Obama the monster

President Obama has released his latest budget plan; but, it's not likely to gain much political traction and, compared to the president's past spending plans, this budget expresses relatively small ambitions.

“The budget is not just about numbers. It's about our values and it's about our future, and how well we are laying the groundwork for those young children that I was with just a few moments ago.”

Would you believe that his fascist budget would boost funding for early childhood education and aims to make college more affordable, too. In short, it's a giant wish list. Is this guy delusional? He wants to invest in infrastructure, create more hi-tech manufacturing hubs, and greatly expand the earned income and child tax credits.

“This budget gives millions more workers the opportunity to take advantage of the tax credit. And it pays for it by closing loopholes like the ones that let wealthy individuals classify themselves as a small business to avoid paying their fair share of taxes.”

Can you say communism? Get your hand out of my pocket sir!
The $3.9 trillion budget sticks to the spending levels agreed to last year by House and Senate budget negotiators. What is more notable is what it doesn't do. It doesn't aspire to a grand bargain with Congress or call for significant changes to programs like Medicare or Social Security. Instead, it delivers a message Democrats and the president have tried to convey countless ways in recent years. And for good reasons we have not been listening.

“It's about our values. As a country, we've got to make a decision if we're going to protect tax breaks for the wealthiest Americans, or if we're going to make smart investments necessary to create jobs and grow our economy, and expand opportunity for every American.”

There is a not so subtle implication that Republicans have chosen the interests of the wealthiest Americans. And let's just say this budget isn't getting rave reviews from Republicans in Congress. The president has once again opted for the political stunt for a budget. And it's more about firing up the base and in an election year, than about solving the nation's biggest and most persistent long-term challenges like making sure the rich get richer! It should come as no surprise then that this budget is dead on arrival in Congress. As it should be!

Ending Homelessness

In a dingy conference hall, bright from the neon lights; I sit, learning about ways to end homelessness. The motto differs: “Ending homelessness by 2025” “Ending family homelessness by 2020” “ending Veteran homelessness by 2015.” Seems to be the new cool thing to do, all the kids are doing it; trying to end homelessness!  Everyone has an idea, and I have no doubt these ideas would look good in a grant application; however, having seen homelessness up-close, the road ahead is not as clear.  It didn't stop them, louder than the pink and green carpet covering the floors, speaker after speaker eloquently elaborated their plan forward. I sit in the back, wondering, why can’t I agree?

I don’t agree with the speakers because I don’t see homelessness as an epidemic; something that needs to be destroyed. I see homelessness as a time and place in a person’s life! A life event! I see homelessness as a stage in life, much like adolescence, and as annoying as teenagers can be, no one is suggesting we end them. For as long as there is mental illness, substance abuse, and instant gratification, homelessness will exist. What we do when that occurs will make the difference.

Homelessness, in my opinion, needs to be shortened, and I’m lucky enough to work for a leading agency that understands that very well.  We think of our population as individuals who are exercising homelessness and not as “the homeless.” We are working hard to make that experience as short as possible, through assisting individuals and families in need to navigate the social safety net, and supporting them with information and referrals as well as advocacy. We alleviating barriers, and providing wraparound services to assure self-sufficiency, and with our collaborative efforts through building relationships with other non-profits, we assure a more expedited experience for all my clients. How will you help? Please don’t say that you will give money to someone asking for it in your nearest freeway entrance; that really grids my gears! 

The Newsroom

I often do this, wait for a season to finish then watch the whole thing in two days. I hate having to wait a whole week in between shows. Cliffhangers are not for me. So yesterday I started watching the Newsroom, a new series for HBO, TV series. 

The opening scene was fantastic and I wanted to share it with you:

News anchor Will McAvoy (Jeff Daniels) emotionally checked out years ago, and now he's sitting on a college panel, hearing the same shouting match between right and left he's been hearing forever, and the arguments have become noise. A student asks what makes America the world's greatest country, and Will dodges the question with glib answers. But the moderator keeps needling him until...snap.

Will
It's not the greatest country in the world, professor, that's my answer.

Moderator
[pause] You're saying—

Will
Yes.

Moderator
Let's talk about—

Start off easy. First get rid of the two noisemakers.

Will
Fine. [to the liberal panelist] Sharon, the NEA is a loser. Yeah, it accounts for a penny out of our paychecks, but he [gesturing to the conservative panelist] gets to hit you with it anytime he wants. It doesn't cost money, it costs votes. It costs airtime and column inches. You know why people don't like liberals? Because they lose. If liberals are so fuckin' smart, how come they lose so GODDAM ALWAYS!

The use of inappropriate language has a purpose—the filter's off.

