Category Archives: Kill the Poor

They Were Calling It Your Cocktail Dress

Posted by Tata on

Last night, Pete and I watched as the State Assembly fucked over 1 in 7 New Jersey residents by gutting public workers’ pensions and cranking up the heat on health insurances. The “debate” was broadcast on NJN, our state’s PBS station as I understand it because a vote was due later on whether or not the legislature would allow Governor Christie to sell NJN to WNET, a New York station. The specifics of that perplex me because I thought WNET came out of Newark, but I might be wrong about that part; suffice it to say the NJN people looked nervous on-air. Anyhoo, many members of the assembly cannot count public speaking as one of their magical powers and most speeches were incoherent. Some were better, heartfelt and distraught. Some made no fucking sense whatsoever as blue collar Democrats from urban areas struggled to explain why fucking over poor and middle class people was the right thing to do. One speaker from Camden couldn’t even finish a sentence without contradicting himself, so great was his cognitive dissonance. But this motherfucker took the motherfucking cake:

If this guy offers to "help" you, feel around for the knife in your back.

That’s Assemblyman Louis D. Greenwald, Democrat of the 6th District (Hamilton). He was the sponsor of the bill joining Republican union busting and Democratic need to please father figures by punishing women and minorities. Here is his statement, which he read to the assembly almost verbatim. We’ll get to that almost in a minute. Can I get a witness?

New Jersey’s economic reality cannot be ignored.

“As of the July 20, 2010 report from the Division of Pensions and Benefits, the post retirement health benefit deficit was $66.8 billion. On the pension side, the combined unfunded liability as of June 30, 2010 was $53.8 billion.

“These are real numbers that play a large role in our property tax problem, and these numbers are reality because for decades people from both parties failed to do the right thing to keep these systems strong for our public employees.

“As difficult as this is to ask people in this economy to pay more, this legislation will finally fix the fragility of this system.

“This bill will bring property tax relief, make benefits sustainable for the working families who rely on them and preserve collective bargaining for future negotiations. This protects both taxpayers and worker rights.

“It’s now our responsibility to safeguard these systems and make sure the problems that led to this legislation never happen again. That is our obligation and commitment to New Jersey property taxpayers and public servants.”

Yes, all that extra punctuation should go to a good home, but not mine: I have cats and a groundhog to feed, what with that GINORMOUS pay cut coming my way, courtesy of Louis Greenwald and other quisling Dems. I was discussing it this morning with Siobhan.

Tata: It was absolute torture to watch the speeches on the assembly floor. Many of those people should not have skipped public speaking – or any kind of speaking – classes in high school. Greenwald was particularly odious for his repeated claim that he was saving the pension system and benefits by gutting them. But what signaled to me that he is slime was when he turned to the gallery and said to the unions in an overly emotional manner, “This is not your fault.” Because I heard, “Baby, why did you make me do that to you?”

Siobhan: But he was saying “Baby, it’s not your fault that I have to hit you, but you have to take it.” That’s such a different torture and belittling technique, because, see, it’s not his fault and it’s not yours, it just has to happen!

It is my fond hope that Democrats up for re-election call my house for votes and support, because I will happily explain why they will get neither. Further, I hope working people help Greenwald seek other employment opportunities in November, since he is a vile substitute for a human being who should be shunned by decent people for what he has done.

Thugs And Smugglers Are Thoroughly Respected

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Dum de dum de dum minding my own business your friends don’t dance and if they don’t dance well they’re no friends of mine – what’s this someone’s emailed me?

Do Older Workers Need a Nudge?

What an interesting headline! I feel – what is it – what am I –

Yes, that’s it! Flames on the side of my face! Why? Because the New York Times is helping motherfuckers fuck mothers. I don’t think I should have to explain this to you, but let’s get this out in the open: when you fall for the You vs. Me, Us vs. Them, Me vs. My Grandparents bullshit, you are doing the work of the Oligarchy and you do not tread the path of angels. In short and in the same way there was NEVER a reason to make war upon Iraq: your enemy is not the other poor or middle class person – it’s the rich asshole who profits when you lose your cool.

If you don’t take the bait, that asshole gets nothing.

I Don’t Pray That Way

Posted by Tata on

It’s frustrating to listen to the Disciples of the Sacred Profit Margin discuss privatizing public services. They see dollar signs. I see crumbling infrastructure. Shortly after that bridge collapsed in Minneapolis, a Libertarian friend actually had the nerve to say that the bridge collapsed because government can’t provide public services. I said bridge building and maintenance cost money and must be funded at a consistent, appropriate level. He said, “Business has to be allowed to conduct business.” Well then. You can step through the looking glass, but I’m not going to join you.

