rants

What Do I Know?

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Anyone who reads Mrs Fringe or knows me in any other role knows I’m opinionated. If you know me well or agree with a lot of my thoughts, you might say I’m passionate. If you don’t, you might think ugh, that Mrs Fringe is such a bitch, I wish she would shut up already. But the quote I used for my high school yearbook said something like, “It often shows a fine command of the English language to say nothing.” I’m certain there were quite a few classmates surprised by that one, because I never shut up back then. I had to get kicked in the the teeth by life a few dozen more times before I really learned it. While I believe in the truth of that quote even more than I did back then, I still believe in the power of words. Of having an informed opinion and not being afraid to share it, while understanding opinion is not the same as fact.

Obvious, right? I mean, I’m a blogger ferchristssake. I think. Can I call myself a blogger if I don’t earn any money from it? Maybe it’s more like my fiction, where until and unless I’m published I prefer to say I write than I’m a writer. Fine. I blog.

Do I still opine too much? Probably. I’m not special, an expert in anything, or even formally educated. Who am I for anyone to take my opinions seriously? I’ve even been quiet on the writers’ forum. I’m not a grammar whiz (my unholy love of commas is well documented) and if I knew what made for publishable writing I’d be published.

In my little corner of Fringeland these days, most people I know are having opinions and sharing them; talking about racism, police, Eric Garner, Ferguson, protests and riots and what’s going on in our world right now. Yes, our world. Not just our city, our state, or even our country. This is our humanity. Some aren’t talking. Some are too genuinely busy with more personal crises, and some don’t think it’s appropriate to discuss these issues, some can’t because of their employers. Some are tired of talking about it and seeing it on the TV. I stand by what I said when I blogged about Ferguson–I think we need to talk about this. The grand jury’s decision in the Eric Garner case coming so closely on the heels of Ferguson is a clear illustration.

I’ll be the first one to say I don’t understand what happened with the Eric Garner case, don’t understand how anyone can see that video and say well, it’s a shame but that’s what happens when you resist arrest. Or he shouldn’t have been selling loosies. He wasn’t violent, not an immediate threat to anyone. I don’t understand how I’m seeing people argue that he didn’t die as a direct result of the chokehold placed on him. Every report I’ve seen says the medical examiner declared his death a homicide. Yes, his other medical issues were contributing factors, but not the cause. If any of my readers can cite a reputable source disputing this, please share a link.

Not all police are corrupt, or overzealous, or poorly trained. That doesn’t mean none are. Not all people are racist. That doesn’t mean none are. These things don’t balance each other out. Because police officers A and B came to the aid of persons of color C and D doesn’t mean police officer E didn’t harass person of color F. Or in too many cases, worse. And any number of these cases is too many. Police are human, yes. They deserve to be and keep themselves safe, absolutely. But something has gone wrong if they don’t feel confident they can peacefully defuse a situation and arrest someone who is unarmed and outnumbered.

I also don’t understand when I see people quote Martin Luther King while complaining about the protests occurring. Not talking about looters or violence, protestors. Just a little disconnect.

We have a problem, not “just” one rogue incident. The very fact that we have clear videotape of Eric Garner’s arrest and I’m still seeing such polarized responses shows our problem. But shelving the discussion? Being afraid to take a stand, have an opinion, because it might be uncomfortable? Because we’re tired of it? Because we don’t want to believe racism still exists in this country? That isn’t a fine command of the language.

I care, and I like knowing the other people in my world care, too. Our words do have power. And our opinions matter.

Stuff This, Corporate Retail America

Paper bag from a thrift store.

I like things, it’s no secret. I even like stuff. But what. the. fuck. America? The insanity known as Black Friday wasn’t enough. Ok, I’m not a Black Friday shopper, but lots of people are, I’ve known several who find it fun, and a few who see it as a type of sport. Now more and more stores are opening on Thanksgiving. Shop, shop, shop for more shit you don’t need and no one wants while you’re in your growth-hormone-laced-turkey stupor, so there won’t be any pesky common sense to get in the way. A couple of days ago I saw a clip on the news about a mall in Western New York that will be opening at 6PM on Thanksgiving Day (and I’m willing to bet if there’s one mall doing this there are more doing the same)–and any retail stores that choose not to open will be fined somewhere in the neighborhood of $200 an hour for every hour the mall is open that the store isn’t. Apparently these fines are somewhat common, written into lease agreements at many malls across the country. Opening on Thanksgiving Day, though, that’s new(er).