And [to the conservative panelist] with a straight face, you're going to tell students that America's so starspangled awesome that we're the only ones in the world who have freedom? Canada has freedom, Japan has freedom, the UK, France, Italy, Germany, Spain, Australia, Belgium has freedom. Two hundred seven sovereign states in the world, like 180 of them have freedom.

The fact-dump that's coming now serves several purposes. It backs up his argument, it reveals him to be exceptional (what normal person has these stats at their fingertips?), but mostly it's musical. This is the allegro.

And you—sorority girl—yeah—just in case you accidentally wander into a voting booth one day, there are some things you should know, and one of them is that there is absolutely no evidence to support the statement that we're the greatest country in the world. We're seventh in literacy, twenty-seventh in math, twenty-second in science, forty-ninth in life expectancy, 178th in infant mortality, third in median household income, number four in labor force, and number four in exports. We lead the world in only three categories: number of incarcerated citizens per-capita, number of adults who believe angels are real, and defense spending, where we spend more than the next twenty-six countries combined, twenty-five of whom are allies. None of this is the fault of a 20-year-old college student, but you, nonetheless, are without a doubt, a member of the WORST-period-GENERATION-period-EVER-period, so when you ask what makes us the greatest country in the world, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about?! Yosemite?!!!

[Cell-phone cameras are everywhere— people are tweeting and texting away.]

Now we slow down and get a glimpse into his pain. The oratorical technique is called "floating opposites"— we did, we didn't, we did, we didn't... But rhythmically you don't want this to be too on the money. You're not just testing the human ear anymore; you want people to hear what he's saying.

We sure used to be. We stood up for what was right! We fought for moral reasons, we passed and struck down laws for moral reasons. We waged wars on poverty, not poor people. We sacrificed, we cared about our neighbors, we put our money where our mouths were, and we never beat our chest. We built great big things, made ungodly technological advances, explored the universe, cured diseases, and cultivated the world's greatest artists and the world's greatest economy. We reached for the stars, and we acted like men. We aspired to intelligence; we didn't belittle it; it didn't make us feel inferior. We didn't identify ourselves by who we voted for in the last election, and we didn't scare so easy. And we were able to be all these things and do all these things because we were informed. By great men, men who were revered. The first step in solving any problem is recognizing there is one—America is not the greatest country in the world anymore.

Will 
[to moderator] Enough?

Sherlock Holmes and the Republican Party

Walking home from work the other day, I found myself in a familiar neighborhood. Memoirs of Baker Street surfaced in my head and I thought of my friend Sherlock Holmes in a somewhat melancholic manner as if I've missed him.  I had been quite busy with my practice lately and I hadn’t seen much of him; but, since I was in the neighborhood, I decided to go see him.

I marched up those familiar stairs and without knocking I opened the door of the studio apartment I once called home. Instantly, I was welcomed by a thick cloud of smoke.  

“I thought you quit,” said I, with a slightly disappointed tone.

“My dear friend,” said he, jumping from his seat with the pipe still in his hand. “What brings you here? Not that I am not glad to see you, but ever since your married, and your new practice, I haven’t seen much of you.”

“I was in the neighborhood and I wanted to see you,” said I. “How has the greatest detective in the world been lately?”

“Not well Watson, not well indeed,” said he, and crashed back into his chair, as if his knees had abandoned him.  “I haven’t left this flat in days. Ever since my visit to Florida I haven’t been able to eat or sleep.”

“I can see that, you look horrendous.”

“Cocaine, Indian tobacco, and the occasional opium hit have been my only satisfactions, Watson.  I can’t seem to shake this sensation.”

“What sensation? Florida? You mean to tell me…”

“Yes my dear Watson, I did it,” said he, putting his head between his hands. “I went to the Republican Convention!”

“What possessed you to do something like this? You get hives simply by watching FOX news.”

 “I am working on the most difficult case yet, Watson!”

“A murder then?”

“Worse!”

”What can be worse than that?”

“Let me ask you a question, Watson,” said he, with elbows on his knees and fingertips together.  “Do you think I am a good detective?”

“I think you are a brilliant detective, the best there is.”

“Then why is it that I can’t solve one of the cases that has haunted me for years?”

“Which case is it? I can’t say I recollect what you are speaking of.”

“Republicans, Watson!”

“I don’t understand.”

“It is quite simple really: Why does anyone vote republican? Why do they belong to the party? Moreover, why would anyone in their right mind support Mitt Romney?”

I sat down in the chair opposite to his and we both pondered in our own thoughts for a while.  I stayed motionless; however, Holmes kept twitching in his seat. His pipe was firmly in his mouth and his eyes kept moving from side to side as he babbled between his teeth as a crazy person would. I was resolute not to say a word until he did, even if it took all night. Not thirty minutes passed, although it seemed like a lifetime, before he spoke.

“Let me tell you a story, Watson,” said he with a depressed look on his face as he offered me a pipe and some of his finest Indian tobacco.”

