i seem to have a lot of two's lately.
sure, now that i have vocalized it, i won't be able to think of anything to support that statement. let me take a stab at it, though...
i worked from 5:30 this morning until 8:15 tonight.
on the way home-after ordering pizza from my current regular place, hot mama's (regulars are important to me, i've got a little rain man in me) i set off for home. natch, i told the chico on the phone i would just have whatever i ordered last time..."your regular, chris?" he says, the smile obvious in his voice.
ouch.
i don't mind being consistent. i do mind being a "creature" of anything, habit included. and why is it that near strangers are close enough to me to point out my consistency, but my boss isn't?
i think one of those folks is likely a better, happier person than the other. agreed?
as i am walking home, waiting for a crosswalk light to change-as i do on occassion-i hear someone say, "howdy, chris". looking over i see a former colleague of mine from macy's that i worked with in portland. he and i have run into each other randomly since i moved here. more now that he has moved to town, too.
little bitch-bear has lived here a year and has a boyfriend. a live-in, no less. how's that supposed to make me feel? pissing and moaning as i like to about how undateable this town is.
grr.
anyway, this is the second time in three days i have run into him. we both head into the same murder mart. me for beer, him for ice cream. i'm thinking about my pint of ben and jerry's in the fridge. yum.
top it off with the fact that the place they live-did i mention they live together?-is hardly two blocks from me.
i get home and check my email as i unwind with a beer, waiting for my pizza goodness.
i have a message from a guy i have been trading emails with. zane. my age-ish, good job, house, seems nice and balanced. my sister would definitely approve. this is the second email i have gotten from zane in a week since we started chatting. before now, one every ten days or so.
as i am responding, my mind drifts to my friend jz-squared. one of the "z's" stands for...zane. great. now i have two of them. it's not like i met a couple of guys with a common name like, oh, chris. zane. awesome. top it off with him being twice jz-squared's age.
my phone rings...pizza girl. buzz her up. pay. "good to see you again, is it bad that i'm a regular?" i ask. "nah...i see lots of single guys a couple times a week. kinda surprised you became one, though. pizza always seemed like such a treat for you, not a basic food group like some guys". i'm a regular. oof da.
i just look at her as she stuffs my tip into her shirt-who still does that? she giggles and heads for the elevator. it's probably elevator #2.
i'm feeling better as i watch my latest netflix and eat pizza. lucky 7 is the flick. i think this may break the cycle. i realize i am serving myself two slices at a time.
setting aside my second pizza of the week, half through, i toddle off to the freezer and dig into a pint of cake batter ice cream. convinced now that i am really bucking the trend numerology seems to be dialing me into.
until i realize...it's my second pint of the week. damn qfc and their two-fer sale!
Friday, November 14, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Heroes
I was stomping into work yesterday...marching down the hill toward certain retail infamy. I was attempting to elevate my mood with a little Melissa Etheridge and curb my sense of accomplishment for having dragged my ass this far with a cold and sore throat, in the rain no less.
Then it happened. One of those moments of clarity, a real "palm to the forehead" type of thing.
Scarecrow came on.
I always feel like I have had a "special bond" with Melissa's celebrity-see how I so casually referred to her by first name there?
I saw her at a little Long Beach bar called Que Sera in the-gosh-early 90's? Well before she was famous.
When Somebody Bring Me Some Water broke her out, I saw an early BIG venue show of hers at the Roxy. The guy I was dating at the time didn't want to go. I had to make a choice...this was important. I had to really think about it. I thought, "Petur or Melissa Etheridge...Petur or Melissa Etheridge" the answer seemed to be all about me. A bond was formed-completely one sided, I assure you-between me and Melissa.
So when she writes a song that is so broadly appealing and relevant, it makes that song all the more powerful to me.
See also: I Run For Life about her battle with breast cancer and Tuesday Morning about Marc Bingham. I feel guilty for not remembering if he's a "c" Marc or a "k" Mark. Marc with a "c" is hotter to me, so let's go with that one for the purpose of this blog.
Those songs just kill me. I lose it inside everytime I hear them...but they also serve as a great grounding element for me. They really put things in perspective for me.
Scarecrow is about Matthew Sheppard. The song is so powerful-I'll probably use that word a lot in this post. It has particular resonance with me because of my own gay-bashing incident in college-a moment when I was not powerful but powerless. At the mercy of two strangers exorcising some demons on me.
Clearly, my outcome was different than Matthew's, but I still find myself running into that emotional wall every now and then.
When I was in SoCal visiting my parents in late October, the campaigning on Prop 8 was in full swing. My mother and I were driving somewhere and at an intersection we stopped at there was a group of "Yes on 8" folks on one corner and opposite them "No on 8" had taken up residence. I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop...for chaos to ensue. I must have said something because my mom started talking about how she kind of came undone that night I was bashed in college. My room mate, Cindy, had called my parents in the middle of the night to tell them. They had piled the whole fam damily in the car the next morning and came to make sure I was ok. My mom described a vivid memory of the terror she felt walking past my room mate's car, it's trunk covered in my blood.
I was terrified. The images of the prior night still fresh in my mind, replaying out of control. Not just the rednecks who assaulted me, but also the cop who responded. The way he looked at me like I had gotten what I deserved...how he challenged me to declare I was worth medical attention when he asked if I wanted him to call for an ambulance. How his look judged me. Cindy was a brick house and she was about to have a moment with this old bastard cop. My other room mates had to pull her out of the room.
And I did feel like I had gotten what I deserved. I didn't feel like I was worthy of medical attention for my wounds. So I sat there, wide awake all night. Face swollen. Oozing and blackening. Nose unset. Gravel in my ass and imbedded in the skin of my genitals.
But I lived. At the time, I could have died of shame. Unable to acknowledge my own homosexuality or protect myself. I never did tell my family the true nature of that assault. If they ever put two and two together, we are too Catholic to discuss it openly. Maybe mom was trying her best to reach out to me that day...I just couldn't risk being wrong about it and causing her any unintentional guilt or pain over that episode. I know I have an ally in every member of my family, I don't need to personalize this fight by dredging up decades-old events to solidify that. But I wonder if my experience has any merit for demonstrating the length of this battle for equality. Surely, people don't consider this a "current event"?
This is why the underdog will always appeal to me. It's why, I think, I like some of the guys I like, including my ex although we never discussed it civily. I think I see that same fear and vulnerability in them and want to heal it just by accepting them for who they are. Of course, I know that I can't make it better. After 20 years, I know that they have to make it better for themselves and find their own way, just as I did. But I can be that mentor for them, that safety net if they want it. These men make up a large part of the group of men I like to call "The Prodigal Gays" because they come back to me-for whatever reason-and that is a great satisfaction for me, personally.
When I think of the victims who paid the highest possible price...I feel ashamed. Not by comparison. Rather because everyday that I bitch about my life, I diminish their death. Everytime our efforts at achieving equal rights are defeated, our civilization erodes and dishonors their memory.
Marc Bingham died a hero on Flight 93, his partner was not legally entitled to assume his personal effects. If Marc's family had been petty, there would have been zero legal recourse for the surviving partner.