This is very, very simple: pretend you’re in charge of an agency’s budget. Your government agency provides a service, let’s say it’s lining up lawn gnomes in a perfect grid on a city’s public square. Your agency employs four people to keep the all-important gnomes clean, perfectly painted, facing in the correct direction and level. You decide you’re feeling trendy and want to privatize your gnome service. The first thing, after you’ve chosen your private gnome service, will be those four employees, who probably live in your city, will lose their jobs. The gnome service will hire three exploitable people, pay them less and your gnomes will lose their gleaming colors, grid-like pattern and correct orientation when the smaller workforce cannot maintain the same standards as a larger, dedicated staff. At first, your trendy move makes you look like a genius. A few years down the road, when your agency’s funding dries up because those gnomes have become a dangerous embarrassment, you look like an idiot. And you are an idiot.

Now of course, a gnome service is silliness itself, but many if not most government services are provided by the government because our society as a whole struggles with societal problems and our lives depend on that struggle. We must have roads and bridges that do not collapse. We must have hospitals, communications, national defense, emergency services, commerce and support for those among us who need help. This is not optional and mostly not negotiable. You cannot argue that your agency charged with feeding poor children the only regular meals they receive could maybe get by feeding fewer children less nutritious food – because, and I shouldn’t have to say this, that is BARBARIC. Deferring maintenance on bridges and roads doesn’t make you a genius. It makes you shun-worthy. You should be shunned, you agency head, you. So let’s look at our graph above. I’ve never made a graph before and I was surprised I didn’t give up and go for the Crayolas. It’s very simple: privatizing government services is stupid and the road to societal ruin.

You have a budget. You can organize your department, compensate your people appropriately, provide considerate services and set a high standard for those services. Provide those services and you are a hero. When you privatize, part of your budget peels right off the top for someone else’s profit, your workers lose their standard of living and your service deteriorates.

It’s simple. Get it? This person is starting to:

We’ve all been so brainwashed by 30 years of “government is the problem” bullshit that we’ve forgotten that the sole and entire purpose of privatizing government responsibilities is to enrich corporations at the expense of middle-class taxpayers.

It is always cheaper and more effective to pay public employees to do it, and do it right.

No, we didn’t all get brainwashed. We didn’t all forget who was making money and who was losing out. I’m sure you’re surprised at how much damage thirty years of cult behavior has caused, but thank you for joining us in a more real world now.

Right On Walking On Down the Line

Posted by Tata on

On one hand, the World Chocolate Championships are on useless and lost Planet Green tonight.

On the other, what the fuck is this?

Shhhhh! We'we hunting wabbits.

According to Gardeners.com, this thing is called a Zero Waste Food Digester, which is not a composter. Specs:

  • Low-density polyethylene
  • Above-ground portion is 23″ in diameter x 34″ H; basket is 15″ in diameter and 18″ H
  • Installation requires digging a hole large enough for the basket to be underground
  • A small amount of residue will eventually accumulate in the basket, requiring cleaning every few years

    • Okay, polyethylene tube, basket in a hole. Not a composter?

    Zero-Waste Digester Handles What Composters Can’t
    Unlike a composter, a food digester lets you dispose of all of your kitchen scraps, including dairy, meat and fish scraps, bones and bread. Rather than producing compost for your garden, its purpose is to reduce household waste. Materials collect in a perforated underground basket, where earthworms and other soil organisms break them down into carbon dioxide, water and just a small amount of solid residue. Works best in a sunny spot with well-drained soil. May be used for disposal of pet waste, too.

    Excellent. I have wasteful pets. But wait: there’s more!

  • Dispose of all of your kitchen scraps, including dairy, meat and bones
  • Reduce household waste in landfills
  • Instructions for the Zero-Waster Food Digester

    • Not a lot of new information there, but still: if all it takes to dispose of most of your organic kitchen goop and pet poop is a 3′ x 2′ plastic tube and a 1′ x 1′ basket WHY DO WE HAVE A GODDAMN GARBAGE PROBLEM? Why do we have dumps full of carrot ends? Why did I throw chicken bones into a frigging Hefty bag after dinner tonight? Why doesn’t every house with a yard in America have a homemade version of this – since forever?

    I DON’T KNOW.

    I have GOT to stop shouting about trash.