I bowed my head, in acceptance to both his pipe and this narrative.

“I like to think of myself as a remarkable man, one that can see all sorts of views and opinions; a man that can think like a detective as well as a criminal. This, combined with my undoubtedly remarkable deducing capability, has made me one of the greatest minds this world has ever seen. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Modest as well,” said I, smirking underneath my smile.

“Ahh my dearest friend… for the longest time I have found myself trying to understand and think like a republican to no avail. There are a few points which I can’t seem to grasp my mind around. For example: there are these people; regular, law abiding people; yet their ideology is so far from reality. They support a party constructed on the idealism that the economy works best from the upper class down, rather than from the middle class up. A party that believes that deregulation and fewer taxes for the rich will bring prosperity, despite of colossal failure to that ideology in the past.  A party that wants to tell a woman when, where, and what to do with her body, except in the cases of legitimate rape, of course, in which case she can’t get pregnant in the first place. But what makes me cry, Watson, is the fact that this party accepts no one but people that look, feel and believe in the same ideas as them. Besides their fondness for the NRA and the 4^th amendment I find absolutely nothing appealing about this party’s platform, Watson, and I can’t understand why anyone would!  They are against immigration, because we all know that all republicans came aboard of the Mayflower; against equal rights for all, regardless of sex, gender, or sexual preference; and not to mention the guy they have running for office…   It seems to me, dear Watson that America is going through an internal war.”

“War? Isn’t that a bit of an overstatement?”

“I might have chosen the wrong words Watson, but my underlying point remains ever so valid. An internal war, Watson! It is a war of ideologies and philosophies regarding the best way to run a county.  On one hand, you have the 2% of the country earning more than 250 thousand dollars, with the top 1 % making way more than that and running the country in the process. And you have the remaining 51% that everyone pretends to care about.

“That would be 53%, Holmes, what about the rest”

“That is it, Watson, that is the problem:  there are 47 percent who are dependent upon government; who believe that they are victims; who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them; who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it. That’s entitlement! And unless you are white, male, born in the USA, (preferably in the heartland,) heterosexual, rich and powerful in America, you are not entitled to anything.”

“A puzzler indeed, Holmes! Not to say that I have given much thought regarding this in the past. Have you come to any conclusion to the why? Why is the Republican Party thinking and behaving this way; additionally, why do some American outside of the rich and powerful continue to support such one-sided agenda as you put it? ”

“I have eliminated every other possibility, Watson, and I reason I have come up with the best possible solution; although the truth may never be known.”

With a quick push he jumped off his seat and, after adding a log to the fire, started pacing up and down the room.  His right hand by the pipe in his mouth, while the other firm in his pocket.

“Fear, Watson!”

I nodded my head as to pretend to know what he was talking about but when in reality I was puzzled and had no idea how he made that giant leap. Although my look might have deceived me because he continued…!

“Let me explain, Watson,” said he, staring down at me. “You seem confused.”

“The Republican Party is mainly supported by the white population. Is it not?”

“Perhaps.”

“The Republican Party has moved further Right in recent years with the help of the Tea Party. Has it not?”

“Sure.”

“Well my dear Watson, you can’t possibly think that is a coincidence that the shift to the right of the party coincides with the fact that the whites are no longer a majority in the United States. The Republican Party has become more and more conservative with pressure from the Tea Party of course, while contributing all their problems to immigrants, gays, women, and everything else that is not from the aforementioned class.”

For the first time since Holmes started talking he was making sense, and I was finally able to follow his train of thought. His ideas were always a little eccentric but in the end he was always right.

“Why do you think that is, Holmes, this fear?”

“In a bizarre way of thinking, Watson, supporters of the Republican Party as well Tea Party supporters, believe that there is a finite amount of freedom and rights in this world; therefore, if more people have it, there would be less to go around for them.  They, perhaps believe, that by allowing everyone to get married to whom they love, their own heterosexual marriages will somehow become less valid. A dreamer getting an American passport will somehow lower its quality and if a woman truly reaches equality then men will become second class. The white man in America has seen his power fade and they are afraid to relinquish the little control that they do have, Watson. Why else equal rights for all would not be appealing to them, after all isn’t that what the Constitution says?!  That’s the problem with fear, Watson: it makes people peculiar; it draws boundaries around their world.

With that, he slowly walked to his chair and faintly sat down as to not disturb his own thoughts.  He put his head back and lastly closed his eyes. I think for the first time in weeks he was finally calm and the burden had been lifted from his shoulders. I got up slowly, covered him with a blanket, and softly closed the door behind me. 

Life & Death, who do we mourn in a timely death?

