Censorship happens at every level--federal, state, local. It is carried out by government agencies, corporations, political officials, and the media. Sometimes it's subtle, sometimes blatant.
My most recent experience was with the Grunion Gazette, a weekly community newspaper that claims it "encourages letters to the editor, and will try to print all letters received." Except those that take issue with the opinions of the editor, that is.
In the June 16 edition, the editor proposed that surveillance cameras be installed in public places and on residential streets throughout the city in order to cut down on rowdy behavior outside bars. Boy, did I take issue with that suggestion, sending the following email to the paper the same day the paper was published:
Dear Editor:
It was with horror that I read the June 16 editorial "High-Tech Solution May Help Bar Issue" in which the writer advocated the installation of surveillance cameras in public places and on residential streets. It is a continual source of amazement to me how easily Americans give up their constitutional rights.
The writer even "supported" his case with the argument "If you aren't doing anything wrong, you don't have anything to worry about." The airline passengers who are groped and porno-scanned aren't doing anything wrong either, and yet their Fourth Amendment right to be free of warrantless searches without probable cause is violated countless times each day. And the so-called Patriot Act allows for the collection and storage of some 1.7 billion cell phone calls and emails (no doubt this one) every day, as well as the indefinite detention of persons who have not even been charged with a crime.
If this kind of anti-democratic, police state thinking goes on much longer and people fail to wake up to government intrusions into their lives, I suspect that next year the Gazette will be making a case for the microchipping of all citizens. That way, the authorities will know exactly where everyone is at any time. But of course if you're not doing anything wrong, what's the big deal!
My letter was never published, though another writer's letter was published this week--two weeks after the original editorial. A letter that felt that the editor had not gone far enough and which suggested further intrusion by the police.
I wonder how many times each day the media are preventing citizens from airing their concerns about the erosion of constitutional rights and other issues that question the status quo. A friend of mine who lives in Tucson was barred from online discussions at the local paper's web site because he voiced his pacifist concerns and made note of a major employer in the area, Raytheon, one of the key players in the killing--oops, defense--industry.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Why Don't I Have Female Intellectual Buddies?
About a month ago, I had a revelation: I have never had female friends who were my intellectual buddies. It's not that the women I hang around with are mental lightweights. Far from it. It's just that talk seems to focus on emotions of all sorts and relationships of all sorts--family, friends, lovers, spouses, coworkers--rather than on ideas. 
Even when I bring up the subjects of politics, religion, the nature of the universe, insights into human nature, science, the death of democracy, the corruption of the press, etc., I've found that women either let me talk, even when I ask for their input; seem uncomfortable and change the subject; parrot things they've heard on the radio or TV stations they listen to; or argue by personal example. There is not the give and take I have so thoroughly enjoyed with male friends over the years.
With Christan, Ken, Ed, Mark, Tony, Y, Truc, Tuyen, Rod, Jose, Othman, and son Aaron, among others, one person has presented an idea, the other has listened and added something about what he's read or what his take on the situation is, back and forth like this. He says something I hadn't considered, and I acknowledge and appreciate his insight. And the reverse is true: I say something, and he says, "Boy, I never thought of it that way!" These conversations have often gone on for hours. Give and take. By the time we finally call it quits, we both feel as if we have gained new insights and are much richer for the experience.
It's not that all my relationships with men have been purely intellectual. Of course, with several there has been sexual tension or sexual give and take. And with a few men, there has been no intellectual relationship at all to speak of, only sex.
I wonder why I have never had more than a few minutes of intellectual exchange with women. Little more than a book recommendation. Perhaps women are too sensitive. They feel that an intellectual exchange may offend others or disturb the emotional balance of the relationship. I have not found this to be the case with men. Disagreements have been easily handled with a laugh or my classic, "Ahhhhh...I don't know about that one, ___________." Of course, I can think of one man who would not answer crucial questions I had about his position, which did leave me frustrated.
This is not to say I don't like the company of women. It's as interesting to see how they negotiate the world as it is to see how men do so, or how dogs or plants do too. All these ways seem to work, so there's no reason to tinker with them.
