Vulnerable, Fragile, Helpless, Powerless?

We have been without electrical power, intermittently, for the past 4 days, in the middle of a cold snap, and this situation smacks me upside the head with how vulnerable our society has made us. 

So I stopped writing, right there, because truly, I do not do my best thinking when I'm nearly paralyzed and/or erupting like a rageful volcano of fear.  I mistakenly listened to some in-depth Democracy Now reporting on the Global Warming summit as well, and was informed that we are WAY past any sort of "mitigation" timeline, and at this point it is going to be so catastrophic that only 1/10th of the current human population will survive.

More paralysis. More volcanoes erupting in my head. 

Then I started breathing again, and talking myself down from the ledge as I have been doing since I was 8 years old, when it dawned on me that I was stuck in my sucky ass family situation until I was 18, and that was it.  So deal.  Similar kind of thing, as far as my lizard brain is concerned.  I also reminded myself that I am an Anthropologist with a Capital A, and I have Known This and A Great Many Other Horrible Things For A Very Long Time.  But somehow, with getting married and having a real job and a kid, those things ceased to terrify me like they once did.  Or maybe I was just busy, getting no sleep and working for slave wages because I HAD TO, not because it was some uppity Feminist Choice of mine.  For Christ's sake, what woman in her right mind would CHOOSE to work an additional 40 hours or more, outside the home, while nursing and raising an infant??? But that's for another blog.

At any rate.  Yes, I've known this for awhile.  Theoretically, intellectually, conversationally, statistically, and occasionally, when I'm not distracting my mind and body with caffeine and the internet, even emotionally.  But truthfully, I haven't let myself FEEL my feelings about this in almost 15 years.  Back in my 20's, I was quite the self-righteous asshole.  What do you mean "was", you say?  No, seriously.  I would tell people that if they didn't adopt rather than selfishly have their own children, they might as well slit their wrists at the same time because basically that's planetary suicide.  And driving a car, on top of that?  Are you kidding me?  Why even bother.  Just kill yourself now. 

If you study past civilizations for even a semester or two, you quickly learn that despite our immense, unwarranted hubris of being the "most advanced" civilization ever, what controls and dominates the entire Earth, we are seriously no more than a bunch of lucky yutzes, hanging on by the skin of our teeth.  And the more Advanced we supposedly are, the less connected to Reality we actually are, as it turns out.  ( I would argue that we're not even advanced, but that's for another blog as well).  It's not just Americans anymore, EVERYONE wants to think that they are the exception to the rule.  That sure, we may be at the very tippy top of this here civilization pyramid- but the only place to go is UP, right?  Or, to Space?  No one thinks that it's all going to come crashing down.  I get it.  The Cahokians probably thought they were Kings of the World too, right before it all collapsed and the survivors went back to hunting and foraging in the woods.  The Mayans thought that even as they chopped down the last tree to burn for fuel within hundreds of miles.  The Aztecs, shit they INVENTED hubris on a grand scale- right before the Conquistadors showed up.  Moctezuma was basically the George W. Bush of his time, sitting on an inherited/stolen throne, having no idea how to govern his vast territory, saying very little, and not making a helluva lotta sense when he did speak.  Most of his people hated him too, and were sort of relieved when Cortez aka "Quetzalcoatl" appeared as if by magic, to liberate them all.  How do I know this?  I'm an anthropologist. One of my professors gave me a button to wear in field school that said, "We have charts and graphs to back up our data, so fuck off."  Overlaid on a yellow smiley-face background. 

But I digress. 

The thing is, without electricity, and the means to produce my own, I am totally f*&&#@ perhaps even more so than a third-worlder with a shack to her name- because chopping down trees for firewood is frowned upon in my established neighborhood.  Thank God- the furnace was still working.  And if it wasn't, we have these things called hotels, and because I've spent the last ten years building a community of friends and neighbors- there are many people we probably could have stayed with.  But still. The point is, we are totally at the mercy of the utility company, the electricians, and when it comes right down to it- the owners of this 19th century place, because we rent.  Don't even get me started on the shit-storm of bad luck and poor decision making that led us to this place.  The point is, we are effectively cut off from the means to make our own energy; e.g. keep ourselves warm, feed ourselves, care for ourselves- live our own lives.  This is why I woke up the other night thinking about my high school friend Joe Miller, and the prize-winning project he did for the Denver Natural History Museum in 1987, titled "The Boneless Heifer."  The contest theme was Your Vision of the Future, and you had to illustrate as well as write about it.  Joe, being a phenomenally talented artist as well as a writer, showed the gradual transformation of a normal cow with legs, to something that resembled a big lump of meat and fat, with a hide, and a head.  Voila, the Boneless Heifer, genetically engineered by McDonald's.  Because what are cows but future hamburgers for us to consume? 

