Politics. Elections. Same old political song and dance. Lip Service. The Government works for us. So why is there No Presidential or Congressional Employee Annual Review? No Congressional Annual Budget Expense Report provided to US Citizens. Every employee in Corporate America receives an Annual Review- why not our government? We need greater visibility into the White House. Not legislation that prevents visibility into government. We need to revise and improve upon our Political Process. Promote them into the White House instead of Vote them into the White House. Our country needs a Statesmen for President, can we clone Al Gore? Millions voted for Bush, which led our country into the economic toilet. While Al Gore won the Nobel Peace Prize. Is our judgement so screwed up, that we chose popularity over substance. Popularity, over a proven track record of ethical experience? All politicians smile and wave while making promises and raiding the coffers.
I was a Hillary fan for this election, not because she was female or a Democratic. I could really give a shit less about political labels. Both parties make up the front and back of the same greedy coin. Who can steal the tax money from the citizens free labor first? I just thought we needed a President who was seasoned, who could hit the ground running. Not someone green who has to learn the ropes. Hiring a President to run a company during times of 'normalcy' is one thing, versus hiring a President who can 'hold the reigns' of a business in the midst of a economic banking crisis and war. Six Years into a war ladies and gentlemen, six years of death and destruction. What a way to promote Pro-Life and Peace, go USA go ! I suppose being Pro-Life has nothing to do with protecting babies who grow up to be soldiers, because there have been 4,177 Soldier fatalities to date. Personally, I think we should pull our soldiers out, their lives are worth more than an oil pipeline running into the Caspian sea.
Everyone should throw down their car keys in protest. Quit feeding the fuel machine. Walk or Ride Your Bike. Dependence on oil is not the future for America. But slaughtering of men, women and children has become the reputation of America. Is this who we have become, a bunch of product consuming , shop at any environmental cost, oil hungry, hypocritical greedy mongruls? Some of the most brilliant minds live in this country, isn't it time that we create new solutions to sustain our economy: wind, water, solar, thermal. China and Japan are kicking our asses in environmental technology advancements. While we have to create $700 Billion to Bail Out Banks & Financial Institutions. How many billions have gone towards 'bailing out' the families who lost their homes to corrupt mortgage companies, now homeless?
How many billions have 'bailed out' education? Our schools are crumbling and falling apart. Children need new text books, our society needs better pay and training for excellent teachers. Billions goes to the Department of Defense, well what about Advancements in Education? We cannot keep teaching children the same old crap in school and expect them to suceed in life when parents across the United States are barely survivng on minimum wage. Financial Oppression keeps people busy, keeps them from protesting political decicions, keeps us from writing monthly complaint letters to our Senators and State Representatives.
Instead, Congress and the President continue to pass legislation like Hitlers, Directive 51, The Military Commissions Act, they even suspend the Writ of Habeus Corpus and overturn Posse Comitatus, so citizens slowly lose their civil liberties. Legislation that leads the way to Martial Law in America. A Corporate, Facist Military Police State is not the future for America. Look around. Ever wonder what is wrong: Crime is now corporatized and legalized. Conspiracy theories my ass, real legislation is being passed effecting our lives.
There is much darkness heading in our direction, eating away at our civil liberties every day but I still choose to believe and have faith in the good. There are Men and Women, like you and me, whom I believe will take a stand when the time comes to defend the Soverignty of America and protect it's citizens.
It is time for a major change in the United States and it is one of many reasons to register and be ready to Rock Your Vote.
If you still feel like your voice isn't heard, gather your friends and collegues to Stage a March on the White House Lawn.Shout loud enough. Shout for change long enough, and your voice will be heard;
E Pluribus Unum, " Out of Many, One " -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.S. To You Know Who: We saw you doing your 'fake make out' session as not to be seen in the car hiding out last night. Sorry, your busted. There are just not that many blondes in the neighborhood. lol Just talk to me, we can meet up for a drink.... "Say" by John Mayer
I sat in a subway train car that had the following words scratched into the train window: "4 LEX "Signs from the universe letting me know I have been in this place before I suppose....This also happened when I first moved to New York, the Kennedy ferry that goes from Manhattan to Staten Island has the letters LEX carved into the wooden booth and the metal wall on the bottom deck, left side of the ship. And LEX is also carved into a sidewalk in front of Inwood Hill Park.
Seven Straight Nights for Equal Rights is an opportunity for straight Americans nationwide to stand up for their LGBT friends.