Even when I bring up the subjects of politics, religion, the nature of the universe, insights into human nature, science, the death of democracy, the corruption of the press, etc., I've found that women either let me talk, even when I ask for their input; seem uncomfortable and change the subject; parrot things they've heard on the radio or TV stations they listen to; or argue by personal example. There is not the give and take I have so thoroughly enjoyed with male friends over the years.
With Christan, Ken, Ed, Mark, Tony, Y, Truc, Tuyen, Rod, Jose, Othman, and son Aaron, among others, one person has presented an idea, the other has listened and added something about what he's read or what his take on the situation is, back and forth like this. He says something I hadn't considered, and I acknowledge and appreciate his insight. And the reverse is true: I say something, and he says, "Boy, I never thought of it that way!" These conversations have often gone on for hours. Give and take. By the time we finally call it quits, we both feel as if we have gained new insights and are much richer for the experience.
It's not that all my relationships with men have been purely intellectual. Of course, with several there has been sexual tension or sexual give and take. And with a few men, there has been no intellectual relationship at all to speak of, only sex.
I wonder why I have never had more than a few minutes of intellectual exchange with women. Little more than a book recommendation. Perhaps women are too sensitive. They feel that an intellectual exchange may offend others or disturb the emotional balance of the relationship. I have not found this to be the case with men. Disagreements have been easily handled with a laugh or my classic, "Ahhhhh...I don't know about that one, ___________." Of course, I can think of one man who would not answer crucial questions I had about his position, which did leave me frustrated.
This is not to say I don't like the company of women. It's as interesting to see how they negotiate the world as it is to see how men do so, or how dogs or plants do too. All these ways seem to work, so there's no reason to tinker with them.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Obama's "Troop Withdrawal" is Like a Gambler's "Win"
Obama announced last night that he's bringing troops home from Afghanistan. He and his handlers are hoping that's all the information that will register with most Americans. He's banking on the fact that we're not much good at math.
If we were more gifted at addition and subtraction, we might note that there were roughly 70,000 troops in Afghanistan when Obama took office. He implemented a "surge" of 30,000 troops, bringing the total to about 100,000. Now he's bring 10,000 home. That leaves some 90,000, plus untold numbers of "contractors" (you remember Blackwater, don't you).
This makes me think of all the people I've spoken to after they've returned from gambling in Vegas. I have never heard a single one tell me that he or she lost money. Everyone always seems to win. Of course, upon further questioning, it becomes clear that they all experienced a net loss. They may have won $300 one day, but lost $300 each day for the next two days, for a net loss of $300.
This kind of magical thinking is what Obama is engaged in. He hopes that the general feeling Americans will come away with is "By God, the man is doing what he said he was going to do--pull troops out of Afghanistan. We've got to give him another four years so that he can finish the job." GROAN!
Perhaps a better analogy than the gambler is that of the dieter: Sally weighs 200 pounds and tells you she is going to lose weight, but first she wants to go on a binge, have one last hurrah before she buckles down and loses those extra pounds. So she pigs out and gains 30 pounds, then loses 10. At this point, she calls all her friends and tells them she's lost 10 pounds, isn't that fantastic!
Magical thinking. That's what runs Washington, D.C.
If we were more gifted at addition and subtraction, we might note that there were roughly 70,000 troops in Afghanistan when Obama took office. He implemented a "surge" of 30,000 troops, bringing the total to about 100,000. Now he's bring 10,000 home. That leaves some 90,000, plus untold numbers of "contractors" (you remember Blackwater, don't you).
This makes me think of all the people I've spoken to after they've returned from gambling in Vegas. I have never heard a single one tell me that he or she lost money. Everyone always seems to win. Of course, upon further questioning, it becomes clear that they all experienced a net loss. They may have won $300 one day, but lost $300 each day for the next two days, for a net loss of $300.
This kind of magical thinking is what Obama is engaged in. He hopes that the general feeling Americans will come away with is "By God, the man is doing what he said he was going to do--pull troops out of Afghanistan. We've got to give him another four years so that he can finish the job." GROAN!