What is wrong with us? These big box retailers are the pimps driving BMWs with flashy rims, and we the consumers are the black-eyed, split-lipped prostitutes shivering in the cold and dirty slush waiting for the bus at 5AM. I don’t know that I think Thanksgiving with its false myths of blissful Pilgrims and Native Americans singing Kumbaya together over pumpkin pie is so sacred. But it is supposed to symbolize something, a day to reflect on who and what we have, enjoy our friends, families and communities, what our society is and what it stands for. If you’re a cynic like myself, your immediate thought is of the big money involved in those Thanksgiving Day football games and the gluttony encouraged on TV screens across the nation.

This is New York, city of convenience. Public transportation, grocery stores, drug stores and restaurants being open 24/7, 365 days a year is nothing new. I used to work in social services so yes, I have worked every holiday. I’ll even admit I didn’t hate it. In fact, it was lovely, and those holidays affirmed the work I did mattered, because these were human beings I worked with, not diagnoses, and workers and clients had a good time cooking and eating together. Sure there was always someone who would decompensate and need to go to the ER right before I was about to go off shift–but that’s why I was there, why the work was meaningful if not lucrative–and good God, draining doesn’t begin to cover it.

That said is why I’m very aware not everyone can or should have the holiday off. Social services, medical services, residential treatment services, police, firefighters, public transportation, emergency crews available for public works, these can’t all lock the doors and turn the cell phones off. Sometimes the service provided is more necessary than dinner with Cindy Lou Who. But buying the latest video game console? The perfect sweater for an ugly sweater contest? Really, that can’t wait until the morning? People who work retail are among those who can least afford to take a stand and say “I’m not coming in to work on the holiday,” yet they already see their loved ones least, since they work evenings, nights, and weekends.

I posted last week about my city adventures in the Met and St John the Divine. I’ve been thinking about it ever since, these great enduring works of art–hundreds, some thousands of years old, still revered, still relevant, artists and works still remembered. This being the case, why are artists (visual, actors, musicians or writers) still treated with contempt, as if what they offer society has no value, unless, of course, they’re hugely financially successful? Or dead. Maybe I’m just a flaky mush but I went back to St John yesterday, to bring my godson and Art Child and spend time again with “AMEN: A Prayer for the World.” And I was moved, on the verge of tears again from the works of these modern artists from disparate cultures, an exhibition about respect and understanding, our shared humanity.

Husband works retail. His store is closed on Thanksgiving, but if they decided to open, he would grumble, I would bitch, and then he would go to work. Because rent. Maybe the saleswoman helping you find the laptop you want this Thanksgiving is a mom who is paying a babysitter more than she’s making for the day because the regular sitter is with her own family, or the daycare is closed. Maybe the cashier is an artist who thought he was going to be able to spend the day sculpting. Maybe the floor manager is just fucking tired and had hoped for a day off before the insanity of Black Friday began–because yes, she does have to be back at the store at 4am the next day. The executives who decided the stores should be open? They’re home. Or on vacation. Maybe they’ll stop in and benignly thank the peasant workers for their service. They’re most certainly not trying to figure out how to cook, clean up, offer a holiday experience for their children, beg for child care, calculate how they will pay rent/mortgage/utilities and then go stand on their feet and smile politely for 14 straight hours.

I received this solicitation in the mail the other day. I don’t have much, but I think I’ll write a check.

and drop it in the mailbox on Thanksgiving.

We each have a voice in this country, as individuals and as a greater community. Our voices are heard when we vote, and at this point in our consumer-based society, I believe our voices ring out most clearly through our wallets. People can tsk tsk all they want. The only message being conveyed if you shop on a holiday is that it’s a good, profitable idea for the stores to open, and the people working don’t matter. I’m asking the Fringelings here in America (who don’t have to work on the holiday) to speak out by staying out of the stores on Thanksgiving. Read a classic novel, listen to music, plan a trip to a museum, watch It’s A Wonderful Life. Use the day to make a statement about what you believe matters. Unless you have to work.

And I Splutter While Crying

From The Grange, home of Alexander Hamilton

The above quote is from over two hundred years ago. Think about it, two hundred years. So why am I sitting here wondering who this American world is made for?

If you follow Mrs Fringe, you know I indulge in the occasional political rant. Generally, I try to limit myself to rants directly related to women, both because I’m not a political scientist and because it’s exhausting and ultimately ineffectual to be angry about everything all the time. I didn’t intend to blog about Ferguson, there are many others doing so who are better informed and more eloquent. Yesterday I was watching an interview with Al Sharpton about what’s happening in Ferguson. One of the most, if not the most, polarizing people of the country. I found myself agreeing with every word coming out of his mouth. Reverend Al, voice of reason? Has he mellowed? Have I become more radical? Or is what’s happening so egregious he is exactly the right person to speak for We The People?