Gays cannot marry in California. They are legally banned from formally celebrating their relationship as a heterosexual couple would.
It's a word.
Marriage.
It has been given uneven political currency because our country's founding fathers never thought to formally outline marriage in our country-one based on freedom from religious persecution-by making marriage a government function over a religious rite. Further, the government has molly-coddled the churches to the point that they basically let them copyright the word and enable their fight to protect it.
It's a word.
It no more belongs exclusively to the church than the word "Heaven".
No more so than the word "Girl" belongs to the gays.
Or the word "Aks" belongs to blacks. (That oughta take the serious edge off this blog)
The thing that concerns me the most about Prop 8 passing in New Utah is that California was the state with the clout to bring about marriage equality for interracial couples. That action spwned the phrase "So goes California, so goes the nation". That's what concerns me.
Matthew Sheppard was tied to a fence rail, beaten, burned and left to die of exposure. He didn't die. He clung to life for days before finally losing his life.
This October marked the 10th year since his assault and murder.
Ten years later our legislators are still trying to pass the Matthew Sheppard Hate Crimes Legislation and define equality in the work place and determine who is protected under the Employment Non Discrimination Act.
The hold up with ENDA? Bigotry. Some people still can't get their arms and mind around what a sexual minority is. They are trying to determine whether gays and lesbians are "people" while transexual and transgender people may simply be "freaks".
Well, folks...I accidentally answered that question with my careless use of the word "people". People are people. The rest is all adjectives.
When people forget that, I feel that rock in my ass (figuratively, in case it wasn't obvious) and wonder how long it will be that society will make me live with it there. Not society, that's not fair. The government.
At the same time, I realize that without people like Matthew, Marc, Milk and even Melissa we wouldn't be this close. We wouldn't be the political wedge we are today and sadly, we need to be a wedge issue before we can be equals in this country.
It's a step on the path to the equality that should never have been questioned in the first place.
I just hope we don't have to suffer too many more acts of heroism as a people before we make it there.
Then it happened. One of those moments of clarity, a real "palm to the forehead" type of thing.
Scarecrow came on.
I always feel like I have had a "special bond" with Melissa's celebrity-see how I so casually referred to her by first name there?
I saw her at a little Long Beach bar called Que Sera in the-gosh-early 90's? Well before she was famous.
When Somebody Bring Me Some Water broke her out, I saw an early BIG venue show of hers at the Roxy. The guy I was dating at the time didn't want to go. I had to make a choice...this was important. I had to really think about it. I thought, "Petur or Melissa Etheridge...Petur or Melissa Etheridge" the answer seemed to be all about me. A bond was formed-completely one sided, I assure you-between me and Melissa.
So when she writes a song that is so broadly appealing and relevant, it makes that song all the more powerful to me.
See also: I Run For Life about her battle with breast cancer and Tuesday Morning about Marc Bingham. I feel guilty for not remembering if he's a "c" Marc or a "k" Mark. Marc with a "c" is hotter to me, so let's go with that one for the purpose of this blog.
Those songs just kill me. I lose it inside everytime I hear them...but they also serve as a great grounding element for me. They really put things in perspective for me.
Scarecrow is about Matthew Sheppard. The song is so powerful-I'll probably use that word a lot in this post. It has particular resonance with me because of my own gay-bashing incident in college-a moment when I was not powerful but powerless. At the mercy of two strangers exorcising some demons on me.
Clearly, my outcome was different than Matthew's, but I still find myself running into that emotional wall every now and then.
When I was in SoCal visiting my parents in late October, the campaigning on Prop 8 was in full swing. My mother and I were driving somewhere and at an intersection we stopped at there was a group of "Yes on 8" folks on one corner and opposite them "No on 8" had taken up residence. I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop...for chaos to ensue. I must have said something because my mom started talking about how she kind of came undone that night I was bashed in college. My room mate, Cindy, had called my parents in the middle of the night to tell them. They had piled the whole fam damily in the car the next morning and came to make sure I was ok. My mom described a vivid memory of the terror she felt walking past my room mate's car, it's trunk covered in my blood.
I was terrified. The images of the prior night still fresh in my mind, replaying out of control. Not just the rednecks who assaulted me, but also the cop who responded. The way he looked at me like I had gotten what I deserved...how he challenged me to declare I was worth medical attention when he asked if I wanted him to call for an ambulance. How his look judged me. Cindy was a brick house and she was about to have a moment with this old bastard cop. My other room mates had to pull her out of the room.
And I did feel like I had gotten what I deserved. I didn't feel like I was worthy of medical attention for my wounds. So I sat there, wide awake all night. Face swollen. Oozing and blackening. Nose unset. Gravel in my ass and imbedded in the skin of my genitals.
But I lived. At the time, I could have died of shame. Unable to acknowledge my own homosexuality or protect myself. I never did tell my family the true nature of that assault. If they ever put two and two together, we are too Catholic to discuss it openly. Maybe mom was trying her best to reach out to me that day...I just couldn't risk being wrong about it and causing her any unintentional guilt or pain over that episode. I know I have an ally in every member of my family, I don't need to personalize this fight by dredging up decades-old events to solidify that. But I wonder if my experience has any merit for demonstrating the length of this battle for equality. Surely, people don't consider this a "current event"?
This is why the underdog will always appeal to me. It's why, I think, I like some of the guys I like, including my ex although we never discussed it civily. I think I see that same fear and vulnerability in them and want to heal it just by accepting them for who they are. Of course, I know that I can't make it better. After 20 years, I know that they have to make it better for themselves and find their own way, just as I did. But I can be that mentor for them, that safety net if they want it. These men make up a large part of the group of men I like to call "The Prodigal Gays" because they come back to me-for whatever reason-and that is a great satisfaction for me, personally.
When I think of the victims who paid the highest possible price...I feel ashamed. Not by comparison. Rather because everyday that I bitch about my life, I diminish their death. Everytime our efforts at achieving equal rights are defeated, our civilization erodes and dishonors their memory.
Marc Bingham died a hero on Flight 93, his partner was not legally entitled to assume his personal effects. If Marc's family had been petty, there would have been zero legal recourse for the surviving partner.
Gays cannot marry in California. They are legally banned from formally celebrating their relationship as a heterosexual couple would.
It's a word.
Marriage.
It has been given uneven political currency because our country's founding fathers never thought to formally outline marriage in our country-one based on freedom from religious persecution-by making marriage a government function over a religious rite. Further, the government has molly-coddled the churches to the point that they basically let them copyright the word and enable their fight to protect it.
It's a word.
It no more belongs exclusively to the church than the word "Heaven".
No more so than the word "Girl" belongs to the gays.
Or the word "Aks" belongs to blacks. (That oughta take the serious edge off this blog)
The thing that concerns me the most about Prop 8 passing in New Utah is that California was the state with the clout to bring about marriage equality for interracial couples. That action spwned the phrase "So goes California, so goes the nation". That's what concerns me.
Matthew Sheppard was tied to a fence rail, beaten, burned and left to die of exposure. He didn't die. He clung to life for days before finally losing his life.