This is what I am afraid of people.  Not that it might happen, but that it's already happened.  Are we merely fattened cattle for the Kings of Industry to slaughter at will?  Are we consumers, or are we being consumed?  Are we citizens, or are we just taxpayers, who only vote when our taxes get too high? Are we Boneless Heifers, or Spineless Humans?  Look around.  Decide for yourself.  

So here we are, living life at the pinnacle of civilization, more cut-off from our food and means of energy production than ever before, more disconnected from each other than ever before, enslaved by convenience and credit, more willing to believe the blow-hards on TV over our neighbors and friends.  I think we all know the only way to go is down.  The question or problem is, do we dive right off that cliff and hope the others' bodies might cushion our fall?  Or is there a way to ease back down in a rational, sustainable, non-suicidal manner?  This is the angel I'm wrestling with these days. 

I'm pretty sure it's not a coincidence either that the American/ developed world's diet is total crap, that keeps us sick, weak, and fuzzy - headed, so it's also no coincidence that I'm switching back to the Paleo diet, or a more natural human diet, right now and once and for all.  More on that in my running blog -   It may seem small, but taking back control of what we eat is in no way small.  Think about it.  If we're disconnected from what goes into our bodies, and don't even know where it comes from, what it's really made of, what it really does to us, much less how to manufacture it ourselves- then what the hell ARE we connected to, if anything?  For starters, last year I learned how to make my own granola.  Don't laugh.  It's simple, and store-bought granola costs so much I feel like a total ass buying it.  Other things; I've been composting and recycling for years, but not really growing much to feed myself besides tomatoes and herbs.  The only way to really remedy this is to move out of renter-ville and into some sort of house with a yard.

Hence, we're moving in with a friend at the end of January.  She has a big ol' house and kids, and needs to rent out part of it, we need to save money, and practice truly living in community.  It's a win-win.  One that most people would think is insane, certainly at this point in our lives, but to me it sounds like the F*&^ing Taj Majal.  Stress-free-bliss.  Money-saving magic.  Sure, we won't be there for too long, but it's still a severe break from what's considered "normal" economic progress in a family's life. 

My husband and I have talked about this for months, and we both want to get off the hamster wheel of debt and consumption while going nowhere, and live our true values as best we can.  Live deliberately, as someone once said.  Enough with the bullshit.  We worked hard, are pretty good people, and still we've been nothing but screwed by this system that favors drug-addicted trustfunder retards over responsible, conscientious, law-abiding citizens- so fuck it.  We'll still abide by the law (well, most of them) but we're not playing this game anymore, where we're the fattened, helpless cattle and The Man gets to use us as an income stream and ottoman.  Nope.  Nor are we buying into that brainwashing horseflop that this collapse is somehow all OUR fault, that if we were more moral, or more responsible, or more clever, it never would have happened. 

Even my Scottish, Presbyterian-bred husband agrees with me now that it's all bullshit.

So join with me sisthren and brethren in saying FUCK OFF to the dehumanizing system that has conspired to enslave us all.  I'll be posting here semi-regularly on how to do it and stay sane.

STILL Heralding the Collapse of the Patriarchy- since 1970

Published nearly 5 years ago.  And here we are.
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I've been wanting to write more cogently about class warfare, the collapsing patriarchy with all its heavy accoutrements, and now the Occupy Wall Street movement that seems a long time coming to me- and wondering how to do it without sounding like just another blowhard asshole.
Then the other night, my husband had one of his vivid, cogent, "big" dreams - and wrote the main message of it down, as he is wont to do when a dream literally wakes him up.  Plus, he has to get up at 4:30 am anyway, so the thoughts exploding in his head at the time might be a little more profound than if he'd slept in til let's say, 6 am.
The main message was: (and it was as if people were talking to him, and narrating this for him) "We stole the thing you were over-attached to and obsessed about.  We recreated it for your own liberation.  We took it apart and made art."  And then he wrote below that, I LOVE this feeling, I want to LIVE here!   Because if you know, or don't know, but the feeling you have in a dream is almost more important than the dream itself. 
He wasn't scared of it.  He wasn't even suspicious.  He felt loved and liberated, all at the same time. 

That's what I'm talkin' about. 