Wednesday 17th, 4:30-6:00 PM Take a stand in Madison Square Park. Performance art meets public activism as straight New Yorkers literally stand for equality. Come see the action and take your own stand.
Wednesday 17th, 6:15 PM WeWo@ Marble Church (29th & 5th Ave) Rev. David Lewicki leads a service on the importance of, and ways for, straight folks to take a stand.
Thursday 18th, @ 2 PM Take a stand in Brooklyn, a Brooklyn take on the Madison Square Park Event
I was asked to participate in an art show recently that is hosted in the Hamptons on Labor Day weekend. I declined but decided the least I could do was attend the show to see if I would be interested in paricipating in the future. Directions to the Art Show placed it in a place called Amagansett, but there was not a specific address listed: just a little red star on the map to guide us in the right direction. When we arrived at the train station in Amagansett, I felt like I had just been dropped off at a forest back in home in Texas. The Hamptons are a bit different than Manhattan, it is more secluded, so there are no cabs waiting for you or a bus to get you around town for that matter. Upon looking around I thought to myself, "Perhaps I should have rented a car." Oh well. There were two options for directions: right or left. Chocolate or vanilla. Eeny...mini...miny... mo....
We went left, which happened to be the wrong way. Luckily the Grocery Store was full of some nice people and they turned us around in the right direction. Although, as a minority, I could not help but notice as we passed the local laundry mat that the only people inside were of Latin descent. Of which I joked, "I bet the only Latin people in this town are the Hired Help." lol So off we went, past the cute red and white fire station, the organic farmers market, and into the small town of Amagansett. The buildings in the town are painted white with black trim. The area is quaint, very crispy, clean and starched like Martha Stewart land with alot of trees. You can immediately smell sea breeze mixed with the scent of Republicans in the air and the people in the town are not very friendly. Let's be honest, this is where New Yorkers take summer vacations and although you can take the workaholic out of the city, you cannot necessarily take it out of the person. We kept walking and finally came to Indian Wells Hwy, where the art show was supposed to be. I looked around for a gallery but instead there was a large grassy field with a big wooden sign that read, "Antique Festival." A little baffled, I called the local Chamber of Commerce and the lady on the line was clueless. In my hands were directions to an Art Show... but there was no art show. Apparently we discovered later that it had been canceled but no one bothered to change the information on the website or email me. Lovely.
But why let a beautiful day go to waste because of a change in plans? We doted on the map for a moment and realized that Indian Wells Highway led straight to the beach. F-a-b-u-l-o-u-s. :) Just give me sand, surf and sunshine and I am as happy as a butterfly in a field of daisies. Off we went to Indian Wells Beach, passing the manicured lawns, Weeping Willows in need of water and super sized, over priced houses. The area is nice and I could understand the appeal for celebrity seclusion but when you are from Texas, the houses in River Oaks, West U and Highland Park give the Hamptons a competitive run for their money. Not to mention value per dollar.
However, when we arrived at the beach, I found it quite impressive. The beach itself is very clean, and most of the people are sun bathing so the water is a liberating, wide open space, ripe for swimming. Looking around, it was quite apparent to us that I was the tannest person on the sand. Which is a little odd because NYC is mixed culturally and the beaches reflect diversity not only in NY but in Texas. Even at the private southern estates and private beaches you will find every culture represented, but not here. Oh well. Good thing my father has blonde hair and blue eyes or I might find myself a bit reluctant to swim due to the "One of these things is not like the other," scenery.
We found a place to lay our belongings and went straight to the visit the sea. She was quite tempermental that day and the force of her waves upon the shore were not to be taken lightly. If we could get past the crashing break, we could have a nice swim...so we did and spent hours playing around in the water. It was quite romantic to have so much ocean to ourselves. The fun part came when trying to get back to shore, it was all a matter of timing and the hard part about capturing a sea shell was that the sea tried to steal our bottoms a few times in the process. Duck diving in the ocean is always entertaining unto itself because the laughter alone can almost cause you to drown. We had a great time playing in the sea.
On our way back into town, we found a cozy little bookstore with a fat, orange and white tabby waiting to greet us....and a really unique freestanding sculpture of a wooden horse. All in all we had a lovely weekend, perhaps we will come again next year....it is amazing how lifes little bloopers can lead you to unexpected places.