This October marked the 10th year since his assault and murder.
Ten years later our legislators are still trying to pass the Matthew Sheppard Hate Crimes Legislation and define equality in the work place and determine who is protected under the Employment Non Discrimination Act.
The hold up with ENDA? Bigotry. Some people still can't get their arms and mind around what a sexual minority is. They are trying to determine whether gays and lesbians are "people" while transexual and transgender people may simply be "freaks".
Well, folks...I accidentally answered that question with my careless use of the word "people". People are people. The rest is all adjectives.
When people forget that, I feel that rock in my ass (figuratively, in case it wasn't obvious) and wonder how long it will be that society will make me live with it there. Not society, that's not fair. The government.
At the same time, I realize that without people like Matthew, Marc, Milk and even Melissa we wouldn't be this close. We wouldn't be the political wedge we are today and sadly, we need to be a wedge issue before we can be equals in this country.
It's a step on the path to the equality that should never have been questioned in the first place.
I just hope we don't have to suffer too many more acts of heroism as a people before we make it there.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Lazy Day Funny
A friend of mine sent this to me about a year ago. I'm cleaning out my email in box on a lazy Saturday off, so I thought I would put this here in case I need it later.
Three things to ponder:
1. Cows
2. The Constitution
3. The Ten Commandments
C O W S ...
Is it just me, or does anyone else find it amazing that during the mad cow epidemic our government could track a single cow, born in Canada almost three years ago, right to the stall where she slept in the state of Washington? And, they tracked her calves to their stalls. But they are unable to locate 11 million illegal aliens wandering around our country. Maybe we should give each of them a cow.
T H E C O N S T I T U T I O N ...
They keep talking about drafting a Constitution for Iraq . Why don't we just give them ours? It was written by a lot of really smart guys, it has worked for over 200 years, and we're not using it anymore.
T H E 1 0 C O M M A N D M E N T S ...
The real reason that we can't have the Ten Commandments posted in a courthouse is this: You cannot post 'Thou Shalt Not Steal,' 'Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery,' and 'Thou Shall Not Lie' in a building full of lawyers, judges and politicians...It creates a hostile work environment.
Aaah, stolen funnies.
Three things to ponder:
1. Cows
2. The Constitution
3. The Ten Commandments
C O W S ...
Is it just me, or does anyone else find it amazing that during the mad cow epidemic our government could track a single cow, born in Canada almost three years ago, right to the stall where she slept in the state of Washington? And, they tracked her calves to their stalls. But they are unable to locate 11 million illegal aliens wandering around our country. Maybe we should give each of them a cow.
T H E C O N S T I T U T I O N ...
They keep talking about drafting a Constitution for Iraq . Why don't we just give them ours? It was written by a lot of really smart guys, it has worked for over 200 years, and we're not using it anymore.
T H E 1 0 C O M M A N D M E N T S ...
The real reason that we can't have the Ten Commandments posted in a courthouse is this: You cannot post 'Thou Shalt Not Steal,' 'Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery,' and 'Thou Shall Not Lie' in a building full of lawyers, judges and politicians...It creates a hostile work environment.
Aaah, stolen funnies.
Impulse Control
I've begun this stage in my life where I simply feel overwhelmed by urges. (Again)
Food.
Sex.
Drink.
Opinions.
And sometimes, thank god, overwhelmed by apathy and therefore ill-prepared to act on those urges.
Going to the grocer. It's rainy season here in Seattle, after all.
Picking someone up. Which usually involves going from the couch to the computer.
Ditto, grocer. Which has on occasion fostered my urge for sex, too.
Waiting for the right moment to tell someone they are an idiot or a boob. Which has sometimes fostered sex as well. What is it with people being turned on by being told off?
This morning, I awoke with a fairly ambivalent mood hanging over me. The generic surprise at having woke up yet again wearing off fairly quickly. I seem to be getting comfortable with my persistent existence. Plodding to the can. Brushing my teeth while thinking about whether to simply hop in the shower and get clean. Somehow ending up in pants with a toothbrush still in my mouth.
Decision made. God bless auto-pilot. Sometimes I get all the way to work's door in this mode!
I pull on a t-shirt and consider a jacket, with just enough ambivalence left over to end up with a sweatshirt and jacket.
My latest impulse control seems to be running for the elevator.
I can hear it coming. I live right next to the shaft. I like to imagine who's coming or going at night as I tick off the floors it passes. It's a wonderful use of insomnia, since I don't know what floor the damn thing originated on.
But when it hits my floor, I want to run for it.
Which is what I did this morning. Simply gave in to the urge.
There I was, jacket on yet unaware I was actually preparing to go anywhere, as the elevator ascended toward my floor. I had heard one of my neighbor's doors close, so I knew a ride was nigh.
So, I bolted.
Wherever the hell I was going, it needed to be now, damn it!
But my phone did not make the jump with me. Which is kind of fine, I have been hating my phone lately as it impulsively shuts off in the middle of conversations two or three times a day as it gives into it's own impulses-call it engineered obsolesence. I can't finish a call on it on my own time frame without being tethered to an outlet. Very frustrating.
Thank god I at least had my wallet.
No umbrella either. Hopefully the rain into which I emerged was part of "showers with sunbreaks" and not a downpour for the day, as recent days have been.
So I end up walking into Sugar for some coffee. How the hell I managed to have a magazine, wallet, ball cap and no idea where I was going...it's a miracle I have made it this far.
My favorite barista and young friend, JZ-squared says to me as I walk in, "You got my text!"
Negatory, good buddy. Just ended up here. Left the phone at home.
My impulse control issues must be destiny, though. There I was, overcome by the urge to be somewhere to the degree that I end up there practically before I even realize that I have left home. Pleasing a friend with my mere appearance. The conversation we had was one of my favorites in recent days. Just about nothing...the magazine I had managed to grab, my disheveled appearance, pie baking, sleep, music, art, travel and assorted whatnot.
Here's to not asking questions and just going with the flow.
And now it's sunny.
Food.
Sex.
Drink.
Opinions.
And sometimes, thank god, overwhelmed by apathy and therefore ill-prepared to act on those urges.
Going to the grocer. It's rainy season here in Seattle, after all.
Picking someone up. Which usually involves going from the couch to the computer.
Ditto, grocer. Which has on occasion fostered my urge for sex, too.
Waiting for the right moment to tell someone they are an idiot or a boob. Which has sometimes fostered sex as well. What is it with people being turned on by being told off?
This morning, I awoke with a fairly ambivalent mood hanging over me. The generic surprise at having woke up yet again wearing off fairly quickly. I seem to be getting comfortable with my persistent existence. Plodding to the can. Brushing my teeth while thinking about whether to simply hop in the shower and get clean. Somehow ending up in pants with a toothbrush still in my mouth.
Decision made. God bless auto-pilot. Sometimes I get all the way to work's door in this mode!
I pull on a t-shirt and consider a jacket, with just enough ambivalence left over to end up with a sweatshirt and jacket.
My latest impulse control seems to be running for the elevator.