It has been quite a long time since my last post. Needless to say, even with Mitt Romney’s dumb ass running for office, inspiration has been hard to come by. I thought long and hard about whether or not I wanted to write this blog. Well since you are reading it…

We had a loss in our family this summer: my grandmother passed away. It was hard on all of us, especially my mother, and for me the distance made it much more difficult. Death is hard, and my entire life I have been taught by social norms and social pressures about how to feel about it.  We all have seen the movies, the lucky ones anyways that haven’t witnessed a loved one pass; the entire family crying, everyone dressed in black, everyone is in mourning! Maybe certain losses are like that, maybe when a mother buries a child that’s how it should be; however, I did not feel that way regarding my grandmother. Now before you call me cold hearted and emotionless I want you to hear me out. 

My family and I have been blessed to not have had too many untimely deaths in our families. I did lose a cousin to the 1997 civil unrest, but I was too young to truly understand death and what it meant to me or the rest of the family. I was also too young when I lost my grandfather.  So this was the first time, in my cognitive adult life, I lost someone I cared about.  This experience left me with one question: When we mourn the timely death of our loved ones, who are we really mourning for? Death is hard, it truly is, and it hurts me to know what I will never be able to see my grandmother again. I spent the day she passed away thinking of her. I thought of her as she was during her life and not her last days; I cherished the advice she gave me and did not cry over the advice I won’t be able to get any longer.  Strangely enough, I felt a sense of jealousy over her. I was jealous of the life she led and I found myself hoping I have the same fate. 

How can I mourn the death of someone that lived a long and happy life? This woman watched all her five children grow up and have children or their own. Raised her grandchildren, and then watched them grow up and have children of their own. Lastly she got to witness her great children become selfish adolescents with peach fuzz in their faces caring about nothing but Facebook.  Thank god she never buried a loved one, besides her husband, and in the end; the natural order took its toll.  I accept that! I didn't want to mourn this lovely woman, I wanted to celebrate her. I wanted to celebrate the wisest of all, although she never made it past the 4^th grade. I want to celebrate the life of this angel, whose every wrinkle told a story about a worry she had about three generations she watched flourish into healthy, strong, responsible adults. 

I keep thinking back to that day, but knowing my grandmother, I know she was not sad for going. I know from the bottom of my heart that she feels the same way I do. Maybe not, maybe I am just projecting. But if I get to live 88 years, and witness three generations become adults, please don’t mourn me; celebrate me! Be jealous of what I got to live for, and even more jealous about how many loved ones I got to die surrounded by.  

Blahmorozone

I was lying in bed the other day, depressed about my life and the direction it was heading in. I had difficulty concentrating, remembering details, and making decisions. I was fatigued and I had decreased energy. This feeling of guilt, worthlessness, and helplessness would overwhelm me. Feelings of hopelessness and pessimism, insomnia, early-morning wakefulness and sometimes excessive sleeping were always present. I was irritable and restless. I lost interest in all activities and hobbies I once found pleasurable, including sex. I was overeating and I had these annoying persistent aches and pains. I felt sad, anxious, and even empty. At times I had even thought of suicide.

 I decided it was time to talk to my doctor about Blahmorozone. “Doctor, a commercial told me to ask you about Blahmorozone. Can this drug help me with my depression symptoms? Is this drug right for me?” “Sure” - he said. “Great, I want to take this wonderful pill; this way I stop feeling depressed. I want to feel good again, like that old couple walking on the beach in the commercial.” However, like everything good, there is a downside to this wonder-pill. This pill had a few side effects. So what? How dangerous could it be? After all, I saw the commercial on TV, they would never advertise something that is not safe. The drug was approved by the FDA and it is a known fact that pharmaceutical drugs are good for you and 100% safe. The price we pay is fully justified and all of the money goes to paying for rent and staff for these giant research and development companies. These guys are barely getting by, living from paycheck to paycheck, all for the good of humanity. These are the good guys, selling good drugs. The bad drugs are sold by evil men. They are all criminals and all they want to do is get rich while making us buy something we don’t really need. They use their money to make more drugs that are not essential. They want you to get addicted. The price we pay is ridiculously high and all of it goes in the pockets of corrupt politicians, immoral lobbyists, and shady marketing teams whose sole mission is to shove these drugs down our throats. These are the bad guys, selling bad drugs. Wait… What…? I think I got some details wrong!? Or is it the other way around? I don’t know, whatever!  All I know is that Blahmorozone was going to make me feel better with only a few side effects.

This is what the website said: Blahmorozone May Cause Artificial insemination, Extreme nausea, Profuse sweating, Explosive diarrhea, Tooth decay, Bone softening , Profane language, Naval discharge, Bloody stool, Upset stomach, Pounding headache, Migraine, Homicidal behavior, Baldness, Male breast growth, Lactation, Dementia, Amnesia, Inability to smell or taste, Blindness, Paranoia, Hallucinations, Depression, Insomnia, Anal leakage, Anal ventriloquism. Mild schizophrenia, Psychotic tendencies, Skin discoloration, Suicidal thoughts, Homicidal thoughts, Dry mouth, Craving for human flesh, Impotence, Spontaneous combustion, and  in some cases death is reported.  

