i agree

link.

ps, this is NOT worksafe. it's a song that contains explicit lyrics. you've been warned...

The Corporation, or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb

With all due respect to the late Mr. Kubrick and the immortal Dr. Strangelove.

i watched the movie, the corporation (twice) last weekend and i gotta hand it to the people who made it: very good job indeed. and so as not to look too random i'll explain the association i made to strangelove above--the military/industrial complex is ever present and keeps the gears moving whether you like it or not.

the problem with the movie, as is the problem with corporations and my worldview, is that there are so so many problems that it gets to seem overwhelming in the end. the problem is focus. much as i would like to save the world, where do i start? if i work the environment angle, the human rights issues are still there. if i work the human rights angle, there's still the question of manipulative advertising and its effect on the young and naive. and so on.

the big bitch of it all is that corporations usurped human rights from the 14th amendment, the stated aim of which was helping the freed slaves. but corporations got human rights thanks to some dirty deals and probably one or two corrupt judges... rights afforded to humans, but with limited liability and no pesky conscience to deal with. in fact, one thing that the movie glossed over that i had to research for myself was the fact that the bottom line for the corporation is money above all else. i mean, i knew it to be true, but it was stated so matter of factly in the movie that i was left wanting to know "why?"

the why is this: Dodge v. Ford Motor Company. ironic name, i know, but here's the thing that bugs me. henry ford noticed that he was making incredible profits, and as ceo he decided to use some of that extra capital for altruistic, philanthropic purposes. he thought it'd be nice to drop the price of cars while employing more people. what a novel idea, to use a corporation to benefit the people.

but the shareholders didn't like it. mr. ford was going all "robin hood" on the people who owned his company, and that just wouldn't do.

in the 1919 case, the court told ford, effectively, "to hell with the public good"... in capitalism your job is to serve your shareholders. and you aren't serving them by giving them the warm and fuzzy feeling that they are helping people. the way you serve them is by turning their dollars into more dollars. and that case was applied to all corporations for the last (almost) 90 years.

and, you know, the implications are great.

sweatshops help the bottom line, outsourcing helps the bottom line, and polluting the environment is generally cheaper than not (er, financially, not philosophically). simple economics tells you that if it's cheaper to go to court than to pay your employees' pension, you should probably cut them off and let them bring suit (if they can afford it).

there are examples of good guys in the movie, and i'm sure there are more than they showed. but for every interface there's a thousand philip morrises. and sure, philip morris is working on helping smokers quit, or some other such bullshit line they try to feed us, but they make it too easy to question their real motives. they're helping smokers quit because it's good pr, not because they sell an addictive product loaded with carcinogens in a handy flip-top box. how. sick.

and much like the movie, i'm finding it hard to keep my focus here. because this is bigger than me, and i want to do something, and i'm not really sure where to start. well, i suppose thinking about it and talking about it is a good place to start. step two is cutting myself from the wage-slave mentality. just following orders was not good enough for the nazis, so how can i justify that it's good enough for me. if i'm not working on the solution, i'm part of the problem, and that's a fact.

unfortunately, i still do need a paycheck. but it's high time i get my heart and work more aligned.

my mission, should i choose to accept it, and all that...

part four

part three is "down by the river" (below)

... I lean against the railing, head hanging upside-down, and feel my face flush as the blood rushes to my head. Ahh, life...

I see a vision of my childhood, my parents fighting, my brothers making fun of me, my parents hugging, my brothers protecting me from bullies. I remember my oldest brother coming home from school, my mother and I sitting next to the pool at our apartment, and him running and jumping in in a cannonball. I remember the time at the barber shop when my mother accidentally hit me in the head with the lit end of her cigarette.

Smile.

And when my parents divorced, how my father just disappeared from my life. My brother did his best to fill those shoes, but he's only four years my elder...

I remember my mother's boyfriends throughout the years, and how I think she hoped one would fill in where my dad left off.

You really should smile.

Elementary school, middle school, high school, and the different houses. Moving from school to school, being asked if we were military brats because most people don't move that much. But never really moving that far away, just far enough to lose contact with the old. Establish new roots, make new friends, lather, rinse, and repeat. I watched as my brothers rebelled, then, inevitably and to a lesser extent, followed in their footsteps. The Cure helped me forge my identity, all those black clothes and the creepers. I remember being so determined to start smoking that when I got nauseous from the menthols, I decided it was the menthols that were bad and switched to non-menthols. Smoking mom's butts out of her ashtray and convincing my brothers to buy me smokes (they were reluctant, but I was a baby-faced 15-year-old who wasn't afraid to pull out the hypocrite card when the situation called for it--oh yeah, they smoked too).

That's more like it.

I remember that girl, the one who took my virginity. And the one who should have. And the one who, in hindsight probably not as maliciously as it felt, ripped my heart out and shattered any confidence I thought I had.

As the harshest Hendrix solo throbs in my head.

I remember the ones that got away. Because I felt unworthy, and I pushed; and when they tried to fight my fighting I only pushed harder, got mean, got angry, because they had to be faking their care. "What's wrong with you that you even give a shit? You can't care about me..."

I lift my head and tears fall down my cheeks.

Man, are you ok?

"Why do you even fucking care?! Just leave me alone, just go away... you can't help. I don't want your fucking pity! I don't want your help!"