I can hear it coming. I live right next to the shaft. I like to imagine who's coming or going at night as I tick off the floors it passes. It's a wonderful use of insomnia, since I don't know what floor the damn thing originated on.
But when it hits my floor, I want to run for it.
Which is what I did this morning. Simply gave in to the urge.
There I was, jacket on yet unaware I was actually preparing to go anywhere, as the elevator ascended toward my floor. I had heard one of my neighbor's doors close, so I knew a ride was nigh.
So, I bolted.
Wherever the hell I was going, it needed to be now, damn it!
But my phone did not make the jump with me. Which is kind of fine, I have been hating my phone lately as it impulsively shuts off in the middle of conversations two or three times a day as it gives into it's own impulses-call it engineered obsolesence. I can't finish a call on it on my own time frame without being tethered to an outlet. Very frustrating.
Thank god I at least had my wallet.
No umbrella either. Hopefully the rain into which I emerged was part of "showers with sunbreaks" and not a downpour for the day, as recent days have been.
So I end up walking into Sugar for some coffee. How the hell I managed to have a magazine, wallet, ball cap and no idea where I was going...it's a miracle I have made it this far.
My favorite barista and young friend, JZ-squared says to me as I walk in, "You got my text!"
Negatory, good buddy. Just ended up here. Left the phone at home.
My impulse control issues must be destiny, though. There I was, overcome by the urge to be somewhere to the degree that I end up there practically before I even realize that I have left home. Pleasing a friend with my mere appearance. The conversation we had was one of my favorites in recent days. Just about nothing...the magazine I had managed to grab, my disheveled appearance, pie baking, sleep, music, art, travel and assorted whatnot.
Here's to not asking questions and just going with the flow.
And now it's sunny.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
I kinda love this guy...
He has been president-elect for two days and he is already a pop icon. In addition to being a beacon of hope for our country and probably the world.
You have go to check out these sites, if you already haven't.
www.barackaspresident.com began as www.palinaspresident.com weeks before the election. It was awesome, Palin sitting in the Oval Office and everything in there was clickable to reveal something funny. On November 4, the site converted to the Barack incarnation. It contains a song, set to one of Barack's speeches, with folk music style guitar and famous folks speaking or singing his words, "Yes We Can".
It is so powerful.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=jjXyqcx-mYY is the actual video of the speech/song. Hopefully it will be available for some time.
And because I am crushing pretty hard on our newly elected hero, here are the words of the speech. Printed totally without permission...
It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation.
Yes we can.
It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail toward freedom.
Yes we can.
It was sung by immigrants as they struck out from distant shores and pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness.
Yes we can.
It was the call of workers who organized; women who reached for the ballots; a President who chose the moon as our new frontier; and a King who took us to the mountaintop and pointed the way to the Promised Land.
Yes we can to justice and equality.
Yes we can to opportunity and prosperity.
Yes we can heal this nation.
Yes we can repair this world.
Yes we can.
We know the battle ahead will be long, but always remember that no matter what obstacles stand in our way, nothing can stand in the way of the power of millions of voices calling for change.
We have been told we cannot do this by a chorus of cynics...they will only grow louder and more dissonant ........... We've been asked to pause for a reality check. We've been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope.
But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope.
Now the hopes of the little girl who goes to a crumbling school in Dillon are the same as the dreams of the boy who learns on the streets of LA; we will remember that there is something happening in America; that we are not as divided as our politics suggests; that we are one people; we are one nation; and together, we will begin the next great chapter in the American story with three words that will ring from coast to coast; from sea to shining sea --
Yes. We. Can.
The color was my creative little tweak...it's nothing compared to the genius and inspiration of this speech, it's writers, speaker and the team of musicians and actors who set it to music and created the video.
Someone has a dream, and I hope everyone, across all religions, races, ethnicities, political parties and throughout this nation shares it.
You have go to check out these sites, if you already haven't.
www.barackaspresident.com began as www.palinaspresident.com weeks before the election. It was awesome, Palin sitting in the Oval Office and everything in there was clickable to reveal something funny. On November 4, the site converted to the Barack incarnation. It contains a song, set to one of Barack's speeches, with folk music style guitar and famous folks speaking or singing his words, "Yes We Can".
It is so powerful.
www.youtube.com/wat
And because I am crushing pretty hard on our newly elected hero, here are the words of the speech. Printed totally without permission...
It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation.
Yes we can.
It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail toward freedom.
Yes we can.
It was sung by immigrants as they struck out from distant shores and pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness.
Yes we can.
It was the call of workers who organized; women who reached for the ballots; a President who chose the moon as our new frontier; and a King who took us to the mountaintop and pointed the way to the Promised Land.
Yes we can to justice and equality.
Yes we can to opportunity and prosperity.
Yes we can heal this nation.
Yes we can repair this world.
Yes we can.
We know the battle ahead will be long, but always remember that no matter what obstacles stand in our way, nothing can stand in the way of the power of millions of voices calling for change.
We have been told we cannot do this by a chorus of cynics...they will only grow louder and more dissonant ........... We've been asked to pause for a reality check. We've been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope.
But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope.
Now the hopes of the little girl who goes to a crumbling school in Dillon are the same as the dreams of the boy who learns on the streets of LA; we will remember that there is something happening in America; that we are not as divided as our politics suggests; that we are one people; we are one nation; and together, we will begin the next great chapter in the American story with three words that will ring from coast to coast; from sea to shining sea --
Yes. We. Can.
The color was my creative little tweak...it's nothing compared to the genius and inspiration of this speech, it's writers, speaker and the team of musicians and actors who set it to music and created the video.
Someone has a dream, and I hope everyone, across all religions, races, ethnicities, political parties and throughout this nation shares it.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Three-fifths a President?
I am-like many Americans this morning-both excited and devastated by last night's election and the results that continue to unfold.
Excited that we have elected a man whose vision for our country's government will be like getting CPR from someone with really fresh breath. And I don't think many would disagree that our country is definitely in a flat line right now and in need of some CPR.
Bring us the Obama crash cart!
Devastated, because three states seem to have passed or are well on the way to passing legislation banning gay marriage.
Now, a word of encouragement...California (which I will call New Utah if this amendment passes) is only 95% reported and the "Yes" result is in the typical margin of error of + or - 4% , so there is math for hope. Still.
A fourth state, Arkansas of all places, has passed a law banning gay adoption. Now, I don't believe Arkansas actually has any gay citizens. Rather, I think the good folks down there in the Redneck Riviera (sorry DDV, you know it's true or you'd still live there!) are simply laying the ground work needed to stave off the flood of hedonistic homosexuals that will be fleeing New Utah, Arizona and Florida in reaction to those states' rolling up their welcome mat to the gays by denying them the right to marry. Just to let us know we aren't welcome there in Arkansas with our adopted Himalayan whistle children, either.
Good move, Joe-Bob. You sure saw us coming there! Yup, saw exactly what we were gonna do. Bullet point numero uno at the last big gay meeting.
Psych!