This thing you, and I, and we are all obsessed with- I want to dismantle it, and rebuild it as tools for our own liberation.  I want to take it apart and make art.
Easier said than done, sure.  But I think I have to try.  Whether it sounds like journalism one minute, or poetry, or a rant, or an interview, or just some quiet observations- I have to try.  More so my own soul doesn't putrefy than any illusions I may have about "enlightening" anybody.  I am going to try- to listen to that still, small voice that never gives up on me.  What is telling me lately, ya know this having your own eco-friendly business is nice and all but um, have you forgotten the gifts you were given?  They weren't all just for you and your own self-aggrandizement.  They were to share. 
Maybe I've said this before.  Oh well.  Nobody's listening anyway, so it bears repeating. 

This movement, of Occupying everywhere, crystallizes so much of what I've been feeling and thinking for oh, most of my life I guess that it is very tempting to just let them do all the talking.  But there are gaps, in their reasoning, rhetoric and genders, for one thing, and I reckon I'm the person to fill them.  For another- why are all the white guys talking?  Shut up already.  We've heard from you.  I don't need to be lectured on how to cross that color bridge of liberalism from a white guy.  Just don't.  Sorry. 
For another, where are all the women?  This movement is primed for women leaders and yet, I don't really see them or hear them.  Maybe that's because the lens of the patriarchy is still warped towards the males, or maybe it's because the women, as usual, are working behind the scenes and not in front of the mics.  I DON'T think it's because they're satisfied to be featured in the many photos of OWS, holding signs and looking cute as in: "Check out all these hot babe protestors.  Doesn't it make you want to come on down and join us?  You know that liberals have infamously loose morals, don't you?  Just camp out with us and you're bound to get laid."
Maybe I'm over-analyzing that, but I don't think so. 
I'm an anthropologist, and think everything should be put in its proper context, and then people should be reminded of that context early and often.   So fuck you if you don't like it.  (smiley face). 

At any rate, I'm going to try, maybe even every day, to "report" or witness or possibly contribute something to this discussion, even if that's only humour.  Some days it might be pompous.  Some days it might be despairing and critical.  And it will always, ALWAYS be sarcastic and full of hyperbole. 
The difference with me is, my opinions are not hard and fast.  I welcome discussion.  I want to START discussions, and maybe finish a few.  You are not allowed to read this without commenting.  Seriously, I don't want to hear this bullshit of "oh, I just didn't have time and I don't want to create a profile just for comments."  THen do it anonymously, assholes, but DO IT.  Participate. 
WAKE UP! 
Have some breakfast. 
Not just sugary cereal, something with protein and vegetables or fruit in it. 
Remember, an army runs on its stomach.
You are going to need good energy to do good things.  The world is changing fundamentally, like it or not, so we can either flail away until we're buried in muck, or we can dance into it.
I choose to dance.

Vote Yes on 300 or Move to China.

I have just filled out my ballot for this year's City and County of Denver election, inking the "Yes" box on Ballot Question 300 with thick, black pen.  If there was a "Hell Yes" on this one, I'd ink that in too.  Basically it's a city ordinance that would mandate paid sick leave for all employees working within the boundaries of Denver.  Let me repost the language exactly here so there's no confusion:
                         
                       Shall the voters for the City and County of Denver adopt an ordinance that will provide that all employees (full-time, part-time and temporary) when they become within the geographic boundaries of Denver earn one hour of paid sick and safe time for every thirty hours worked, limited to seventy-two hours a year in the case of businesses with 10 or more total employees and forty hours in the case of businesses with fewer than ten total employees, to be used for themselves or to care for a family member (related by blood, marriage, legal adoption or affinity) in case of illness, need for preventative care or domestic violence needs, except that employees of new businesses with fewer than ten employees will not accrue paid sick and safe time until the business has been in operation for one year, and under said ordinance retaliation for use of paid sick and safe time will be prohibited and employers will be required to give notice to employees of their rights and keep records related to payment of paid sick time?

Yes vote means this will be passed and all workers get paid sick leave, No vote means No, everything stays the same.

In case you were confused.
Because despite the mild and fairly clear language of this ballot initiative, the Denver "business" community, (and by that I mean mostly large, chain restaurants that are head-quartered elsewhere), have grabbed the media's megaphone away from true small business owners, and are trumpeting  the "news" that what 300 proponents REALLY want to do is send violent criminals on all-expense-paid vacations in the Bahamas to rehabilitate themselves.
I'm only exaggerating a little.
If you're like me, you didn't even know what Initiative 300 was all about when you first started getting mailers and fliI ers pleading with you to vote NO!!  on this horrible, evil, ill-timed, stupid idea.
And if you're at all like me, that raises some eyebrows right off the bat.  Since I hadn't heard of it, and yet there was this group that was already against it, in a big, loud way that made it obvious that they had money, my natural instinct was to be suspicious.  My gut feeling that followed the instinct, and is based on experience as well as cynicism and prejudice, was that if the moneyed interests were totally against this thing, I was probably going to be for it.  That's just how life has played out so far. 

