Sic Transit Gloria Mundi.

Coffee - check. Nosh - check - cranberry English muffins, 6 pack averaging 50 cents each muffin, cost of butter additional. Muffins, like last year, start out large and full of cranberries but by Thanksgiving are small with one cranberry each - Thomas' should be ashamed of itself. Fond memories of visiting the family at Thanksgiving emerge, if only because my father and stepmother could afford bacon with breakfast. I give Thanks that I once had a job where I made enough to afford bacon and can remember how much I liked it. Naturally, I have my own happy Thanksgiving breakfast, which includes Irish steel cut oatmeal. I still have a can, a couple of years old now. I no longer make it, not because it takes about 45 minutes, but because I like it with maple syrup drizzled over it, and maple syrup has been too expensive for a few years now. Even grade B. The first boil of maple sap produces that clear light brown color. That's for tourists. Real folks know to go for Grade B, it has all the flavor.



I just spent a few minutes sipping coffee and re-reading last year's Thanksgiving posts. I'd forgotten all about having the collection of Victorian Thanksgiving cards. And the memories of the holiday season kickoff. And having a family that actually spoke to each other and spent time together. Even if Aunt Lorraine wanted me to call her "Mommy". What did I care? My own mother had left (or was thrown out) before I was even six months old. Even still, I just couldn't do it. So what if that meant another beating?

And then there was Thanksgiving dinner at my grandmother's. My grandfather had died of a massive heart attack two years before I was born. Almost to the day. I suppose that might have had something to do with my father's attitude about me. She had remarried and now lived in the next town down the road. Her second husband had a couple of grandkids, too. There would be a special table just for us kids. The special china and silverware would be brought out, the extra leaf would be put into the dining room table. The extra mat would be put in, the big good tablecloth would be spread over it, and enough food to feed all the starving children in Europe (and then some) would appear. Turkey. Stuffing. Gravy. Cranberry sauce (this was before people served chunky cranberry sauce - it just wasn't available). Mashed potatoes. Peas. Succotash. Candied yams. Green beans. Glasses of water (it was still drinkable then). Glasses of iced tea. Who found the wishbone???

Around that table you'd find my great grand parents Wilbur and Laura, my Grandmother Helen and her second husband Mahlon, her three children - all boys. Uncle Bob and Aunt Lorraine. Dad. Uncle Harold and his meet the family date who would become Aunt Mary. Mahlon's son Jan and his wife Sue. Around the kid's table my brother Lewis, Jan's kids Ricky and Bonnie and the youngest, still a baby, whose name escapes me at the moment. Sorry kid. My cousins, Uncle Harold's children Patricia and Harold Michael hadn't come along yet. I just tried to type "Uncle Harold's kids" but couldn't. Mary had raised holy hell because I once called them 'kids'. Her children were not goats, thank you. She told my father I sassed her, even though I hadn't. I got beat. Fond memories.

Macy's parade has started. Kickoff has a horrible attempt at a musical number. No one seems to be able to write special material anymore. "Time for celebratin', Santa Claus' is waitin'". (I shudder quite involuntarily.) Chorus kids dressed to look like little nerd boys and girls, as though they were popular and not outcasts. Something which passes for choreography that involves jumping up and down, arms akimbo. The first balloon goes by, but Al Roker is too busy talking to notice. It's low to the ground and it's Sonic the Hedgehog, who or what ever that is. Now we're getting a preview of a new Disney show based on their 20 year old movie "Newsies". Someone should tell the casting director and costume designer that what are supposed to be pre teen newsboys aren't supposed to be ripped with muscles rivaling weightlifter competitions.

Another musical number - the cast of "Sister Act", another show based on a movie. Wait, didn't it used to work the other way around? The woman in the Whoppi Goldberg part dances on in the most robotic performance I've seen since Hal refused to open the pod bay doors.

There's a big balloon they are saying is Mickey. As in Mouse, maybe? Al Roker runs (not something you want to see) to talk to one of the handlers. The cameraman forgets to pan up so we can see the balloon. We do see the bottom of it, all yellow. A color not used for Mickey Mouse.

Now there's a musical number from "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying". Harry Potter, minus his glasses, seems to be growing into the role since the bit they showed last June on the Tony Awards show. Except he still looks terrified that he's going to forget the next step. It's the "Brotherhood of Man" number. The female solo has so much vibrato I can barely understand a word she sings.