The segment kept cutting to clips of interviews with others, and on the whole, it didn’t seem meant to be an inflammatory piece one way or the other. Until I saw/heard someone representing the authorities of Ferguson, and he said they just wanted to keep order (good), not allow looting (excellent, the thugs who take advantage of these situations should not be allowed to profit, or take the focus off of why people are protesting), and make sure the people gathering don’t become a large crowd (huh?). What the fuck was that? I don’t follow every news story around the world every day, but I’m pretty sure I’d have heard if the First Amendment had been ratified to revoke the right to protest.

The death of Michael Brown is a tragedy. For him and for his family, something no family should have to experience. But I believe it isn’t solely a private and personal tragedy. Because his death and the clusterfuck that’s been happening since represents something much larger that’s been happening in this country, and impacts all of us. Fear, racism, loss of liberties.

Individual police officers/forces acting as judge and jury? I’m not sure how new that is. Fact or fable, I remember hearing stories when I was younger about neighborhood pedophiles being “taken care of.”

Also not new, authorities pushing back against protestors, breaking out tear gas, swinging batons, turning on fire hoses, protestors being beaten and swept into “paddy wagons” (is there a more current term for these?) for mass arrests. Those halcyon days of yore weren’t quite body to body peace and free love. Anyone else have an ear worm of Kent State?

The world has continued to change. America has continued to change. People have not changed.

Our police forces around the country are growing ever more militarized. I’m all for reusing and recycling. But that extra military equipment, armaments being handed to local PDs? Doesn’t make sense to me. At all. This equipment is designed for war. War. Soldiers are trained in how to use/not use this equipment.

More than anything, technology has changed. Weaponry available is well beyond anything our forefathers could have imagined. Freedom of the press now means the ability to see and hear exactly what is happening with instantaneous recordings and distribution. All this change, and yet the question is the same as it was two hundred years ago. Who is this America for? Maybe it’s time to evolve and grow, not just react to change.

And Mrs Fringe’s Blood Pressure Skyrockets

I know, it’s predictable. If I’m posting a second time in one day, you know it’s a rant.

It’s a crowded city. Part of living here without losing your mind is the ability to block out what isn’t your business. The man next door might be cooking something that smells phenomenal, but you can’t knock on his door at dinnertime. Just because you can hear your neighbors argue doesn’t mean you’re invited to join the debate.

I just returned from picking up Art Child. When we left her school, there was a young woman in an “argument” with a young man. I put argument in quotes, because she was quiet, trying to get him to calm down, and he was all up in her face, backing her against a fence. Boyfriend? Husband? Brother? I don’t know.

Then he shoved her.

Yes, one woman was calling the police before I could get my phone out, when she was put on hold I got one of the police officers from Art Child’s school.

This block has not just one school, but 4 schools on it. This is pick up time, a beautiful Friday afternoon. Hundreds of children/adolescents to see this model of “relationship.” No. No. No. No.

Most domestic violence incidents are never reported.

This young woman looked fit and strong. I’m pretty sure she could kick my ass without breaking a sweat. But so much of domestic violence isn’t about the physical, it’s the mental/emotional. It’s the cancerous belief that this is part of being in a relationship. It’s the sad and horrifying fact that too many parents don’t have anywhere to go if they leave, except maybe, if they’re lucky, a shelter.

The stats I’ve seen say 1 in 4 women will experience domestic violence in their lifetime. That’s in the US. Worldwide, the statistic is 1 in 3. Every year, close to 1/3 of women who are victims of homicide are killed by their former or current partner.

I recently saw something saying more American women have been killed by domestic violence than troops killed in Afghanistan and Iraq in the same time period. I’m not 100% sure of the fact checking on this one, so don’t assume it’s accurate.

Look at the numbers. This isn’t something that only occurs in other parts of the world (whatever country you’re reading this from)/other states/among certain races/religions/socioeconomic groups. This isn’t somebody else’s problem. It’s our problem.

Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-621-HOPE

#YesAllWomen

This is the hashtag making the rounds on Twitter right now. Yes, sorry, back to back quasi feminist rants.

The Gilded Cage (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The hashtag and tweets are in response to this atrocity. A young man went on a rampage and killed seven people, including himself, in Santa Barbara, California. First and foremost, my heart goes out to the victims and their families, including the family of this young man–who reportedly saw his rantings/manifesto, tried to get him help, reported him to the police. I’m not sure how this still happened, and I’m not blogging about this to speculate re who dropped the ball.

No matter how many episodes of Criminal Minds I watch I’m not a psychiatrist, not his therapist, not an expert in human behavior, I can’t say if he was a sociopath or plain old crazy. What I am is a woman. And this young man’s harmful delusions centered around himself and women, their rejection of him. His sense of entitlement to “get” hot (or whatever the current catchphrase is) blonde women, and their lack of interest in having sex with him. Gee, can’t imagine why, his videos make him seem like such a charmer. #YesAllWomen have said no at some point. If you’re an asshole, you’re going to hear no a lot.

