDonalds and give them out too, some coffee as well, if you dare to care that much. Now! I mean it. Go!
Adam Lanza And Asperger's pt 2
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Part 2
I can't tell you the depth of despair and depression I experienced since last Friday, and the Sandy Hook incident. Pretty much any time I relive events of my past, I also relive the emotional pain and turmoil from then too. Add to that the current sadness we all have been feeling over the Sand Hook incident, and I was feeling overwhelmed. I wanted to write about it when it happened, but it was too difficult. Several days have passed now and I'm feeling better about it. The depression has subsided, but so has some of the desire to write this. I will write, but I can't guarantee how much effort I'll put into it.
To understand Adam Lanza, you really must understand how Asperger's Syndrome affects people (again, it must be said that Asperger's doesn't make people violent) And to understand the motivation for his shooting spree, you must understand the environment Adam was living in, you must understand the psychology and dynamics of his family, especially that of his mother.
I have no doubt that my own family shits a collective brick every time I write about them. But that's perhaps the crux of the problem of our own family dysfunctionality. I no longer talk with my family, except for brief chats with my nephew. Some time a ago my parents moved and did not give me their new address or phone number. I only know that they moved to Arizona to be near my brother. But all of this is of little importance. What is important for the telling of this story is the environment I was living in as I grew up at home, and how my family reacted when I displayed symptoms of Asperger's.
It is also important to understand how relatively new the diagnosis of Aperger's Syndrome is. It was first discovered in 1944, but didn't become a part of mainstream psychiatry until the 80s and 90s - long after I had left home and eventually became homeless. As a child I was suffering from an unknown condition, so, as is often the case, my parents were led to believe that I didn't have a condition. It was then easy for my parents to believe that the problems I was having were of my own selfish creation.
Every human being has an innate desire to belong, to be a part of and participate with other human beings in all the activities that make up life. To do this successfully, humans must be able to communicate with each other. One of the biggest problems for people with Aspergers involves communication. Not only do Aspies have difficulty communicating their own thoughts, ideas and interests with others verbally, they have a difficult time understanding what other people are trying to say back to them - especially in a social context. I believe that is why for some Aspies they are drawn to, and excel at, other types of non verbal communication - it's about the desire to connect and belong, and compensating for a lack of verbal skills.
Although I did well enough in other areas of study in school, I did rather poorly in English, especially with spelling. Instead of getting me some specialized help to overcome this problem, my parents accused me of a variety of negative things, of being lazy, of "not paying attention in class", of "not trying hard enough", of "day dreaming", etc. And for these infractions, my parents thought that the proper corrective action was to punish me. It was this punishment that created feelings of guilt, which in turn started my lifetime of depression. The punishment, and the disapproval of my parents for things I had no control over was painful, and damaging. Now, there was period when I was about 6 or 7 years old, when my parents were considering sending me to a psychiatrist. But first they thought they should talk to my school teacher. I have no idea how that conversation went, but afterwards, my parents gave up on the idea.
Funny, but I just remembered something similar which happened about the same time. The whole class was sent to the school nurse for eye exams. I struggled to read the chart. I told the nurse I could not see the letters. She said to me, "you're making yourself not see them." She was under the impression that I just wanted to have a pair of glasses. She said that my vision was fine. During that summer I joined little league baseball. The coach noticed I had a hard time catching the ball. After playing catch with me for a couple throws, he suggested to my mother that I get a real eye exam. Not only did the optometrist discover my need for glasses, he was astonished that I could function with such poor eye sight.
Yes, we need to appreciate the job that school staff does for students, but we need to also remember that they are not experts in everything. If only my parents had gone ahead and sent me to a psychiatrist way back then, I probably wouldn't have had the problems I've been living with all these years. But I digress. I searched for it, but could find nothing to indicate that Adam was seeing a psychiatrist at the time. If anything, psychiatrists can teach a person the coping skills necessary for dealing with the difficulties they face in life.