Perhaps a better analogy than the gambler is that of the dieter: Sally weighs 200 pounds and tells you she is going to lose weight, but first she wants to go on a binge, have one last hurrah before she buckles down and loses those extra pounds. So she pigs out and gains 30 pounds, then loses 10. At this point, she calls all her friends and tells them she's lost 10 pounds, isn't that fantastic!
Magical thinking. That's what runs Washington, D.C.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
A Little Less Stressed
I had to take a break for a few days. I was getting so stressed I was not sleeping well. I would stay awake thinking, "Where am I to live? Where is the right place for me to face the crash?" 
You see, I feel a bit left out. It seems as if everyone I know is already in his or her right place.
* That right place is a chunk of farmable land for my friend Rachel and her husband, Matt. They also have all the skills they need, everything from baking bread and growing crops in a sustainable way to building a cabin and making baskets out of tree bark. They've been at this sort of thing for a long time, having spent five years or so learning everything they could on a permaculture farm in Bolinas.
* Daphne has her daughter, son, and granddaughter within a 15-mile radius.
* Tom is living with the love of his life, and they have friends in Arkansas who keep telling them about three-bedroom houses for $40K, complete with an acre of land.
* Chris's youngest son just started living with him, and Chris has a secure job.
* Tim lives with his wife and three kids. They have a large house as well as a cabin in the mountains.
* Helene in Nova Scotia lives in a sweet, little town with a healthy sense of community, surrounded by organic farmers and lots of water.
* Araia has lived for many years in northern Washington state on a beautiful chunk of land next to a river.
* Diana's family is all nearby. My nextdoor neighbors, Janet and Dana, have a lovely craftsman-style house, a dog that could protect them, and a thriving community through their Buddhist temple.
* Sharon is happily married with a young daughter in Santa Cruz.
* Ken's land and house in Tucson is almost paid off, and he has the skills to do just about anything.
* Rick's daughter and grandson are living with him, and, like Ken, he can do anything that needs fixing or building.
* Jose has his house, his family and extended family, a secure job, and money.
* Bev believes that the transition may cause untold suffering and death to millions or even billions but that she will still live to be 100.
* Heather's living in Denver in a cooperative community with her boyfriend.
Everyone seems to be set in their own way for what is to come, whether they realize it or not. I, however, am not. Ideally, I would like an acre in a moderate climate with water and a man who loves me and is loved by me and who is strong and skilled enough to fix things, build things, and know how to do things. Health, too, would be fantastic. It would also be great if my son were living somewhere nearby, but he will soon be on the other side of the country, attending grad school at Penn State.
Most people are in the state of not knowing what's coming their way or, if they have gotten a whiff of what's coming, they've escaped into denial. Then there are a few people who have resources, friends and family who are with them, and the means to carry out their plans. They're the ones who have been creating a sustainable life off the land for years or who have relocated to Nicaragua or Venezuela or some other place as far as possible from American influence. But I'm in neither of those boats. I'm in the unfortunate place of knowing a freight train is barrelling down the tracks right at me and being unable to move off the tracks.
Though my kidney function is fantastic--creatinine 0.7 at the last reading, with normal being 0.6-1.1--my heart is giving me trouble. My chest is always tight. Exercise frequently produces pain and constriction. Going uphill is exceedingly difficult. I just had an echocardiogram. My EF rate, which tells how well my heart is pumping, has declined from 50, the bottom end of normal, last June to 35. Basically, even if I had an acre of land, I wouldn't be up to growing anything on it.
So this is why I've been stressed--I'm not in right place (cities are rarely the right place, but certainly not during a time of crisis), I'm without a partner, my son is leaving the area, friends are forever busy with their own concerns, and my heart is taking a dive.
So my m.o. is what it has been since I moved to Southern California in 1981. You see, ever since moving here I have been keen on leaving and have gone on road/camping trips to explore and look for right place. So, as has been the case all these years, I am open to right place and right situations. In the meantime, I am here, in Southern California, for good or for not so good.
