Waiting for the Great Leap Forward

As of late, I have been complete absorbed in XTC’s, “Making Plans for Nigel,” listening to it six or seven times a day. Dustin and I casually mentioned that if we ever decided to have a child (GASP!) and it was a boy, Nigel was a definite boy name possibility. I’m betting that our next boy cat would have a better chance of being named Nigel. Maybe a hairless cat that someone buys me for my thirtieth birthday? Just a consideration for the six people that even come close to reading this rarely-updated and poorly-attituded (that’s a word now) blog (that’s also a sentence fragment, but I like to live life on the edge. The grammatical edge).

I love this song because, much like the Brits, they say it best when they say nothing at all (Yes, I did steal that line from Keith Whitley. What’s he going to do about it? Not much, I’ll bet).

We're only making plans for Nigel 

We only want what's best for him 

We're only making plans for Nigel 

Nigel just needs this helping hand

And if young Nigel says he's happy 

He must be happy 

He must be happy in his work

We're only making plans for Nigel 

He has his future in a British steel 

We're only making plans for Nigel 

Nigel's whole future is as good as sealed

And if young Nigel says he's happy 

He must be happy 

He must be happy in his work

Nigel is not outspoken 

But he likes to speak 

And loves to be spoken to 

Nigel is happy in his work 

We're only making plans for Nigel

 So many songs have been written about working-class Brits by artists like Billy Bragg and groups like XTC, that I feel as though I have basic understanding of their desperation and apathy and how it, in turn,  mirrors my own in so many ways.  While artists like Sting (don’t get me wrong, I like him, but he’s a total twat) like to talk about how they grew up in working-class neighborhoods whilst on a Yoga retreat in sweaty, buggy Bali or from a yurt in Mongolia where they’re learning to play a yak intestine hurdy-gurdy from the local medicine man (thusly trying to gain some kind of street-cred with the middle-class and actually gaining street-cred with Bourgeois Bohemians that make two-hundred thousand dollars a year and have a Zen garden on the back patio of their brownstone because it just makes them feel more “at peace.” FEH.), there are artists that write songs that express what we’re all thinking in such amazingly witty ways that the typical idiot off the street isn’t going to get it and will just be-bop his way through life thinking that that song has a catchy tune (we already discussed this when I dissected Bruce Springsteen’s, “Born in the USA,” and wondered why anyone, anywhere would ever use that for their fourth of July celebration).

“Nigel’s whole future is as good as sealed,” is so ominous and so frightening under the guise of being upstanding and good. It’s like when you see a picture of John Wayne Gacy cheesin' it dressed like Pogo the clown when you know he’s secretly stuffing twinks in his crawl-space (are these analogies doing it for you yet?). 

I feel like I'm Nigel. I feel like my husband is Nigel. I feel like there are so many of us that are Nigel: with social deviants screaming inside of us. Aching to get out and set the nearest bank on fire and start bartering with goats and baked bread. 

My whole life seems to revolve around how I push dollars from one person to the next through spreadsheets and credits and re-bills and invoice history errors and dividends. My future was as good as sealed the day that I signed the FAFSA and said that I would spend the next four years spending forty-grand on a degree that would afford me to be so happy. I must be happy. I must be happy in this work.

We're waiting for the great leap forward.

Good Times (For a Change)

So, the grandest thing that could ever happen all year is going to happen on Tuesday, October 23:

Steven Patrick Morrissey is coming to town.

Santa Claus could travel back in time and bring me that Bigfoot Powerwheels that I wanted when I was five...he could even adorn it with seven bald kittens, and it would not equal the euphoria that I feel about seeing Morrissey in concert.

This internal hype is a recipe for disaster for several reasons.

La raison pour laquelle on: There is more than a reasonable chance that Morrissey could cancel. He's done it before because he's an Artiste. I cannot think about this reason too greatly or I will throw myself in front of a double-decker bus. They have them in Pittsburgh now to cart lazy tourists to the five things that this city has that don't totally blow (although I'm sure four of them have something to do with sports).

