I'm not completely sleepless, I get my Surgeon General's recommended daily allowance of six to eight hours in a 24-hour period. But, and I'm sure I'm not alone in this, I don't get it all consecutively. Three hours here, two-and-a-half there, especially on the weekends. When you work while everyone else sleeps, you get to be creative with how you organize your time. You are freed of the "ever since I can remember" requirement to sleep only between 9 or 10 pm and 7 am. So I sleep from 10 am to 2 pm, get up for a glass of water, some Lite Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream, and taquitos, and go back to sleep. I live the contradictory life of a workaholic/slacker hybrid.
Recently, in an attempt to consolidate my sleeping pattern, I've stimulated the economy (2009-ese for "buy stuff"). I acquired a humidifier, a sound machine and some kick-ass fuzzy socks.
So far, the humidifier and sound machine fail to impress. They both just make me need to pee. Which wakes me up, luckily before I fulfill any needs in situ. I've enjoyed the socks, but I always seem to wake up without them on. I suspect I'm having some sort of awesome dream about Ming Tsai sensually removing my socks while cooking me pot stickers (I have an inexplicable crush on Ming Tsai), which, if true, is totally unfair I don't remember it.
As wedding presents last year, I also acquired a real feather bed, duvet and pillows. I'm not typically a materialistic person, but this has always been an aspiration of mine, so I'm deeply indebted to the relatives who chipped in. Nothing beats snuggling down into a pile of soft bedding.
Except being able to do it at the regularly scheduled time of 11 pm, dammit.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Lessons from the Last Depression
Now that the first economists to identify the recession are labeling it a Capital-D-Depression, it's time to look how past generations dealt with what we're facing. From my exhaustive search of Wikipedia, I located four previous economic "downturns" we could compare to today. These four other points in our nation's history all include a war, a drop in employment and a lack of consumer confidence. I'd also say they all featured a drop in available financing. But each had its own unique, creative approach for recovery, at least with respect to the common man (or woman).
Let's face it: the Stimulus Plan, as excited as bureaucrats and economics professors might be about it (negatively or positively), doesn't do a whole lot for us here on the ground worried about our paychecks day-to-day. And neither did any of the preceding plans, if they existed, excepting perhaps The New Deal. People forget how enormously unpopular the New Deal was at the time of its inception. But, then again, People are dumb.
Here's a look at how Americans handled this sort of situation and any lessons we might learn from past experience:
1780's: The Revolution, widthdrawl of English financial support and massive trade blockades limited growth for a while. Plus, our country was only 1/5 the size it is now; lack of resources hindered recovery. On the other hand, we had those kick-ass wigs. Wigs were so popular, they named a political party after them. So we had wigs going for us. And frock coats.
Back then, the best way to pull yourself up out of debt seemed to be to disappear into the woods of Kentucky (the Wild West of the day), clear yourself some farm land and raise a few meager crops. Or make wigs. Or buy Louisiana. Modern day equivalent: hydroponic closet "gardens," hair plugs and buying the 9th Ward.
1820's: The War of 1812 (aka, the British Are Coming, Part Deux), international instability via Napoleon, and, shockingly, more trade blockades. In the positive column, we had some rockin' pirates. I think we had given up wigs at that point, but Andrew Jackson kind of made up for it in the hair department. The man was a poster child for the Flo-bee.
Economic recovery in those days centered on the Industrial Revolution, the cotton gin, creation of the World's Worst National Anthem (thereby giving us all something to complain about other than a lack of indoor plumbing), extensive railway construction and the birth of Canada. Since Canada's already born, I'm thinking we could re-write the national anthem. Maybe with a catchy hook by Elton John.
1860's: The Civil War, the failed Reconstruction, labor abuses spawned by the Industrial Revolution and oh-so-much more caused a significant depression. Deep distrust still divided our country after the war, but we did gain Puerto Rico and Hawaii. We tended to find whipping boys during this time of economic hardship, mainly African and Native Americans (both Jim Crow and the reservation system got their start at this point).
To reach the Roaring 20's, we invented the telegraph and began pillaging our "abundant natural resources." As we've kind of run out of the latter and already tapped out the former, we could potentially invent a new way of communicating (**meep meep** "Beam me up, Scotty") or we could, um, invade Canada. I hear they still have "abundant natural resources."
1930's: The first World War and the stock market crash. Inept leadership and isolationist politics. Profligate corporate culture and a disenfranchised populace. Now we're talking! Ok, so how did we fix that one? Massive government stimulus? Check. Another war on the horizon? Check. Discovery of fuel in the Middle East? Um, I'll get back to you on that one. Industrial modernization? Check. The "Can Do" innovative spirit that characterizes everything wonderful about this country? ...
There are lessons to be learned from the Great Depression. Other than, of course, Don't Do That Again. Too late for that one.
1. Mobilize people in great big groups. People like to feel like we're all chipping in together, like the CCC and WPA. We have Americorps, the SPCA, Habitat for Humanity, the *insert name of local volunteer army here* just hanging around waiting for an opportunity for action. We can't let them get bored. That's how scary revolutions, abstinence-only education and prohibition get started.