And that's why I wasn't going to spout off on this issue at first, but now, with the election less than a week away and b.s. coming fast and furious, I feel the need to contribute to this lopsided discussion in a big way.  As a small business owner, and as a former employee of many, many, low-level positions that were full time and yet curiously had absolutely no paid time off or other benefitsperhaps I can offer a unique, yet universal perspective on the issue.

First of all, in full disclosure let me say that my small business has no employees, per se.  It's basically me, and some independent contractors who help me out either on regular gigs that are assigned to them, or just when I need several extra pairs of arms.  My business is eco-friendly landscaping, and landscape maintenance, and eco-friendly housecleaning, with some pet-care thrown in to keep it interesting.  Having even "part-time" employees makes no sense for me because a large part of the work is seasonal, and the other half is just inconsistent enough to make the paperwork of having actual employees more trouble than it's worth.  Plus, as a former independent contractor myself, I feel it's most beneficial to the worker this way.  They get paid more per hour, and if they work efficiently and use their supplies wisely, they can make quite a bit more money overall-  as opposed to having me take taxes, Social Security, Medicare, yada yada out of their paychecks before they even see it.  Less paperwork and headache for me, more money for them, so it's all good. 

I realize not all businesses can do this, and are in fact required to make everyone working for them an employee, else they get in big, big trouble with all sorts of government.  At all of the small business classes and seminars I've ever taken, having employees is the number one fear that stymies entrepreneurs from the burrito guy to software start-ups.  That's because it's terrifying, not only to navigate all the Federal, State, City and County regulations, but to have the responsibility for peoples' means of living, essentially.  Your business plan may have looked like fool-proof gold on paper, with nothing but profits, Profits, PROFITS!!  ad infinitum - but once you factor employees into the equation...it's like... oh, my.... where did all my money go? 

So I get that.  I'm not insensitive to the pains that small-business owners face on a daily basis, just to keep the doors open and everyone fed.  Here's the thing.  If you get past your white-knuckle, Come-to-Jesus-with-Capitalism fears as everyone must, there are scads of people ready and willing to show you how to write a business plan that includes employees where you can STILL make money and live your dreams.  Employees are a fact of life.  Suck it up and deal with it, is what I'm trying to say.  And if you look around, there sure seem to be a lot of businesses with employees on the payroll that are doing just fine.  My business is actually more of the exception than the rule.  When I do have to, for legal and tax reasons, have employees rather than independent contractors, I know full well that I will not be able to treat these employees as independent contractors.  In other words, they will be my responsibility, and one of the core responsibility of a business owner/founder is making sure the people who are doing all that work for you and earning all the moolah are well taken care of.  In other words, sick leave is a basic right of every employee.  Full-time, part-time, term-limited, temps, whatever.  I don't care.  You're an employee, that means you're under the umbrella of a larger entity that has agreed to profit from your labor, and in exchange for that, you get some basic job protections.  Like sick leave, for Christ's sake.

