A Ticket on the Bat out of Hell

Lonely at the Top

Give me a Hand

It’s Getting Out of Hand

Down the memory hole goes my recollection of accepting a blind date with the idea that information is power. The hot night out was a double date. I was sat in back with Miss-information. Facebook and Google were in the driver’s seat.

Nothing to worry about. Don’t worry. We’ve got it— You mean the ad revenue? All of it? We’ve got it— Every Red Cent—Relax—

Digitally literate experts and influential faux-libertarian nerds were for self-enrichment motives ready to tinker with the connected-internet-revolution. And so we played-and the result? Down goes most of what we know as media, dog food and the Encyclopedia Britannica.

The advertising revenue has been hoovered up by the Big Two at the expense all known cultural and economic life on earth and it turns out that it matters ‘not-so-much’ to a spiraling out of control smartphone ensconced populace.

Kicking the bad actors off Twitter evidently diminishes stocks value and so there is a lot less kicking and a lot more kissing instead. Paid ads on Facebook by those pesky Rooskie’s? You don’t get the subterfuge gringo now do you? We don’t leave no stinking money on the table.

Bat crap crazy has always been a thing but then add wingnut conspiracy theory, resurgent Caucasian counterinsurgency and a dollop of bot driven Twitter induced smear campaigns and brothers and sisters ain’t nobody going to tell me that they know ‘in the name of all the good golly almighties’ what is going on in this fight for the survival of Democracy and Freedom. Chaos replaced Elvis as King.

Somewhere in the laying of the rails for this new high speed internet we forgot that our highway to good intentions might be hijacked by and for the Panamanian hide the money in an offshore bank account sanctuary for the global elite. Ditching money crosses all ideologies- hell it is a theological certainty Christ died so we might be able to fleece one another until the end of time.

We don’t even know what we are up against since much of what we seem to be trying to push back against is not neatly aligned on one side of the demilitarized zone or the other. We are all blended together into one petri dish mixture of crapified health-care mayhem.

Removing madness from office might be a place to start. Facebook, Google, Twitter and Amazon all have grown too big for their britches. I recommend voting for anyone who isn’t talking to Russians, pretending to act as if they don’t know anyone who has been talking to Russians, or mixing up in their minds the difference between a Putin sympathizer and a Russian immigrant fleeing a totalitarian police state immigrating to the USA in the hope of living free having escaped true tyranny. If you were in the Moscow Circus and nobody in your family worked with the FSB— you’re good to come on in.

Here’s a recommendation. We put a functioning democracy above a gangbusters capitalism and a record stock market close. We harden our media distribution system. Recognize that my blog is an opinion piece and not news, and that I’m a native born Californian worried about the future of the Left Coast.

We are all on our butts watching this careening out of control climate disrupted, overpopulated global village groaning at the strain of humanity thinking there is a short cut, cheap meal or simple way out of the mess and corner technology and private equity has put us in. Friends it is always  a bit precarious and tentative but when you go flirting with no-mans-land this is the inevitable peaceful queasy feeling you’ve been warned about and hoped to avoid. Well highway to hell is here. Let’s get out and march soon. Say hello. You’ll recognize me, I’m one of you. You know me. We are the peeps who can make a difference.

Like a Bat out of Hell on a Slow Train to a Better Ending

Train to nowhere

Sit Back Relax, We are Almost Done Here

 

 

 

 

 

 

Into the Wilderness

jeeping

BABY IT’S COLD OUTSIDE

Our negotiators didn’t put their thumb down on the scale of who would benefit most from trade agreements they pressed their middle finger down. The damage has exasperated citizens  while further enriching the very wealthiest among us. Nice work if you can get it, and party hardy until the social upheaval hits the ceiling fan installed somewhere over Kansas.

If we had set policy so that our workers, our moderate income earners, our middle class benefited most… more than Wall Street, more than the Big Banks, more than the transnational corporations, we would not be in the fix we are in.

Two specific broken policies. Our negotiators broke their promise to invest in worker retraining programs. Higher education instead of going down in cost went up. Instead of scholarships and grants for displaced workers those funds were cut from the Federal budgets.

The second broken promise? Workers and communities harmed by new trade agreements were promised funding to help rebuild the impacted communities and to assist workers who needed relocate to new communities where new jobs were being created.

rowing-machine

Not a day goes by… Not a single day…

The heavyweight big money boys continue to pulverize to smithereens all the lightweight small change best idea girlie girls. Instead of setting enlightened policy for the workers we have installed a vulgar liar that results in evermore chaos, solving nothing, while looting, pillaging and profiting from the spoils of their partisan victory.