Now it's a musical number from "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert", based on another movie. Using songs from the Disco era. They're singing "I will survive" while two of the drag queens show off while dressed as turkeys.

Al Roker (why is this guy popular?) is interviewing two tv show actors who just happen to be sitting together on a nearby bleacher. What are they doing for Thanksgiving? One is going to his wife's family out in Far Rockaway Queens. The other merely smiles and says "Lower East Side for me". After all these years he still isn't allowed to say "My boyfriend's place".

More Al Roker interviews. Two other people I've barely heard of have replaced the two actors on the bench full of people.

Now it's a musical number from Spiderman, Turn Off the Dark. Based on a comic book. And a movie. Wait, isn't the stunt dancer Spiderman supposed to be the same size as the guy who turns into Spidey? The Green Goblin sings, "I'm the new Coney Island and all the rides are free." Now there's eight spidermen, but their synchronized routine isn't. Don't they have a PSM calling this?

Now there's a commerical for an insurance company and it's using the "Everybody knows your name" song from Cheers.

I don't know if I can last long enough to see the parade. At least, I think there's a parade there.

Jeez. Even the Rockettes' visual lines are sloppy. And in closeup they look more like drag queens than the cast of Priscilla. 31 supposed genetic females in New York City. Two are black. One appears Hispanic.

The parade finally starts after an hour of other things. As Matt Lauer says "The first of our marchers arriving on 34th Street...." we see cops on motorcycles. There's a turkey float which stops to let Avril Levine (sp?) sing something that is supposed to be a song. Yah, yah, yah, wish I had you here, here, here, near, near, near.

Wow. There's a band marching/playing so fast they look like they're running bomb squad members. Maybe they have the right idea.

Now there an "Ocean Spray" float (which has nothing to do with their product) with some country singer I've never heard of "makes me want to take the back road, park the truck where it gets hot". Huh? The camera catches a young black woman on the float trying to figure out how to dance to this crap. She tries a chorus girl move from a 1930's movie. It is oddly enderaing.

There's a Sesame Street float with performance of a song so bad everyone on the float is having to jump up and down and clap their hands trying to sell it. There is only one Sesame Street character visible. I suddenly recognize one of the guys trying to pretend to be "up" and "happy", and he looks soooo old. He's also at least 20 years younger than I am. I sink far down into my chair, then shift my position so I can't see any reflective surfaces.

Now there is a float from Hamburger Helper. I'm not making this up.

I think I've had enough. I try to tear myself away, but it's like the proverbial train wreck. Which I think is the next float, right after the rapping AFLAC balloon.

But first, a "balloon-icle" pitcher of koolaid. It looks suspiciously like grape. I reach out my hand to pour some. Seems like a good idea.

 

Happy Thanksgiving Day, folks.

November 24 is the 328th day of the year in the Gregorian calendar.
There are 394 days remaining until the end of time.

Checkout-line Chronicles

What with the wet snow, heavy rain, and local power outages as the morning's appetizer, and the need the crazies have to purchase those last minute items, I was certainly glad that I had a short four hour shift this morning. I most likely wouldn't have made it through the rest of the day without hurting somebody.

Store opens at 7am.

At 7:05am a harried looking man pushes his cart to the register, which is an express. He has about 15 items give or take. There is no one in line.

"Are you the only register open"?

I slowly turned around to look at all the other registers, none of which had their "open" lights on, nor did they have cashiers at them.

"Yes, sir, I am". 

"Why???"  

Because I'm the only one here?

Woman unloads her cart onto the belt.

Regular customer, a well off ex-New Yorker.

Today buying only food.

That'll be $27.89, please. 

She swipes her EBT (food stamps) card through the machine, looks at the display and reads aloud,

"Balance or Purchase"?

 "Which do I want?"

Woman purchases a bouquet of flowers. Would you like me to put a bag around the wet stems for you? "You don't have one of those sheaths?" Yes, those are right back in the flower department by the door. "You mean I have to do it myself?"