La deuxième raison: There's this freaking kid that I've seen at both the Voltaire and Psychedelic Furs shows that has managed to almost ruin my good time. He's smelly and has some penchant for screaming at the performers and standing so close to me that he almost touches me. The more I ignore him, the closer he gets.

La troisième raison: As with any performer, their whims guide the setlist and can spell disaster for anyone that doesn't love everything from their latest album. The good news for me: there isn't much that I don't totally dig by Moz.

Because I'm sad enough to fantasize about a concert that may or may not happen that is over a month away, I asked some fellow concert-goers about their wishlists and secretly compiled the songs that I wanted to hear whilst sobbing my eyes out in the fourth row (FOURTH ROW!).

Without further ado...well, maybe a bit more ado...

My Morrissey Setlist:

1. I Will See You in Far Off Places.

2. The World is Full of Crashing Bores

3. Tomorrow

4. Still Ill

5. Disappointed

6. Piccadilly Palare

7.Cemetary Gates

8. Sing Your Life

9. Rusholme Ruffians

10. November Spawned a Monster

11. This Night Has Opened My Eyes

12. Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want

13. I Know It's Over

Encore:

14. Everday is like Sunday.
15. One Day Goodbye will be Farewell

Is fifteen too many? I felt a little greedy, but I also thought that a nice, round twenty-five would do the trick for me. I mean, I can only cry so much before I will need to sleep.

General Admission: The Agony! The Ectasy! The Misogyny!

I'm not quite sure why, but Gina and I had made this promise (I'm using this word loosely, because it's not like I'm going to be too disappointed with myself when it doesn't happen) to ourselves about getting around Pittsburgh and seeing things: cultural events, festivals, and live music. When the opportunity arose to see Neko Case (for free, let's not go crazy), I was happy to be invited and happy to see a woman I had only heard briefly. My favorite song that I'd heard (of the two that I'd heard), was a duet with Nick Cave...a cover of The Zombies' song, "She's Not There." A rad song that, admittedly, is really made by Nick Cave. I'll give you a few minutes to listen...

Ready? (In other news, everyone needs to hear Nick Cave's version of. "Stagger Lee," it's totally filthy and awesome) Anyone in Pittsburgh can tell you that the temperature can currently be described as "swamp-ass hot."  Whilst waiting to go in, Gina and I toured the vast cultural offerings of Millvale, PA, including a Family Dollar, a closed cafe and diner (I mean my god, it's 7:00pm, why would you be open? This is another one of my favorite things about Pittsburgh), and an exotic bird supply store (also closed). Yeah, Your guess is as good as mine about that last one. We finally go in and find that the air-conditioner is practically non-existent and what cool air is available is not-so-subtly mixed with the acrid smell of cooked meats. This seems to be TOTALLY the kind of thing that Gina and I were referencing when we said, "cultural events."

Anyway, we're sweaty and sitting through a very sub-par opening woman that seemed nice and probably tore-up some karaoke in her hometown. Throughout these festivities, a couple named Mike and Tina/Tiffany(names have NOT been changed to protect the innocent), repeatedly accosted Gina and I (well, mostly Gina. I was trying really hard to be unfriendly) chatting about their celebrity lookalikes (Tina/Tiffany said that people likened her to Sarah Jessica Parker. This made me think of the line in Family Guy when Peter said that SJP's face looks like a foot), if they should try to go upstairs to sit in the VIP section, etc....all the while getting drunker and invading everyone's personal space. Finally Mike compliments Gina on her ability to pull off a short haircut and I look at Tina/Tiffany, who seems more lucid at this moment, like, "get your frat-boy boyfriend away from me." She storms off and is mad because Mike was putting the moves on Gina and (apparently) I was giving her a signal about it. Wow. Finally, a lovelorn Mike returns, sans Tina/Tiffany, and starts chatting with Gina about how he's not ready for a serious relationship. Ummmm...I'm just trying to watch some Neko Case. Finally, Gina and I say that he should probably GO and try to apologize to Tina/Tiffany, to which he says, "What, are you lesbians or what?!" Is this supposed to be a derogatory remark in response to suggesting that you make amends with your girlfriend...that you brought here....on a date?

