Open Letter to Amex: What more can I say?

Dear American Express (and other Bill Collectors Worldwide),

So I just got off the phone with you, and after 25 minutes of back and forth, I have one thing to ask: What more can I say to make you understand?

You know, there is something about hitting the rock bottom of powerlessness, a place where you are under no illusions about the fact that you have not the slightest, merest shred of control, that things are completely out of your hands, that you are not capable of complying with a request, no matter how reasonable, not able to make good on a debt that you owe, period. A place where shame and fear give way to boldness and baldness, like digging straight down into the earth, through the darkeness of shame, into the hot, burning, purifying core, and emerging on the other side of the world naked and uncovered, no hiding truth. That's who I am right now. That's where I am right now.

Now, as a corporation and not an individual, I know that I will not be heard. But when you hire people to call me, over and over, trained to coax/warn/threaten me into paying, you offer me a human interface to communicate with the company. Frequently, cyclically, I am telling my story to a new voice over the phone, each one completely unfamiliar with my case but for the brief preparation summary screen that their automated call center ticket system software gives (Oh, I know all about how a call center works, having worked one myself). Over and over, I confront the powerlessness not only of myself, but of the caller. Each and every one tells me that they lack the power to negotiate with me, to work with me. How dare you send them to me so un-empowered, so ill-equipped, so desensitized to humanness? What's the point? I can't be browbeaten into paying you if there is no money, and none on the way. I can't make something from nothing, and if I could force someone to hire me, we wouldn't be talking on the phone. You force me to shame myself over and over with no result, morphing my measured explanations into begging. It's impossible to forgive, and there's no place to direct my anger but an open letter that I'm sure you're not even reading.

I'd love to work together to preserve my good name. You've no right to trash it under these circumstances! Reporting to the credit agencies, selling debt to collections, and suing me are all tantamount to harassment and torture when I am completely incapable of settling even the portion of the debt you originally asked for, let alone the exhorbitant king's ransom produced by the total amount due + fees and penalties. Why single me out among the many that are suffering in today's economic crisis? As a customer in good standing for all those years, why throw away a wonderful, once healthy relationship for circumstances out of my control? Why not negotiate? Take my small, good faith offerings, and give me a responsive interface encouraging me to continue chipping away at the debt until it is all paid. That is what I'm asking for. We both want the same thing, and only you have the power to make it happen for both of us. Help me help you help me! I know with the credit crunch and the wall street instability you're probably just passing the buck, but could you at least have passed it to someone with hands? You're beating a dead horse with me. I have basic math and several physical laws, including the law of conservation of matter, on my side. I can't make 350$/mth total earnings = 450$/mth payment to Amex. If you find a way to make it work, let me know though. Until then, don't call me, I'll call you. What more can I say?

Post Theme: The Recession (Intro) by Young Jeezy

Dying to Shout

What do you do when you can't say the thing that you really want to say because "out loud" is too public a place? When even the internet blog is too public? Inside my head isn't good enough -- nobody's listening in there but me, and I know if I could just say it, there'd be somebody out there who understood. I'm looking for a commiserative conversation here. Fruitless and futile, I know, especially when I can't talk about what I'm talking about...

I hope reading this is pissing you off and confusing you. Because then, you might get annoyed. You might even get a little frustrated. ^%$#!*$#)$%@(@&$^)$^)(@^#%$@%%$(&$^*&#%%(@%%)@&? Was that a little hard to read? Seeing a little red now? Great! Welcome to my motherf*cking world friend! Thanks for understanding.

Woo sah. Goosfrabah. Relax, relate, release. Now that you know where I'm coming from, here's a random list of things pissing me off in no particular order today:
1) Living @ home
2) Having less than a little money
3) Having a menial retail job, no healthcare, and being a part of the working poor with a Stanford education
4)Commercial Christmas decorations and pop music
5)My boss's boss has no education
6)Writer's block is closing in on me with 1/2 my novel left to complete
7)My clothes are old and out of date
8) The list of things I can't afford includes things like groceries
9)I'm having motivation problems with diet and exercise
10)The expensive hair and nail vitamin (55$ a pop) I tried gave me breakouts and set my crotch on fire (not kidding)...I did get it for free if you're wondering...
11)I may be over the weight limit for the horseback riding beach adventure I signed up for next month
12) I lack the willpower to do low carb again
13) I hate my parent's church but can't do anything about it
14) My family is all going different directions for the holidays and after Christmas I will be left alone in this house while everyone else lives their life
15) Lack of employment is forcing me to consider applying for the police department. I will have to submit to extensive background checks, polygraph, multiple interviews... but at least it's a salary + benefits
16) You probably didn't even read this far and I'm probably talking to myself

Grrrrrrr!