I keep having a reoccuring dream that has woken me up several times ar 4am for the last month and once again, I am awake. The dream begins with me as a young Japanese girl with pink tails and I am about 7 or 8 years of age. (btw-In real waking life I am not Japanese although I am a lover of all things sushi ;) In my dream I am sitting in a very large executive style board room next to a Japanese man with a very stern face, dressed in a really nice suit and he has a very powerful presence about him. Apparently, he is my father and I am at his place of business for the day which also happens to be his company. Maybe it is a "take your child to work day" kind of thing, I'm not really sure. He places his hand on my arm to remind me to behave just as two American gentlemen- also in suits enter the room carrying brief cases. Greetings take place and everyone sits down at the table for a meeting.
The Americans gentlemen begin talking, one of them pops open his brief case and places a plastic container in front of me and opens it. The container is filled with colorful American themed pencils, erasers, stickers, temporary tattoos and memorabilla- very similar to what you find in a 'Hello Kitty' box for children. Wide eyed and curious I first pick up the American Flag eraser- then my father takes it away from me. As the Americans are offering some sort of business proposal to my father... I pick up the colorful pencil in the box - again my father takes it away from me with a slite smirk on his face. He taps me on my arm as another gesture to behave. As I look up at him with doe eyes, my right hand reaches for the temporary tattoos. My father puts his hand out as to say through parental body language- give it to me. Like all well behaved children I smile wide but mischeviously, turn my head, lick the back of the tatoo paper, stick it on my hand and quickly cover it with my other hand. My father cannot help but laugh.
The next part of my dream is my father is working in his office which over looks a park- it is gorgeous outside. And I stand at the window because I want to go outside and play. I go over to my father and ask him to take a walk with me in the park as I point out the window. With his head in a stack of papers, he is too preoccupied with business to spare any free time. He tells me that we will go to the park, "later." I am feeling quite sad about it, so I grab some crayola colors and my teddy bear and find a spot to color close to the window.
The last part of my dream is at our home- and what an extravagent home it is. The house reminds me of the fairy tale settings of Disney's animated version of Beauty and the Beast, very ornate with large wood trimmings, lots of gold decor and beautiful paintings adorning the walls. A portrait of my mother is in the foyer, although I am left with the impression she died many years before and that it was just my father and I living in the large home. A doctor is coming out of my bedroom carrying a small black leather bag with a stethascope and he is walking towards my father shaking his head- the news, which I cannot hear, must be bad because my father immediately covers his face with his hand and begins to cry. The doctor places his right hand on my fathers shoulder to comfort him and my father sniffles, takes a deep breath, wipes away his tears and begins to walk towards my room. Once inside, he pulls up a chair next to my bed and upon seeing me laying there with my eyes closed and sweat running across my forehead- he breaks down, puts his hands to his face and begins to sob like a parent about to lose his child. His soul cries wake me and although I am groggy and burning hot with fever, I reach my hand out, touch his hand and say "I love you." He begins sobbing more, apologizing to me for being a workaholic, for not finding the time, mumbling, crying more and saying he loves me too. He lifts his head from his hands to look at me and as I stare deeply into his eyes he morphs into another person....Madonna. My hand falls from his and my young life slips away. The End.
I find it interesting that as we evolve on a soul level, how our subconscious begins a process of release through our dreams.
So I had this brillant idea to go swimming when I was feeling a bit under the weather...and I did laps to top it off. While on the way home I stopped into a cute little Green cafe in East Village close to the corner of 14th and Avenue A. Once inside with my glass of green tea, I could not help but notice the very unique self portraits by the artist Karl Erik Larson. He apparently is into cubism but his style gives a very interesting and stylish twist to portraiture- a subject that can sometimes be rather boring. Well not his work, with his use of lighting and geometric patterns on the faces of everyday people you want to have your own face immortalized by his talented hands. Check him out if you get a chance...and get a cup of local brew.
About this time last summer, I was walking down 34th street towards 7th Avenue and a little man, with his head wrapped in a turbin stepped right in front of me and begged me to talk to him. Like a transplanted New Yorker with the heart of a Texan, I did not want to be rude so I indulged him for a moment instead of briskly walking by. He said to me, in an indian accent " I want you to write down a number on a piece of paper and if I guess the number correctly, you will give me ten minutes of your time." So I obliged, pulled a piece of paper and a pen from my purse and wrote down a number and crumpled it together as my hand closed. I thought to myself, there is no way this man can guess the right number. He stared at me for a moment and said, " 33." Damn... he actually guessed correctly! So off we went into a Cafe down the street where I was supposed to meet one of my friends.
