I agreed with most everything he says in this video, and he really won me over at the end by insisting the focus should be put on poverty and socioeconomic issues.
You know who’s doing most of the killing in Chicago? Teenagers and kids. These people as a whole are hopeless and floundering from the minute they begin to understand and take in what is going on around them in these neighborhoods. There’s no real manufacturing base to speak of, so when they’re in junior high, or high school, and they feel college isn’t for them, they don’t have the mills and other similar (Midwestern) industries to rely on as a means of career income like our fathers did in the 60s, 70s, and maybe up until Reagan in the 80s. Education doesn’t seem to be a city priority. School closings and students being displaced and shuttled into schools with already swelling classrooms starves possible solutions and feeds a fat-assed problem. The only structure that seems to be in place to offer a sense of belonging to these kids is the attraction of gang-life. They feel neglected at home and on a larger scale, by the city/state/society. They’re gonna embrace whoever fill those much needed human voids like screw does a thread.
Chicago is probably the most segregated city in America. There’s a Mason-Dixon line between the Northside and Southside. The state/city money flows upstream, mostly. Other than law enforcement, the neighborhoods and communities on the Southside (Westside, too) see very little political, commercial, and industrial concentration. Instead of spending God knows how much money on ATVs for officers to roam the streets, and eye-in-the-sky cameras on every square inch of the blocks- build a damn rec center, take a page from New York City and put technical high schools in place designed to train the kids who’re interested in or show a tested aptitude for, say, engine repair and building so they have a strong chance at a career after graduating. Build industries around that in or near those communities so there’s an incentive to spend money and build a life in the community. I believe that would breath communal, forward-thinking solidarity into these areas and replace the stagnant and bleak outlook which has a stranglehold on these people. Do this and I think you’ll see hope giving way to actualized positive change. Creating an essential militarized zone creates the feeling of US vs THEM. Guns are the problem here the way sugar is a problem for a type II diabetic with pancreatic cancer. Drinking six Cokes a day isn’t going to help your health, but it’ll likely only kill you a little quicker than you already were gonna die.
Immediate invasive measures are needed, sure, but I don’t think flooding the streets with cops is the long-term solution. I don’t really agree with it as a short-term solution, but maybe it would work to quiet things down, but then that’s when education and community building needs to step in where that leaves off.
I don’t know.
America and its government have a long history of holding down the black community. Every time black folks began to get together and do largely for themselves and each other, government agencies like the CIA and a J. Edgar Hoover-backed FBI found a covert way to disrupt the beginning stages of unity among them. To say modern black people and black people alone are the sole problem is extremely short-sighted and empirically untrue according to easily verified and documented history.
I strongly believe in this, but what the fuck is a facebook post gonna help?
After a rash of cooks quitting in the last few months, my boss is worried I might leave. As an incentive to stay put, he gave me a big raise. Keying my new wage into the computer, he muttered, “I hope this doesn’t bite me in the ass.” I’m afraid it will since I can now afford that tattoo of his wife’s face on my forearm.
I work with a guy who is currently on parole after being released from a three year prison bid on a drug conviction. He sells coke out of the house he lives in with his girlfriend and two young daughters. He tells enthusiastic stories about coke snorted on his days off. They usually start out like: “Man. Hey, so I was up until like eight in the morning the other day… ” Tattoos wrap around 3/4th of his neck. He’s bragged about killing people. When topic of his murdered brother gets brought up, he points upward, saying, “Hey, I just feel good knowing he’s in a better place.” And I’m like, “Your dead brother is in the ceiling of a restaurant?” He wears SOUTHPOLE brand clothing. There are only two kinds of people who wear SOUTHPOLE: the homeless and Ice T. The last grade he completed? Eighth. Told me he just never went back after getting expelled for pressing a knife against a girl’s back and whisper-demanding her phone number. He traded a quarter of weed to me for some antibiotics I claimed during a hotel lost and found raid. He believes the pills have, in the sense of health, the ability to cancel out his cocaine usage. Whether or not I convinced his simple mind of this for ill gotten gains is besides the point. He told me his daughter has seven cavities. “I have one and a half songs written!” — what he tells me week in week out when talking about pursuing a rap career. Is 28, but has pock marks that would make Edward James Olmos cringe. Dresses like what a stereotypical West Coast latino gangbanger would look like dreamed up by a purposefully stereotyping Hollywood casting agent. He wears a XXL Raiders hoodie and Dickies to funerals.
I think he just seriously suggested shaving my beard off would be a good idea.
Spotted a Dad Outfit to rule all Dad Outfits at a Rockies game.
Not pictured: a windbreaker tied around his waist, Eddie Bauer cargo pants, and sandals that were more shoe than sandal (they had like seven triangular slits exposing part of the foot along the sides).
Did he take selfies with dying soldiers in the background while deployed and stationed in Iraq, too?
From the article accompanying this picture:
An Army veteran risked his own life again on Tuesday in Lee’s Summit, Mo., to save a dog he saw get hit by a car whose driver did not stop. Aaron Schneider waited for three hours in the rain with the beagle until help arrived.
“Having served in Iraq, you see a lot of loss, which is one of the reasons I was determined to see him make it,” Schneider said.
Schneider has plans for the dog whose trust he gained during that dreadful day. See what’s next for the beagle and how you can help.
There needs to be a TON more focus on developing male contraception methods. I read someone’s gleeful comments on SCOTUS’ decision and they seemed to be primarily delighted because “it was the stupid whore’s choice to open her legs and she needs to take responsibility for her actions.”