Also, my devastation stems from what I am sure to be future events...things I don't even think anyone has realized yet.
Now that the Mormons have spanked the evil-doing homosexuals and put us in our place, here are the new laws I see them funneling their tithe into:
~ Legalizing polygamy. Face it...with all the unrepentant and uncurable gay men out there, there are many unattended women-folk. They need a husband and there simply aren't enough god-fearing men to go around. Polygamy is the only answer.
~ A ban on blacks being president. The Mormons grudgingly allowed blacks to join their church...in the '80's? Someone correct me if I am wrong on that, but it was recently. File that move under "Keeping your friends close but your enemies closer". Now, they will fight to defend our country's government with the same fervor-I mean deep pockets-with which they fought to protect marriage. Namely, all men-not women, and certainly not them blacks-are created equal. There ya go...who even let Mac pick a woman as his running mate? And it is clearly laid out that a black man is equal to 3/5 a white man, so how can we elect 3/5 a president? Would we have to also ensure we had a 7/5 veep to balance that ticket?
You heard it here first, and yeah...it sounds crazy, right? But doesn't it seem like only a short time ago that it sounded crazy for a state like the former California to amend it's constitution to include discrimination?
To end on a high note (no, I am not high): Even applying "black math" to the presidential election, with two states still uncounted, 3/5 of Obama's electoral votes still put him at 209. Ahead of McCain and outside the reach of defeat if Mac carries the two undecided states.
Take that Joseph Smith.
Excited that we have elected a man whose vision for our country's government will be like getting CPR from someone with really fresh breath. And I don't think many would disagree that our country is definitely in a flat line right now and in need of some CPR.
Bring us the Obama crash cart!
Devastated, because three states seem to have passed or are well on the way to passing legislation banning gay marriage.
Now, a word of encouragement...California (which I will call New Utah if this amendment passes) is only 95% reported and the "Yes" result is in the typical margin of error of + or - 4% , so there is math for hope. Still.
A fourth state, Arkansas of all places, has passed a law banning gay adoption. Now, I don't believe Arkansas actually has any gay citizens. Rather, I think the good folks down there in the Redneck Riviera (sorry DDV, you know it's true or you'd still live there!) are simply laying the ground work needed to stave off the flood of hedonistic homosexuals that will be fleeing New Utah, Arizona and Florida in reaction to those states' rolling up their welcome mat to the gays by denying them the right to marry. Just to let us know we aren't welcome there in Arkansas with our adopted Himalayan whistle children, either.
Good move, Joe-Bob. You sure saw us coming there! Yup, saw exactly what we were gonna do. Bullet point numero uno at the last big gay meeting.
Psych!
Also, my devastation stems from what I am sure to be future events...things I don't even think anyone has realized yet.
Now that the Mormons have spanked the evil-doing homosexuals and put us in our place, here are the new laws I see them funneling their tithe into:
~ Legalizing polygamy. Face it...with all the unrepentant and uncurable gay men out there, there are many unattended women-folk. They need a husband and there simply aren't enough god-fearing men to go around. Polygamy is the only answer.
~ A ban on blacks being president. The Mormons grudgingly allowed blacks to join their church...in the '80's? Someone correct me if I am wrong on that, but it was recently. File that move under "Keeping your friends close but your enemies closer". Now, they will fight to defend our country's government with the same fervor-I mean deep pockets-with which they fought to protect marriage. Namely, all men-not women, and certainly not them blacks-are created equal. There ya go...who even let Mac pick a woman as his running mate? And it is clearly laid out that a black man is equal to 3/5 a white man, so how can we elect 3/5 a president? Would we have to also ensure we had a 7/5 veep to balance that ticket?
You heard it here first, and yeah...it sounds crazy, right? But doesn't it seem like only a short time ago that it sounded crazy for a state like the former California to amend it's constitution to include discrimination?
To end on a high note (no, I am not high): Even applying "black math" to the presidential election, with two states still uncounted, 3/5 of Obama's electoral votes still put him at 209. Ahead of McCain and outside the reach of defeat if Mac carries the two undecided states.
Take that Joseph Smith.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Blind as a...?
It's a beautiful fall day in Seattle. I decided to enjoy the day by sleeping through most of it-embrace your depression, people-and then take myself to breakfast at Zeena's, a neighborhood diner, before they closed at 3:00 as a rebound maneuver. Since it is fall-but beautifully done in a post Indian Summer kinda way-I went sans jacket, but kept on the shamefully unfashionable deep V tee shirt I slept in covered by an old Russell sweatshirt, my oldest and holiest, we're talking ass-showing-when-worn-without-underwear-and-damn-I feel-cool-just-for-owning-them-jeans and my favorite flip-flops.
To further offset the beauty of the day, I was unshowered, which means I had on one of my Nike ball caps, too.
I looked cool. My appearance was that of a dirty millionaire, belying my current financial holocaust.
I enjoyed breakfast-salami and eggs with about a pot of coffee-while reading the latest issue of the Advocate and enjoying their in version of one of my favorite games, "What If?". I inherited the love of this game from my mother, "What if you'd been in an accident?", "What if something had happened?" as she broadcast a parent's largest concern for their children-namely, all that they can't protect us from. My version-and the Advocate's in this case-is more positively speculative versus fear based love and concern. I was reading an article about what would have happened if Harvey Milk hadn't been murdered.
The restaurant closes and I am forced out on the street.
I am kicking my flip-flops through the damp leaves of First Hill's fall sidewalks as a fine mist falls. I am enjoying the wetness on my toes and the pleasant smell decaying leaves create hitting my nostrils as I walk home.
I look up, from the casual patrol my eyes are doing of the sidewalk to ensure I don't kick a raised portion of First Hill's lovely sidewalks and bloody myself or kick a dog poo a pet owner has failed to retrieve (an odd yet still practical pass-time for this afternoon considering Harvey Milk wrote and got passed into city ordinance San Francisco's Pooper Scooper law)-to see a man about a half a block away coming toward me. He is carrying a child...a toddler boy and my heart just filled with these pesky and overwhelming feelings of warmth, joy, love. My brain registered an attraction to the guy. I thought he was a hottie. A DILF.
As I passed by them, I realized the guy was a barker.
I made a mental note to get my eyes checked-or start wearing my glasses more regularly.
Still, I was amused to find myself laughing about how my eyes have betrayed me in my older years, but my ego refuses to submit to the proof before me and wear those damned glasses.
Then I thought about how bad my eyesight actually was and thought perhaps I was overreacting. My eyesight was relatively good for a person my age, right? To support this, I devised a scale for eyesight within the animal kingdom:
On the outermost left end of the scale, with excellent sight: Owls.
On the furthest right end of the scale, completely sightless: Helen Keller.
I began at the right end of the scale, pulling back to where I thought my level of ocular degeneration resided and then on toward the left end of the scale:
Helen Keller-blind, deaf and, possibly, dumb depending on whom you speak to but I disbelieve that last part, she learned sign language when hardly anyone knew it.
Naked Mole Rats-google these ugly mothers, they look like a buck toothed penis.
Bats-SONAR gives them sight-like qualities.