I pull a wonderful employee of the venue aside and he whisks us through a forbidden door to the very back of the venue and away from the psychological drama of Mike and Tina/Tiffany. Relief! Ah, not so fast... At this point, this adventure has already gotten a little heavy. I start fantasizing about Nick Cave suddenly bursting out onto stage and flipping a switch that would dump ice water on everyone in the crowd while he rips the microphone away and does a total unexpected version of, "Stagger Lee." Gina and I chat and laugh about a possible sighting of an ex, when this dude turns around and snaps, "We came here to hear her sing, not you talk." ADMITTEDLY, we were chatting. Admittedly, she was singing. Here's where I'm a little confused. If you're the biggest Neko Case fan that ever lived, you'd think that you'd find a different place to stand then the very back of the venue by the employee coats. That's why I wanted to stand there...as not to ruin anyone's experience with my general chatting and half-listening. Not only that, but you'd probably be more interested in her than your phone, which you were repeatedly checking because by the look of your totally hip white tennis shoes, white socks and weekender plaid shirt, I can venture that you're probably not a Doctor dashing off to deliver a baby. You would probably be so avid that you would be standing in the front, instead of wrapped around a beer bottle by the, "employees only sign." I mean, my gawd your love for Neko Case must only be surpassed by your love for french-kissing a Yuengling. I get that you're probably emasculated in every aspect of your life, but maybe save your repressed masculinity for chopping firewood, arm-wrestling or manicuring your middle-aged man beard.

With all this being said (and believe me, I love saying it), I'm totally okay with you asking us not to talk, but you could probably be nicer about it: a thought that Gina mentioned to him. In fact, I would also venture to bet that if Gina and I were outfitted with penii you wouldn't have said anything...at all. What's weird about this whole experience is while Neko Case goes on and on about her boyfriends or the sunsets or whatever the fuck she's talking about and these people are wearing wheat-coloured clothes and looking generally like granola yuppies, I have this revelation that maybe they're not really there to relax and listen to this woman at all. They're hear to find a partner, to be "aht on the tahn," to demean and verbally abuse women...whatever. I've had more respectful experiences at metal clubs with men outfitted in combat boots and devil spikes. Maybe everyone should have a health dose of Ministry in their lives, work some shit out in their minds, and then they wouldn't be so apt to be total yuppie fucks. Mostly, I blame this on the heat...as if I needed more ammunition for why summer totally blows goats.

When I ask Dustin if he wants to go somewhere. Really, anywhere...he always says, "Why would I want to do that?" I always used to think that he was just being socially awkward introverted, but fuck...maybe he's onto something.

If you need me, I'll be in front of the air-conditioner with a book.

...The Former, not the latter...

Today, I was eating my way through my parents house in a PMS-induced binge. I don't understand why I must be a slave to my hormones in this way, but I've learned to live with it and try to find the most healthy binge option, even if it means drinking seventeen cups of black coffee or a bunch of petite twizzlers. I know, my body is a temple.

Whilst dreaming of croissants and an Indian Buffet, I came across a Yahoo article:

Former Plus-sized Model Crystal Renn a Shadow of Her Former Self

Apparently Crystal Renn is a former "plus size," model that "...was all the way up to a size 16," and touted the beauty of a fuller-figured woman. My first impression of articles like these usually boil down to two thoughts:

1. I have a hard time understanding why it is that we live in a culture that still cannot grant basic human rights to fat people. My friend "Vanessa," will often send articles about people that feel inspired to blame every major travesty on Earth on the existence of fat men and women. All of which piss me right the fuck off (My favorite was probably the one where clothing was more expensive because of fat people...even though 90% of clothing is made for less than 50% of the population, including all of those amazing designer fashions that are crafted by barefoot toddlers in the Amazon). There was a comment below this article that read something like, "I have no tolerance for fat people." Even if I wasn't fat, I'd have a hard time not being shocked that people are allowed to say things like this without being chastised by human rights activists. Then again, when was the last time you saw a sit-in for fat rights? Maybe if Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie adopted a fat person, we might finally see some action on this cause. For the record, I would really like for that fat person to be me. I would be a totally rad older sister to Maddox, Aerie, Banana Fannah, Shereux, and Purell...or whatever the fuck their names are.