See, if this drug company was shady, they would never share this information with me. My drug dealer in college never told me that my weed smoke may cause Moderate dry mouth, Extreme munching, Laziness, Inability to stop watching funny movies, Excessive laughing, Enhanced conversation about things that make absolutely no sense and Spontaneous afternoon naps! If he did, I would have never used this evil herb that grows naturally in nature. God knows what evil chemicals grow out of the earth! No sir, not for me. What’s next, Yoga? If your best pharmaceutical companies in the country have not produced it, I want nothing to do with it. How else would I know what is best for me unless billions of dollars are spent in unethical advertisement, and corrupt lobbying processes?  I would much rather get safe drugs from the corner store than unsafe drugs from the corner boys.

Kids nowadays have it so easy. They don’t even have to pay for dangerous drugs from a shady drug dealer. All they have to do is open their medicine cabinet and get safe, FDA approved drugs for free. Healthy drugs too, like cigarettes back in the 50's with no warning label! 

DISCLAMER: The events depicted in this blog are purely fictional and do not represent reality. Needless to say these thoughts are mine and mine alone and no one else's; everyone that says otherwise is just itching for a fight. I am not promoting drug use (legal or illegal); they are bad for you. ALL DRUGS ARE BAD. Reading this Blog might cause: Irritability, Confusion, Light chuckling, Ironic responses, and Rude behavior. A need to comment and share this blog will come over you. If these thoughts persist for more than four hours, please contact your physician. As I keep writing this disclaimer the letters get smaller and smaller and if you are still reading this you need to get a life.

The Rents?!

This weekend my retired parents are coming back from Albania. They spend the winter there and the summers here, with us.  Since in Albanian they stay in a 2 bedroom apartment on the 4^th floor, they really enjoy our house and the big backyard. We have a pool, a big vegetable garden, grape vines and a lot of flowerer beds. My mother loves being out there. She plants all sorts of flowers and vegetable and enjoys just being out there, taking everything in.  Having them back is going to be a big help for us as well, especially for my wife. Being young professionals while taking care of the house is hard, so when they’re here the house is always taken care of and so are we. They take care of us so much that at time I wonder why having multiple generations living under the same roof is not the norm.  When I tell people about our situating, they find it hard to believe. At times they even make me out to be a victim “poor you” one person even said to me.  This really grinds my gears!!! Poor me? Luck me!! Having them is a blessing.  I get home from work and everything is done, and my poor wife who worked as hard as I did, did not have to do it all. Dinner is done, laundry is done, that wet towel that I left on the bathroom floor is gone, and the “underwear-picking-up fairy" had come by again.  They do so much for us, that at time I feel like I’m using/abusing my own parents. The only downside is that when they have to leave, we have to get back in the routine of taking care of the house ourselves. Not to mention the fact that when Yana and I decide to have kids they would be an even bigger help.  Why have our children raised by a stranger at a daycare center, when I can have my mother and father spoil them.  Hard as it may be, taking care of children; I don’t know of any grandparents that rather do anything else but see their grandchildren grow up, contribute to their molding. 

To those of you that read this and start to feel bad for my parents and all the work they have to do, please don’t. I assure you this is a symbiotic relationship; being with the family is all they ask for. And one day, when life has run its course, and they don’t have as much energy, we will be there for them. An old Albanian saying says that the difference between soup for two and soup for four is more water. Therefore even financially is not a burden for us at all, on contrary.   They worked out their entire life and took good care of me and my sisters; the least I can do is look after them as they grow old.  By no means, I want to paint the picture of the superhero son taking care of his elderly parents and the superhero daughter in law putting up with everything, because my parents are far from needing care takers, and my wife loves them more than she probably loves me.  I simply want to brag about how good I have it, and challenge the status quo. This notion that one should only leave with his/her parents when it is absolutely necessary.

Society sees this as a liability, I see it as an advantage, and that is why I wonder sometimes: How did the elders become a burden to our culture?  In cultures all over the world old people are valued and appreciated, treated as non-expendables, crucial to societies wellbeing.  Everywhere else in the world we have multiple generations live under the same roof, benefiting from one another, yet in the US individuality and privacy are more important. Some even put their parents away in homes and visit them once a month.  It is a shame! Independently all the nationalities that make the United States still value elders, however, something gets lost as generations grow up in this society. Certain values replace others! Some treat their pets as family members yet they haven’t seen their parents since last Christmas. Others call their parents “rents”! Rents, as in people who pay the rent, roommates!  Maybe from this lack of respect is born the lack of appreciation and abandonment.  