Stay tuned for part 3
21 Şubat 2013 Perşembe
Washington Examiner - 'Gun prosecutions under Obama down more than 45 percent'
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The calls from Liberals for more Gun Control keep growing. Lets forget that basically none of the new proposals would have prevented the last gun crimes. Instead keep in mind that the Government is not even taking violations of existing gun laws very seriously. With that comes the news that 'Gun prosecutions under Obama down more than 45 percent'. From the Washington Examiner:-------------------- --------------------
The calls from Liberals for more Gun Control keep growing. Lets forget that basically none of the new proposals would have prevented the last gun crimes. Instead keep in mind that the Government is not even taking violations of existing gun laws very seriously. With that comes the news that 'Gun prosecutions under Obama down more than 45 percent'. From the Washington Examiner:Despite his calls for greater gun control, including a new assault weapons ban that extends to handguns, President Obama's administration has turned away from enforcing gun laws, cutting weapons prosecutions some 40 percent since a high of about 11,000 under former President Bush.As I mentioned in a previous post, the Government is barely going after any criminals who violate gun purchasing laws. It's almost as if they want criminals to be out and about committing crime. Unfortunately, all this means is that the Government creates more victims. It seems that the best defense is having a gun and shooting criminals yourself as it appears more and more that the Government is no longer in the business of punishing criminals, other than those who cheat on their taxes and other economic criminals. Take this from 'Project Exile' which was intended to go after gun criminals by using Federal gun laws:
"If you are not going to enforce the laws on the books, then don't start talking about a whole new wave of new laws," said a gun rights advocate. - Washington Examiner
From the left, Project Exile was condemned, as racist, by Families Against Mandatory Minimums, and opposed by several members of the Congressional Black Caucus on the grounds that in targeting its enforcement at inner city communities such as in Richmond and Atlanta, and the disproportionate effects the federal gun laws' "prohibited possessor" categories have on African-Americans. - WikiOf course these laws would have a disproportionate effect on African Americans but you can bet that African Americans are also disproportionately effected by gun crimes and end up as victims at a disproportionate rate. And when you look at it that way, it is proportionate. However, since the criminals happen to be black, going after them is racist, so we can't do it. And it is the greater black community that mostly pays for voting soft on crime Democrats into Congress.
Crazy - "40 percent of deadly Illinois crashes involve drivers who don't have a license"
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This is what happens when you do not fairly enforce the laws of our country. First you ignore the immigration laws. They you are forced to abandon enforcing driver licensing laws as well as drunk driving checkpoints, as special interest groups will accuse you of 'unfairly' targeting illegal aliens.
Keep in mind that this is a group that generally has 'broken no laws' except our immigration laws, and driver laws, and employment laws and taxation laws, and identity theft laws. It's not their fault, really. If you stupid Americans would just give them a little more..... they'll demand something else.
In the case of Illinois, they are going to give illegals drivers licenses. So that that the illegal aliens can be just like you and me, and the 9/11 hijackers.-------------------- --------------------
This is what happens when you do not fairly enforce the laws of our country. First you ignore the immigration laws. They you are forced to abandon enforcing driver licensing laws as well as drunk driving checkpoints, as special interest groups will accuse you of 'unfairly' targeting illegal aliens.Lawmakers believe there are as many as 250,000 undocumented immigrants on Illinois roads and that more than 40 percent of deadly Illinois crashes involve drivers who don't have a license. - NBC ChicagoYou can surely bet that a majority of those drivers did not have insurance either, not that is going to help any dead people. However, just how many accidents overall involve illegal aliens?
Keep in mind that this is a group that generally has 'broken no laws' except our immigration laws, and driver laws, and employment laws and taxation laws, and identity theft laws. It's not their fault, really. If you stupid Americans would just give them a little more..... they'll demand something else.
In the case of Illinois, they are going to give illegals drivers licenses. So that that the illegal aliens can be just like you and me, and the 9/11 hijackers.
Mayor Bloomberg - 'Let Them Eat Pain!'
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Now lets keep in mind that State and Federal Governments have already been putting restrictions on these types of medicines, some of which need to be accounted for pill-by-pill. But since drug addicts are still finding ways to obtain these drugs, the Mayor's next plan to fight this kind of drug abuse is to take the drugs away from those who will legitimately benefit from them. This is not really a surprise given that this is the same solution he has for combating gun crime, basically targeting those who legally own and would like to legally own weapons.
Mayor Bloomberg's latest rant is that he is going to restrict the availability of painkillers to people who need them at NY area hospitals. His reasoning is that there are people in New York City who are addicted to them. This however will do nothing but punish responsible people who do not abuse these medications, leaving some in pain.So because people are dying from prescription medicine abuse, abuse that I have no control over, the Mayor's logic is that I must have less or even no pain killers because people who don't need it, are consuming too much.
As for Mayor Bloomberg's comment that some people are just going to have to suffer a little bit, this is the same guy who can't suffer for a minute and wait for his car to cool down on a hot summer day and has his car cooled down by a custom-made air conditioner system. All this from the same guy who puts strict anti-idling laws in place and then breaks them.
Enough with the politicians who think they are better than the rest of us. If we are going to start openly treating people as part of distinct social classes, then lets do it all the way. This way we can stop treating the majority of the population like crap because of a tiny minority. Lets single out this tiny minority and give them the fair treatment that they have earned.