2. Do people (when I say people I mean doctors, writers, article commenters, clothing designers, maxi pad designers, restaurateurs...) really believe that every fat person has the same diet and lifestyle? Really, you can't all be this fucking stupid. A lot of the aforementioned groups love to make fun of the "Fat but Fit," movement and marginalize those that they do not relate to, but I just can't really even comprehend the insanity of this notion. Fat people don't exercise. Thin people don't have unhealthy diets. Fat people always take the elevator. Thin people never eat fast food. Fat no. Thin yes. This kind of binary system doesn't cut it anywhere else in the world...except when we talk about weight and this is fascinating, confusing, startling, and saddening. When we live in a world where we can point at every person and say yes or no, we've not progressed as a society.

Crystal Renn's choice to lose weight and embrace the world of "normal" modeling isn't betraying fat women. She's never had any concept of what it's like to be a fat woman in the first place. Being a fat woman isn't just about a number on a scale, it's about dealing with being treated like an inferior specimen. It's about shopping from racks shoved in a corner in Macys. It's about the judgements every time you put food in your mouth in a restaurant. It's about knowing that everything that you have in life you must fight for twice as hard as your thin, "more attractive," contemporaries and knowing that you will never surpass them in your work or your social life...no matter how much smarter, more talented or kinder you are. Don't believe me? Then you've probably never been fat.

This woman lived a life of custom-made clothes; not shopping the clearance rack at Dress Barn in hopes of a dress that won't amply all the wrong places. She wasn't my advocate then and she's not my advocate now.

Especially with those bright white eyebrows. Oy vey.

Crystal, your only job is to maintain your appearance. My only job is to stay afloat.

A Letter to the AFL-CIO.

This morning, I heard a story on NPR about how a new advertising campaign is being tested in Pittsburgh to highlight how people are working together through the AFL-CIO to create a neighborhood that creates a nation. This ad was simple and tactful: highlighting how each of us is a piece that fits into the puzzle that is the United States. A real tear-jerker...if you're into that sort of thing.

My father retired from the mill (what mill doesn't matter, it could be any mill. Couldn't it?) last year, and Mom continues to work on the non-union end of the same company where Dad retired. Dad's got a decent pension plan, but is permanently disabled from his work there. They believe in the power of unions to make a better life for workers. They believe in the power of an organization to create a union that provides a living wage and safe working conditions to its employees. They marched in the Labor Day parade under their local number x. They're some real goddamned Patriots. 

My husband came home from a contract job (his second) in Iraq this September where he serviced vehicles and machinery for the military for seven days a week, twelve hours a day. It was hot and merciless and he came home only once in a year. We were grateful though, because this was the only job that he could find that came to providing a living wage for our family, while still allowing us to pay our insane student loan bills and put any money away for a rainy day (you know, like now). He's home now. He's jobless. Without job. On unemployment like the 8.3% of the nation that is actually reported for the 8.3% statistic. Even with my mother's recommendation at the mill, he can't even get an interview for any job there. Don't worry, though, the rampant nepotism that fills the union jobs ensures that the sons, cousins, and dog walkers of the men already in the union will have jobs for years to come. How is this enriching America in the way that your advertising campaign cries? I suppose that getting your bratty kid a job is the way America works now. So really, good job guys!