The problem as I see it, the reason #yesallwomen is the hashtag and not something tied in to gun control, or “affluenza,” is that he was so easily able to find his peeps, other men who feel their dangly bits entitle them to say insulting things to and about women, have sex with whatever women they want. In addition to his 140+ page manifesto, he left a hell of a cybertrail, rants on misogynistic websites. No, I’m not going to link them, I’m not going to help give them more hits and traffic so easily.

It’s the same sick fountain of bullshit that allowed the man I wrote about in my last post to not see any jail time, for his ex-wife/victim to be told instead she should forgive him. #YesAllWomen are still individual beings with the right to say no, even if we get married

How many women, whether they’re twenty or fifty, can say they’ve never had the experience of being called a bitch or a tease because they didn’t want someone touching them? Or commenting on their bodies? Because, yanno, we should all be flattered–it’s a compliment, someone wants you. Yeah. #YesAllWomen have experienced that moment of fear and tension, hoping the man making kissy sounds and following them will leave them the fuck alone.

Of course, this isn’t limited to misogyny, this young man’s rants had a heaping dose of racism and self hatred (he was half Asian). Because it all goes together. Hatred is hatred. I do believe, I have to believe, that he was mentally ill. But I don’t believe everyone who agreed with him, egged him on, everyone who is trolling by making provocative and hateful comments in response to the Twitter hashtag, is mentally ill.

Like every other social issue, I don’t think there is one answer, one solution. So many things feed into these attitudes, beginning with children, teaching little girls to hate their bodies and at the same time teaching them their bodies, their faces, and how they display them are the most important part of who they are. What? You would never feed into that! Never teach your little girl to objectify themselves, or teach your little boy to objectify girls/women. Of course not. So how come there are padded, push up bras in minuscule sizes in the girls’ department of clothing stores? I’m a shoe gal, I admit it. Heels are sexy, they make me feel…I dunno, powerful, in a way. Women are and should be entitled to dress however they’d like. Women. Not girls, women old enough to have learned their bodies are a part of who they are, not the sum total. Sure I’m uptight, sure I’m not an expert, but what is the reasoning behind these types of things beyond objectifying girls? #YesAllWomen don’t look like the ones in magazines, and it can be a hard battle to find self acceptance.

Children are still told that when they’re shoved to the asphalt on the playground, it’s just because he/she likes you. The same pressures put on girls are put on boys. Stop it. Being a man has nothing to do with your girlfriend–who she is, what she looks like, or if she exists.

Women are still attacking each other for individual choices. What do you mean, you don’t want to have children/be married/have a career/use cloth diapers/breastfeed/formula feed? #YesAllWomen are being told they not only can have it all, they have to do and be it all.

With all my waiting on agent replies, I’ve been doing a lot of ~~obsessing~~ thinking. One of my thoughts (and I’m sorry, I can’t remember how much I blogged about this and I’m too lazy to read my old posts) is about those romance novels that I wrote. I’m wondering how much our society’s emphasis on romantic love contributes to these delusions. I know, the romance heroes (mine or anyone else’s) aren’t misogynistic assholes–or if they appear to be at first, they quickly realize the error of their ways and come around to worship the heroine. On the writer’s forum I’ve seen several instances of people being told by agents or editors they need to add in or increase the romance in their stories to make it more marketable.

Is this true, readers will be unsatisfied without romance in their thriller/fantasy/coming of age story? Yes, we, as women, have come far. As a society, we’ve come far. Most people will at least pay lip service to lifestyle choices. But. How often do you hear people asking a single woman when they’re going to get married? How about hearing someone ask your 10/11/12 year old if they have a boyfriend/girlfriend yet–and if the answer is no, why not? And I’m not referring to Great Grandma asking these questions. If we believe a story is not complete without strong romantic elements, and we are partaking in a steady diet of these books and movies, how far away are we from saying people are not complete if they don’t have a significant other? Hmmm, somehow this isn’t sounding as far removed from the days of “old maids” as it should be. #YesAllWomen need to feel good about who they are, not just who they’re with.

Not all men are aggressive, entitled, driven-by-their-gonads jerks. I believe, at this point, those men are the minority, especially as we look to the younger generations. But too many still are. And too many more are given a pass, because oh, well, that’s just men. No, it isn’t just men. It’s us, male and female, what we’re willing to say is ok and close our eyes to, and what we’re willing to stand up and say no to. Enough is enough.