Practical solutions are not fueled by this much anger. They just aren’t. We have turned over the keys to the car to a vast trove of men temperamentally unfit for high office. Our problems are only going to become the best problems we have ever had. They’re going to be huge problems, the best, biggest, hugest problems many of us have ever seen. And they’re going to make us pay for their problems. Not Mexico, not some global elite. We are going to pay.

primary-section-break-hsh

“Why not be the best version of our self right now, starting today? I see you. I see the best version of you, something better keeps reaching out, something inside you keeps trying to touch something inside of me. That’s what I want. I want what we have.”

Women of the Oak Savannah’s 

Working Peeps Pissed

burned-out-three

Now that we got this populism thing in the groove… Brexit, Trumpistan, and now on  Sunday those wacky Italians joined in and have gone full Fellini. Grab your parachutes peeps.

It turns out that all those trade deals we’ve been making since like say 1992 when a Democrat with the help of a majority of the Republican Party rammed NAFTA thru has turned around and bit the globalized world right in the good old shipping containers ass.

Back of the envelope calculation is that NAFTA was worth a trillion bucks. That worker retraining and relocation fund? Ready? They generously set aside 100 million dollars. A thousand billion is a trillion and for the innumerate among you that 100 million dedicated to helping offset the loss of jobs is in fact the living breathing definition of “virtually nothing.” Yeah, that will keep those peons down.

Those swells from Wall Street could not help sticking it to labor. The conservative political groups across the free trading world have backed out funds soon after new trade deals have been passed. These governmental programs cost far too much. You must have taken us serious. How silly of you.

I have griped long and loud about doing more to make our trading system fairer.I’m a creative, performer and author, and you know conservatives want to zero out the National Endowment for the Arts. Good for them. I want to zero there ass out too.

The D’s got to grow a pair. They need to take their rhetorical baseball bats to hearings on Capital Hill and they need to swing for the fences in defense of the common man. You know good jobs with good benefits. I don’t care where my health care comes from. Just get it to me and keep the costs down.

We haven’t got time to be dicking around with all this. We are in a global climate emergency. Come on. Get real because evidently all those dudes from Goldman Sachs that Trump’s just appointed? We be in big trouble because those dudes are coming for us… and they know we be fools. We be voting against our own best interest like the good docile folk we are.

To put it in terms that transcends petty national politics? The world’s economic system remains deeply flawed and dangerous. We’ve been aware of this, but money translates to political power and the best of our human angels are unable to acquire the positions necessary within the system to turn this ship around.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Showgirls

image

From Australia with Kate Wright Dynamite… Best Showgirl the other side of Hawaii

If you are in the juggling game you find that each phase of life is building toward the next phase. Hopefully the next phase begins before the present phase ends.

We try not to be phased by any of this. Instead we try and stay ahead of the changes and welcome the next phase while trying not to be caught clinging to the previous phase.

While you are in the thrall of your youth most of this counts for nothing. You are too into the launch phase. You hardly notice that ahead will be a labyrinth of complex choices to navigate on your journey up then down and finally out… also known as the final phase.

In one phase we go indoors. In certain venues we are dealing with cigarette smoke, scantily clad showgirls and magicians that like to drink whiskey after shows in the cheapest saloon they can find.

The showgirls and want-to-be boyfriends tag along every night. Cheap whiskey, road weary magicians and showgirls are a jugglers fringe benefits.

Jugglers pound out decades of work. By the time we are near done we are like Fuller Brush salesmen; we’ve almost knocked on every door in every town.

Showgirls are like meteors. They get a contract, tour with Ringling for a year, pick up a second season at a theme park cast as eye candy in the killer whale show, and if they are really lucky end up in Las Vegas closing in on the end of their careers in one of the cirque du soleil shows.

You get to thirty and you are top dog in the chorus. Those slender hips are looking voluptuous by now. You’ve been glueing eyelashes, blowing kisses and winking at the curtain calls so long you honestly can’t remember a month since forever that you didn’t read Vogue cover to cover backstage waiting to come on to do your tits and ass closing number.

And for what? So you can be on a diet? All so you can go have a lousy drink with some want-to-be boyfriend and a couple of jugglers lousy with misery over missing their wives?

The showgirls are tough as they come. They got trick knees, sore hips and bad backs. None of the want-to-be fellas got the guts to fight off the racking jealousy that comes with tramping with a lady dancer entertainer.

That’s show business. You get in, you get a gig, and one day all too soon you get out. Curtain closes and nothing but a ghostlight on stage and nothing left but a few pictures in a scrapbook of you with a pair of the best pair of legs any man has ever wanted.

Showgirls are nothing but rotten lust and heartbreak. Break a dads heart, break a fellas heart and break a jugglers heart watching them kill it every night and for what? So, they can retire at 37? So they can go start a family before its too late? Tough as nails these dancers.

It’s not living the dream so much as having surviving the heartbreak of starting the next one…