My own brush with union work is just as enriching. I tested and was accepted into a local here in Pittsburgh, where I began an apprenticeship program whilst studying to become a journeyman. This local hired tons and tons of first-year apprentices and paid them nothing (I made more working at that devil Starbucks. You know, the one that won't unionize.), while their four-year apprentices were laid-off. Seasoned journeymen had to deal with greenhorns mucking up the jobsite and not even having the basic skills to really aid the site and the work, while fourth-year apprentices with experience and poise collected unemployment checks. Union execs sat in their offices with cherry desks and autographed baseballs in glass cases, whilst men and women shuffled to find ways to live on sixty percent of their income. When I handed my tools back to this man, I could see that the calluses on his hands had softened a long time ago and his head was harder than ever.

I can understand that your cause is a noble one, but not for our family. My parents and I differ greatly on what the union has done for our family and we are but one of the crowd that you wish to reach with this advertising. Good Luck with that. While there are plenty of men and women that you have “helped,” keep in mind that your campaign will not touch my jobless husband. Blame it on the economy if you want, but your campaign has clearly pointed out that we’re all in this together. Where will your culpability lie?

Civically Angelic

I'm sure that anyone that isn't housed under a rock has already heard about the scandal that has engulfed Penn State. Apparently, a former coach has been arrested and charged with sexually assaulting eight children over the last fifteen years, while heading a football program for school-aged students. Along with these charges, two other Penn State administrators are being charged with covering up the abuse and not reporting this coach's actions to the authorities, and then lying about knowing about it before he was arrested.  The entire story and the charges can be found here and the actions, the cover up and the charges for must be completely horrifying to all of the families of the victims and the accused.

I am not going to go into specifics about how heinous these crimes are, because we all know they are. Parents entrust their children to someone that claims to be helping them, only to find that he's a lecherous criminal. Even though I'm not a parent, I can understand the torment that that must be for them. My point of dissension is with the author of the article that informed me of this scandal: Dan Wetzel.

Wetzel's article, "Paterno statement in abuse case raises more questions," all but places the severity of these charges solely on Paterno as a celebrity, rather than the Coach Gerald Arthur "Jerry" Sandusky or the administrators involved in the cover-up. In both the Attorney General's and Wetzel's articles, they recount how a graduate student had found Sandusky in a sexual act with a boy that looked to be only ten years old. That student then presented what he had seen to Paterno, and Paterno then forwarded this information on to Athletic Director Tim Curley, one of the men charged along with Sandusky. Wetzel, and I'm sure many others, are singling-out Paterno, saying that he should've promptly called the police and followed-up the Athletic Department's actions against Sandusky. Wetzel implies that just by the size of Paterno's fame, that he should be compelled to see justice to the end and do more than just release a statement to the media about the magnitude of these crimes.

I have a hard time believing that just because someone is more famous than someone else, that their civic duties are any grander than any other private citizen. If you actually think about the chain of events that surround this case, you can see that if Paterno did report these findings to the police, he would be reporting hearsay, which is groundless and, if incorrect, can ruin someone's life. Basically, it would go something like this, "I talked to a guy that saw a guy do this." What the hell? That's not evidence. Eventually an investigation was made because of accusations brought to light when Sandusky was coaching at another facility. One conversation, though, should hardly lead to an arrest, and if it does, Lord help the justice system and the boatloads of innocent people rotting behind bars.

Paterno's statement says, "...but he at no time related to me the very specific actions contained in the Grand Jury report. Regardless, it was clear that the witness saw something inappropriate involving Mr. Sandusky. As Coach Sandusky was retired from our coaching staff at that time, I referred the matter to university administrators." So, Paterno has no idea what actual acts occurred and can only surmise that something serious had occurred, according to the recount of another grown-ass man, Mike McQueary. McQueary, who witnessed these acts, had ever right and duty to report them to the police himself, as he was a first-hand witness to a crime. McQueary should be charged along with those administrators, as he was privy to a most disturbing crime and like Curley and Co., failed to do anything about it.

What Paterno did do, as would any other less-famous head coach, is contract his immediate superior and recount what had been said. McQueary was interviewed by Curley and Co. He recounted what he had viewed and these individuals did nothing to bring a sexual deviant to justice. It is here where the failure to report can really be placed, and that is just where the Attorney General is focusing its attention.