Let me illustrate some examples.  From 1998-2000, roughly, I was working full-time during the school-year as a substitute teacher for Denver Public Schools.  Even though I had some long-term assignments and was considered staff at those schools, I got absolutely no benefits or paid leave of any kind. In fact, the first day of my first long-term assignment in an elementary school, as the Art/Music/Drama teacher, I had a doctor's appointment in the morning that I couldn't change, and so arrived at the school about 45 minutes past the bell.  When I checked in at the front office, the secretary told me to wait a moment because the principal wanted to speak to me.  I waited, and in the meantime some kids wandered in to see the nurse or something, and they were standing behind me.  The principal came out of her office and commenced screaming incoherently almost immediately, and I assumed she was addressing the kids.  I actually turned around and looked at the kids like, "what have you guys done to deserve THIS?  Not that even a kid deserves to be addressed like this."  And they just shook their terrified heads and looked right back at ME.   It was then I realized that the principal was screaming at me, like I was an errant 5th grader and not a full-grown, professional staff member.  Now, most people, upon realizing this, may have turned on their heels and walked out of that school that instant- and I too, considered doing just that.  She wound up her incoherent tirade with ".... and so I cannot HAVE this, do you understand me?"  and I nodded my head not because I actually understood her, just because I wanted the screaming to stop.  All the while thinking, I need this job.  I need this job, I need this job.  Just get through today and they might decide to keep you, and steer clear of the crazy woman.
I don't think it matters that the principal was in fact a rage-addict who had un-medicated, untreated bipolar disorder.  It also doesn't matter that I grew up in a household with the same sort of untreated psychosis coming from one or both parents, depending on the day, and so to survive I learned to do whatever it takes to appease the crazy people, if even for a moment.  No one should have to put up with that kind of abuse just because they desperately need a job.  In this case, the office and the principal of the school had been forewarned of my doctor's appointment, and knew that I would be late that day because of it.  And still, what it came down to was, put up with this abuse, or hit the road.  She got away with treating her staff like that (not just me) because everyone there needed those jobs very badly, and because the policies in place let her do it.  Clearly, if she wasn't treating her own profound mental illness, she sure as hell wasn't going to acknowledge anyone else's.
Now, I don't know if you've ever been around kids, and lots of them at once, but they are pretty much snot-nosed, walking vectors of disease.  It's a good thing many of them are cute.  After my auspicious first day, it only took 3 more days for me to come down with the most hellacious cold/flu/sinus infection I've ever had in my life.  I took one day off, but when I still wasn't any better after the weekend, I had to make the tough call again of going in sick/feeling like utter crap, or losing my job.  So I went in.  I could barely speak, much less yell at the kids all day in a foreign language, as I was required to do, and somehow made it through that day.  And the next.  And the next.  Lucky for me, I infected so many of the kids in those first few contagious days that their numbers dwindled steadily over the following few weeks.  Making my job somewhat easier.  I remember speaking to the gym teacher at lunch one day, telling him how sick I was but I came in anyway because I had the sneaking suspicion that the principal would have told me to not come back at all if I called in sick- and he said, without hesitation, "oh yeah, she would have fired you on the spot.  This is great that you came in- it shows her that you really want the job."   I looked at him like, oh so you come from a dysfunctional family too?   It was then I realized that I was in a sort of insane asylum.
Because this is utterly psychotic, people.
Do you really want sick, contagious people teaching your kids?  Serving their lunches?  Serving YOUR lunches?  Making change at the grocery store?  Stocking your food?  Cleaning up your table?  Driving trucks all hopped-up on flu medicine because they have no choice?
I didn't think so.  Even if workers aren't deathly ill on the job and coughing in your soup, the effect that no paid leave has on employees is demoralizing to say the least.  We have ourselves an overworked, stressed-to-the-max, exhausted workforce at the end of their mental, emotional and physical ropes because they are terrified of taking a sick day lest they lose their jobs.  And many of these people are operating heavy equipment. 

No, this isn't China.  Yet.  But it might as well be.  Several times I've wanted to ask my employers of the last ten years, "oh- did you think you had outsourced me and this position to Southeast Asia or something?  Because I'm still here, and this is America. Not a rug-making sweatshop in the 3rd world."   When I was a temporary/seasonal/contract worker back in my archaeology days, the treatment was sometimes better, sometimes worse.  Quite often we were told to work faster, and more accurately, for less money, because whoever was in charge basically couldn't do a budget to save their lives, and /or were not accustomed to jumping in and helping out.  But even then, we got semi-paid sick leave, or an accrual of "comp" hours that we could use however we wanted, as long as we got our work done.  Still, women and minorities were (and probably still are) the most vulnerable workers in the field, because project directors are watching like hawks for any sign of weakness that could possibly justify them firing and replacing you with a white, male crony.  So because of that, many times  I went out in sub-freezing temperatures on surveys with a head cold at the very least, and without much sleep. (shivering in one's tent for 8 hours because the project director is too cheap to pay for motels does not count as sleep). Thank god I wasn't interacting with the public too much back then.   There would have been a swine-flu-wide swath of disease cut from Winslow, Arizona all the way to Tucumcari, with my name on it. 
I have more stories just like this, and I bet you do too.  It may be too late to pass this measure, this year.  But we will get some kind of humane law passed at some point, and hopefully it won't take another e-coli or listeria epidemic to do it.

Addendum to the Jobs Blow, I mean Blog

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I Had a Dream- About Jobs.