Snakes-increased sense of smell helps them "see".
New York governor David Paterson-legally blind.
Drunks-Beer Goggles, my only argument for this placement on the scale.
Me-given to bad attractions based on looks from across a distance, but a little more common sense at my disposal than a drunk.
Rabbits-I forget, has it been disproved that carrots are good for your eyesight?
Eagles-eagle eyes are a positive attribute, but overall, Owls are considered to have better vision than the regal eagle.
Owls.
Well, now I feel quite a bit better about my eyesight. As long as I don't look too closely at the space between myself and owls, I won't feel too bad. If I looked closely at the gap between me and owls, I might accidentally-even with my poor eyesight-notice the shorter gap between myself and the legally blind David Paterson and that would shake my rationalization.
Can't have that...
Then I started pondering how an animal's other senses make up for poor-or no-eyesight. You know: bats and their SONAR, snakes and their tongues, Helen Keller and her ability to sign R-E-S-P-E-C-T into the hand of her caretaking miracle worker, that type of thing. I wondered if I had a heightened sense that was compensation for my poor eyesight.
I stumbled, mentally, back to that overwhelming feeling of love I felt from that man toward his son. Was I able to see or sense what was in a person's heart because I was nearly blind as a common drunk? Is that what initially made me look up from my dog poo patrol to see that man and his child?
God knows, it wasn't gaydar. That's hardly my heightened sense.
To further offset the beauty of the day, I was unshowered, which means I had on one of my Nike ball caps, too.
I looked cool. My appearance was that of a dirty millionaire, belying my current financial holocaust.
I enjoyed breakfast-salami and eggs with about a pot of coffee-while reading the latest issue of the Advocate and enjoying their in version of one of my favorite games, "What If?". I inherited the love of this game from my mother, "What if you'd been in an accident?", "What if something had happened?" as she broadcast a parent's largest concern for their children-namely, all that they can't protect us from. My version-and the Advocate's in this case-is more positively speculative versus fear based love and concern. I was reading an article about what would have happened if Harvey Milk hadn't been murdered.
The restaurant closes and I am forced out on the street.
I am kicking my flip-flops through the damp leaves of First Hill's fall sidewalks as a fine mist falls. I am enjoying the wetness on my toes and the pleasant smell decaying leaves create hitting my nostrils as I walk home.
I look up, from the casual patrol my eyes are doing of the sidewalk to ensure I don't kick a raised portion of First Hill's lovely sidewalks and bloody myself or kick a dog poo a pet owner has failed to retrieve (an odd yet still practical pass-time for this afternoon considering Harvey Milk wrote and got passed into city ordinance San Francisco's Pooper Scooper law)-to see a man about a half a block away coming toward me. He is carrying a child...a toddler boy and my heart just filled with these pesky and overwhelming feelings of warmth, joy, love. My brain registered an attraction to the guy. I thought he was a hottie. A DILF.
As I passed by them, I realized the guy was a barker.
I made a mental note to get my eyes checked-or start wearing my glasses more regularly.
Still, I was amused to find myself laughing about how my eyes have betrayed me in my older years, but my ego refuses to submit to the proof before me and wear those damned glasses.
Then I thought about how bad my eyesight actually was and thought perhaps I was overreacting. My eyesight was relatively good for a person my age, right? To support this, I devised a scale for eyesight within the animal kingdom:
On the outermost left end of the scale, with excellent sight: Owls.
On the furthest right end of the scale, completely sightless: Helen Keller.
I began at the right end of the scale, pulling back to where I thought my level of ocular degeneration resided and then on toward the left end of the scale:
Helen Keller-blind, deaf and, possibly, dumb depending on whom you speak to but I disbelieve that last part, she learned sign language when hardly anyone knew it.
Naked Mole Rats-google these ugly mothers, they look like a buck toothed penis.
Bats-SONAR gives them sight-like qualities.
Snakes-increased sense of smell helps them "see".
New York governor David Paterson-legally blind.
Drunks-Beer Goggles, my only argument for this placement on the scale.
Me-given to bad attractions based on looks from across a distance, but a little more common sense at my disposal than a drunk.
Rabbits-I forget, has it been disproved that carrots are good for your eyesight?
Eagles-eagle eyes are a positive attribute, but overall, Owls are considered to have better vision than the regal eagle.
Owls.
Well, now I feel quite a bit better about my eyesight. As long as I don't look too closely at the space between myself and owls, I won't feel too bad. If I looked closely at the gap between me and owls, I might accidentally-even with my poor eyesight-notice the shorter gap between myself and the legally blind David Paterson and that would shake my rationalization.
Can't have that...
Then I started pondering how an animal's other senses make up for poor-or no-eyesight. You know: bats and their SONAR, snakes and their tongues, Helen Keller and her ability to sign R-E-S-P-E-C-T into the hand of her caretaking miracle worker, that type of thing. I wondered if I had a heightened sense that was compensation for my poor eyesight.
I stumbled, mentally, back to that overwhelming feeling of love I felt from that man toward his son. Was I able to see or sense what was in a person's heart because I was nearly blind as a common drunk? Is that what initially made me look up from my dog poo patrol to see that man and his child?
God knows, it wasn't gaydar. That's hardly my heightened sense.
My new word
Shituational.
Yup. That's it. I decided that, for me-for us all, really, the word situational needed to evolve. This is simply what needed to happen. Just like fish evolved to have legs and be able to move about on land, "situational" evolved to have an "H" in order to remove the implied or inferred positive connotation from situations whose outcomes may vary depending on a variety of factors, but never really work out in the speaker's favor when put under a microscope. When you look at it, you think it's your good behavior or hard work or diligence-or, best yet...Karma is paying off.
But if you look at it objectively, it's just luck.
You dodged a bullet, you lucky bastard. I mean, you well-behaved, hard-working, diligent and Karmically-blessed individual.
This evolution in vocabulary came about because a friend of mine mentioned she was hating her Clearwire internet service. Another friend of hers concurred that using Clearwire was the worst mistake of his life, and I (while wishing I had the good fortune of her other friend) disagreed, saying that my experience with Clearwire was a positive one.
Now, to say it is exclusively positive would be generous, I have had a couple of service outages over the last two years and the automatic billing overdrew my account once (not their fault that the bill date fell on a Saturday or Sunday...but likewise, not my fault I have a shit memory, right?) but by and large the experience for me has been far greater than with other internet service providers I have used. The icing on the cake-what tips it to shituational-for this case is cost. Does it really cost $1.50 per day to provide a receiver to catch the signal that Clearwire has beamed randomly throughout the skies of the United States? Because I am paying about $45 a month to receive this service. The answer? Probably not. As a matter of fact, $1.50 is probably more than they paid the poor Chinese bastard for the entire day that he worked the assembly line to manufacture this receiver; a day in which his quota was likely to manufacture a few thousand of these receivers.
Hence, the application of the word shituational. Overall, I have no real complaints-I expect service to be there, it generally is. It is a necessary evil. Realistically, even though I am "happy" with the situation, I'm pretty much still getting screwed.