#YesAllWomen because

everyone gets rejected. Deal with it.

rape jokes aren’t funny.

we still hear, “all she needs….”

we still hear, “well, what was she wearing?”

men need to know we value those who treat us as human beings, not objects.

you _____ like a girl shouldn’t be an insult.

love doesn’t conquer all.

What Year is This Again?

NYC: Liberty Island – Statue of Liberty (Photo credit: wallyg)

I can’t even gather my words into a coherent rant, it’s more of a splutter. A few days ago I read about this case in Indiana. In all honesty, at first I couldn’t read the article all the way through. It’s like opening your front door and seeing something so terrifying, so shocking, your reaction is to slam the door shut, flip all the locks and put the chain on. But you know it’s there, and know it’s only going to gain traction and strength if you don’t open the door again to confront it.

The bottom line, a man in Indiana was drugging and raping his wife for at least three years. She found video clips of this on his phone and pressed charges. Good for her! She did the right thing. No excuses, no taking the law into her own hands. Prosecutors did the right thing, asked for forty years in prison. He was convicted of six felony charges, and sentenced to twenty years. Here’s the part that makes my heart drop to my bowels: He won’t be spending any time in prison. Twelve years were suspended, and he will spend eight years in home confinement. Why? Because it was up to the judge. A judge who told the victim she should forgive her attacker.

On a smaller scale, let me ask why? Why does she need to forgive him? What was done to her was immoral, illegal, unconscionable. Still, in my opinion she showed incredible strength of character by leaving him (so many women feel trapped, afraid and embarrassed in abusive situations they don’t have that strength), and by pressing charges. On a larger scale, how can this sentence be allowed to stand under the guise of justice?

More than why, how? How can this be? How can any judge think this is ok, and where are our leaders to say, “Hey! This can NOT happen in a country that is supposed to be about equality and justice for all.” Anyone who reads Mrs Fringe knows I lean left. But this isn’t about left or right. It’s about assault, it’s about treating women as property. Men and women in positions of authority should be speaking out about this, in my opinion. Especially the women. So where are you, Hillary Clinton, Michelle Obama, Nancy Pelosi, Oprah Winfrey, Jill Abramson, Janet Napolitano, Indra Nooyi, Ursula Burns, Diane Sawyer, Arianna Huffington, Melinda Gates, Ann Coulter–how about Lady Gaga? There are many strong, powerful women in positions of authority in this country. Apparently not enough.

That this woman was drugged and assaulted repeatedly over a period of years is sad and infuriating, but not shocking. Again, horrifying for her (and her children!), but it shouldn’t represent anything grand. There are fucked up people in this world who do fucked up things, maybe I’m cynical, but I believe this will always be the case. But this end result, this judge’s ruling does represent something. It illustrates all too clearly there is someone in this country in a position of power and authority who believes wives are chattel. That judge is an elected official–that tells me there is more than one someone who believes this.

According to this article in the NY Daily News, the judge told the woman to move on. Maybe she could, if attitudes were different.

Sarcophagus of Crying Women (Photo credit: voyageAnatolia.blogspot.com)

Hey Foureyes!

When I bought them they were cool. Fashionable, even 😉

I wear contacts much more frequently than I wear glasses. A few reasons for that, not least of which because I see much better in contacts than glasses. Must be the peripheral vision, I don’t know. Doesn’t hurt that it’s cheaper to replace contact lenses than glasses.

When I bought those frames I loved them. For a long time. Remember, early 2000’s when the teeny tiny frames were in style? Great for people like me with extreme nearsightedness, combining the small frames and lightweight, thin as they can make them lenses they were almost comfortable. For a few hours.

Because this is life, and this is life on the Fringe, I had a little accident when throwing garbage away yesterday. I know there’s a wind tunnel kind of thing in the compactor chute. At this time of year, every time you open the door, bits of dirt and grit whoosh out. I know this. Hell, I even blogged about it here. I turn my face away when I open the chute, but something went horribly wrong and I got a face full of scratchy muck, mysteriously drawn straight to my eyes. I think the left one just got irritated, the right one, though, extra special. Something got under the contact, because that eye went straight from oh! to holy shit I think my eyeball is on fire!

If there’s anything I’ve learned from many years of wearing contact lenses, when something goes wrong take them out right away. I did, and found my glasses. Which you can see, from the photo above, have had better days. The finish on the frames has worn off in spots, the protective anti-glare coating is scratched, and there’s a little piece of frame missing from the top–if I move my head too quickly, the left lens pops out. Excellent.

The prescription on these glasses is two or three levels behind my most current rx. You look blurry, I look blurry, can I just stay in bed? I know, I know, I should change the lenses on the glasses when I get new contacts, but glasses are freaking expensive. And by the last time I got a new scrip, it didn’t even seem worth it unless I was getting new frames, too. Did I mention this was also my last pair of contacts? Between the too-weak glasses, the thought of the bill for new glasses, new contacts, the co-pay for the eye doctor and the pain in my eyes, I’ve had a headache for about twenty-four hours now. Better and better.