Post Theme: Papercut by Linkin Park

Crazy: Failure to Launch

They say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. It's true. I can testify to the fact that the road to my personal hell(destination: Cr@zy!)is paved with my mother's good intentions and her efforts to realize them, each and every single little one, in its entirety, without delay. I am daily splayed upon The Grill -- her critical words, probing questions, fussy rants, and laser-beam stares. I roll around like a gas station frankfurter, trapped, writhing in agony and basting in the juice of knowing that she's never 100% wrong (most times far from it in fact) and therefore cannot be 100% ignored. Tepid small-talk conversation is a a dangerous spelunking adventure -- morphing instantaneously, starting out as an exploratory walk and fracturing into a black shrieking cacophony, like startling a cloud of sleeping bats. I emerge a wreck, barely alive, trembling, tussled, scratched....and smelling of guano. Hence my fear of cavernous conversations.

I live with my mother. There is no nearing escape date. Today, after ironically crowing to some woman after church about great it is to live here (based on how much worse it could be), this is Alcatraz, and I am inmate MXB001, a stranger to freedom.

Everyday, using a secret playbook of henpecking strategies, she is trying to whittle me into an image I cannot see inside myself, maybe her image. I sincerely hope not. Doesn't she realize that I'll inevitably become just like her, and sooner rather than later as I am well past adolescent angst and whinging? It's the law of the universe. I'm not even trying to fight it in the cosmic sense -- that's a losing battle with destiny. But all things should come in their due time, right? It's not my time. Just now it all feels like a reverse prism, like some cold faceted crystal smashing my spectrum into a sterile, bland beam of white.

Frankly, I used to be better at dodging these outrageous daily slings and arrows, but I'm getting tired and suffering them instead. With little endurance left, I am being eroded... slowly unmanned. What is the feminine counterpart for emasculation? I'd like to give this terrible phenomenon a name. It already has a face.

Post Theme: Crazy by Gnarls Barkley

Live from the Crab Bucket!

RANT ON: I HATE THIS ABOUT THE BLACK COMMUNITY!

Who the FUCK cares about Obama mentioning Martin Luther King in his nomination acceptance speech?! How is he "running from history"? He's running toward history! And calling Hillary's concession speech incandescent?! Her speech was lame, but clearly all Malveaux heard was Harriet Tubman; she clearly spent her entire time watching the democratic convention holding a score card for mentions of accepted black heroes. How long will they expect Obama to be "the Black people's president"? These people are delusional -- if he was going to mention Dr. king, white supremacy, and Jim Crow in every speech, he wouldn't be accepting the Democratic nomination, he'd be accepting funding for his next research paper as a Af-Am studies professor. Or worse: dimes in his cup as just another scraggly, ignored zealot on the street corner !

And where is this damn "baton" that King passed to Jesse Jackson and then to Obama? How is Jackson in the middle, with his Hymie-town and nut-cracker gaffes? He's not even close to Obama as a black leader in my opinion; Jackson is rhetoric, Obama is LEGISLATION. They need to stop trying to make Obama into a mythical black messiah figure, expecting him to feed black multitudes with a free catfish dinner w/ hush puppies complete with water to wine!

These people don't get what it means to be a biracial person either. (Might I also point out that although Barack is, his father was NOT african-american. His father was African .) You can't erase the fact that he is both black and white, and furthermore that his white relatives raised him and were there for him more than his absent father. And why does the fact that people weren't crying on camera mean to them that people weren't moved? The final night of the convention was electric. West and Malveaux are like those two old-ass white geezer muppets sitting in the balcony on the Muppet Show: same crotchety dialogue, same sticks up their asses...except they aren't funny.