Woman puts all her purchases on the belt and then takes off. I ring everything up and wait for her to get back. "I can't find any Heath bars, which register are they on?". I'm sorry, we don't have any on the registers. You might try the candy section in aisle three. "Can I go look now?" Why don't you pay for these items,and then you can go look and people in line won't get upset? She scowled at me as though I were an ill behaved child of three, threw her bagged groceries into her cart so loud they clanged, and stomped her way out of the building while threatening to complain to management.

Woman swipes her EBT card.

That leaves you a balance of $2.50, please.

"Why"?

The advent calendar wasn't covered, mam.

"Why not?"

Because it isn't food???

That will be $4.86, please. Woman counts her change. "Oh, I'm short the 86 cents. I'll have to go out to the car and get see if I have change there." She works nearby, so I put up a dollar to keep the line from outright revolution. She puts her hand out for the change. And takes it.

Good Morning! How are you today?

"I couldn't find any of those cherry sours in a jar. You have the ones in a box, I want the ones in a jar. The shelf there was empty, and you're the only store that has them".

Oh, I'm sorry.

Do you know Tui (pronounced 'twee') ?
She's the Asian woman working right over there. We got a huge shipment from the warehouse this morning, and she would know if they came in. They might even be on her cart. 

"Oh, I don't have time for that'.

Customer buys about $2.50 worth of whatever. Hands me a fifty dollar bill. I call a shift leader. We wait. The man starts getting steaming mad. The shift leader arrives, uses a detection pen on the fifty dollar bill, hands it back to me and says, "Okay". The customer glares at me, "Do you check every fifty dollar bill?" Yes, sir. "Why?" It's company policy, sir. "Do you check hundreds?" Without waiting for an answer, he continues angrily, "do you check twenties? Do you check thirties?" There are no thirty dollar bills sir. He storms out.

Customer starts emptying cart onto the belt. I bag her groceries as I go. She finishes ahead of me, stands there watching. Just as I put the next to last item in a bag, "I have my own bags."

Number of completely frozen turkeys purchased for tomorrow night's dinners: I stopped counting at eight.

Truth in advertising: The advent calendar story happened yesterday.

All other events occurred at my register in a four hour period this morning.

Thanksgiving with starlet Barbara Bates.

Note

Message handed by an "occupy" protester to the President after a speech in new Hampshire

Catching up, Cymbalta withdrawal, little things that count

Madness takes many forms. Sometimes, something so small as to be near unbelievable can mean a lot. Right now, all I want are two pairs of good scissors so I don't have to get up and wander the six steps to the kitchen area to get the one pair I have. Isn't that sad in a kind of way?
  



Ancient rock carving of  extraterrestrial visitors
using remote controls.

It reminds me of my attitude when television remote controls first appeared on the scene. People paid extra to get tv sets with one. I couldn't believe that anyone could be so lazy that they couldn't get up to change the channel. After all these years, I'm surprised people aren't buried with them clasped firmly in their cold dead hands.

Have you ever pointed your remote control at someone hoping to silence their jibber jabber in the cacophony of our world? 

The Princess, c.2002, celebrates the 4th of July
 in front of the radio free brattleboro studios.

My dear friend Laura over at Austanspace has finally been able to return to her beloved hobbit-hole in the Shire, aka Melrose Terrace. There has been an ongoing fight here in Brattleboro over Melrose, a clean, well tended, not dangerous subsidized housing community for seniors and folks with physical challenges. It is a long story that is still in the telling. I just wanted to take a moment to shout out a big hello for my old (as in length of time) friend former DJ Princess Wendy, now better known as the Cheese Snob. Aside from working long distance magic for Ms. Laura back at the start of this saga, she just wrote a wonderful letter to the editor of our local weekly, The Commons. (I'd link them, but their website never works right). Well done, Princess, well done.

Today I unfolded an onion-paper thin, three foot long by fourteen inches wide doubled sided information sheet that same with every sample packet of Cymbalta I ever took. It is printed on both sides, in type so small that a magnifying glass is needed to make anything out. In all of the information and charts, not one word is mentioned about withdrawal symptoms. As part of my financial restructuring, I'm kicking my antidepressants and antianxietals along with my expensive medical insurance habit. Even though my 90mg a day dosage has been carefully stepped down, and even though I'm still taking 30 mg a day (ends this week!), there has been a Huge problem of withdrawal.