So a condom breaks, a girl forgets to take her pill for the day and doesn’t realize it until the next morning- even the mistakes made due to the trappings of being a kid and getting swept up in the mixture of overriding curiousity and feeling invincible, let alone the occasional rapist forgetting his manners and not wearing a condom (“it just feels better”); all instances of unwanted pregnancy. All justifiable reasons, in my view, to greatly lessen the chance of drastically altering a woman’s life who isn’t ready for that sort of change physically, mentally, and financially.
Don’t act so pious as to think a woman might take glee in taking Plan B or an “abortion pill” like it’s as simple and mindless a thing as pinning back Tweety Bird’s head and knocking down a Pez. People are prone to mistakes big and large and the entrails of consequence are a weighty thing. I’ve dealt with miscarriage. It really fucking hurt then, and it’s a mournful experience in dwelling now. I can’t imagine the ratcheted up anguish I’d feel if I were the unborn’s host body.
Unless you’re abnormal or physically unfit, sex is something we want, crave, and need in our physiological makeup. That life is created by it is a by-product of the biology that keeps mankind going and evolving like a virus. A virus that has swelled to seven billion and counting. If resources had a say in our fate, measures would be taken to ensure that number go down a tad. I remember coming across a bumper sticker reading: WHAT IF MARY AND JOSEPH HAD AN ABORTION?
What if Mr and Mrs Hitler had an abortion?
Deciding a person’s fate via economic circumstance on these terms based in morality imbued through religion is a scary precedent. If life were so precious, we wouldn’t constantly be looking for distractions from thoughts of death and working 40+ hours a week (diversions Hobby Lobby sells, by the way). After 5 days of punching in and out, we sleep 8 hours a day (hopefully), leaving 72 hours of personal time in a week for oneself subtracted by the normal minutiae of watering plants, dusting an end table, shitting, getting an oil change, jury duty, etc; factor in dwindling jobs which can support a family, and roughly 50% of those furthering their education winding up displaced at a job/career not within their field of study (something like 28% are unemployed), and I’d say humanity isn’t currently doing so great a job at fostering humanity. Might as well fuck and have fun, but if a slip-up occurs and you have to make a hard choice- hey, you’re allowed to feel bad while going through the rigor of determing what the best outlook is — that’s normal and suggests to me you’re a decent person — allowing someone to make you feel terrible and immoral for a course of action of which you bear the sole* outcome is the real injustice.
*50 cents a week comes out of your paycheck for welfare, shut the fuck up. Go look up how much you pay into corporate welfare
This is a co-worker I’ve written about who’s done/does nefarious things. He also happens to be one of the best cooks I’ve worked alongside in dinner rushes built for four, but taken on and handled by two.
Most friendships struck up in kitchens are rooted in just how far from society you’re removed.
Held in a piss for about three hours. When I finally made it to a gas station urinal, the release of the stream sent a euphoric shiver through my body, culminating in my letting out an orgasmic, guttural cry. The unadulterated joy was cut short when I heard the rustle of a belt buckle from the stall. I froze, still continuing to urinate. There was a flush, the sound of a latch unlocking, and the scurried whir of a panicked man behind me like a woman, nervous and alone walking through a dark parking lot. Even skipping society’s long-held hand-washing agreement to wash your hands after using the restroom. The door whooshed shut. I gave one last little, “uhhhhahhh” before finishing. I hope that guy catches a nasty cold and spreads it to his children, then his wife- creating a two week cycle of household misery made worse by having to cancel a family vacation due to the abnormal strength of the common virus.
I must be the very first asshole who’s ever been traveling through Iowa and noticed the name of this gas station is also an allusion to men having their way with a woman sexually and then avoiding any further contact.
56 facebook ‘Likes’ please.
In high school, during the winter months, my bedroom would get so cold a friend nicknamed it “The Icebox.” It was miserable. My dad’s solution was to place an old, sputtering kerosene heater in my room, where it’d solve the problem of it being so chilly by getting me high on gas fumes- enabling me to forget about the potential for pneumonia. I hated school and I hated being home, so I felt embedded in a constant cycle of misery when not asleep. Then came the convincing appeal of alcohol. Beer, specifically. Drinking in the woods with friends. Before football home games. Taking shots of Macedonian moonshine at 8am as soon as we’d gotten to a parent-less house on one of the many days school got skipped. Whenever life seems to get unmanageable, I find a way to fill it with the one or two things that give me a temporary reprieve from the depression-inducing near intolerability of it all. With this glacial-room-bite of shit sandwich, I’d found a way to catch a buzz anytime I pleased.
Average refrigerator temped room, the floor under my bed- meet 24-packs of Miller Lite and 40 ounce bottles of malt liquor.
I stopped going out altogether. Dinner was at five. After eating real quick, I’d retreat to my room in time to tip the can back for a long swallow, the opening theme of THE SIMPSONS and start of its hour block of reruns.
It was a quick fix. It wasn’t healthy. But I made it through. I’m still here. Life currently? Shit isn’t all great, but I would never appreciate it if it always was. Applying stopgap measures to remedy contemporary problems helps just like it did when I had to wear a winter coat to bed. When life gave me lemons back then, I became an alcoholic. Older me knows he can’t go that route. So if anyone knows where I can get my hands on an unstable, antique kerosene heater, let a motherfucker know.