I'm glad there are only 2 comments -- I hope this show is unilaterally ignored; it deserves no ratings. As for Tavis, he has had it out for Obama since Obama missed his little forum at the beginning of the primary. He needs to sit back, keep his mouth shut, and let Obama really give his something to smile about when he wins. We certainly can't afford to take this crap seriously!

However, this certainly does give me something to wonder about for when he takes office. What will this self-appointed cabal of black inquisitioners expect from an ideal Obama presidency? An MLK shout-out in the state of the union address? "Lift Every Voice and Sing" instead of "Hail the Chief"? Slave reparations instead of the promised tax cuts for 95% of us? Preposterous!

Post Theme: U Black Maybe by Common

Open Letter to Fox News: Enough is Enough

Dear Fox News,
On behalf of myself and all the other thinking people in the world that are aware of what you are doing, enough is enough. Your super-biased "news coverage" is an affront to the size of our cerebral cortices. The sting of your condescension and the magnitude of your insults cannot be exaggerated. It is a simple fact, and by constant repetition is made into law: Fox news is not news at all and cannot be counted on to provide a factual account or objective commentary on anything.

Time and time again, you have failed in your solemn charge as a member of the fourth estate. Instead of policing our leaders, you are bought and paid for -- the drooling, mindless minions of rich men with despicable agendas. For the unaware, Fox may just seem a bit cheeky and make a lot of "errors" for which it inevitably fails to apologize, but I am not one of the unaware. Like many, I have had enough of Fox and I'm making it my personal mission to challenge every single one of your patrons and viewers to wake and up and demand better.

How much lower can you sink? I'm not going to tally every single one of your outrageous lies, slipshod reports, or racist statements, but I will talk about the one that pushed me over the edge. For the duration of this election, Fox news has insisted on painting Barack Obama as Osama bin Laden, a despicable, racist mud-slinging tactic. But wait! Crawling around in the muck and mire is not enough, and so you get on your belly and slither. Obama/Biden = Osama bin Laden?! What are you implying? That Osama has a way of possessing certain senators' parents and forcing their hands in the signing of their birth certificates, the choosing of names? That with this time-traveling evil plan he has fixed decades of elections and votes, and will now infiltrate our country and somehow perpetrate his jihad without our notice? In what universe is this supposed to be possible? These wild, astrological conjectures and conspiracy theories are pathetic, and unworthy of any American. Even implanting these ideas, like a faux-Shakespearian Iago, is a crime.

Which brings me to my conclusion. I am fighting you, Fox news, with everything that I have. I am challenging every person I know to do the same. Far from being a mere complaint, this has become another theater for the great battle of right vs. wrong, good vs. evil. What I'm trying to say, what I've said over and over again, is: Enough is Enough!

Post Theme: Sly Fox by Nas

Tonight I feel...

Tonight I feel like the last person standing after a war. The only sane one in the room. And after writing that I can't help but think: how emo! That was the equivalent to a childish whine, "no one understands me!" Crisis averted by my inner wit.

Tonight I feel like there are a lot of stupid people out there, and all of the smart ones are incommunicado, or maybe can only be reached by ham radio, which I don't know how to operate.

Tonight I feel cabin fever crawling up my legs, my back, and through my scalp, like the flesh-eating red ants in the latest Indiana Jones flick.

Tonight I feel frustrated that everyone that I want to talk to, to take comfort in, all the people that I call to get a lift from a funky mood, or a fresh perspective on my dreary circumstances seems to be living a more interesting and fulfilling life and is unable to be reached at this time. I hang up before I can leave a message. I don't want to say something that I will regret, or be unwilling to clarify or discuss tomorrow.

Tonight I feel angry and ashamed of my unwavering penchant for comparing myself to others and envying their accomplishments. However short I may have fallen, or short-sighted I may be to do it, it's like I can't stop. I am certain this isn't why Facebook was created!

Tonight I feel like I am on a giant wheel of fortune, and I keep landing on bankrupt and losing my effing turn. This game is rigged!