Over the years I never had a problems with valium 10s, and ended with no problems meprobromate, memprobamate, prozac, paxil, xanax, wellburtrin, risperdal, and a couple of others. But Cymbalta has been different. Now they are selling it not just for depression, but for back problems as well (and it does help). But someone really needs to tell people about what they face if they stop taking their daily dose. I dunno, maybe some people enjoy horrible headaches, stiff necks, chills, sweats, nausea, dry heaves, diarrhea, cramps, disorientation, light sensitivity, and the need to scratch until bloody. Okay, the latter might have to do with my rare-ish skin condition. But if you take or are considering taking cymbalta - beware. One might as well drink it with the grape coolaid.

Quote I wanted to use in another diatribe against, well, everything. This is from the CEO of one of the US's largest credit unions, a man who used to work at JPMorgan Chase; "I don't say this lightly, but the consumer is simply an income stream and exploiting that is the purpose of the banking organization."

Link of interest: a pdf file from the Economic Mobility Project (an initiative of the Pew Charitable Trust) titled "Economic Mobility: Is the American Dream Alive and Well?"

My beloved community radio station has been under attack from a cabal within. The station has been off the air since the fire at the Brooks House last April. Most of the folks behind the coup d'etat have recently resigned from the board, but one of the self-appointed main players has created an enormously poisonous atmosphere awash in his unearned self righteous bitterness. I suspect that he has been behind most of the problems. The station's participants have been working to reclaim the station from this man's desperate clutches. This process has possessed my attention and time. A meeting with the board has finally been scheduled for early December. If matters can not be resolved, I fear the station will be lost. I have never felt this way before. But until the meeting was announced a couple of days ago, I was beginning to despair for its future.

The Feast of Little Thanks and Littler Giving is close upon us. The next few days will be supermarket checkout hell. "Front end" management has already gone off the deep end. Yesterday, one co-worker, on a five and a half hour shift, was in need of his legally mandated break. At five and a half hours, management must give one 15 minute paid break. At 6 hours, they must also give a one half hour unpaid break. After more than four hours of ringing up and bagging groceries non-stop, he asked for his break. He was told that as he was five minutes late that day, he lost his break. Remind me again why workers are supposed  to give Thanks? (Even though I mentioned no names, if management were to discover this on my blog, I could be fired.) What was that about upward mobility and the American Dream? And where's my remote control?

11-11-11 11:11

"At the 11th Hour of the 11th day... "

The quote refers to the signing of the peace treaty that ended World War One. It was originally known as Armistice Day, but has now been expanded into Veteran's Day. But there are other things going on with this numerical sequence.

Several years ago, I was visiting with Chris and Lise when the clock turned to 11:11pm. Lise noted that just about every time she looked at the time, it was 11:11. She also noted that by mentioning it, she had just passed (or transferred) that on to me. Sure enough, I always seemed to look up from whatever I was doing at 11:11am or pm. This soon became a series of repeated numbers. 2:22. 3:33. etc. This effect has been in my life ever since and continues to this day.

As it turns out, many people have noticed this phenomenon. There are any number of theories about what it might mean. (I'm afraid to count the theories lest there be 11.)  Many people think it will bring extra good luck (seven come eleven). Some believe that the ability to see repeating numbers (which always seems to start with noticing 11:11) are 'trademark' messages from fun loving spirit guardians - who happen to number 1,111. Noticing the repetition, including other numbers repeated, is their way of letting us know that they are here in our lives. These spirit guardians are often called "Midwayers", referring to their their origin between Adam and Eve and evolutionary creatures. There were many thousands of them, mischief makers aligned with the Dark Lord. At the Ascension of the Christ, 1,111 of them aligned themselves with the Master. There is much, much more to that story that does not concern us here. (I think.) The spirit guardians are here to help us, and are to usher in the New Age.

 Those who follow the Mayan Calendar 2012 prediction of a cyclic change or an apocalypse believe that today marks the actual beginning of that cycle. The long count calendar predicts this event for December 21st, 2012, which is the day of the winter solstice - at 11:11 o'clock universal time. Some set the solstice at 11:12, making 11:11 the last moment of the passing age.

Bilbo Baggins left the Shire, leaving a magic ring to his nephew, on his "eleventy eleventh birthday". Today is also the day that Austanspace returns to Brattleboro, if not her beloved home in the shire.