When we arrived at the cafe, I ordered a cup of coffee and the little man sat across from me. He said he was from India, and had only been in the states since yesterday as he preceded to pull out a teeny tiny book out of his pocket, it was a little larger than a box of matches. His accent was thick, so it took me a moment to process what he was saying as he explained that he was an Indian astrologer and the little book was his guide. Indie is what I will call him because I have no idea what his real name was, he asked me to write down my birthdate on a piece of paper...and so I handed it to him. The odd thing was, he kept saying " You are sooo Different." Being the skeptic, I kept thinking to myself, well aren't we all? Then he asked me to write down 5 things in life that I found challenging and 5 things I secretly wished for...except the piece of paper he handed me was two inches by two inches. I squished as much on to it as possible and handed it back to him. He closed it in his hand and seemed to meditate on it for a few minutes.
Then a la bizarre began as he talked to me about my ability to be very strategic with the placement of objects and it took him a few minutes to specifically say art. Ok, I am beginning to pay attention now. Indie described very specific people in my life. The first person he talked about was Kelly. Well naturally you would think, Kelly is a very common name right? Then Indie says, Kelly is a man, and not a very nice man- he is bad luck. Little did he know that ironically, my new Senior VP was named Kelly- a man. Kelly on his first day at the job introduced himself to me by walking into my office and verbally threatening me in so many words and then he proceeded to bragg about his sex life to all the associates over lunch. He was about as charming as a slimy used car sales man from the sticks. Indie then went on and on about different people who meant something to me but nothing to him. It was rather eery-spooky to say the least but I took it all with a grain of salt.
So as we were wrapping things up, Indie said he had a gift for me and pulls out a stone from his pocket. He holds the bluish stone between his fingers as he explains that it is a protective amulet, and I need to wear it for the next 48 hours. I open my palm, close it and he touches my hand and says some kind of prayer in Hindu. Then we part ways. Later that evening I found a locket in a Tibetan store and placed the stone inside. I wore it the first night but I could not sleep- my stomach kept getting hot and I was having weird dreams. So I took the stone out of the locket and put it in the zipper of my wallet.
I can't really say that anything predicted has come true but the funny thing is the last time I had the locket with the stone on, was Halloween. We were down in the village for the parade and I pulled the necklace out and put it on. About 15 minutes later when we were walking back towards the subway along a dark road, a taxi pulled up and a woman got out. She had red hair that was cut into a bob, Prada shoes on and a Louis Vouitton hand bag. The minute she stepped out of the car she walked directly over to us and asked for directions- she introduced herself as Kristen Leo, an attorney from Long Island. Wow. Attorney out of nowhere. Hmmm. Interesting.
Psychic stone or tracking device- who knows. Either way, when I got home, I super glued the stone to the back of the nearest taxi. Wonder if Indie had that prediciton in the psychic hand book? LOL NYC is full of bizarre happenings.
Riding on a subway in NYC reminds me of being inside a giant tin can, sometimes when you step onto the train you never know what suprises might await you inside. Today, it happened to be a man (homeless) who captured my curiosity as he wandered onto the other end of the train. He was about 6 feet tall, in his late fifties and was wearing a wrinkle free black t-shirt, a pair of pressed blue jeans and faded black work boots. The thing that struck me about him was although he looked tired he was very polite and well mannered (gentlemen are a rare breed in this city) and he looked well groomed with perfectly trim hair and a recently shaved face. He made it towards me with his head bowed, in a shaky voice and trembling hands, he clenched an upside down hat full of change as he said, "Ladies and gentlemen; I don't rob, I don't steal. I'm a Vietnam Vet who is just hungry and if you could spare some change or if you have some food to share, I would appreciate your kind donation." As he raised his head I made it a point to look him in the eyes as a gesture of acknowledging his presence in the world and I smiled. He smiled back, lowered his eyes once again and said, "I like your hair." Immediately, something inside me told me that I needed to buy this man lunch. Some might call me a sucker for a beggar but I think it takes a lot of courage for a grown man to humble himself to ask for food and frankly I find it heartbreaking that he even has to beg for it in a world full of so much abundance. The train suddenly came to an abrupt stop, the subway doors opened and he moved with the current of people flowing into the train station. I followed him as he limped to the elevator.