    Your Friends Subway Kid Rejoice

    Posted by Tata on

    Siobhan’s housemate broke up with her live-in boyfriend on Friday afternoon and had a date with someone else that night. While I am impressed with her scheduling prowess and determined carpe-ing of a Friday p.m., I am somewhat dismayed that the housemate’s sudden braising in new juices caused Siobhan to lose sleep when the live-in boyfriend moved out in an after-midnight sense that coincided with a before-breakfast sensibility. This caused me to think about how miserable a housemate I might have been during the decade or so I burned a swath across the local social scene. Ah, well. It’s so inconvenient for Me to have to think about other people! But while I’m at it, let’s both think about this person, Michigan State Senator Bruce Caswell:

    Yes. That's his real face.

    You can’t always look at a face and see its wearer’s dysfunction, but sometimes the face opens its mouth and tells you all about it. What, mouth, what?

    “I never had anything new,” Caswell says. “I got all the hand-me-downs. And my dad, he did a lot of shopping at the Salvation Army, and his comment was – and quite frankly it’s true – once you’re out of the store and you walk down the street, nobody knows where you bought your clothes.”

    Bruce, that must’ve been terrible for you. I’m sure the indignity of wearing secondhand clothing as a child and worrying about what other people thought made you a compassionate adult with nothing but love in your heart for disadvantaged children.

    Foster children in Michigan would use their state-funded clothing allowance only in thrift stores under a plan suggested by State Senator Bruce Caswell.

    If I quit sleeping nights for ten more years I would never even hallucinate anything that diabolical, let alone suggest it as a plan to save the state money.

    Caswell says the gift card idea wouldn’t save the state any money.

    Ah. Well. I’m sorry I have to think of Bruce Caswell at all, and since I do, I think Bruce Caswell is a genuinely bad person.

    Crazy Everything Seems Hazy

    Posted by Tata on

    The restaurant supply store in town is a lightweight affair. Shelves are loosely stocked with one of each item, which the customer orders and which is delivered to the store at some time in the future. It’s all cups, flatware, sauté pans and aluminum trays of every description and dust. There’s been a for sale sign out front for years. I suppose when I imagined the restaurant supply store in Edison I imagined it would be like this: dusty, silent, oddly empty. It is not at all those things.

    The warehouse sits at the end of an industrial park road that was paved at one time and never given another thought. The street sign looks new but it is rendered illegible by its angle to the intersecting road. The industrial park looks like it lost a battle with developers so it decays in the middle of remote and odd-looking apartment complexes. At no time does the main road through them identify itself. We found that many times during this excursion: you had to know something was there or you wouldn’t find it at all. So it came as something of a surprise when we drove over an abandoned railroad track, past a field and a dump, turned a corner marked with the name of another business and found the restaurant supply store. Despite the appearance of wasteland and open space, parking was cramped. Vans and SUVs circled, waiting for spaces. We happened to be in the right place at the right time and got a space. Inside, we waited as an energetic young woman registered Pete’s business, checked his license, his tax ID number. It took a very long time and a line accumulated behind us. A man holding a laminated bloody hunk of meat in his arms chewed gum and waited. The customers passed us on their way into the store represented a wide variety of racial and ethnic groups. About half the people passing us were speaking English. That seemed promising.

    Pete tends to move quickly and lose patience with stores. I was determined to carefully examine every aisle and take in as much information as possible. The first discovery of real use was recycled paper products in bulk form. Pete walked through a doorway I missed and waved me in. It was the refrigerated section of the building. I hadn’t noticed it, but as we walked through it I realized the building was twice as large as it appeared. We entered an icy wonderland, passing freezers stocked with familiar restaurant size cases of hamburger patties, calamari rings and goat portions. We passed cheese wheels, halves and quarters. We passed bales of vegetables, packed to bursting. We came around a corner and found ourselves walking through corridors filled with meat. Giant cuts of beef, lamb and pork lined shelves and refrigerator cases; cases of chickens, ducklings and larger foul lined another corridor. It seemed to go on and on. My hands were stiff with cold. At the end of the rows, we found a spotless fish section that smelled like ice and the ocean. Crates of baccala and carts stacked with smoked fish formed a portico, on the other side: great banks of ice, beautifully arranged fish of impressive size gleamed. A whole tuna loin could be seen from some distance like a treasure. One imagines it was. We turned back and walked through the meat aisles again. The perspective shift – walking through stacked shelves of meat as opposed to meat separate, stored away – was jarring. I thought, ‘One hunk of this meat could feed us for weeks. It would be so much cheaper than the grass-fed free range beef we’ve been eating in small portions. But this stuff is mass-produced poison. The animals were raised and lived in terrible conditions. The factory farms are a blight. If it were a question of life and death, this might be okay but it isn’t, so this is disgusting. It would be easy to abandon what I believe and pick up that hunk of meat.’ And I really felt that temptation to betray everything I feel. I don’t need to eat that way, so this was a deeply weird sensation. I did not pick up a hunk of meat.