And, invariably, they did leave. And there I was, left to dwell on what an unloveable ass I was, the prophecy self fulfilling because I wouldn't let it go any other way. "Why don't you care? What's so wrong with me that nobody cares?"

And I lived my life, went to college, got my degree. Here and there I'd have short relationships with exactly the wrong type of woman, because we all have needs, and there's always sex when you can't find love... I smoked a lot of weed and cigarettes, and drank, but not too much with the booze; dope didn't leave me physically ill the next day. Things were kind of hazy in those days. I partook in hallucinogens on rare occasions. Had some really good times, I think. But honestly don't remember many of them. "Are you sure that was me," I'd ask old friends as they recount something I said or did. And they'd say "sure," but how am I supposed to trust some pothead's recollection over my... own... Shit.

And so I moved a thousand miles from home, tried to put down roots in another town. How do you do that? I still don't know, but I couldn't stand being so comfortable and so miserable at the same time. If no one else is gonna put a fire under my ass, I'll do it myself.

So here I am, jobless, broke, a thousand miles from home without even a running car to go back.

I think he's crazy.

I don't think so.

I think we should go.

Well, I've lost the comfort part, but it seems the misery's followed.

You look like you could use a friend. Hello?

I find myself sitting in pigeon shit against the guardrail, hands covering my wet face, and I feel my shirt being tugged on for some reason. I swing with all my might at the air, miss that soft target, and connect with the metal railing. Startled, I jump to my feet and scream "Ah shitmotherfuckgoddamn! What the holymotherfuckinlordsweetjesusphilosophize! Ohmyfuckinggod, owowowowowow."

"Whoa, hey, easy there big fellow. Sorry to startle you. I'm Rebecca. What's your name?"

down by the river

let's see, where was i? this is part 3 of part 2 of something i started recently. and part 2 has a link to part 1. part reality, mostly fiction.

The old Korean lady at the convenience store knows me. She's watched me go from bright-eyed and healthy to the depressed gaunt figure I am today. I ask for a pouch of Top tobacco.

"$1.43" she says.

I pull out the dollar in my pocket and say it's all I got. She accepts my dollar and tells me that I don't look so good.

"No, it's been a rough one. Interviewed for a job, that didn't go so well, car broke down, you know..."

"It's hard. Economy no good. Everybody's hurting. If you need anything, I want to help. I live in apartment above this store... if you want..." she trailed off. I think my face may have betrayed my state of mind.

"No, that's ok. I mean, thank you for the offer. I just... I mean, I'll figure it out. It's temporary."

She nodded.

"Well, take care."

I walk out of the store, sit on the curb and roll myself a smoke. I go to light it only to find my lighter is dead. Fuuuucck. I go back into the store and ask for a book of matches. The old Korean lady hands me two and gives me a smile of kindness and pity. I thank her, leave the store, light my cigarette and head to the river.

My mouth tastes like I imagine ass to taste.

Walking down Morrison in the sticky muggy afternoon, cars zooming past at a frantic pace, the rumble of buses and semis, the old brick buildings of a hundred years or more standing still as I walk past. My backpack is holding my t-shirt against my sweaty skin, creating exaggerated sweat stains. I move past bums and business people, service workers, strippers, hookers. We're all hookers in some way, but we all already knew that, didn't we? It's cliche anymore. Selling ourselves, or our skills, all for the almighty dollar so we can feel better about ourselves. Replacing "real" fulfillment (whatever the hell that means) with material fulfillment... and then calling ourselves whores, but not doing anything about it.

Dense. The buildings and trees seem to be competing for space more and more the closer to the river you get. Man's and nature's industries at odds til only one is left standing. If I had any money it'd be on nature.

I work my way across the Morrison bridge to the other side of the river. This side, the east side, my side, is the industrial side. I need to get to the park over on the west side. Or, well, I want to...

Arterial the way the highway and the Morrison bridge interconnect and push traffic to and fro on its never-ending way. Not much of a pedestrian bridge, the way Burnside is, but it'll do... and I'll have to remember to take Burnside home. I overshoot 1st and 2nd, like I always do, and walk up 3rd a few blocks before heading back east to the park.

A man without front teeth b-lines to me and as he opens his mouth I say, "can you spare some change?" He says, "um," and I walk on past. Even when you got nothing everyone wants a piece...

And I arrive...

A cool wind blows down the river making the park a good 10 degrees cooler than the rest of the city. Boats and jet-skiers dance a simple but beautiful dance, displacing water, creating waves. A couple, not more than a month or so into their relationship by the looks of it, lean over the railing, hand in hand, laughing, flirting, caressing, kissing. One of those things you appreciate when you have someone, but despise when you're all alone.

I lean against the railing, head hanging upside-down, and feel my face flush as the blood rushes to my head. Ahh, life...

to be continued...

in the beginning

In the beginning, there was nostradumass. A nice alter-ego if ever there was one, but somewhat disheartening when you think of the self-deprecating nature of referring to one's self as a "dumass" all the time. And with all the baggage of signing in as a dumb ass came an urge to break away from that persona. And so, faithful, and hopefully some new, readers, we break the figurative champagne bottle on the hull of the boat of insider tirades. I hope not to hold back the way I once did, consciously or unconsciously, and I hope you find this blog to be an improvement on the previous one... this should be fun...

Anyway, welcome. I hope you enjoy your stay...

The blog starts... now?