Inspiring Image From WWII

I love this image because it shows a strong woman doing "a man's job." I think it's important to have images like these whenever there are people around us who doubt our abilities or want to impose limitations on us. Three cheers for Rosie the Riveter!

Bankers and Loan Sharks: Best Friends For Ever

An article in today's New York Times explained how banks have teamed up with Payday Lenders  to give them access to borrower's accounts.

Payday Lenders have been outlawed or heavily regulated in several American states so they have taken to setting up shop in other countries and doing business online.

Now, thanks to the cooperation of  greedy douchcwads many of the country's banking institutions, the lenders can operate beyond the reach of U.S. law and the local banks can collect a small fortune in overdraft fees.

JP Morgan Chase, Bank of America and Wells Fargo will aid the lenders in getting their payments by allowing them to draft their fees directly out of the client's account. When other payments don't clear because the account has an insufficient balance, the bank reaps a fee (around $30) for each transaction that bounces.

I still remember when my old bank tried to charge me $8 a month for the "privilege" of keeping my money with them. I closed the account.

I'd like to remind anyone reading this that banks are only required to hold on to a portion of the money we give them. With the fractional reserve system they can lend out the majority of the money we deposit and charge borrowers interest on it, thereby growing their money supply.

The fact that banks played it fast and loose with our money before and later had to be bailed out by the government doesn't help the matter.

Are you angry yet? You should be.

He's Gone

When I was 12 I took up ice skating with my best friend Katie who moved to Alabama from Michigan. It was Katie who informed me that scoring in hockey is referred to as "a goal" and not "a touchdown." I was always grateful for this lesson.

In those days I wore a lot of brightly colored (mostly neon) spandex. This didn't escape the notice of one of the boys who worked at the rink and he took to calling me "Clash."

I would be sitting down, resplendent in my white tracksuit jacket with the neon patches on the sleeves, and struggling to tighten my laces when he would breeze by singing, "Claaa-ash."

I would then make a show of rolling my eyes or tossing my long hair.

His name was Danny Nunnelley and he was four years older than me. He dark hair and cheeks that would turn rosy in the cold air of the rink.

Aside from being devastatingly good looking, Danny was a kind person who was universally liked by everyone at the rink.

As my first crush, he had the dubious honor of being the object of my overwrought affections.

I agonized over not making myself look like a fool in front of him and often made a fool of myself in the process.

I strained the limits of my friendship with Katie by making her recount the painstaking details of any interactions between us that she had witnessed.

I dedicated many an hour to pining over Danny. He was the best imaginary boyfriend I ever had.

By the age of 14, all my skating clothes were in the colors of black, gray and more black. When I pointed this out to Danny, he just shrugged and said, "You're still Clash."

As time went by, we spoke less and he stopped calling me Clash. He was still friendly but there were other things going on in his life.

Whenever I skated in a competition my mother would always buy a video tape of my performance. These poorly lit, amateur-ish productions provided entire minutes of viewing pleasure for my mom and came with the added bonus of being re-playable so she could inflict them on visiting friends and family members who made the mistake of asking, "So, is your daughter still figure skating?"

My favorite of these was a video made during a competition at my home rink. In it, I have just skated to the center of the ice and am waiting for my music to start. Suddenly, in the background, Danny wanders into view and pauses on the other side of the plexiglass. He stands there watching me for a moment before shuffling off to the Zamboni room.

I used to play this part of the tape over and over again.

Years went by and the old ice rink was eventually closed down. I moved to California. Life went on.

Earlier this evening I learned that Danny passed away in Dallas, Texas on October 14, 2011.

I can't articulate the grief I'm feeling at the moment.

I begin to remember so much, so clearly.

I suppose its like this when you you've irrevocably lost someone you held dear in your childhood.

I guess the world was worth a little more to me when an old friend like Danny was still in it.

I thought of him when we played this song in our middle school band class and I'll think of him still when I hear the tune:

Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flow'rs are dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh, Danny boy, oh, Danny boy, I love you so.