I speak this harshly because I really like having my parents live with us. I feel like others are missing out! Maybe I got lucky, and got “good parents” maybe I got lucky, and got a wife that gets along with my parents. Maybe it is not luck. Maybe it is the dedication and respect that my parents gave to their parents that let the way.  Maybe my motives are selfish; by treating my parents this way; I’m ensuring that my children will have the same level of respect and dedication to me. Avoiding growing old sounded by strange nurses in the process. Whatever the motive, whatever the circumstances, I believe that everyone can befit from the support and mutual happiness that comes from sharing your life closely with the people that unconditionally loved you first. 

Political System

They say that if you are young and you are not a democrat, you have no heart; and, if you are old and you are not a republican, you have no brain. I would like to challenge that.  When this was first said, I’m sure it meant something... Today’s political system however, is so perplexing that nothing makes sense anymore.  That really grinds my gears!!! THE only westernized country on this planet where someone like Rick Santorum had a chance to become the leader of the free world. I mean the man was against everything that makes any society prosper.  He hated women rights, unless staying home producing babies is a right; he hated every other religion besides his own; for crying out loud he hated our right for higher education! Why are we going overseas to fight terrorism? They are running for president.  If Santorum would have gotten elected, words like thrust and penetration would’ve been deleted from the dictionary. Phrases like "coming from behind" couldn’t be used in sports anymore.  I exaggerate, of course; however, in Afghanistan young men and women are dying every day fighting that type of conservatism.  In this country we are giving those people a chance to pollute our political system. How is this ok? I just don’t understand. How, is it ok for Mitt Romney to pay 14 % taxes on his $20 million capital gain for 2011, while the rest of the country is struggling to survive, paying 30 % of what little they have? Please someone with a “brain”, please explain it to me.  The political system is so corrupt and politicians can’t see past their funders because money is in the way.

Holding a political office must be the only job on earth where they don’t do their job because it is an election year. Focusing on fundraising, a job that they did not get elected to do, is more important than doing what we, the tax payers, are paying them to do.  How are we allowing this to happen? In what universe can I tell my boss: "I’m sorry, I can’t do my job because my contract is up for renewal?"   This is what we hear from Washington all the time and statements like “don’t expect anything to be done on an election year” have become as common as money hungry corporations funding our political system.

We changed the definition of bribing and corruption and we now call it lobbying. PLEASE!!! At least have the decency to be honest.  As much as I hated President Bush’s’ dumb ass, I admired his bluntness and stupid honesty. In a 2004 interview, President Bush was asked by a reporter what he thought about people disagreeing with him and the unpopular war in Iraq. His response: "SO!! We were voted by the people and we are doing what we think is best." The cojones on this guy!

We voted in Obama four years ago because we were promised change. Although some change has happened, it is nowhere near what we wanted or expected.  And I think the main thing that he has lacked has been the courage to stand up in front of the Republicans, and more importantly, stand up for what he believes in.  I do want to give him some credit for the multiple things that he has accomplished during his first term; however, I have not seen the general shift in ideology that he promised. Why can’t he stand in front of this country and call the Republicans what they really are:  A selective group of people that want this country to serve them and not the other way around, a selective group of white people that want this country “back” from the blacks and foreigners.  I want to see this administration be as radical as their counterparts.

I only wish that President Obama had half the audacity of Bush. After all, he has twice the brain. 

Social Profiling

A lot of times when I’m asked for my name and it’s not important, I respond by saying Tony.  I figured this is easier than telling people my real name, then going through the process of how to pronounce it, then having the conversation whether it means anything or not, and concluding with the country of origin the name came from. Too much! I figured I avoid any confusion and tell them that “My name is Tony.” Last week I went into a local restaurant in the city of Detroit to order lunch. The lady behind the counter asked me about my name so I told her. "What?" she quickly replied! "Tony," I said, confused to why I even bothered telling her my real name in the first place. Without missing a beat she replied: "You would be a Tony." I hadn’t thought about that until that day, and truly I didn’t care. This perfect stranger made an assumption about me, stereotyped me, and put me into a box that she believed I fit under. I thought it was amusing, but it did not bother me. I do it all the time! Whether we like it or not, we all do it. The government does it; the Transportation Security Administration does it, and so does the Department of Homeland Security. Dare and go through a border security looking like you belong to a certain religious group and you will be “Randomly Selected.” Zimmerman did it, and the whole county shook. To be honest with you, profiling had always just been there for me; never put much thought into it. I know people profiled me and I profiled others. The way I looked at it was simple: our experiences in life shape our future decision. Every flower shop I have ever walked into smelled delightful; therefore, it is safe to ass-u­-me that all flower stores smell lovely.