Tonight I feel like human nature is a dark thing, and no one does the right thing anymore. An example: I think that HRC is "suspending her campaign" instead of conceding because she plans to wait in the wings in case "something happens" to Barack Obama. It's not too far a stretch for me tonight, especially in light of her bizarre and malevolent statements about Bobby Kennedy's assassination a few short weeks ago. All the evil conspiracies seems totally plausible tonight.

Tonight I wish it were the future. The place where this is a fuzzy memory, chucked into the bucket of melodrama, of bored self-indulgence. The time where my life is so full that there is no room to remember these times as anything other than the desert journey toward an oasis destination. And it would also be cool if Barack Obama were president at that time....

Tonight, I see, will be tomorrow in a matter of minutes. Although not far enough in the future to forget tonight, it is better than nothing.

Post Theme: Sometimes by Bilal

No News Is Good News?

"No news is good news." (Rant On) Whoever said that was not trying to find a job when they said it. They must have been waiting for something impossibly wonderful, something that would devastate if not the desired outcome. It couldn't have been something as two-edged, as cursed a blessing, as gainful employment. No way. (Rant Off)

'Sigh'... I guess you can tell from reading this that nothing happened today of note. No one called, no one wrote. They are maintaining radio silence in an effort to drive me mad. Still writing from the location of Screwed, which is just North of Forget It, East of A Rock, and West of A Hard Place. (Now that made me smile). Why does the job search have to be so brutal? If I were a tech person, I would have already written a virus that made my resume and a flashing "hire me or else" banner into pop-ups. I would have already uploaded it to the world at large, and would currently be conducting a prolonged salary negotiation in which I bartered not only the cessation of the pop-up, but the technology itself. Unfortunately, as Napoleon Dynamite would say, "I don't have any skills".

What accounts for this frowny, angsty post? Here's a hint: the bills come on time, even when the checks stop!!! I got no loot, and no ends neither. This will be such a riveting story to tell when I'm sitting on Oprah's couch and she is trying to wrap her mind around what a superstar I am, but right now that is thin comfort, like the newspaper duvets that homeless people use. Ugh. Okay, I am depressing myself and wallowing. I wish that I could change the subject to something impossibly stimulating and interesting, but I have nothing else on my mind, nothing witty or brilliant to say, and that says enough. I'm calling it a night. Forgive me!

Post Theme: Hostile Gospel 2 by Talib Kweli

A Modern Freedom Struggle

It occurred to me today that it's Black History Month. Duh, right? I should know that, should have realized earlier, should have paid attention to the one month of pseudo-solicitousness that I am entitled to per year. Somehow I missed it.

Last month I attended a certain Sunday morning's services at my parent's uber-traditional Baptist church. I remember being mortified as Sister so and so (complete with hat that could be seen from outer space) asked all the "youth in the church 10 to 15 years old" to stand. She then asked them to come to the front of the church. They slinked forward, barely compliant, disgruntled to be interrupted from their Sunday morning social hour activities of texting, flirting, eating, and other assorted nonsense. The good sister lined them up at the front of the church and shoved a packet of papers into each hand. It turns out that last year's church-sponsored MLK essay contest only got 5 entries, so this year she was obliged to trick and shame them into entering. The essay question: "Has the civil rights struggle and heroes of yesterday influenced your life as a teen today? If so, how?" I was struck by several things at once:

1) What have we come to when the substance of a month of reverence and remembrance is reduced to this? African-Americans have always had a rich culture of oral histories and collective consciousness. We've honored our ancestors through libations and dances, stories and traditions. Now our children, indeed our young adults, can hardly be bothered to remember any but the most "commercial" black figures. You know what I mean: Harriet Tubman, Booker T. Washington, and of course, Martin Luther King. What about the less popular heroes? What about the still living local heroes, scattered in communities across the nation? I have often found it sad that we have not mined and preserved the still living civil rights story being carried in the hearts, minds, and memories of our elderly. Even baby boomers were a part! The crux of the Civil Rights Movement was barely 50 years ago!