And if you come, and all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
I pray you'll find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.

And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me
And all my grave will warm and sweeter be
And then you'll kneel and whisper that you love me
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.

Protecting the Guilty

I quickly become livid when I hear that sexual abuse cases have been prosecuted "in house" at some institutions. 

Today, I watched Jorge Ramos grill a Catholic clergyman about the pedophile scandal in the church. 

In the past I've read about universities forming boards or committees to handle rape allegations on campus.

I always wondered why the proper civilian authorities weren't consulted in these cases. 

I learned from my own experience with rape in the military how it's easier to control the organizational image when the authority to judge and punish is left up to those who have the strongest vested interest in silencing the victims. 

The Catholic Church claimed authority in handling the issue of pedophilia and their version of doing so involved denying the truth and transferring the abusers to other parishes were they could continue to prey on young children.

Recently, a blog post outing the sexual misconduct of a 105-year old Zen teacher led to a lengthy article being published in the New York Times. Several of Joshu Sasaki former pupils came forward to talk about how his sexual advances ruined their lives.

According to the article:

"Susanna Stewart began studying with Mr. Sasaki about 40 years ago. Within six months, she said, Mr. Sasaki began to touch her during sanzen. This sexualizing of their relationship “led to years of confusion and pain,” Ms. Stewart said, “eventually resulting in my becoming unable to practice Zen.'"

One of the resident monks, Bob Mamosser had this to say:

“What’s important and is overlooked is that, besides this aspect, Roshi was a commanding and inspiring figure using Buddhist practice to help thousands find more peace, clarity and happiness in their own lives. It seems to be the kind of thing that, you get the person as a whole, good and bad, just like you marry somebody and you get their strengths and wonderful qualities as well as their weaknesses.” 

"Aside from the groping, Roshi Sasaki was a pretty cool guy"-says some dude who was never molested by him.

I love how insisting that someone let you fondle her boobs is lumped in the same category as a husband leaving the toilet seat up. 

"The witnessing council, which wrote the report, has no official authority. Its members belong to the American Zen Teachers Association but collected stories on their own initiative, although with a statement of support from 45 other teachers and priests." 

Oh good. An internal body with no legal authority has decided to make a report. Meanwhile, grandpa bad touch has escaped prosecution as have the people who protected him.

As in the case of most serial abusers, this man was an opportunist who used his power and authority within this organization to get away with repeated sexual assault. He had vulnerable young women who were isolated from mainstream society at his beck and call and he made the most of it.

Whenever they expressed their discomfort with his actions thing like this happened:

"Several women said that Zen can foster an atmosphere of overt sexism. Jessica Kramer, a doula in Los Angeles, was Mr. Sasaki’s personal attendant in 2002. She said that he would reach into her robe and that she always resisted his advances. Surrounded almost entirely by men, she said she got very little sympathy. “I’d talk about it with people who’d say, ‘Why not just let him touch your breasts if he wants to touch your breasts?’ ”

Forget your councils and focus groups. What these situations need are trained professionals from outside the organization who can arrest and convict these monsters. 

The truth will get out and when it does, these organizations will have to answer for protecting the perpetrators instead of the victims. 

The Amazing Russian Dash Cam

If there is one good thing to have come out of the high levels of corruption in Russia, it's the dash cam.

In order to avoid false injury claims, bribery and other nonsense, many Russian auto owners have installed car cameras as a means of self-defense.

The first cam video I saw showed a Russian airplane crashing into an overpass and sending debris flying into passing traffic.

The owner of the dash cam stays silent the whole time. The sound of screeching brakes and crunching metal can be clearly heard but not a peep comes from the driver.

In Soviet Russia, plane lands you! Sorry. Couldn't help myself.

The next video was of a van passing on a two lane highway and losing control before slamming into a truck and ejecting a baby onto the road. Miraculously, the baby was unharmed and quickly scooped up by its father. Once again, the driver with the dash cam remains silent.

Who are these people?!