I'm taking a Red Cross first aid class that recommends having two to three weeks of food and water in your abode. Since the debaucle of Hurricane Katrina, the Red Cross has upped this from three days to three weeks. See, even the Red Cross does not have much faith in the U.S. government. So if the Red Cross is saying three weeks, perhaps it's better to have three months' supplies. Whew! Well, it's something to aim for.
You see, I feel a bit left out. It seems as if everyone I know is already in his or her right place.
* That right place is a chunk of farmable land for my friend Rachel and her husband, Matt. They also have all the skills they need, everything from baking bread and growing crops in a sustainable way to building a cabin and making baskets out of tree bark. They've been at this sort of thing for a long time, having spent five years or so learning everything they could on a permaculture farm in Bolinas.
* Daphne has her daughter, son, and granddaughter within a 15-mile radius.
* Tom is living with the love of his life, and they have friends in Arkansas who keep telling them about three-bedroom houses for $40K, complete with an acre of land.
* Chris's youngest son just started living with him, and Chris has a secure job.
* Tim lives with his wife and three kids. They have a large house as well as a cabin in the mountains.
* Helene in Nova Scotia lives in a sweet, little town with a healthy sense of community, surrounded by organic farmers and lots of water.
* Araia has lived for many years in northern Washington state on a beautiful chunk of land next to a river.
* Diana's family is all nearby. My nextdoor neighbors, Janet and Dana, have a lovely craftsman-style house, a dog that could protect them, and a thriving community through their Buddhist temple.
* Sharon is happily married with a young daughter in Santa Cruz.
* Ken's land and house in Tucson is almost paid off, and he has the skills to do just about anything.
* Rick's daughter and grandson are living with him, and, like Ken, he can do anything that needs fixing or building.
* Jose has his house, his family and extended family, a secure job, and money.
* Bev believes that the transition may cause untold suffering and death to millions or even billions but that she will still live to be 100.
* Heather's living in Denver in a cooperative community with her boyfriend.
Everyone seems to be set in their own way for what is to come, whether they realize it or not. I, however, am not. Ideally, I would like an acre in a moderate climate with water and a man who loves me and is loved by me and who is strong and skilled enough to fix things, build things, and know how to do things. Health, too, would be fantastic. It would also be great if my son were living somewhere nearby, but he will soon be on the other side of the country, attending grad school at Penn State.
Most people are in the state of not knowing what's coming their way or, if they have gotten a whiff of what's coming, they've escaped into denial. Then there are a few people who have resources, friends and family who are with them, and the means to carry out their plans. They're the ones who have been creating a sustainable life off the land for years or who have relocated to Nicaragua or Venezuela or some other place as far as possible from American influence. But I'm in neither of those boats. I'm in the unfortunate place of knowing a freight train is barrelling down the tracks right at me and being unable to move off the tracks.
Though my kidney function is fantastic--creatinine 0.7 at the last reading, with normal being 0.6-1.1--my heart is giving me trouble. My chest is always tight. Exercise frequently produces pain and constriction. Going uphill is exceedingly difficult. I just had an echocardiogram. My EF rate, which tells how well my heart is pumping, has declined from 50, the bottom end of normal, last June to 35. Basically, even if I had an acre of land, I wouldn't be up to growing anything on it.
So this is why I've been stressed--I'm not in right place (cities are rarely the right place, but certainly not during a time of crisis), I'm without a partner, my son is leaving the area, friends are forever busy with their own concerns, and my heart is taking a dive.
So my m.o. is what it has been since I moved to Southern California in 1981. You see, ever since moving here I have been keen on leaving and have gone on road/camping trips to explore and look for right place. So, as has been the case all these years, I am open to right place and right situations. In the meantime, I am here, in Southern California, for good or for not so good.
I'm taking a Red Cross first aid class that recommends having two to three weeks of food and water in your abode. Since the debaucle of Hurricane Katrina, the Red Cross has upped this from three days to three weeks. See, even the Red Cross does not have much faith in the U.S. government. So if the Red Cross is saying three weeks, perhaps it's better to have three months' supplies. Whew! Well, it's something to aim for.