What prompted me to write this blog was an encounter I had last Thursday.  After a late meeting at work, I stopped at the local corner store to get something to drink. Nothing was special about that day, except the exceptional warm weather. As I pulled into the parking lot, there she was, the girl of my ghetto dreams. Only parked two spaces away from me she stood, radiating beauty, turning passersby into envious green monsters. She was a perfect Black on Black 1964 Chevy Impala sitting on 5x4s (That’s 20” rims for the white people out there). She had Lamborghini doors riding clean and the Alpine blasting Young Jeezy in the back.  Black neon light shined in the backseat only highlighting her beauty. I had to stop and gaze.  I look up and see a young black man approach me. His icy chain was swinging to his jeans and he had stylish clothes with a hat sitting sideways. Nice car," I said to him as he passed me by.  He gave me the look of a disappointed mother, got in his grey Honda, and drove away.  A simple thirst crunching stop turned into an exploration. I felt like an anthropologist doing a field study, trying to spot the potential owner of this automotive miracle.  I look to my left; I look to my right; but no one fit the buck.  My synapses were misfiring while my brain kept beeping, like the last 10 seconds before an explosion, spewing error messages. Could it be Becky? Well I don’t know what her name was but there was a teenage girl buying a Slurpee who looked like a Becky. Of course not, Becky drives a Ford! But there was no one else. A little Ashkenazi Jewish boy was in the back getting nachos; but, it couldn’t be him either. We all know Jewish people drive Toyotas and/or Volvos. The driver perhaps was in the bathroom. I waited a few minutes then I asked the teller: “whose car is that?” He pointed at the Jewish boy as if to tell me “I know, right.” I was shocked, my whole world was shattered. This guy looked nothing like a rapper. HE HAD FLIP-FLOPS ON… People who drive these types of cars don’t wear shorts, and flip-flops with socks. He even had the kippah on his head. His Rabbi wouldn’t approve of this boy’s choices. For the first time in my life, I entered a flower store and it didn’t smell like I expected it to. Or maybe I just didn’t know the whole story. This is how this boy got to drive this car: When he was a child, he was adopted by an African American family. They raised him as their own and they even allowed him to practice his real parents' religion (hence the Kippah.) The night in question, his 1989 Toyota Corolla wouldn’t start; so, he asked his older brother (who happens to be a rapper) if he could borrow his car. His brother said no at first, but then felt bad, and since his manager had taken the Bentley, the Impala was all that was left. He drove it to the store to get some nachos and that’s when I walked in.  Yeah, this is exactly how it happened. Now it all makes sense.  For a second there I thought my judgment and stereotyping were the problem, where all along this young man had no business driving his older brother’s car. Did I mention his brother is a rapper?

Facebook users

You know what really grinds my gears??? Certain Facebook users! This website has impacted the world in more ways than one; yet some people use it to annoy the rest of us. Unfortunately this is not about the wonders of Facebook; this Blog is about those irritating individuals of the net that make you want slap them senseless every time you read their post.

The Let-Me-Tell-You-Every-Detail-of-My-Day Facebook user! "I'm waking up." "I'm brushing my teeth." "I'm bored at work." "I'm stuck in traffic." You're kidding! How fascinating! No time of day is too mundane for these people to broadcast unsolicited to the rest of us. Just because you have 632 Facebook friends doesn't mean we all want to know when you're waiting for your sandwich at subway. And just a thought, unless you are public figure, there is no reason for you to have that many friends.

If you are like me, then you fall in a category that I like to call “Self-Promoters/Community-Organizers.” These people post all their accomplishments online, annoying people that hate them in the process. Haters are searching your Facebook timeline in pursuit of damaging news, yet you continuously post stories about your success. Sure you lost weight lately and sure you helped raise money for the children’s hospital, but please stop; when every other post is a link to your blog and other causes you’re involved in, a little bit dies inside these green creatures.

Wait there is worse! For a moment I want to direct my attention to you, my bad grammar friend. I know you think that the rules you learned in school regarding proper grammar don’t apply to the social media; however, this makes you look like a moran. I’m not a big stickler for a proper sentence structure; nonetheless, where would our society be without guidelines. Rules and social parameters are what separates us from our primate friends. For you fact police out there: This is an exaggeration! Hyperbole if you will. It makes for a better and more dramatic writing.

Let me see, who have I left out? Oh yeah. The I-Have-the-Need-to-Take-Photos-of-Myself-and-Instantly-Upload-Them Facebook operator. Please stop doing this. Only when you get new glasses should this be allowed. 35 close-up photos of your face from different angles are not necessary. A worse subcategory, are the people taking photos of themselves in front if their bathroom mirrors.  Debris from flossing and soup buildup coats your mirror; it’s discussing, at least wipe it before you do this.