2) Why are we still asking the uninspired question, "how has this affected us"? An essay question that boring is asking for nothing beyond a recitation of black history facts and firsts and a few platitudes of gratitude. It is a moot point to ponder, how history has affected us. Why aren't we leading kids to analyze, to think critically? The struggle isn't over. Every day another news blurb proves that the frontier of the struggle is barely explored. What about the inextricably linked aspect of class? What about the rights of other minority ethnic groups in America?

As I watched the church debacle from the fourth row, I felt conflicted. I was happy there was a contest at all, and also happy that someone was passionate enough about it to put in the effort, but I also felt a burning desire to stand up and say something. I wanted to write an essay of my own, give a speech, do something to steer everyone from the rutted, oft-traveled road they were mired in. But I was silent instead. I realized that there was nothing to be done at that point, and I held it all in. I may not be able to affect ironclad Baptist tradition at a church I don't belong to, but I can make a difference in my day to day life, and I can certainly teach all the people I get my hands on differently. And so that is what I am doing.

This Black History month, think differently. Know that Black history is American history. Learn a cool new fact about Black people every day. Watch an edifying "black" movie. Think about the issues in our current cultural paradigm that comprise the current racist or classist problems in America. Set out to pay more attention. You'll begin to notice them everywhere. Lastly, stand up where ever and whenever you can against them. If we all strive to cherish each other, then change gon come sooner rather than later.

Post Theme: Say It Loud (I'm Black and I'm Proud) by James Brown

Sick and Tired of being Sick and Tired

Feeling crappy -- my nose is swollen and full of that nasty stuff. As I am one of the nation's millions of working poor -- no wait -- make that unemployed poor, I cannot afford to pay for health care, and I don't have overpriced insurance. I hate this! Every time I have the least sniffle I can't see a doctor right off, I have to try and manage. It's only when it gets to the point that I either get some antibiotics or go into a Victorian decline that I go to the free clinic, mostly because I feel bad to use those services when I am so eminently employable and others really need then, but also because I am ashamed to show my face in there all the time. Universal health care. Really, am I the only one that can see the perfect sense this makes?

We need a revolution in this country. I can see myself, a Che-like figure. Out of my mouth pokes a thermometer, and my eye is patched. I scream around a mouthful of medical grade glass: Give us free care! Thousands rally around my cries.

Who's the bad guy in this? Money is. Our system is a capitalist market and health care is the valuable property. Only one problem: health is a right, not a good or service to be exchanged. All of the rest of the civilized world sees this and operates accordingly. Why can't we?

Enough of this, or I really will buy a beret!

Wild Goose Chase!

I've been on this wild goose chase all day like a damn buffoon! I'm so pissed I could spit. Bottom line, after driving around like a moron for an hour and a half to find the unemployment office, it turns out to be right around the corner. Literally!

How could someone with a documented excellent sense of direction and a reputation to uphold let something so plebeian as the location of a government office beat her, you ask? It would be hard to do, but google maps gave me completely and totally wrong directions. It basically might as well have sent me through the stargate to a parallel dimension, because there is no way in hell those directions were correct. They took me out of town, goddammit!

So I get to the office, sign in, and prepare to wait and to be patronized. Nope, not me. As a big dunce cap finale, the receptionist informs me that filing for benefits is now done by phone. She gives me a card with a phone number and goes back to typing and answering the phone. Class dismissed!

So basically life is giving me a swift kick in the pants, and I don't know what for. That which does not kill us makes us stronger, right?

So...

Maybe I didn't write a thing today. Maybe I spent the whole time trying to sync my ipod to this new laptop. Maybe apple sucks and microsoft too, because vista doesn't work right with itunes, and they know it and they don't care.

As I type I am finally syncing up, and it's no time to celebrate because I lost every single playcount. I'm not sure if you know what that means, but suffice it to say that alot of my smart playlists are gone, and my ipod is no longer smart about which songs I like to listen to. For someone like me, this is an unutterable tragedy. Some other ish went down with my external hard drive too -- I'm thinking I have dummy copies (or maybe even two) of most of my music somehow, because it's so much I couldn't load it onto this laptop. That means that I am stuck listening to my music on the ipod only, since I can't travel and take my music with me! What a crock!

I'm so steamed.... headed off to bed, hope I won't have nightmares about this itunes mess, and hope I can be productive tomorrow since I basically wasted today.