That Hickenlooper, always stealing my ideas.  First the brewpub, now this.  Two days after he announces his run for President, he goes live with "his" idea to legalize prostitution.  It was a bold, and risky move, to be sure.  No guarantee that even his fervent supporters would go for it.  They're middle-of-the-road Democrats, not Polyamorous fire-juggling circus people who just got back from Burning Man.  But the thing is, he stole it from me.   Yep, back in 2011 I had a dream about Denver's new Mayor legalizing blowjobs, wrote a blog about it, got a lot of theoretical support for the idea and then... Mayor Handjob, I mean Hancock got elected and well we all know what happened.   Since then, I've been educated about sex-workers' rights and why all of this should be legalized in the first place but my point is-  ME.  I was first.

So what was this earth-shaking dream?
Well, it's about jobs, America. Bottom line.
I dreamt that upon returning to Denver after a long trip overseas, and the mayoral election had happened about a month before. I had heard that a woman was elected for the first time and that she was very liberal and innovative, but that's all I'd heard. Walking from my flight's gate to baggage claim, I noticed that the airport looked different. Some of the newsstand and toiletry shops had been replaced, and the shoe-shine booths now had curtains or cubicle-like walls around them. Except there was no shoe-shining going on in those booths. In fact, riding on one of the escalators, I had a perfect bird's eye view of EXACTLY what was going on. Several men were sitting in what looked like barber's chairs, fully clothed from the waist up some with their boxers still on, quite nonchalantly receiving oral sex from scantily clad, attractive young women and men.  A sign on the booth said, "Introductory Special! $20!"
In the dream, I went over to the woman who was standing just outside the booth, shouting "Twenty Dollars to Make you Holler!" like a carnival barker, and asked her just what was going on. Not in a prison-warden kind of way, just in a curious and slightly aghast kind of way. She explained very matter-of-factly that as one of her first acts, the new mayor legalized blow-jobs much in the same way that medical marijuana was legalized in Colorado, and new businesses were popping up all over. They were thrilled to get a space at the highly-coveted airport concession, where a steady stream of customers flowed by nearly 24 hours a day. The proprietor pointed to a storefront across the way that was being remodeled as their permanent space. "Once that's finished we can accommodate over 20 customers at a time- but we'll also have these little kiosks scattered around the airport, on every concourse, for those people that are in a hurry." Next door to their space, another storefront was being remodeled, apparently for the same purpose. Next to that was a McDonald's.
"Looks like you already have competition," I remarked to the woman.
"Yeah," she said, "But we're not too worried- they weren't able to get the license for kiosks, and quite frankly, we're better." She smiled. I nodded.
Then in the dream, I was suddenly heading home in a taxi, and along the way, in every strip-mall, historic block and new-lofts-with-retail-below, jobs were being created, and in fact, done. And not just on Colfax.
I gaped. Then I woke up.