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
A Dream Within a Dream
Early Monday morning I had a number of fascinating dream experiences. Dreams within a dream. Memories within the mind of my dream self. My dream self observing me sleeping. Orchestrating my dreaming. Some of this I've experienced on previous nights, but never a dream within a dream, not that I can recall at least. Following is my account. 
Outer-frame dream: A young boy, sometimes Latino or Lebanese, 3 or 4 years old, and sometimes blond and white, 8 or 9 years old, who talked quite a bit. Was he my dream guide? He and I were in an alcove of a waiting area in a large institution, like a hospital or government building. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was writing down a dream. I could see my handwriting in a stenobook, like the one I use in waking life to write down my dreams. I returned to the boy several times, each time after going off to another dream within the outer-frame dream.
In one inner-frame dream, I stood in a large, dusty, neglected yard. I had a memory of the yard as lush and green, but now it was almost devoid of plant life. I looked at the few plants that were still alive in the flower beds. I remembered them when they had flourished. I figured I needed to water them and so got a hose.
Then I heard Rasputin’s excited yip, which he does when he’s happy to see me. The yip came from inside the house, but when I climbed the four or so stairs and opened the door to step inside, he wasn’t there. Instead, I encountered my mother, looking the way she had perhaps a year before her death. She was clearly senile and was talking nonsense. I had to keep shifting position because she continued to shift her gaze, as if she were speaking to someone I couldn’t see.
I left her and explored the rest of the building, which didn’t seem like a house at all but an abandoned office or warehouse. I sensed a male presence, always out of sight.
In another inner-frame dream, I was acutely aware that I was dreaming. In fact, I was either thinking with determination or saying instructions aloud. The instructions offered by Carlos Castaneda in his book “The Art of Dreaming.” He suggests that the dreamer focus on one object upon entering a dream and allow this object to be one’s anchor. If you feel as if you are leaving the dream space and you want to stay rather than shift to another dream space, you look again at the anchor object. Also, do not stare at objects, but rather keep your gaze moving. If you stare at an object, you will be pulled into another dream space. So, as I was dreaming, I was thinking or saying these instructions to myself.
But I encountered a bougainvillea that was so lovely, its color so intense and which took up so much of my view that I was drawn to it and could not stop looking. Very soon, I felt myself lifting from the dream space, floating for a short time, then being transported back to the outer frame, almost sucked back to that frame.
At one point, the dream self was observing the dreamer. I, whoever I was at that point, could see me lying in bed. Moreover, the dream self could hear some noises in the courtyard next to my bedroom. This sure smacks of astral travel.
Last night I slept fitfully, but tonight I hope to do some more exploring. I especially want to work on controlling my dreams and traveling beyond my bedroom. We'll see...
Outer-frame dream: A young boy, sometimes Latino or Lebanese, 3 or 4 years old, and sometimes blond and white, 8 or 9 years old, who talked quite a bit. Was he my dream guide? He and I were in an alcove of a waiting area in a large institution, like a hospital or government building. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was writing down a dream. I could see my handwriting in a stenobook, like the one I use in waking life to write down my dreams. I returned to the boy several times, each time after going off to another dream within the outer-frame dream.
In one inner-frame dream, I stood in a large, dusty, neglected yard. I had a memory of the yard as lush and green, but now it was almost devoid of plant life. I looked at the few plants that were still alive in the flower beds. I remembered them when they had flourished. I figured I needed to water them and so got a hose.
Then I heard Rasputin’s excited yip, which he does when he’s happy to see me. The yip came from inside the house, but when I climbed the four or so stairs and opened the door to step inside, he wasn’t there. Instead, I encountered my mother, looking the way she had perhaps a year before her death. She was clearly senile and was talking nonsense. I had to keep shifting position because she continued to shift her gaze, as if she were speaking to someone I couldn’t see.