    Back out in the main part of the store, we walked down each aisle, talked about everything we saw from salad dressing cups to the giant rondele pot I covet. Pete is going to do some personal chef work so he’s got supplies for that in mind. I was thinking about food preservation ingredients like oils, vinegars, spices in bulk. We were looking for useful flours, containers, work clothes, problem solvers. Of course, we walked down an entire aisle of #10 cans of tomato products. I started to feel grave doubt creep up on me. ‘What am I doing?’ I thought. ‘I don’t need to jar these small, crazy-expensive, boutique foods. This is madness.’ And for a few minutes, I heard the rush of blood in my ears. What am I doing? Well, what am I doing? We turned into the last aisle: condiments. Beautiful oils, vinegars, sauces, sauce bases as far as the eye could see. I sat down on a palate in the middle of the aisle and took a few deeps breaths. What am I doing? My plan is to spend the next six months of my life learning as much as I can about food. I could throw cans in a cart and sustain myself, but nothing would be gained by it. The idea is to learn. The idea is to push my brain, which I have had every reason to doubt in recent years, as hard and as far as I can; if I succeed, I can learn other things. I stood up and set about examining the vinegars. I might be able to do better on some of the prices.

    We went to the checkout with a restaurant container of whole nutmeg: less than $8. That’s a good price. I didn’t say much on the way home, but I did say, “I feel like I’ve been to the House of My Enemy, and how am I going to use that without being corrupted by it?” We stopped at my sister Anya’s. The family can benefit from the restaurant supply store by buying in bulk and dividing between the houses. Anya mentioned that the food pantry and the soup kitchen might be able to use donations to buy in bulk there; I’d have to research that. Maybe they already do. But I was really shocked by the meat and how easily doubt and temptation shook me.

    I was quiet for a long time when we got home.

    It seemed very important to work in the garden.

    Your Words Cut Loose the Fire And You

    Posted by Tata on

    Time and events are rushing past me. I’m struggling to keep more balls in the air than a condom factory. Yeah, I kiss my sweet old Grandpa with that mouth.

    Yesterday, we embarked on the annual bond-buying extravaganza. If you’re just joining Poor Impulse Control: Pete and I have two brothers and five sisters. I also have three first cousins and one grown daughter. Between all these crazy people, who must smell good to someone, we have sixteen children who need Christmas and birthday presents every year and I have a very, very short attention span. Further: you should never underestimate how much I do not want to shop where I have to interact with the other humans, so I skip all that and buy the kids goddamn savings bonds. Yesterday was that red letter day.

    Pete brought home forms from his bank. I filled them out. Checked them. Checked them again. Figured out how much they’d cost. Finally, we were ready. We grabbed our forms and a buttload of cash and went to a regular-sized branch, which was empty and nearly silent when we walked in. A greeter directed us to the one cashier behind the counter. I explained what we were doing and in slow motion everyone in that building went a little crazy.

    Suddenly other customers grumbled behind me and a quartet of brunette cashiers waltzed behind the counter, seemingly unable to complete transactions. Apparently, my cashier was the only one with a key to something because customer after customer was told that everything had to wait until after my transaction was finished. By coincidence, the ATM machine was being repaired and nobody could do anything about the drive-through customers for some reason I couldn’t divine. Meanwhile, my cashier could only enter a few bonds at a time and we didn’t agree on money.

    Tata: I owe you more money than this.
    Cashier: Let me count it again.
    Everyone else in the room: GROAN.

    That happened at least four times. One of the brunette cashiers sidled up to mine, eyes on me the whole time and whispered confidentially, “Are yooooo okay?” My cashier was a no-nonsense broad. She barked, “Leave me alone, willya?” As my transaction proceeded, the level of panic in the bank rose palpably. I spoke calmly in short sentences and in a voice that could not be mistaken for threatening. The other cashiers made few efforts that I saw to assist the customers behind me – though every time I turned around the people behind me seemed different. Finally, we reached an accord about what was being ordered and how much money I should have paid for it all. The cashier handed me back a $50 in triumph. My receipts did not add up. In the car, I said, “Hey Pete, don’t be surprised if your bank asks you to hokey pokey in some other dancehall.”

    Treasury Direct used to sell savings bonds online, but quit because credit card fees cut into the selling price. Seems to me now would be a fine time for the Treasury to tell banks savings bonds were fee-exempt.