And as I said, it took me a few minutes, but I started to realize what a huge economic boom and social cure-all legalized blow-jobs could become. Much in the same way that "medical" marijuana dispensaries have filled every empty, or floundering, commercial space in Colorado and employed thousands of previously unemployable stoners, the BJ biz could employ, rather than incarcerate, thousands of feckless young men and women. In my real, waking life I remember a police officer from District 6 speaking at a neighborhood meeting on the plague of prostitution in our area. He stated quite clearly that most of the "johns" were married, suburban dads looking primarily for oral sex, ostensibly because their wives wouldn't perform that service. Their impound lot was overflowing with Johns' cars because of this, and the jails were overflowing with prostitutes who would be back on the streets, working, within 24 hours of getting arrested. Besides, he said, when they cracked down on street prostitution, the hookers would just go to the massage parlors for "jobs," and when the police cracked down on the massage parlors, the hookers would just go back to the streets. It was like squeezing a balloon, he said.
Because of Denver's somewhat lax prostitution laws, there wasn't much they could do.
At the time we were living half a block off Colfax Avenue, in a lovely little neighborhood between City Park and the main drag, which was used in the summers by prostitutes and their customers. Our alley was a popular place for business. Every morning we would walk out to our car and find used condoms stuck to the asphalt, mere inches from our back gate. We were lucky though. Some of our neighbors would come home and find a couple or two in the act on their front porches. One was even told to "wait a minute" when he politely asked them to leave.
My former husband and I started joking that as the host house, we should get a cut. Maybe leave a locked box nailed to the back fence, with little envelopes for monetary deposits- on the honor system of course- just like the State Parks do?
But seriously. Even though we don't live there anymore, and the worst of the prostitution was over by 2004 (economic downturn, don't ya know), apparently the problem-solving part of my brain has been hard at work on this dilemma ever since.
For those of you who've been living under a rock, or up in Ward, or somewhere other than Colorado since 2008- this legalizing of Medical Marijuana thing has really taken off. Much more so than those of us who voted for it thought it would. Dispensaries now outnumber Starbucks in Denver, and they're showing no signs of slowing down.
Perhaps not surprisingly, it's not that hard to get a medical marijuana prescription. As a result, there are zillions of customers, millions of dispensaries, and billions of dollars being made right here in the Centennial State- in the middle of an otherwise limp economy. One might even call it flaccid.
I've mentioned the previously vacant commercial properties that now house thriving businesses, and the employment opportunities provided by medical marijuana outlets; the retail staff, the growers, the bakers of yummy MJ treats, the modern-day geishas at the ready to make your whole experience more pleasant... but really all that would pale in comparison to legalized blow-jobs.
First off, the regulation would have to be tighter, for obvious health reasons. So, "monitors" for every bj performed would be on duty, ideally a person with some nursing experience, to make sure the blower and the jobber were using every hygienic precaution. I don't have any experience with dental dams, but apparently, they work. Whatever. Once this is legalized, necessity is the mother of invention, and I'm sure the future Bill Gates or Martha Stewart of BJ safety is out there somewhere, waiting to realize his/her moment.
Then there are the service providers themselves. Of course, they'd have to be at least 18 (preferably 21), disease-free, non-smokers, non-meth heads, etc.... so we'd need a whole new regulatory agency, armed with kajillions of doctors and nurses and so forth, to license these people. These young men and women (or old, if you get off on that) would be making decent wages, in a safe environment, rather than working the streets or throwing their lives away in corporate America*. (where they would be doing much the same thing, mind you, except not paid as well, and treated much more poorly.) Last but not least, there would be the cashiers and "teasers," or people working to keep the cash flow of these places up and steady.
I'm not even mentioning the tangential revenue generated by advertising firms, sign-makers, lingerie boutiques, barber-chair retrofitters, and manufacturers of anti-bacterial moist towelettes. The potential benefits to our economy simply cannot be dismissed or spat out as distasteful. Personally, I would not partake and hope my significant other wouldn't either, but I can't imagine a kiosk or storefront could be any grosser than a thousand used condoms stuck to our parking space every day.
In order to revitalize the country and rebuild our former greatness, we need a "Whatever it Takes" mentality, that thinks outside the box.
It's time to get serious about jobs. As Hedwig would say, "mostly the jobs they call 'blow'." Or as I frequently mutter under my breath, "Use your fucking imaginations, people." Put aside that Puritanical facade for 5 minutes and think about all the children going hungry tonight because their mom or dad's job got shipped to Mexico or Asia by some insensitive corporation.
Imagine instead a thriving, local economy that is based on real connections with people and literally throbbing with life. After all, this is about jobs.