As the man (homeless) pressed the elevator button he saw me out of the corner of his eye, smiled and said "Are you following me? " I humourously replied with a smile, "Why yes I am. Your hungry and I'm taking you to lunch." "Alright, but are you taking me to McDonalds? " "No sir. I have no intentions of killing you or clogging your arteries with greasy food." We both laughed.
Together, Danie the man and I talked as we made our way to Cafe 34, at 34th and 8th avenue. There at the cafe they had a large selection of salads, sandwiches and hot meals for us to choose from. Danie, after much thought ordered a freshly made, plain hamburger with a regular pepsi. He was smiling from ear to ear with excitement like a child at a toy store. I asked him if he wanted fries? Danie responded with a laugh, apparently he was trying to watch his weight and health since he was getting older, the fries would only spoil him and put him to sleep. Humor in spite of homelessness, definately an invaluable resource. While we waited for the food, I called my friend and invited her to join us, she obliged and I placed an order for another salad.
Together, we took our trays of food outside on the patio so we could enjoy the beautiful weather. Danie began telling us about his life story, that his mother was a single parent and she raised him with a firm hand to keep him out of trouble. He said that his mother trained him well for the military, he was drafted at age 17 and was shipped away to Vietnam. I joked with him about how a mother can look at you -regardless of your age- with the "your in trouble glance" and you freeze in your tracks. It is one of those looks that can melt through pure steel. It ranks right up there with a parent calling you by your full name: "Maria Conchita Gonzales Suerto you better xyz or else. " We laughed at a simple truth, a mothers love and discipline is universal.
During Vietnam, Danie was shot in the leg and returned to the United States. His mother had passed away and since he had no siblings, was left alone to recover from his injury. The wounds on his body healed much faster than the wounds in his heart or the nightmares and flashbacks in his head. In order to cope, the doctors gave Danie meth and he was hooked. His benefits began to run out and unable to continue to pay for his healthcare and medication, Danie's military buddy turned him onto the new 'rich persons drug' during the seventies, cocaine. Once cocaine ran it's course, crack became the new drug of choice. Strung out, addicted and financially disabled, unable to comprehend lifes responsibilities; the bills began to pile up and Danie could not make his rent. It was then that he began to painfully sober up through heavy withdrawals and he decided to let go of his possessions and go into a city run drug treatment center. There, Danie cleaned up his addictionbut lost every material possession in exchange for his life. He learned quickly, at the fatal stabbing of a bunk mate that it was safer to sleep in the street than be in a city run shelter. Danie has been homeless ever since, sober and attending AA meetings for twenty years. The money donations Danie receives from kind people on the subway either pay for him to have a hot meal, or give hime an opportunity to rent a room at a small hotel and take a hot shower. There are times when he is lucky with his donations and times when he goes without a bite to eat for an entire week. What makes the difference for him is when strangers extend a hand of kindness and sharing.
As a treat I get Danie some vanilla ice cream for dessert, his eyes are wide with excitement. Danie explains to us that just because he is homeless, does not mean he has to look or smell homeless. He proudly says that he bought his pants for $7.99 and his shirt for $2.00 at a discount retailer down the street. I quietly think to myself about how much we can waste on just buying breakfast. Danie takes a bite of his ice cream, looks up with delight at us and says, "Thank you for being so kind hearted. Most people, when they get educated, forget about those of us that go without." I smile at him, "We are both part of the same human family. The only thing that makes us different is I have a job (which pays me straight commission), a roof over my head and family to fall back on if necessary. The creator loves you no less than he loves me."
Once the ice cream is done, we gather our things and head out the door. We invite Danie to go to church with us next Wednesday and he seems quiet interested, in exchange he thanks us with hugs. Then we go our seperate ways.
Danie serves as a reminder to me that over a million people have already become homeless due to the recent mortgage crisis, an extra ten million families are expected to become homeless and flood the shelters this year as a result; men, women and children are not immune to poverty. The side-stepping subject of homelessness reminds me of a saying we used when I worked in Human Resources management and had to fire an employee, " If you ever get use to firing people, you are in the wrong job." Now when I see a homeless person on the street or sleeping in a subway station I think to myself; If we as a community or as a nation ever get use to mass suffering or homelessness, we have failed one another by losing our compassion and love for humanity. Money cannot be worth more than human dignity and maintaing a decent quality of life.
Each and everyone of us should be asking how and why our government is failing us by not providing legislation to protect the American Family from corrupt realtors, real estate price gouging and mortgage lending sharks.