Yesterday, the internet was treated to some amazing dash cam footage of a meteor streaking through the sky over Chelyabinsk, Russia and once again, the owner of the dash cam remained underwhelmed.

He does utter some words, but sedately as if it's no big thing that a bright object is hurtling towards the earth from space.

I speak limited Russian so I can only imagine what he said:

"Hmm. A fireball. Now was that a left or right on Moskva Street? Hell if I know."

On Work

I haven't had a paying job since I began grad school almost two years ago.

My last job was one in which I was underutilized and often verbally and systematically abused. Since it was a military job, I was contractually obligated to endure it or else leave in a disgrace that could ruin any future employment opportunities I might want to pursue.

Recently, I thought it might build my confidence and sense of well being to ease back into the workforce with some part- time work. I began working at a shop that sells vinyl and compact discs.

I loved working there. I learned a lot about Jazz, the Blues and all these Rock groups I had never heard of. People would come in and we reminisce about bands we liked in the 80s and 90s.

The owner and I got on pretty well.

Although the pay wasn't much, having a job and doing it well meant a lot to me. There's a human dignity aspect to work that's hard to quantify in a dollar amount.

Prior to last Monday, I noticed that the owner would get irritated with me over minor mistakes. He would speak to me like I had just cost him millions with a simple error.I didn't like it at all.

On Monday he left me in charge of things while he went out to lunch. A customer who had been in earlier returned to buy some stereo equipment and told me the owner had said he could have 10% off.

I have a firm grasp of basic math but I have a terrible anxiety when it comes to performing any sort of mathematical function in front of someone. I grabbed the calculator and punched in the price minus 10%. I did it wrong and ended up giving the guy $10 off instead of the $5.50 that was the correct amount.

After he left, another woman came in and brought a box set of 20 Mozart CDs with her. We spoke in Spanish and she asked me to call the owner and see how much he would give her for the collection. He told me he didn't sell much classical music in the store and that he wasn't interested. I told the woman but she was insistent that I call him again and tell him she would give him the CDs for $15. I called him again and he angrily said no and hung up on me.

He returned as she was leaving and the moment she was out of the store he went off on me saying I had embarrassed him in front of a customer earlier.

I was surprised by this and said I was sorry and hadn't realized that I had said anything hurtful.

He had been showing a customer some turntables earlier and had made a sound with his mouth to imitate that noise that the system made when it was turned on. I had turned to the customer then and remarked that the owner loved onomatopoeia.

Whenever the owner was explaining to me how to file some of the CDs and records away he would always make noises to mimic the sounds of those things being shuffled around. I liked this so much that I would make them back whenever we got in new stock and we would laugh about it.

Suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore and was taken as an attack on his character.

Next he asked about the customers who had come in while he was away and I told him about the man who had bought the stereo equipment. He looked at the cash register receipt and asked why the balance was less than the sticker price. I told him I had given him ten percent off.

First he said that he had never told the man he could have 10% off on that equipment. Next he lambasted me for giving him $10 off instead of 10%. I acknowledged my mistake and said I was very sorry. Then he asked if I had given the man two $1-off coupons which we usually give to people who spend over $15. I said I had forgotten and he insinuated that because of this we had probably lost the customer for good and he would never come back. I thought this was going a bit far but I didn't say so.

I went back to filing away some of the new CDs we had received and was treated to two more tirades about my mistake at the register. I felt utterly stupid and worthless. From the way he continued to berate me you would have thought my mistake meant he would be going without meals for the next week.

Tears welled up in my eyes and I considered walking out. Instead, I finished my shift. While I filed away extra copies of records in the back of the store I realized if I stayed on it would mean dealing with random confrontations over things I hadn't realized I had done.

I went home and sent a text message to him saying I thought I needed to look for a job with less math involved. I also said he could just take my earning for that day and apply them to the mistake I made at the register. He wrote back explaining that when an employee makes a mistake they should be told about the mistake so they didn't repeat it. I agree 100%, I just don't think the employee should be humiliated to the point where they experience a sinking dread at the very thought of making another mistake.