Come to Jesus, I am not my possessions

Come to Jesus, I am not my possessions
This is a big CTJ, one that I stubbornly (thank you, German ancestors) and hot-headedly (thank you Black Irish, Basque, and Mohawk ancestors) have resisted and been in some sort of denial about for many years. No wonder it was like passing a pumpkin when it finally came about.
My name is S________, and I have been in a codependent relationship with my house for 10 years now. I realize now that I do not have the power, nor the obligation, to save this house, and that continuing to live in denial in this relationship is unhealthy for both of us. I do not have the funds to fix the foundation, or do the many other repairs that need doing, even if we had a willing/able neighbor to split the cost. I do not and will not have the funds to float said non-willing, non-able neighbor his half of the costs of the repairs. I will not, most likely, win Lotto just in time to save the house and save ourselves (supposedly). I am not and will never be willing to sacrifice every other goal in my life just to save this house. I will no longer contort my life around this 104 year old, 3 story, altered Denver Square, crumbling stucco, house. I have no duty to be the one who saves it from crack-heads, shady real estate investors, bad tenants, and irresponsible-beyond-belief trust-funder dope-heads who choose to spend their money on drugs rather than take care of the house.
A home is supposed to shelter and comfort you, not cause you endless stress and anxiety and borderline homicidal fantasies. (ok, not borderline. They were epic-ly homicidal.) It did shelter us, splendidly, for a few years total. But any relationship should be a give and take, with the balance on the positive side.
Sorry Detroit Street, but this relationship has been toxic for more than half of it.
Sure, when we met and fell in love, things were great. It was our first place together. Our first place that we OWNED. We had legendary parties there. (before the child came along) We stored a lot of crap there for free, ours and that of friends in transit. We took in at least 4 stray cats and 2 stray dogs. Our beautiful daughter was conceived there, and it was her first home until she was 2 years old. She still remembers it fondly though. We have some fantastic memories there, and some pretty awful ones. Which I will not reiterate, because I am trying to forgive everything about it.
Recently we put the house back on the market, and it is most likely going to be a short sale. A week before, I had my friend James come over and do some energetic clearing of the place, and of me (his idea) because as it turns out- um, yeah. It was like 75% my energy that was keeping things stuck, or at an impasse, with the house. The neighbor’s half is going on the foreclosure auction block in a few weeks, but he is still squatting there. James very neutrally explained, “because he’s still here, I’ll have to come back every 10 days or so and re-clear the house.” That’s one hell of a diplomatic way to put it. He also explained forgiveness in a new, totally refreshing way that resonates with me. As he put it, imagine forgiveness as "allowing someone, or something, safe passage THROUGH your place of judgment.” (My emphasis on THROUGH).
Your place of judgment, aka the Ego, aka Lizard-brain, sees things in black and white and is really just trying to protect you from all danger. If something has hurt you once, best not ever go near that thing again. But things frequently get stuck there because of all the hurt, anger, rage and pain that they’ve caused. Your lizard brain just can’t let go of them. And if you can’t let go of something…. Well, things are probably going to stay stuck. So this is how I assuaged my lizard-brain about the house/neighbor situation:
Me and my heart of Loving Kindness: Dear one, if we do not allow this individual and this whole experience to safely pass through our place of judgment, then he will STAY – for who knows how long. And we don’t want that, now do we, dear one?
Lizard brain: Rrrrrrrrrr.
MMHLK: Do you see?
Lizard brain: RRRRRRrrrevenge!!!
MMHLK: No, no, honey. Believe me. Remember what’s happened to all the people who’ve fucked you over in the past? All the sexually-harassing bosses? All the corrupt workplaces? All the stalkers and bad boyfriends? Hmmm?
Lizard Brain: rrrrreeellllll…… they did get what was coming to them. Without us having to do the work. But that was so--- unsatisfying. I didn’t get to punch anyone.
MMHLK: I know, I know. But that’s what those churchy people mean when they refer to the Seven Deadly Sins- God simply says, “Vengeance is mine.” As in, don’t you worry your pretty little heads about it, or pollute your hearts with it. I will smack down, smite, and otherwise seriously fuck with anyone who breaks my laws. What goes around comes around. Have faith. The Universe always comes through, doesn’t it?
Lizard Brain: Yes but- Can’t I just hit like, one person?
MMHLK: When the time really comes for that, I will let you off-leash.
Lizard Brain: Promise?
MMHLK: Promise.

He made me pinky-swear actually. My lizard-brain is a five-year-old boy. I need to treat him as such. So that’s that. It’s no coincidence, I think, that for the first 8 weeks of this year I was helping to clean out, clear out, clean, clear, and otherwise evacuate my parents’ old house in Parker after my brother got them moved to Arizona.
I haven’t spoken to them in 10 years. (see other blogs for more on that) The deal was, my brother would do the front end, and as soon as they were at least 1,000 miles away from me, I could clean up the mess. Besides, I’m a professional cleaner now, so I could approach this with some professional detachment, like any other job. But still, it was a helluva lot more work than I anticipated. At any rate, it’s done. It’s not only on the market, it’s under contract, and we’re just waiting for the banks’ approval. (another short-sale).
And yes, to answer your question, it was very healing for me. Very healing to THROW OUT all the junk that they’d stored, squirreled away and sequestered for decades, rather than make their living relationships a priority. My parents valued their stuff more than their children, and the thing is, their stuff is absolute junk. I am not kidding. There were waste baskets in there dating to 1968, and coated with grime I remember putting on there in my childhood. No exaggeration.
We put all my mom’s old artwork and supplies on the front porch, and on the FREE part of Craig’s list- and it was decimated within a day. Decimated. The nice neighbors very nicely helped clean up the debitage and threw it in trash bins. A truck-load of stuff went to the VVA. I took everything of value in a moving van back to our place. Sold some of it, gave a lot away, put a lot in storage in the garage or basement. Much is going to HazMat disposal.
The whole experience made me pity them more than hate them or fear them. From what I know, pity is just to the right of hatred. It's the same way I feel about Republicans now. So they too, are being allowed safe passage through my place of judgment, at last. It helps that they are 1,000 miles away and otherwise physically, mentally and spiritually completely unable to show up on my front porch someday and somehow force me, at emotional gunpoint, to take responsibility for all their mistakes and failures. I needed to see and feel just how incapable of that they really are though. I'm kinesthetic. That's how I roll.

And now I can roll along much more easily, because I am not my possessions. I am not my parents. All I am is free. And grateful.