Like banks, or politics or relationships. These are all other things in your life that are only shituational. They may be working for you now...but they aren't working for 100% of the people now and there is no guarantee that your experience will continue to be positive into the future.
But for an example, let's look at banks.
They provide a place for you to keep and manage your money and you pay them a monthly service fee. What? You have Free Checking? Of course you do. But you're special. the rest of us have a checking account that on average only creates $75 per year in revenue for those poor banks. No wonder they fail. $75 a year is two accidental overdrafts.
Those poor, poor banks.
When I worked at US Bank I heard this sorrowful tale many times.
Then I looked at the poor folks who kept their money at my branch alone. Running hundreds of dollars a month in overdraft fees and I would get grief for refunding a few overdraft fees for a customer on a monthly basis. There was a handful-a handful, we're talking a couple dozen-of accounts that would generate my generate my annual salary alone in their fees out of the 5,000 accounts that were opened at my branch.
Those poor, poor banks.
Let us not forget the "foreign ATM fees" you incur when you cannot find one of the thousands of ATMs your bank operates. $3.00 to gain access to your money because your bank doesn't actually provide the convenience they promise you? Plus many other "convenience fees" you may not even realize. Plus, the bank that owns the ATM you did use, well...they also get a couple bucks, right?
Then there are the backside fees. Fees that you generate simply by conducting business through your bank. You may not ever see these fees, but they are there.
Fees for using your ATM card as a Debit Card at a business. It costs the business around $.25 to accept that payment. Even small businesses run a few hundred of these transactions per day. A business that only runs 200 transactions a day generates $25 in revenue for the bank that they do their business with.
$150 a month.
$1800 a year.
24 times what your measly little checking account earns that poor, poor bank a year just to hold your money safely for you.
Times all of the small businesses you deal with on a daily basis.
Your dry cleaner.
Your neighborhood grocer or convenience store.
Your coffee place.
OMG, these coffee places are the true poor, poor bastards. My Americano costs $2.50, a price I tell the owner is too low. She should charge at least $.10 more, but that's another story. If I use my Debit Card, it costs her 10% of that cup of coffee just to accept my payment. I have actually left the bakery-and my coffee-to cross the street and get cash for my transaction to avoid making her pay this exorbitant fee.
So I will use my Credit Card to help out those small businesses and avoid making the banks money, right?
Nope. 2.5-6% of the transaction goes to the bank just to process it. Then you are generally paying interest, too. Or an annual fee.
And don't even let me get going on using Debit Cards as Credit Cards to earn cash back on the purchases you make.
Ok, I started.
The difference between what a bank earns on a debit transaction versus what they earn on a credit transaction can be HUGE. You can't look at it in terms of your cup of coffee, because that becomes an upside down transaction for the bank if you use your Debit Card as credit-they lose money. But, look at the couple of customers I personally ring up at work daily (this is not a plug for Bed, Bath & Beyond) where customers ask to use their Debit Card as a Credit Card. These are $500 transactions, what would be the cost of that $500 debit transaction? $.25, depending on the agreement a national retailer can wrangle with their bank versus your neighborhood small businesses-so probably less than a dime in reality, but I'm trying to factor out a few of the confusing variables so we'll stick with $.25 here. The cost to BBB for running those two transactions I process as credit? $4-6...and this is only two transactions a day by someone whose primary job function is not to work at a register.
And why does the consumer ask for these transactions to be handled like this? Because the bank gives them 1% of their purchases back annually as a reward for doing that. You get 1% and the bank keeps 1.5-5% of your purchases. This is called spread and it is how banks make their money. Spread also occurs in interest rates, between prime-or what the banks pay the government to buy money-and what they charge you in interest to borrow it from them. For example, the prime rate today is 4%. For some reason (to stimulate growth by reducing the risk banks expose themselves to by lending money to their clients, I'm sure) there is a Federal Discount that banks receive. Today this is 1.25%, so banks are paying 2.75% to buy money. The interest rate-or cost-of a 30 year fixed mortgage today is 6.41%. So the bank is netting 3.66% on a 30 year fixed mortgage that they generate today, or $3.66 for every $100 they lend.
Those poor, poor banks.
And earlier in this post you probably-oh so proudly-thought, "I don't create $75 in annual revenue for my bank because I never bounce checks."
A: Bullshit. Everyone bounces checks, and
B: Sucker. Your money creates thousands of dollars for banks a year on your purchases alone.
Don't even get me started on what I like to call the "It's A Wonderful Life phenomenon". But I'll give you a hint: The bank is not required to keep cash on hand for all monies deposited with them. Of course, they couldn't because of multiple branches...it would be logistically impossible. And catastrophic...remember what happened in IAWL when all the customers crowded the bank and demanded their money? Poor George faced having to close his family business because he didn't have it. Oops. Today, banks don't have to have it. Only a percentage of it. As an organization. What do they do with the rest? Keep it in a master vault the bank owns somewhere, right? Like a really, really secure U-Store It. Sure they don't. They invest it. Maybe not in stocks (Ok, maybe they do, but I don't know that) but by lending it back to other customers instead of buying it from the government. That means their spread just got bigger by 2.75 points, right?
But how can they do that? How can they avoid the IAWLP if they give my money to someone else?
Well,
A: They don't have to tell you that, and
B: The government doesn't require them to keep your money laying around, and
C: Because they provide motivation for you not to ask for it back.
Namely, Savings Accounts. A Passbook Savings Account earns you about 1.5% interest-unless you fall below $300 and then it costs you $3 a month, but that's not the point-and the bank uses that money to help avoid paying 2.75% to buy money from the government to do it's lending business. A net increase on the bank's spread of 1.25 points.
Those poor, poor banks.
So, this is all Chrisenese for describing my new word: shituational. You may never have an issue with your bank. You may think it's truly Free Checking and be happy as a clam with it. But, really, your experience with your bank-which you may even recommend to friends and family, or use to start your youngster's first bank accounts-is only shituational.
Basically, you got lucky. But, remember, luck runs out.
You dodged a bullet. But there are probably around five more bullets in the gun...and just hope it's not a semi-automatic weapon!
Aren't you glad I didn't use politics or relationships as my example?
Yup. That's it. I decided that, for me-for us all, really, the word situational needed to evolve. This is simply what needed to happen. Just like fish evolved to have legs and be able to move about on land, "situational" evolved to have an "H" in order to remove the implied or inferred positive connotation from situations whose outcomes may vary depending on a variety of factors, but never really work out in the speaker's favor when put under a microscope. When you look at it, you think it's your good behavior or hard work or diligence-or, best yet...Karma is paying off.
But if you look at it objectively, it's just luck.
You dodged a bullet, you lucky bastard. I mean, you well-behaved, hard-working, diligent and Karmically-blessed individual.
This evolution in vocabulary came about because a friend of mine mentioned she was hating her Clearwire internet service. Another friend of hers concurred that using Clearwire was the worst mistake of his life, and I (while wishing I had the good fortune of her other friend) disagreed, saying that my experience with Clearwire was a positive one.