The Photographing-Every-Event and the Stupid-Cliché-Quotes individuals are annoying indeed, but the Creep-That-Never-Posts-Anything on Facebook, yet knows in detail everything you have ever posted is unnerving. These organisms hang in the shadows of your wall and know your every move.  There needs to be a horror movie on this.

I couldn’t write a blog about Facebook users and leave out the following disasters: Facebook-Moms and Multiple- Posters. Please mom stop tagging me; and please annoying friend that I never talk to, stop posting twenty things in one day or I’m going to delete you.

Facebook is great; it gives me a platform to reconnect with friends and family that unfortunately life has separated me from. It gives me a platform to organize with people that support the same ideas as well as raise money for the cause I care for. The greatest weapon to organize, communicate, and share ideas since the written word, yet these idiots use it to inform people without windows that it is raining outside. (I am certainly guilty of a few of these pointless posts over the years.) I told the senate to shut down SOPA with a click of a mouse and watched in shock as the Middle East used Facebook and other social media to finally get rid of tyrants oppressing their human rights. The same website allows me keep an eye on my friends’ journey through life, partake in their happiness as they bring a life into this world and share a tear when they lose a loved one. A few bottles of wine, stimulating conversation amongst friends over a nice home cooked dinner is a meal; but then again, so is a TV dinner in the dark watching Jerry Springer by yourself. Facebook is just a tool and how some of you use this tool allows me to point and laugh hysterically while I feel sorry for humanity. 

New age Rap & Hip-Hop

You know what really grinds my gear??? Today’s rap and hip hop music! I love rap, I love hip hop; but like a parent worrying about the direction of its child’s life, I feel like I have to say something. I have found myself debating with people holding contrasting opinion on this matter and I have been on the losing end. This art form has become harder and harder to defend. It is hard to appreciate this new wave of artists with their violent depiction of life while glorifying a materialistic culture that I wouldn’t want my kids to learn. They continuously strip women of humanistic values and in this era of information and instant sharing, such values are traveling at brain-dizzying speed polluting our society, replacing social norms and values that most of us want to keep.

Old school rap on the other hand, now that’s something I can stand behind and defend. Disrespect 2Pac and see teeth leave mouth and chin swell up. The movement had a goal and empowerment was in the middle of it all. Freedom of expression ruled the airwaves and what artists said mattered just as much as how they said it. Songs had a moral back bone, something that the public had long longed for. I’m not saying NWA was not violent, by any means; however, it was the voice of many. Heads bobbed and conscience touched while 2Pac and Dr. Dre collaborated. The poor little ghetto child finally had a voice and it still made your ass dance. Now, produce a nice beat, wear a bullet proof vest, say nigga a few times, while five “dancers” shake it in the background - and you have a number one hit.  Oh the humanity; Pointless words mashed together into something that a five year old wouldn’t call rhymes, and stupid dance to follow is what sells nowadays.  While he is “Supermaning that hoe,” we are standing by dancing to this filth that’s making millions of dollars lowering the bar of what our kids call art.

Oh how I miss the days where the oppressed used rap as a way of communicating ideas. But wait, this is exactly what is going on now; except, rather than empowering, they’re enabling. Examples work best for me so let me proceed by giving you a few. 

“Sexy, can I visit you at work?   /   While you sliding down the pole, no panties, no shirt   /   Then you climb back up the pole, then you drop and do the splits   /   How you make that booty talk, baby damn, you want some new sh**?”

Although it contributes nothing to society other that objectifying women and glorifying promiscuity, as soon as this song comes on, women rush to the dance floor singing along with it.  This I can’t understand: why would the oppressed celebrate the oppressor, contributing to the oppression? In my opinion this is the same as the Jewish people celebrating songs praising the holocaust, Africans celebrating the slave trade, or Tibetans celebrating the Chinese government. Confront a woman about this and you get the same answer: “He aint talking about me!”

Let me show you what rhymes really look like; how poetry in a form of a song feels and the power that it carries with it. Let me show you the pain in the artist’s verses, eloquently projecting his vision and despair. Let it transport you!

I see mothers in black cryin', brothers in packs dyin' /   Plus everybody's high, too doped up to ask why   /   Watchin' our own downfall, witness the end   /   It's like we don't believe in God 'cause we livin' in sin.

I asked my homie on the block why he strapped, he laughed   /   Pointed his pistol as the cop car passed and blast   /   It's just another murder, nobody mourns no more   /   My tear drops gettin' bigger but can't figure what I'm cryin' for.

Is it the miniature caskets, little babies   /   Victims of a stray from drug dealers gone crazy   /   Maybe it's just the drugs, visions of how the block was   /   Crack came and it was strange how it rocked us.

Perhaps the underlyin' fact stay high explain genocide   /   It's when we ride on our own kind   /   What is it we all fear, reflections in the mirror   /   We can't escape fate, the end is gettin' nearer.