I left her and explored the rest of the building, which didn’t seem like a house at all but an abandoned office or warehouse. I sensed a male presence, always out of sight.
But I encountered a bougainvillea that was so lovely, its color so intense and which took up so much of my view that I was drawn to it and could not stop looking. Very soon, I felt myself lifting from the dream space, floating for a short time, then being transported back to the outer frame, almost sucked back to that frame.
At one point, the dream self was observing the dreamer. I, whoever I was at that point, could see me lying in bed. Moreover, the dream self could hear some noises in the courtyard next to my bedroom. This sure smacks of astral travel.
Last night I slept fitfully, but tonight I hope to do some more exploring. I especially want to work on controlling my dreams and traveling beyond my bedroom. We'll see...
Saturday, June 04, 2011
Adbusters
If you're not familiar with Adbusters, I suggest you check out this publication. Calling it social commentary is an understatement. Canadian-based, it was founded by advertising people who became critics of the system they once extolled.
A typical Adbusters spread is a still photo from the security camera video of the Columbine gunmen with the tag line INSANITY on one page, and on the facing page, an Army recruiting poster with the tag line SANITY. Adbusters are the folks who sponsor Turn Off Your TV Week and Buy Nothing Day, the day after Thanksgiving, which is notoriously the pinnacle of American consumption.
Adbusters has taken on the collusion between the pharmaceutical industry and the "researchers" who are paid by the pharmaceutical industry to test the drugs. They've tackled psychotropic drugs and the American duty to be happy, or at least act that you are. They've looked at military recruiting and always at consumerism.
Adbusters is as critical of Obama as they were of Bush--and well they should be. Really, what's the difference except that Obama delivers evil in a more intelligent, nicer-sounding package. The current issue has an article on the U.S.'s weaponized drones in the air over more than a dozen countries. In Pakistan alone, American drones have killed 14 supposed terrorists and another 700-1,000 civilians. A cartoon in the latest issue shows Obama at a podium, taking a question from a reporter, who asks, "Mr. President, your administration acknowledges it has carried out extrajudicial assassinations, an illegal practice. Would you therefore consider yourself to be a legitimate target of assassination?"
Lately, Adbusters has been spending a lot of time musing about the end of the world as we know it. The total collapse of the economy and resulting food and medicine shortages, civil unrest, that sort of thing.
I have been thinking a lot about the same recently. I've known this was coming for decades, but I've never known what I in particular am supposed to do about it. When I consider moving some place where I could have a vegetable garden, I take stock of my physical condition and reconsider. Walking around the block sometimes gives me chest pain. Preparing soil for planting, hoeing, weeding, watering, and harvesting are much more strenuous tasks.
I've also considered moving to Berkshire County, Massachusetts, where the small communities there have an alternate currency, Berkshares. Currently, you can trade your U.S. dollars for Berkshares, which are accepted by local merchants and banks. Some employers even pay in Berkshares. That way, when the dollar collapses, those communities can continue functioning. Other communities throughout the country have currencies, but none are as sophisticated as Berkshares. Many other towns, including Long Beach, have time exchanges in which one hour of your work is equal to one hour's of anyone else's work. These are basically service barters. I'm all for those, and as a massage therapist, I've traded for hair services, massages, and facials for years, but they are services only, not the things you need for life like shelter and food. The only thing about Massachusetts is that I don't know anyone there, and what is most important during difficult times is knowing your neighbors and having people you can count on. To be a newcomer when the shit hits the fan won't be the best thing.
With my son moving to Pennsylvania in August, I certainly am free to move. But where?
A typical Adbusters spread is a still photo from the security camera video of the Columbine gunmen with the tag line INSANITY on one page, and on the facing page, an Army recruiting poster with the tag line SANITY. Adbusters are the folks who sponsor Turn Off Your TV Week and Buy Nothing Day, the day after Thanksgiving, which is notoriously the pinnacle of American consumption.
Adbusters has taken on the collusion between the pharmaceutical industry and the "researchers" who are paid by the pharmaceutical industry to test the drugs. They've tackled psychotropic drugs and the American duty to be happy, or at least act that you are. They've looked at military recruiting and always at consumerism.