    While My Coffee Grows Cold

    Posted by Tata on

    Non-violence is the greatest force at the disposal of mankind. It is mightier than the mightiest weapon of destruction devised by the ingenuity of man.
    Mohandas Gandhi

    Non-violence leads to the highest ethics, which is the goal of all evolution. Until we stop harming all other living beings, we are still savages.
    Thomas A. Edison

    Abortion Law: Mother Denied Abortion, Then Had To Watch Baby Die

    Nebraska’s new abortion law forced Danielle Deaver to live through ten excruciating days, waiting to give birth to a baby that she and her doctors knew would die minutes later, fighting for breath that would not come.

    And that’s what happened. The one-pound, ten-ounce girl, Elizabeth, was born December 8th. Deaver and husband Robb watched, held and comforted the baby as it gasped for air, hoping she was not suffering. She died 15 minutes later.

    The sponsor of the controversial Nebraska statute, Sen. Mike Flood of Norfolk, told the Des Moines Register that the law worked as it was intended in the Deavers’ case.

    Remember when I quit drinking? I’m thinking of quitting quitting drinking because all I can clearly think of is how Mike Flood deserves to have his windpipe squeezed for fifteen minutes every day for the rest of his miserable life. If I were depressed, I might crawl into bed and stay there, but as a matter of fact, I’m in a pretty good mood. Hey Mike! I wish you every happiness you’ve left to the Deavers! Bon appetit, motherfucker!

    Obviously, I’m getting more enlightened by the fucking minute.

    And We’ve Often Rewound the Clock

    Posted by Tata on

    A few nights ago, I couldn’t find Topaz anywhere. She didn’t answer when I called from the bottom of the attic steps, she didn’t bound from under a table or behind the couch. I opened all the closed doors and waited for an indignant kitty to give me what-fer, but nothing happened. Finally, I stood in the living room, looking around, calling her name. Suddenly, she was right where I was looking: perched on a pillow, staring at me. Topaz went from Full Kitty Invisible to Regular Kitty Visible right before my eyes and I have no explanation for it. The next morning, Topaz slipped past me unnoticed as I walked in from feeding the outside cats. Later, when Pete opened the kitchen door, Topaz buzzed past him, skidded to a stop and said, “Uh…thanks” on her way to wherever it is Topaz goes.

    Just about every day, Chris Christie plumbs new depths of pointless bullying. This one affects me directly.

    Pension and health benefit reform will be high on the agenda in Trenton this spring. Christie wants all public employees, state and local, to begin paying 30 percent of their health insurance premiums starting next fiscal year. Currently, public employees are required to pay at least 1.5 percent of their salary toward health benefits.

    Christie has warned that if Democratic lawmakers refuse to go along with his proposal, or a similar plan, he would not be able to deliver an additional $190 million in property tax relief to seniors and middle-to-low income residents.

    State Sen. Stephen Sweeney, (D-Gloucester), wants to phase in the increases over seven years and apply the rates on a sliding scale based on a employee’s salary.

    Under Christie’s plan, a teacher who makes a $66,000 salary would pay about $5,200 a year for health insurance. Under Sweeney’s plan, the same teacher would pay about $3,610.

    In general, public employees with 25 years of service can retire and receive medical benefits at no cost, but that would change under both Sweeney’s and Christie’s plan.

    Current retirees, including those who retire before any proposal is enacted, would be protected from the changes. However, Christie has suggested he is willing to make some adjustments retroactive, even if it prompts a legal challenge.

    Four things about this article:

  • 1. My older co-workers are retiring in droves;
  • 2. The juxtaposition of 30% of premium cost and 1.5% of salary without describing the relationship of those numbers is bullshit;
  • 3. Sweeney’s going to hear from a whole lot of old public service workers about how playing for the other team is not going to help a Democrat get re-elected.
  • 4. I have 24.5 years in the pension system and unless there’s a day every spring where money rains from the sky I will never make $66,000/year. Probably.

    • Waving around a number like $66,000 makes it sound like every first year teacher’s aide might make that, which is ridiculous and inflammatory. In a just world, teachers, fire fighters, mail carriers, EMTs, nurses, sanitation workers, home health care workers and childcare providers would be paid what their services are worth to society, instead of the least society can get away with. Jacking retirees for their lunch money ought to bring us shame, but no. A whole lot of people just like me may be wondering if we’re going to die at our desks, if we still have jobs.

    Lately, I can’t turn on the radio without Cheap Trick warbling Surrender. But we can’t.