I need an eye dr appt, and then I’m going to have to go and replace the contacts and glasses. For the record, when you have vision as poor as mine, there’s no such thing as glasses in an hour, or contacts that are in stock. Skip the Tylenol, pass the Excedrin and keep it coming for at least 5 days, please.

Thank You Internetz

and the Coca-Cola company. For turning over the rock, and allowing light to shine on the racism that is alive and all too

Statue of liberty (Photo credit: rakkhi)

well in America.

I didn’t watch the Super Bowl, didn’t see the commercial that caused waves in our amber GMO enriched grain until this morning. If I was a gambler, I’d put money on the idea that many of the same people shitting themselves over a Coke commercial featuring people of color! language other than English! would consider me suspect, not a real American for the simple fact that I’m not a football fan, not a sports fan at all.

That’s what America’s all about, right? The Pilgrims came here so they could chase a ball and drink beer without any pesky brown people, or hearing anything other than the dulcet tones of English. Such a pure language, developed in a magical place without any influences from any other nasty, discordant languages. Mmm hmmm.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not too highbrow for football. I was annoyed there was no new episode of The Real Housewives of Atlanta last night–I assume because they didn’t think they’d get enough viewers. I know, I know, RHoA, more brown people. Black women. If it makes you feel better, dear racists, I found that out after eating a slice of apple pie. My dessert, after a dinner of arroz con habichuelas.

At this point, I don’t know if I’m more angry, sad, or disgusted. I do know I wish we were a smarter country. Smart enough for everyone here to understand we are a nation built on the backs of immigrants, after stealing the land from the Native Americans already living here. Guess they didn’t count, since they didn’t speak English. Guess what? You, in your racist spouting household probably have traditional meals included in your pure American Thanksgiving dinner that are actually throwbacks to your family’s heritage. Potato salad? German. Pasta? Italian. Butter cookies? Norwegian. Corn? Beans? Squash? The three sisters are Native American, and you should stop serving all three because Native Americans certainly aren’t what you mean when you talk about real Americans. And I’ve got another little surprise for you, all the rhetoric you’re spewing, about these Mexicans/Domincans/Haitians/Koreans/fillintheblankins, you know, the crap about not learning English, not becoming American enough for your taste, their strange foods, the way they’re taking your jobs and your wimmenz…not original or new. The same tired fearful and fear mongering lines have been spouted for two centuries of immigration. I’m very sorry to tell you, the good old days weren’t what you think they were.

English: A Turkish immigrant in New York (1912). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I wish we were smart enough to understand that we are not an isolationist nation and never were. I wish we were smart enough to understand that instead of trying to fit everyone into a cracked mold that’s a figment of stultified imaginations, we need to move forward, leave this nonsense behind. I wish we were smart enough to understand that the affordable air travel, internet and cell phones have brought us more than resort vacations, Candy Crush, and sexting. We are living in a global economy. Guess who’s going to get ahead in a global economy? Those who are able to respect cultures other than the one they grew up in; those who speak more than one language, those who aren’t terrified by the sight of someone who has different skin color, eye shape, hair texture, religious beliefs, clothing or customs than their own. Those who don’t vomit hatred because their sacred game has been tainted by nothing.

That’s right, I said it. Nothing. You’re up in arms because the ridiculously priced commercials selling shit you don’t need during a game dared to show America as it is, not your fantasy of what it should be.

I just got off of the train. On the subway I hear English, spoken with a broad number of American accents. I hear English spoken with accents from Ireland, England, New Zealand, Pakistan, Guyana, Australia, South Africa, Ghana, Jamaica, Zimbabwe, Kenya, Papa New Guinea. I hear Spanish, Italian, French, German, Hebrew, Arabic, Tagalog, Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Tagalog, Portuguese, Hindi, Vietnamese, Yiddish, Polish, Serbo-Croatian, languages from Scandinavia and languages from Africa. I don’t know who was born here, who’s an immigrant–documented or undocumented–who’s a tourist here to pump thousands of dollars into our economy. Shocking though this might be, I don’t care. It’s beautiful to my ears, part of being an American in New York.

I’ve spent quite a bit of time in New England, including the more rural areas where it’s truly rare to see a person of color or hear a language other than English. Also beautiful, also part of America. I’ve spent time down South, where outside of the major cities you don’t hear as many different languages, but still a few, and see many people of color. Beautiful. I’ve spent time in the Southwest, where there are more Native Americans, and I heard bits of languages rarely if ever heard in NYC. Beautiful. Time in the Pacific Northwest, where I heard more Norwegian words and influences than I hear in the east, heard languages and saw faces originating from Alaskan Native cultures. Beautiful. To me, that’s what makes America. It’s vast, our population is huge and mixed, influences from all over the world are seen, heard, and felt in our in language, music, food, and clothing. My America isn’t more or less American than yours.