Like many other managers, the store owner had been reading books chock full of supposedly helpful rules for establishing manager/employee relationships.

These are very popular in corporate America and have a lot to do with stripping away the employee's humanity and treating him or her like a lab rat. They begin with the assumptions that the employee is lazy, has delinquent tendencies and is in possession of a low IQ.

They turn the manager into a total misanthrope and stop just short of commanding the manager to slap the employee across the face with a rolled up newspaper before rubbing the employees nose in whatever mistake they have just committed.

This one-size-fits-all crap philosophy means that even if you hire a well educated, responsible adult who shows up on time and isn't trying to rob you blind, you still treat them as if this was not the case.

Another popular ploy of these managerial guides is to force the minions employees do team building exercises involving such useful items as a two-by-four, tin can and length of dental floss.

No amount of team building among the "lower order" will ever change the harmful effects of toxic leadership on morale and job performance.

 In my final year in the Coast Guard, those at the top of the hierarchy decided they would allow members to opt out of their contracts and leave the service early.

The belief was that leaders with higher rank would take the early retirement, freeing up positions for promotion. What actually happened was a massive exodus of the lowest ranking individuals in the service, many of whom expressed relief at getting away from the poor treatment and sometime abuse they had received from their respective commands.

 I would like to say this served as a wake-up call to the service but it didn't.

The habit of treating the underlings like excrement and pretending that it's part of a proud military tradition continues.

Placido Domingo

Spring must be coming. The opera star that lives across the street has started to rehearse, exhaling her lilting Soprano into the warm afternoon air.

The Blue Herons have returned to their tree and begun to fuss over what form this year's nest will take. My neighbor agrees with me as to their grace but likens their voices to pterodactyls. 

I met a homeless veteran who spends most of his time in the park near my house. I tried to tell him about some of the VA programs available to him but he laughed and said he's a lost cause. I said I didn't think so and I continue to take him food from time to time. I'd like to help him get the health care and housing he's entitled to but I don't want to push the issue if he's not open to it. 

He remembered my name today and it made me happy. He was sent to Georgia for Infantry training and I went to Fort Jackson. We've talked about our Army service a little bit. He said he was conscripted and I said I joined on my own. His name is Joe. 

Men Being Manly in the Woods With Other Men

So this is the image from Wilderness Collective's latest outing. From what I can tell, a gaggle of privileged white guys paid a bunch of money to dress alike and tear ass around Yosemite Park on tiny motorbikes because- manliness.

When they arrived at "base camp" there were fancy cheeses and craft cocktails awaiting them.

They cooked meat with a blow torch, recalling a simpler era when primitive man used canned heat to cook animal flesh someone else had killed and shipped from overseas. 

They threw an ax into a giant tree trunk at near point blank range. They slept in small pup tents and smoked cigars the next morning whilst referring to themselves as a "band of brothers."

Below is the video that has to be seen to be fully appreciated. For those of you who adore the grating whine of Ira Glass' voice, here is a story presented by a man who sounds like his less literate cousin:

https://vimeo.com/55420992

What I take away from this is that "being committed" involves locking up your cell phone for more than 72 hours. How did they get through it?

They set up a whole camp by themselves. No one even told them what to do. It. Wasn't. Even. In. The. Instructions.

"In an age of eroding masculinity"...men need to put on matching parkas and experience friendly manly banter, hidden in the woods from the evil estrogen menace known as womankind.

They learned hard lessons from pain, like the pain of having to open your lite beer against a tree because you misplaced the bottle opener and then scraped your knuckle. No woman could ever understand this.

"The cigars were broke out." After this line I started to cry because I realized I'll never know the realness of puttering through a tunnel with a bunch of  hipster poets and coming out the other side two minutes later like a boss.

Well ladies, we will never have this sort of experience in the woods, what with being made of sugar, spices and other highly soluble materials. But maybe, just maybe, we could start a pretty awesome knitting circle where we talk about our periods and swap recipes.

So....who's with me?