Now, to say it is exclusively positive would be generous, I have had a couple of service outages over the last two years and the automatic billing overdrew my account once (not their fault that the bill date fell on a Saturday or Sunday...but likewise, not my fault I have a shit memory, right?) but by and large the experience for me has been far greater than with other internet service providers I have used. The icing on the cake-what tips it to shituational-for this case is cost. Does it really cost $1.50 per day to provide a receiver to catch the signal that Clearwire has beamed randomly throughout the skies of the United States? Because I am paying about $45 a month to receive this service. The answer? Probably not. As a matter of fact, $1.50 is probably more than they paid the poor Chinese bastard for the entire day that he worked the assembly line to manufacture this receiver; a day in which his quota was likely to manufacture a few thousand of these receivers.
Hence, the application of the word shituational. Overall, I have no real complaints-I expect service to be there, it generally is. It is a necessary evil. Realistically, even though I am "happy" with the situation, I'm pretty much still getting screwed.
Like banks, or politics or relationships. These are all other things in your life that are only shituational. They may be working for you now...but they aren't working for 100% of the people now and there is no guarantee that your experience will continue to be positive into the future.
But for an example, let's look at banks.
They provide a place for you to keep and manage your money and you pay them a monthly service fee. What? You have Free Checking? Of course you do. But you're special. the rest of us have a checking account that on average only creates $75 per year in revenue for those poor banks. No wonder they fail. $75 a year is two accidental overdrafts.
Those poor, poor banks.
When I worked at US Bank I heard this sorrowful tale many times.
Then I looked at the poor folks who kept their money at my branch alone. Running hundreds of dollars a month in overdraft fees and I would get grief for refunding a few overdraft fees for a customer on a monthly basis. There was a handful-a handful, we're talking a couple dozen-of accounts that would generate my generate my annual salary alone in their fees out of the 5,000 accounts that were opened at my branch.
Those poor, poor banks.
Let us not forget the "foreign ATM fees" you incur when you cannot find one of the thousands of ATMs your bank operates. $3.00 to gain access to your money because your bank doesn't actually provide the convenience they promise you? Plus many other "convenience fees" you may not even realize. Plus, the bank that owns the ATM you did use, well...they also get a couple bucks, right?
Then there are the backside fees. Fees that you generate simply by conducting business through your bank. You may not ever see these fees, but they are there.
Fees for using your ATM card as a Debit Card at a business. It costs the business around $.25 to accept that payment. Even small businesses run a few hundred of these transactions per day. A business that only runs 200 transactions a day generates $25 in revenue for the bank that they do their business with.
$150 a month.
$1800 a year.
24 times what your measly little checking account earns that poor, poor bank a year just to hold your money safely for you.
Times all of the small businesses you deal with on a daily basis.
Your dry cleaner.
Your neighborhood grocer or convenience store.
Your coffee place.
OMG, these coffee places are the true poor, poor bastards. My Americano costs $2.50, a price I tell the owner is too low. She should charge at least $.10 more, but that's another story. If I use my Debit Card, it costs her 10% of that cup of coffee just to accept my payment. I have actually left the bakery-and my coffee-to cross the street and get cash for my transaction to avoid making her pay this exorbitant fee.
So I will use my Credit Card to help out those small businesses and avoid making the banks money, right?
Nope. 2.5-6% of the transaction goes to the bank just to process it. Then you are generally paying interest, too. Or an annual fee.
And don't even let me get going on using Debit Cards as Credit Cards to earn cash back on the purchases you make.
Ok, I started.
The difference between what a bank earns on a debit transaction versus what they earn on a credit transaction can be HUGE. You can't look at it in terms of your cup of coffee, because that becomes an upside down transaction for the bank if you use your Debit Card as credit-they lose money. But, look at the couple of customers I personally ring up at work daily (this is not a plug for Bed, Bath & Beyond) where customers ask to use their Debit Card as a Credit Card. These are $500 transactions, what would be the cost of that $500 debit transaction? $.25, depending on the agreement a national retailer can wrangle with their bank versus your neighborhood small businesses-so probably less than a dime in reality, but I'm trying to factor out a few of the confusing variables so we'll stick with $.25 here. The cost to BBB for running those two transactions I process as credit? $4-6...and this is only two transactions a day by someone whose primary job function is not to work at a register.
And why does the consumer ask for these transactions to be handled like this? Because the bank gives them 1% of their purchases back annually as a reward for doing that. You get 1% and the bank keeps 1.5-5% of your purchases. This is called spread and it is how banks make their money. Spread also occurs in interest rates, between prime-or what the banks pay the government to buy money-and what they charge you in interest to borrow it from them. For example, the prime rate today is 4%. For some reason (to stimulate growth by reducing the risk banks expose themselves to by lending money to their clients, I'm sure) there is a Federal Discount that banks receive. Today this is 1.25%, so banks are paying 2.75% to buy money. The interest rate-or cost-of a 30 year fixed mortgage today is 6.41%. So the bank is netting 3.66% on a 30 year fixed mortgage that they generate today, or $3.66 for every $100 they lend.
Those poor, poor banks.
And earlier in this post you probably-oh so proudly-thought, "I don't create $75 in annual revenue for my bank because I never bounce checks."
A: Bullshit. Everyone bounces checks, and
B: Sucker. Your money creates thousands of dollars for banks a year on your purchases alone.
Don't even get me started on what I like to call the "It's A Wonderful Life phenomenon". But I'll give you a hint: The bank is not required to keep cash on hand for all monies deposited with them. Of course, they couldn't because of multiple branches...it would be logistically impossible. And catastrophic...remember what happened in IAWL when all the customers crowded the bank and demanded their money? Poor George faced having to close his family business because he didn't have it. Oops. Today, banks don't have to have it. Only a percentage of it. As an organization. What do they do with the rest? Keep it in a master vault the bank owns somewhere, right? Like a really, really secure U-Store It. Sure they don't. They invest it. Maybe not in stocks (Ok, maybe they do, but I don't know that) but by lending it back to other customers instead of buying it from the government. That means their spread just got bigger by 2.75 points, right?
But how can they do that? How can they avoid the IAWLP if they give my money to someone else?
Well,
A: They don't have to tell you that, and
B: The government doesn't require them to keep your money laying around, and
C: Because they provide motivation for you not to ask for it back.
Namely, Savings Accounts. A Passbook Savings Account earns you about 1.5% interest-unless you fall below $300 and then it costs you $3 a month, but that's not the point-and the bank uses that money to help avoid paying 2.75% to buy money from the government to do it's lending business. A net increase on the bank's spread of 1.25 points.
Those poor, poor banks.
So, this is all Chrisenese for describing my new word: shituational. You may never have an issue with your bank. You may think it's truly Free Checking and be happy as a clam with it. But, really, your experience with your bank-which you may even recommend to friends and family, or use to start your youngster's first bank accounts-is only shituational.
Basically, you got lucky. But, remember, luck runs out.
You dodged a bullet. But there are probably around five more bullets in the gun...and just hope it's not a semi-automatic weapon!
Aren't you glad I didn't use politics or relationships as my example?
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