-------------------- --------------------
Now lets keep in mind that State and Federal Governments have already been putting restrictions on these types of medicines, some of which need to be accounted for pill-by-pill. But since drug addicts are still finding ways to obtain these drugs, the Mayor's next plan to fight this kind of drug abuse is to take the drugs away from those who will legitimately benefit from them. This is not really a surprise given that this is the same solution he has for combating gun crime, basically targeting those who legally own and would like to legally own weapons.Mayor Bloomberg's latest rant is that he is going to restrict the availability of painkillers to people who need them at NY area hospitals. His reasoning is that there are people in New York City who are addicted to them. This however will do nothing but punish responsible people who do not abuse these medications, leaving some in pain.
“Number one, there’s no evidence of that. Number two, supposing it is really true, so you didn’t get enough painkillers and you did have to suffer a little bit. The other side of the coin is people are dying and there’s nothing perfect … There’s nothing that you can possibly do where somebody isn’t going to suffer, and it’s always the same group [claiming], ‘Everybody is heartless.’ Come on, this is a very big problem.” - Politicker
So because people are dying from prescription medicine abuse, abuse that I have no control over, the Mayor's logic is that I must have less or even no pain killers because people who don't need it, are consuming too much. As for Mayor Bloomberg's comment that some people are just going to have to suffer a little bit, this is the same guy who can't suffer for a minute and wait for his car to cool down on a hot summer day and has his car cooled down by a custom-made air conditioner system. All this from the same guy who puts strict anti-idling laws in place and then breaks them.
Enough with the politicians who think they are better than the rest of us. If we are going to start openly treating people as part of distinct social classes, then lets do it all the way. This way we can stop treating the majority of the population like crap because of a tiny minority. Lets single out this tiny minority and give them the fair treatment that they have earned.
At Caiola's: Party of One
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Back when I was waiting tables, which seems like a lifetime ago at this point, I’d often hang out at bars, by myself for two reasons: 1) I got free meals at work and was too lazy to cook the rest myself, and 2) What is at one moment a quiet, thoughtful afternoon of solitude can become an afternoon filled with bemusing stories of camaraderie. 100% of the time if I’m dining alone I will take a seat at the bar instead of a table for one. It’s so much more entertaining. Which is part of the reason why this woman dining alone at Caiola’s was so fascinating to me. Her back to the room, facing the window, she almost mocked me and my need for togetherness.
I took Mandy out to Caoila’s for her birthday. She’d never been, and I decided I’d rather spend an evening enjoying outstanding food and drink rather than take a chance on a gift that she’d feign excitement over and consign a respectable 12 months later. We had an amazing time! The food was decadent and complex, but not so complex that I couldn’t understand the menu, if you get my drift.
It was a Wednesday night, and we were in the back room, through the kitchen. Being the sous chef that has to stand near that door must be the worst. There was a group of three respectable upper-middle-aged guys in the corner to my left, one had a Southern accent and I heard them talking about Marketing, television, and the Bangor Daily News. (Hmmm). Behind Mandy was a younger couple who left shortly after we arrived. Then a woman, about 62ish, waltzed in and sat at a two top against the wall diagonal from us, facing the window. The waitress only put down a single place setting, water glass and menu. Table for one.
I knew almost immediately that I wanted to be her. She had a black cardigan, a simple canary-red blouse underneath, with a mid-calf ivory colored a-line skirt that had, like, ribbing or piping instead of stripes throughout. It was a beautiful skirt- hip, yet age appropriate. Her ballet flats, undoubtedly leather, matched her blouse as though they came together. Perhaps they were in fact ordered from the J.Crew catalogue at the same time. Dark framed reading (?) glasses hung low on her face, probably Michael Kors or Kate Spade or some designer brand. My favorite part about her was the bag she carried. It was my dream bag. A caramel leather tote whose sides slouched in around the handles the same way my canvas bags do. It was my dream bag. I think if Diane from Cheers was a real person and lived to be 62, this woman is what she would be like.
Out of the bag she pulled a pristine hardcover book, and inevitably tuned out everyone except for the waitress, who was forced to break into her line of vision when she brought yet another Grey Goose martini with a twist. Or maybe this woman opted into the Buy Local movement and ordered a Cold River martini. I liked that she didn’t like it dirty. I tried a dirty martini once, it was like salty... salty... it was like drinking the ocean if the ocean was made out of olives.
Occasionally she’d pull out a legal sized pad and take notes. On what, I’m not sure. By the way, I wasn’t trying to stare. She was directly in my line of vision.
I imagine after her iceburg salad, steak or bacon wrapped scallops and three martinis she probably pulled out of the parking lot in her 1992 Volvo Station wagon. Although her 3,000 square foot home with its commercial-grade kitchen was only 1/6 of a mile away, you know she didn’t drive because you never see fancy women like that just walking around the West End. Her youngest daughter usually uses the Volvo but she’s WOOFing in France now. It had better visibility than the Mercedes anyway, plus she liked the sentimental value of driving it. Yeah, she was a little tipsy but it was a very short drive if cops are going to venture into the West End, they don’t make it past Brackett, Spring, and the hospital respectively.