Solar activity peaks every 11 years. In our modern world, these peaks often interfere with electronics and communications.

The Egyptian government closed the Great pyramid today. There were too many rumors of people ready to sneak in and hold mystical ceremonies (Jewish and/or Masonic) there.

And finally, there is a new movie opening in limited release today. It's a horror flick named 11-11-11.

So Happy 11-11-11, folks. Whatever it may mean.

November 11 is the 315th day of the year in the Gregorian calendar.

There are 407 days remaining until the end of time.

 

 

At long last they have no shame

It's a nice, mostly sunny, warmish for the time of year afternoon here in Brattleboro. But I don't feel like doing a damn thing. It's not like I feel extremely exhausted (well, maybe sorta kinda), it's more like I'm feeling weary. Well, hell, no wonder - I read the news again today oh, boy.

The newest US stats on poverty are out. We're up to 49 million of  US. These are the rates newly adjusted by area, which counts food stamps and unemployment as income. The group with the biggest rise in poverty is Senior Citizens over 65. They say that's one in six seniors. Remember now, this is just for the poorest of the poor. I've read where the real poverty rate in the US is close to or over 40%. Poverty is now a family of four with an income under $24,343 dollars. They didn't give a rate for what poverty would look like if they took out foodstamps and unemployment. And they certainly aren't going to tell you what the poverty rate will be if they take out social security, housing subsidies, and medicare. Why my gosh, maybe those programs are doing what they're supposed to do.

That said, it should be noted that both Republicans and Democrats are working on a stealth method of reducing those benefits. They are starting by drafting legislation to reduce the cost of living increases for seniors and veterans. Over time, less people would be eligible for Medicaid, Head Start, food stamps, school lunch programs and home heating assistance. With whole groups of people getting less aid, it will appear that their incomes have gone up. Which means paying more taxes while the standard deduction and personal exemptions go down. Amount raised would equal $60 Billion. They also want to change the consumer price index (used to calculate inflation benefits). For seniors, the decline for a 65 year old would at first be $136 dollars less per year. But by the time they reach 75, the drop would be $560 dollars. By 85, the drop would be about a thousand per year.

 Of course, the only segment of the population that won't have their taxes increase under these changes will be the rich. As one person put it, you're "throwing (seniors) under the bus to save money".And this is the easy plan. If the super budget committee doesn't have a deal in about three weeks, the 1.6 Trillion automatic cuts will take effect. If that happens, I suspect that millions more will join the occupy protests in the streets. Mainly because that's all they'll have left.

Meanwhile, back at the Courts, the Obama Health Plan - that wondrous gift to the medical insurance industry - has been upheld again. It's not universal health care. It's universal help yourselves to poor people's only money care. You won't be able to opt out. Oh, yeah, maybe that's why I'm feeling so wearyish. I've been cutting my meds in preparation of a complete stop on my way to not having insurance so I can pay my rent, have food to eat, and keep my internet connection. I knew it had to be something like that.

Today is the 312th day of the year in the Gregorian calendar.
There are 410 days remaining until the end of time.

 

Is there no sanity anywhere?

A news article was just posted on the www that mothers are now selling lollipops which have been repeatedly licked by their children who have chickenpox. The idea being that another child who licks the pop will get the disease and develop better resistance to it than from an immunization shot.

There is also an AP news article that's a few minutes old which notes that "Most of the unemployed no longer receive benefits". This is news? Those who are unemployed and not receiving benefits haven't even been counted as unemployed since back in the Reagan administration.

And yesterday, I read an article preparing us for the new poverty stats due out on Monday. The criteria to determine poverty looks at food stamps and other such assistance programs as income. WHAT? Such programs might be keeping folks out of extreme poverty, but without them being counted the number of extreme poor would be much much higher.

We need to stop using tricks to make someone, anyone, look good.
We must start a political revolution and get measurement yardsticks back to a position of truth, and not truth by omission. Let's get a real understanding of where we , as a country, stand. We need to push for this, write letters about this, and get it into topic debates by presidential candidates. Otherwise, government will continue to use 'make it better' tricks.

By the by, the current definition of poverty is a family of four with an annual income below $22,314 dollars per year. Forty six million of US received assistance from food stamp programs in August.