In today society, Celebrities like Charlie Sheen are applauded for their disgustingly base behavior, except for, I guess, when they're catapulted to a pedestal of unrealistic civic elitism.

Occupy Cubicle

I'm sure that it goes without mention that Occupy <Insert Disillusioned City Here> has taken up much of the time and energy of the nation, whether it be the protesters themselves or the news outlets that cover these demonstrations, or the political opposition that rages in disgust of people's ability to gather and occupy for the eradication of corporate businesses.

Now that National Public Radio is basically the only way that I receive news updates, I've enjoyed the in-depth and non-biased coverage of this growing nation-wide dilemma. Previously, people were interviewed at the Occupy Grand Rapids demonstration and I got to hear of the plight (and by plight, I mean something that people have had to do for years) of a college graduate that waits tables while he writes a book about the usage of the English language. This young man still works and pays his bills, but does what he can to come down and demonstrate in his off-time. I turned this situation over and over in mind, while trying to formulate an opinion about how I feel about this growing phenomena of people occupying space in order to convey a message that they're tired of corporate greed and 1% of the population controlling almost all of the wealth. They want a new way to run businesses in this country. It's a commendable notion.

At first, I was irritated at the notion of Occupy Wall Street. How could people that have both the time and the money to sit in New York City of days without end...possibly understand the plight of a middle-management cog at the corporate branch of XYZ bank in Sheboygan, Wisconsin? As the Occupy movement branched out, though, I felt hope that there were people like me occupying the streets in search of a better world. Then, a website was established where could send people the things that they were requesting in order to continue to occupy.

Fuck You. No, really.

I guess you can really only lash out against the greed of this country as long as you have shampoo and organic fruit, right?

While listening to NPR, a point was made that most of the people that occupy are, in fact, college students because they are afraid of becoming disillusioned with the job opportunities that the world has to offer, because they're unemployed themselves, or because they're generally still wrapped in the swaddle of the wide-eyed idealism that is academia. Whatever the reason, you've made the decision to occupy...somehow, I don't see how it is my responsibility to provide you with the things that you feel you need to so.

There was a sign that I saw at the local magistrate when I was fighting my speeding ticket, and it is a saying that has forever stuck with me:

I should tattoo this pearl of wisdom right across my lower back and do the tramp-stamping world a favor.

I initially started this post several weeks ago but haven't found the time to finish it, because I have two jobs, a marriage, a home, and a life to tend...the things that seem to suck political activism right out of a person. I'm ashamed of myself in that regard, because I often find myself too tired to care and too disillusioned to not be too tired. Voter apathy strikes again.

I still, though, spend a considerable amount of time listening to National Public Radio and really trying to gain insight into what both sides of this Occupy <Blank> must be feeling and try to relate to the overall message of creating an economical system that could benefit everyone. Most recently, a group of protesters in Oakland have caused a shut-down of the port there, and have defaced some property. If people that are tired of the poverty that seems to be engulfing the middle class, why would they shut-down a business that employs hundreds of people? Whether you disagree with their business model or not, those people still have to work. They still have families to take care of and they still have lives to lead. Why do you feel as thought you can make decisions for them about when they're going to work? Why deface property in the middle of the night like some kind of passive-aggressive dickless wonder?

I'm all for a violent upheaval, but if you're going to do it, you need to really level it and build it up again, ala Fight Club. This petty spray-painting bullshit is better left to trust-fund kids with art degrees and a smug sense of self-worth.

When I occupy my cubicle and I'm listening to the 24-Hour News Stream, I daydream when I should be working. My heart is often places with the very core of the very first people that occupied Wall Street: those that want to demonstrate that they're tired of the system that is in place and they want money to mean living a good life and not necessarily power. My anger also finds its way there, too. It rests on the shoulders of those short-sighted individuals that smash a window now because they think they're making a difference. In the long run, that is what history will remember, if it remembers Occupy Wall Street at all.