I want to be clear, when you say things like “I don’t mean you,” you do. You mean my children, my family, my friends, my neighbors. When my kid is chosen for a job over you or yours, it isn’t and won’t be because of looks or last name. It will be because he has always and continues to work his ass off, speaks three languages, knows how to be respectful and appreciative of all cultures and focus on commonalities in our global economy.

I’m not a politician, not a sociologist or anthropologist, not an academic, not in marketing or advertising. I’m not a mover or shaker in any circle, no impressive degrees, haven’t traveled the world, really not that smart. A plain old gal living on the fringe. But I know the commercial that prompted this latest round of bullshit has nothing to do with anything you’re whining about. It’s about the Coca-Cola company wanting to reach the broadest possible audience, so the next time you’re in front of a display in the store, choosing between Coke and Pepsi, you spend your dollars on Coke. And I will. Or I would, if I drank soda–or pop, or coke, depending on what region of the US you’re in.

Stay the Hell Home!

Load em up and slide down Broadway.

So says the Mayor and Schools Chancellor of NY. Except wait, schools are open.

I will never understand these decisions. Stay off the roads! Visibility is terrible, the roads are terrible, trains are running but only local, dangerously cold, don’t call 911 unless it’s an emergency (no kidding!), State of Emergency…but schools are open, offices are open, just go ahead and use that magic teleporter to get to school and work, so you don’t interfere with the plows or interrupt the flow of the dollar.

There have been four fatalities in my neighborhood over the last week, pedestrians struck by cars/buses. I’m afraid to turn on the news and see what might have occurred during the storm yesterday and last night. Even today, the snow has stopped, but contrary to the image they’re showing of the street outside the mayor’s house, the streets aren’t all clean. The plows have obviously been through, or the snow would be piled much higher, but still far from “cleaned up.” And we’re back to frigid temps, so plenty of ice to go along with the snow that won’t be melting anytime soon.

Snow storm in NY photos. I would have gone into the park, but it was too freakin’ cold.

Pfft, NY, don’t let a little snow get in the way of $

Some are from yesterday afternoon, some from last night, a few from this morning.

Nothing stops restaurant delivery. This guy is “lucky” to have a moped available, most are on bicycles.

I know, it’s blurry, but I liked it.

Bless the EMTs, they’ve been going non-stop since the snow began.

Museum of Natural History, majestic no matter the season or weather.

oops, no recycle pick-up when it snows. All sanitation workers are doing snow removal/sand/salt

No garbage pick up, either. This stack will seem like a delicate wastebasket compared to what it will be in another 2 days.

oops. Being a delivery guy has to be one of the top 10 crappiest jobs during a NY snowstorm. Tip them well, NYers!

There’s a limited time for buildings/store/restaurant owners to get their sidewalks cleaned before they’re fined. Law suits have no such delay.

I have to make soup for a snowstorm. It’s the rules. Man Child baked bread to go with. 🙂

Alternate side of the street parking suspended for the day–happy car owners!

The salt, the salt, the salt. So painful on doggy paws. 😦 The ice it melts also causes pain. Can’t win for losing.

No rain, Mrs Carmichael–but plenty of snow. This is going to be a long winter, isn’t it? Stay warm and dry, Fringelings!

Your Call Cannot be Completed as Dialed

Phones are dead. (Photo credit: nicadlr)

Between Husband and I, we have spent oh, I don’t know…4000 hours on the phone and in the store over the past few days, trying to clear up our cell phone account. I think I mentioned in my last post, but maybe not, someone somehow used our account to purchase 4 new iPhones and add 6 lines to our account. Oh, the joys of technology, it makes life so much easier, doesn’t it?

We thought we cleared it up the day before Christmas. Then we thought we cleared it up the day after Christmas. Then we were certain we cleared it up yesterday. Our contract is up, Man Child and I are due for upgrades. Perfect timing, because the week between Christmas and New Year’s is when the cell phone stores push the sales. Yay! This was the first time in years that my cell phone didn’t completely die before Christmas in the time frame when our contract was up. Because no, I will not replace my phone until and unless I’m due for an upgrade. The full retail prices on these things are ridiculous, I don’t care if I spend 8 months with the phone held together by duct tape.