Such programs, of course, are about to go under budget cuts by Republican Tea Bag fiat. The US government has two weeks to pass the 2012 budget in time to avoid a government shutdown. And just weeks after that, if budget cuts haven't equalled a figure set during the summer showdown, unemployment, disability, food stamps, and other programs will undergo draconian cuts automatically. No one is saying anything, but the shit is getting very close to the fan.

 

Sigh.

There's a lot going on just now. The community radio station here, of which I am a co-founder, has been engulfed in an internal struggle. Over the last two days, two, and perhaps three, board members have resigned. It's a long story. Suffice it to say that I spent 4 hours or so yesterday writing emails. My entire morning today, starting at 6am, and going past 12:30pm, was spent doing much the same. At the moment, I am tired, cranky, dispirited, depressed, and very, very angry.

I had intended to examine the statistic released today that 1 in 15 Americans now lives in extreme poverty, the "poorest of the poor". 1 in 15. Look around you. Count. I had expected that I would contrast that information with the statistics also released today regarding American Companies which were making huge profits while paying no taxes - for as many as 10 years. In a row. And if you look at the last three years, of the 280 most profitable US companies, 30 paid "less than zero" in taxes. 

In today's mail, I got a disturbing looking envelope. Collection agency type stuff.  See, in trying to get enough money to pay my rent and eat on the 28 to 30 hours of work per week I am getting, I am discontinuing my health insurance and going off all of my medications. On October the 24th, I had my last appointment with my prescribing therapist/doctor. Before my appointment began, the  office manager pulled me aside for a moment. It had been awhile since I last made a payment to my bill. It was now $668.00. I was shocked. I had never received a bill for more than $10 to $20 dollars. The office manager looked at the paperwork and said that the insurance company had turned the amount over as I hadn't reached my $1,000 dollar deductible. After that, I almost broke down in my appointment because of the bill. It was, needless to say, a distraction while I discussed tapering down the meds without having to buy more. The collection agency looking stuff I got in the mail today was indeed a collection agency bill to collect the $668.00 The doctor's home office had sent the bill to collection the day after I told the therapist that I couldn't afford to continue any longer.



1936

And then tonight on the news, was this horrible footage of a father whipping his daughter, who suffers from cerebral palsy. The longest clip was on CNN. It ran about 40 seconds. The entire beating (caught on tape) lasted over 7 minutes. I started shuddering and twitching. I used to be beaten like that. As it turns out, the girls' father is a family court judge and didn't think he had done anything wrong. The news stories are also full these days with stories of bullying. They haven't seen the connection yet. It's all behaviour intended to break the spirit, to establish dominance, to express frustration. All I will say at this point is that I still have problems from those beatings. The scars they leave are very deep. I've been on the verge of tears since I saw the footage. All I want to do is hide in a darkened room. Like I did when I was a kid. Like I still do today.

I am once again approaching a breaking point.

I'm really not sure that I have what it takes to get thru all of this one more time.

When does it all go away? I'm 61 now. I'm tired of fighting myself.

Residual Effects

Have you ever worked retail? Have you ever wanted to kill a customer, or at least beat them around the head with your cane? Last night (Halloween) this fellow, all too obviously not from around here, came in with his family. Two freaked out sullen kids, a wife that kind of reminded me of a demure Cousin It. The younger child, a girl of about 6, was wearing a mask. They group headed straight to the Halloween candy display, grabbed several bags and approached the counter to purchase them. As I was ringing up the sale, the father beamed as he gave the little girl the bags of candy and proclaimed "This was the quickest Trick or Treating we've ever done".

Yesterday there was a new poll which caught my attention. It asked what president you would like to see in office to deal with our country's current financial and job problems. The overwhelming choice (36%) was Ronald Reagan. FDR placed second at 29%. Thomas Jefferson placed third at 14%. Reagan was chosen by a crowd that was 68% Republican, 16% Democrat and 34% independent. FDR, meanwhile got 16% of the Republicans, 43% of the Democrats and 26% of the independents. Okay, I am frightened and horrified now.