Adbusters is as critical of Obama as they were of Bush--and well they should be. Really, what's the difference except that Obama delivers evil in a more intelligent, nicer-sounding package. The current issue has an article on the U.S.'s weaponized drones in the air over more than a dozen countries. In Pakistan alone, American drones have killed 14 supposed terrorists and another 700-1,000 civilians. A cartoon in the latest issue shows Obama at a podium, taking a question from a reporter, who asks, "Mr. President, your administration acknowledges it has carried out extrajudicial assassinations, an illegal practice. Would you therefore consider yourself to be a legitimate target of assassination?"
Lately, Adbusters has been spending a lot of time musing about the end of the world as we know it. The total collapse of the economy and resulting food and medicine shortages, civil unrest, that sort of thing.
I have been thinking a lot about the same recently. I've known this was coming for decades, but I've never known what I in particular am supposed to do about it. When I consider moving some place where I could have a vegetable garden, I take stock of my physical condition and reconsider. Walking around the block sometimes gives me chest pain. Preparing soil for planting, hoeing, weeding, watering, and harvesting are much more strenuous tasks.
I've also considered moving to Berkshire County, Massachusetts, where the small communities there have an alternate currency, Berkshares. Currently, you can trade your U.S. dollars for Berkshares, which are accepted by local merchants and banks. Some employers even pay in Berkshares. That way, when the dollar collapses, those communities can continue functioning. Other communities throughout the country have currencies, but none are as sophisticated as Berkshares. Many other towns, including Long Beach, have time exchanges in which one hour of your work is equal to one hour's of anyone else's work. These are basically service barters. I'm all for those, and as a massage therapist, I've traded for hair services, massages, and facials for years, but they are services only, not the things you need for life like shelter and food. The only thing about Massachusetts is that I don't know anyone there, and what is most important during difficult times is knowing your neighbors and having people you can count on. To be a newcomer when the shit hits the fan won't be the best thing.
With my son moving to Pennsylvania in August, I certainly am free to move. But where?
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
$188 in New Dehli, $1,020 Here
Harken back to my recent post Third World Wages, First World Prices in which I wrote:
My competitors for writing jobs are in places where the cost of living is a whole lot cheaper than it is here. I can't imagine, for example, that a small, poorly maintained one-bedroom apartment in a town in Bangladesh or a village in Mali rents for $1,020/month. For someone in these circumstances, writing 20 articles for less than $500 is no doubt a boondoggle.
My suspicions were confirmed when the next day, I spoke with a Dell technical rep when my laptop's desktop was upside down and right side left. The icons were turned on their heads, and those that had been on the lower right were now on the upper left and vice versa. In addition, the cursor went up when I moved it down and right when I moved it left and vice versa. What a mess! The ever-polite, young man from New Dehli and I chitchatted during down times when diagnostics were running on my slow PC. He told me about his sweetheart and his studies to improve his lot in life, and I told him about my dog (which he could see, through screen sharing, on my desktop), my line of work, and the cost of living here.
I asked him what would a one-bedroom apartment in New Dehli go for in a decent, working person's neighborhood. Not a fancy neigborhood, but not one where you could expect to have a gun pointed at your head either. He said 8,000-9,000 rupees. I looked that up on a currency converter. On that day, it meant that my $1,020 apartment would rent for $188 in New Dehli. I pay 5 1/2 times what he pays for a place to lie his head. How is an American writer supposed to compete with Indian writers who are paying so much less for their necessities?
This makes me believe what I've so often heard and read: The main reason behind globalization is not to improve the lot of poor countries but to bring developed countries' standards of living down to those of developing countries. In other words, to make everyone poor and only a tiny, tiny few exceedingly wealthy.