Man Child and I went into the store yesterday, ready to get new phones and downgrade our plan. We’ve been paying a ludicrous monthly bill for what we use. Woo hoo, I’m psyched, I’m finally going to get the phone I’ve been wanting for years, at the price I’m willing to pay. Which, for the record, is free. (Once I get my rebate.) It isn’t the most current model, but groovy enough for me. Only we couldn’t, because the cell phone carrier is now on the case, making sure no fraud occurs. Isn’t there an expression about that, something about a barn door, free milk, escaped horse, something?

An open door (Photo credit: Juha Riissanen)

Even though the extra lines and charges had been removed from our account, as far as the carrier was concerned, we already re-upped our plan and got new phones. I couldn’t take care of it in the store, because the account is under Husband’s name. Grrrrr. Fine. We leave, Husband calls and spends another 3 hours on the phone with the carrier this morning to clear it all up and make sure I’m an authorized something or other to make decisions and handle problems. For the record, Husband doesn’t even use this carrier anymore, because of their exorbitant prices and previous bullshit over the years. Man Child and I still use them/the plan, along with Mother-in-Law. M-i-L because it’s easier for her, Man Child because they have the best signal at and near his school, and me because they have the best overall coverage in the country, and there have been several times already when we’re out of town and Husband’s phone doesn’t work but mine does. One of us has to have a working phone all the time. Two kiddos away at school, another one with medical needs, someone has to be reachable, no?

So, Man Child and I went back to the store this morning. Picked out our phones–again–go through a thing with the salesman. He was pleasant, but of course, trying to make the best sale he could. I get it, this is how he pays his bills. But no, I’m sure we can and are going to downgrade our plan, and no, $350 worth of protection plans aren’t worth two free cases. Really. I’m sure. M-i-L doesn’t need or want a smart phone. I need a lower phone bill each month. OK, we establish what info we need transferred from our old phones to the new ones, and the salesman begins to process the order. But wait!

A stopped press (Photo credit: slambo_42)

First, I get a phone call on my cell from the fraud department requesting permission to process the order because our account is now flagged. Thumbs up. Surprise! Order still can’t go through. There’s a mysterious something pending on our account. A mysterious something we didn’t authorize or pay for. Ummm, get rid of it? The salesman, who started out so smooth and friendly when I first met him on Saturday afternoon, is now growling into the phone with whatever department is supposed to take care of this, stabbing the digit keys with his index finger as he dials. Again. and Again. Apparently, they’re just as quick to disconnect calls from store employees as they are customers. Seems to me if you’re a phone company you should be able to transfer a call without disconnecting it, but perhaps I set the bar too high.

While he’s on hold, I try to convince him he should give us free phone cases for our troubles, while he looks me straight in the eye and explains it doesn’t work that way, how it isn’t really our loss or trouble, it’s the phone company who took this huge hit, so there’s no reason to expect any courtesy/compensation. Really? This is my fault that someone, somewhere, didn’t make an effort to confirm it was truly Husband making these HUGE purchases and changes to our account; an account we’ve had with them for ten years now–for phones they charge hundreds of dollars for, that cost them about 10 cents to make? No reason for a major phone carrier to extend courtesies despite the fact we’ve now wasted many, many hours on this? Heh.

At this point, I’m losing it. This is too much like shopping, and I’m starting to look and feel like a 9 year old with a serious case of ADHD who didn’t take her meds. I should be home. Sleeping. Playing with Flower Child. Writing. Reading. Listening to Nerd Child tell me about his most recent research on something serious and intense that I don’t understand but love hearing his passion. Anything but standing in the middle of this fucking store getting absolutely nowhere.

Man Child goes out and gets us coffee. While the salesman on the phone is dealing with the vortex of the fraud department, we chat with another salesman who had helped me the last time I got a phone, over two years ago. Seems like a genuinely friendly young man, we chat about New York and life while pretending the other salesman isn’t about to have a stroke on the phone with fraud and my head isn’t about to explode from this ridiculous level of bullshit. I take the opportunity to do some shameless self promotion and plug Mrs Fringe, Man Child goes out and brings back breakfast. Our salesman, still on the phone.

We’re now back home, with one very costly migraine, but no new cell phones. Why? Because now the fraud department is being extra cautious, and even though I was added as an authorized user/decision maker/bill payer this morning, they decided I can’t exercise my glorious power of handing over my debit card, with my name, and my identification, without Husband either there in person or on one of the cell phones from this plan. Husband is at work. With his cell phone, which is not one of the ones from this overpriced quagmire of a cell phone company.

Thirty minutes. I’m willing to give thirty more minutes to this tomorrow, before I tell this company and their fraud department to kiss my rapidly spreading middle aged butt (not the individual store or salesmen, because they were quite nice and did what they could from their end) and go buy a phone elsewhere, with a month to month contract. In case of emergency, send smoke signals.