Also in the news was an announcement that MF Global had filed for bankruptcy protections. The brokerage firm was in the process of being sold when a $700 million discrepancy in the books was discovered. CEO Jon Corzine had no comment. It was confirmed this morning that the brokerage had used customer money as their own. The best guess at the moment is that the missing funds were used in an attempt to save the company - which purchased massive amounts of European debt, betting that it would recover. It hasn't. If this sounds kind of familiar, it's because Mr. Corazine was the CEO of Goldman Sachs. He was ousted from that role in 1999. He had been the primary force behind taking Goldman public. His earnings from the IPO were estimated at $400 million dollars . You remember Goldman Sachs, don't you? That's the firm that made $4 Billion from betting on the collapse of the sub-prime mortgage market. It was one of the bank-brokerages at the heart of the 2008 banking collapse.

Frightened yet? Mr. Corazine, between Wall Street employments, was a Senator and them Governor of New Jersey. Wanna notch that up a bit? Other former top Goldman Sachs people include  include Robert Rubin and Henry Paulson both of whom served as United States Secretary of the Treasury under Presidents Bill Clinton and George W. Bush.Then there's  Mark Carney, the governor of the Bank of Canada since 2008, and Mario Draghi, governor of the European Central Bank.

I can just hear these guys; "This was the best Trick or Treats ever!".

Happy Halloween - now with Heat!

I got out of work early yesterday (Sunday). Not long after I got home, the electricity went out for about 45 mins. When the power came back on, the heating unit worked for awhile, and got my room up to 65 degrees before conking out again. It gave me a clue towards a temporary solution, so I had some heat last night (the coldest night yet this season). The people who installed the unit came by this morning and are fairly certain they know what's wrong. The question now seems to be whether or not there is a part in stock or if it has to be ordered. With any luck, I'll have heat and hot water again today or tomorrow. In the meantime, Happy Halloween!

Here's a little something to frighten the town:

 And then, for the rest of us:

Trick or Treat for UNICEF?

Back when I was about 4 and 5 years old, when we kids went out on Halloween, many of us also held up a donation box while asking, "Trick or treat for UNICEF"? The idea originated with the wife of a Presbyterian minister from nearby Philadelphia.  Mary Emma Allison had seen a UNICEF booth collecting funds to send powdered milk to children in need around the world. WWII had been over for 5 years when she started with her own children and little Presbyterian Sunday School kids from her hubby's congregation. At the time , children were starving in Europe. They remained so until I was at least 8 years old. But by that time, I'd long stopped raising coin for my fellow less fortunate children. After all, it turned out that UNICEF (the United Nations Children's Fund) was a Communist front. Oh, the shame of my earlier wicked ways.

It was a year or two after the UNICEF fiasco that I was warned by Aunt Lorraine to go through my trick or treat haul carefully. There had been a story on the news that someone had put razor blades into an apple. You just couldn't trust people anymore. What was this world coming to?

One year, after Dad had the house on Lakeview Drive built, it was my turn to host the Halloween Party. I have a little bit of it on 8mm film. I really must try to get that stuff digitized... In the home movie, you can see us marching around (musical chairs, maybe?), bobbing for apples, drinking cider,. Oh, my God, cider. I just loved apple cider. One of the villages north of Swedesboro (which was the "big" town where the farmers market - a commercial enterprise - was located). Swedesboro had had the post war population boom and finally made it to 2,000 people - which officially put us on the map as a 'town'. Anyway, just north of Swedesboro on Kings Highway (the King of Sweden actually had marched down Main Street - but that's another story) was Mickleton. In the center of the village was a blinking yellow light at the only intersection around. If you turned right and drove about 100 feet, you'd be right at Mrs. McCaffrey's cider mill. Attached to the main house was a side barn area. Inside was a giant round wooden cider press. You could smell fermenting apples as you marched up to a spigot, held your glass gallon bottle to the tap, and let it go. Ahhh, the pleasure of it all. By local standards of the time, it was practically a hedonistic experience. And this was real cider. Take it home, put in a cool place, and if you don't get to it within a couple of days, "mother" would start rising. It was becoming hard cider, on its way to vinegar. You don't see gallon glass jugs much anymore. But on the rare occasion I do, I'm right back at McCaffrey's usually on the days I got to see them turn the mill press, powered by a configuration of rope attached to a small horse, walking in circles around the vat.  It's all gone now. I think the apple orchard was plowed over for housing. I heard that the mill itself was sold and has been rebuilt elsewhere. Ah, well.