America, long seen as the land of opportunity and of freedom, had to be brought to its knees by the globalists. That has been their aim for the last 30 years, duing which time there has been
* a major redistribution of wealth from the already poor and the middle class to the super-rich;
* the offshoring of good-paying manufacturing and service jobs;
* an at-first slowly encroaching and now rapidly expanding police state with all its surveillance apparatus and unconstitutional manuevers;
* the government- and corporate-engineered decline of the dollar against other currencies;
* the orchestrated boons and busts of the dot com, stocks, housing, and commodities markets;
* the uncontrolled federal, state, and personal credit debts;
* the destruction of unions that once helped to keep tariffs intact and wages high;
* the wholesale sellout of the corporate mainstream media, as well as much of public media, to their corporate and government masters;
* the robbing of Social Security, which was designed to be self-supporting and separate from the federal budget;
* the ungodly amount of money American taxpayers have been saddled with because of savings and loans, bank, and other bailouts, and corporation-serving, otherwise-meaningless wars; and
* the destruction of personal wealth at one time held in home equity, savings, pension contributions, 401(k)s, and stock holdings.
In the New World Order of all countries under the overarching iron fist of corporatism, America was seen as a threat, and so the global elite have done all in their power to make the American public stupid, lazy, disenfranchised, disheartened, fearful, confused, and misinformed. The final blow has not yet been delivered.
There still is time, and people are finally beginning to wake up to things I saw 44 years ago, when, as an 8-year-old girl, I had a vision that someday, America would become a dictatorship. There is still a little bit of time left before the final death knell is sounded to the Constitution. Wake up, folks, and start looking for the truth yourself and not listening to the government or its corporate sponsors.
My suspicions were confirmed when the next day, I spoke with a Dell technical rep when my laptop's desktop was upside down and right side left. The icons were turned on their heads, and those that had been on the lower right were now on the upper left and vice versa. In addition, the cursor went up when I moved it down and right when I moved it left and vice versa. What a mess! The ever-polite, young man from New Dehli and I chitchatted during down times when diagnostics were running on my slow PC. He told me about his sweetheart and his studies to improve his lot in life, and I told him about my dog (which he could see, through screen sharing, on my desktop), my line of work, and the cost of living here.
I asked him what would a one-bedroom apartment in New Dehli go for in a decent, working person's neighborhood. Not a fancy neigborhood, but not one where you could expect to have a gun pointed at your head either. He said 8,000-9,000 rupees. I looked that up on a currency converter. On that day, it meant that my $1,020 apartment would rent for $188 in New Dehli. I pay 5 1/2 times what he pays for a place to lie his head. How is an American writer supposed to compete with Indian writers who are paying so much less for their necessities?
America, long seen as the land of opportunity and of freedom, had to be brought to its knees by the globalists. That has been their aim for the last 30 years, duing which time there has been
* a major redistribution of wealth from the already poor and the middle class to the super-rich;
* the offshoring of good-paying manufacturing and service jobs;
* an at-first slowly encroaching and now rapidly expanding police state with all its surveillance apparatus and unconstitutional manuevers;
* the government- and corporate-engineered decline of the dollar against other currencies;
* the orchestrated boons and busts of the dot com, stocks, housing, and commodities markets;
* the uncontrolled federal, state, and personal credit debts;
* the destruction of unions that once helped to keep tariffs intact and wages high;
* the wholesale sellout of the corporate mainstream media, as well as much of public media, to their corporate and government masters;
* the robbing of Social Security, which was designed to be self-supporting and separate from the federal budget;
* the ungodly amount of money American taxpayers have been saddled with because of savings and loans, bank, and other bailouts, and corporation-serving, otherwise-meaningless wars; and
In the New World Order of all countries under the overarching iron fist of corporatism, America was seen as a threat, and so the global elite have done all in their power to make the American public stupid, lazy, disenfranchised, disheartened, fearful, confused, and misinformed. The final blow has not yet been delivered.
There still is time, and people are finally beginning to wake up to things I saw 44 years ago, when, as an 8-year-old girl, I had a vision that someday, America would become a dictatorship. There is still a little bit of time left before the final death knell is sounded to the Constitution. Wake up, folks, and start looking for the truth yourself and not listening to the government or its corporate sponsors.
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