One thousand feet later, she pulled into the secret road between Carroll and Vaughn Streets in the West End that connects all of the garage/back entrance/guest houses and settled in for one more cognac in her fucking jacuzzi tub.
Or maybe she was just too exhausted from running her law firm all day to prepare herself a meal. Maybe she didn’t want to sit at the bar because she wanted some peace and quiet for a change. Maybe she was supposed to meet up with the Oshers and they’re still in San Francisco, or the Hagges, but they were at a fundraising dinner and this was her back up plan. All I know is while she was sitting alone at that table, with the dim lighting, Amelie soundtrack and blowing $65 before tip on a meal for one person, I wanted to be her. Minus her imagined kids.
Back when I was waiting tables, which seems like a lifetime ago at this point, I’d often hang out at bars, by myself for two reasons: 1) I got free meals at work and was too lazy to cook the rest myself, and 2) What is at one moment a quiet, thoughtful afternoon of solitude can become an afternoon filled with bemusing stories of camaraderie. 100% of the time if I’m dining alone I will take a seat at the bar instead of a table for one. It’s so much more entertaining. Which is part of the reason why this woman dining alone at Caiola’s was so fascinating to me. Her back to the room, facing the window, she almost mocked me and my need for togetherness.
I took Mandy out to Caoila’s for her birthday. She’d never been, and I decided I’d rather spend an evening enjoying outstanding food and drink rather than take a chance on a gift that she’d feign excitement over and consign a respectable 12 months later. We had an amazing time! The food was decadent and complex, but not so complex that I couldn’t understand the menu, if you get my drift.
It was a Wednesday night, and we were in the back room, through the kitchen. Being the sous chef that has to stand near that door must be the worst. There was a group of three respectable upper-middle-aged guys in the corner to my left, one had a Southern accent and I heard them talking about Marketing, television, and the Bangor Daily News. (Hmmm). Behind Mandy was a younger couple who left shortly after we arrived. Then a woman, about 62ish, waltzed in and sat at a two top against the wall diagonal from us, facing the window. The waitress only put down a single place setting, water glass and menu. Table for one.
I knew almost immediately that I wanted to be her. She had a black cardigan, a simple canary-red blouse underneath, with a mid-calf ivory colored a-line skirt that had, like, ribbing or piping instead of stripes throughout. It was a beautiful skirt- hip, yet age appropriate. Her ballet flats, undoubtedly leather, matched her blouse as though they came together. Perhaps they were in fact ordered from the J.Crew catalogue at the same time. Dark framed reading (?) glasses hung low on her face, probably Michael Kors or Kate Spade or some designer brand. My favorite part about her was the bag she carried. It was my dream bag. A caramel leather tote whose sides slouched in around the handles the same way my canvas bags do. It was my dream bag. I think if Diane from Cheers was a real person and lived to be 62, this woman is what she would be like.
Out of the bag she pulled a pristine hardcover book, and inevitably tuned out everyone except for the waitress, who was forced to break into her line of vision when she brought yet another Grey Goose martini with a twist. Or maybe this woman opted into the Buy Local movement and ordered a Cold River martini. I liked that she didn’t like it dirty. I tried a dirty martini once, it was like salty... salty... it was like drinking the ocean if the ocean was made out of olives.
Occasionally she’d pull out a legal sized pad and take notes. On what, I’m not sure. By the way, I wasn’t trying to stare. She was directly in my line of vision.
I imagine after her iceburg salad, steak or bacon wrapped scallops and three martinis she probably pulled out of the parking lot in her 1992 Volvo Station wagon. Although her 3,000 square foot home with its commercial-grade kitchen was only 1/6 of a mile away, you know she didn’t drive because you never see fancy women like that just walking around the West End. Her youngest daughter usually uses the Volvo but she’s WOOFing in France now. It had better visibility than the Mercedes anyway, plus she liked the sentimental value of driving it. Yeah, she was a little tipsy but it was a very short drive if cops are going to venture into the West End, they don’t make it past Brackett, Spring, and the hospital respectively.
One thousand feet later, she pulled into the secret road between Carroll and Vaughn Streets in the West End that connects all of the garage/back entrance/guest houses and settled in for one more cognac in her fucking jacuzzi tub.
Or maybe she was just too exhausted from running her law firm all day to prepare herself a meal. Maybe she didn’t want to sit at the bar because she wanted some peace and quiet for a change. Maybe she was supposed to meet up with the Oshers and they’re still in San Francisco, or the Hagges, but they were at a fundraising dinner and this was her back up plan. All I know is while she was sitting alone at that table, with the dim lighting, Amelie soundtrack and blowing $65 before tip on a meal for one person, I wanted to be her. Minus her imagined kids.
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