2. Hands off the bankers/investors. They got themselves into their stupid-*ss situations, let them get their stupid *sses back out. I don't need any more credit cards or a home loan I can't afford, so just stop treating them like spoiled children with boo-boos.
3. Correctly identify the problem. What do we remember about the Great Depression? Bread lines and 25% unemployment. Not so much the mortgage meltdown or the run on the banks (all of which also happened). People need jobs before they can be consumers or home owners or savers or debt-runner-uppers, which all the pundit seem to think we need. Jobs. I want my job so much, I work overnight. I know a lot of people who do. I also know a lot of people who would kill for my job, overnight or not. Provide the jobs and you prevent them from starving, prevent them from collecting government assistance, earn income tax for the government, and keep them too busy to foment rebellion. Unless you're me. I always have time to foment something.
4. When all else fails, jump a box car. Thanks to the 1820's, I always have that option. I hear hobos are a happy, friendly, inclusive bunch.
Let's face it: the Stimulus Plan, as excited as bureaucrats and economics professors might be about it (negatively or positively), doesn't do a whole lot for us here on the ground worried about our paychecks day-to-day. And neither did any of the preceding plans, if they existed, excepting perhaps The New Deal. People forget how enormously unpopular the New Deal was at the time of its inception. But, then again, People are dumb.
Here's a look at how Americans handled this sort of situation and any lessons we might learn from past experience:
1780's: The Revolution, widthdrawl of English financial support and massive trade blockades limited growth for a while. Plus, our country was only 1/5 the size it is now; lack of resources hindered recovery. On the other hand, we had those kick-ass wigs. Wigs were so popular, they named a political party after them. So we had wigs going for us. And frock coats.
Back then, the best way to pull yourself up out of debt seemed to be to disappear into the woods of Kentucky (the Wild West of the day), clear yourself some farm land and raise a few meager crops. Or make wigs. Or buy Louisiana. Modern day equivalent: hydroponic closet "gardens," hair plugs and buying the 9th Ward.
1820's: The War of 1812 (aka, the British Are Coming, Part Deux), international instability via Napoleon, and, shockingly, more trade blockades. In the positive column, we had some rockin' pirates. I think we had given up wigs at that point, but Andrew Jackson kind of made up for it in the hair department. The man was a poster child for the Flo-bee.
Economic recovery in those days centered on the Industrial Revolution, the cotton gin, creation of the World's Worst National Anthem (thereby giving us all something to complain about other than a lack of indoor plumbing), extensive railway construction and the birth of Canada. Since Canada's already born, I'm thinking we could re-write the national anthem. Maybe with a catchy hook by Elton John.
1860's: The Civil War, the failed Reconstruction, labor abuses spawned by the Industrial Revolution and oh-so-much more caused a significant depression. Deep distrust still divided our country after the war, but we did gain Puerto Rico and Hawaii. We tended to find whipping boys during this time of economic hardship, mainly African and Native Americans (both Jim Crow and the reservation system got their start at this point).
To reach the Roaring 20's, we invented the telegraph and began pillaging our "abundant natural resources." As we've kind of run out of the latter and already tapped out the former, we could potentially invent a new way of communicating (**meep meep** "Beam me up, Scotty") or we could, um, invade Canada. I hear they still have "abundant natural resources."
1930's: The first World War and the stock market crash. Inept leadership and isolationist politics. Profligate corporate culture and a disenfranchised populace. Now we're talking! Ok, so how did we fix that one? Massive government stimulus? Check. Another war on the horizon? Check. Discovery of fuel in the Middle East? Um, I'll get back to you on that one. Industrial modernization? Check. The "Can Do" innovative spirit that characterizes everything wonderful about this country? ...
There are lessons to be learned from the Great Depression. Other than, of course, Don't Do That Again. Too late for that one.
1. Mobilize people in great big groups. People like to feel like we're all chipping in together, like the CCC and WPA. We have Americorps, the SPCA, Habitat for Humanity, the *insert name of local volunteer army here* just hanging around waiting for an opportunity for action. We can't let them get bored. That's how scary revolutions, abstinence-only education and prohibition get started.
2. Hands off the bankers/investors. They got themselves into their stupid-*ss situations, let them get their stupid *sses back out. I don't need any more credit cards or a home loan I can't afford, so just stop treating them like spoiled children with boo-boos.
3. Correctly identify the problem. What do we remember about the Great Depression? Bread lines and 25% unemployment. Not so much the mortgage meltdown or the run on the banks (all of which also happened). People need jobs before they can be consumers or home owners or savers or debt-runner-uppers, which all the pundit seem to think we need. Jobs. I want my job so much, I work overnight. I know a lot of people who do. I also know a lot of people who would kill for my job, overnight or not. Provide the jobs and you prevent them from starving, prevent them from collecting government assistance, earn income tax for the government, and keep them too busy to foment rebellion. Unless you're me. I always have time to foment something.
4. When all else fails, jump a box car. Thanks to the 1820's, I always have that option. I hear hobos are a happy, friendly, inclusive bunch.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
26 Cent Stamps And Other Ways to Raise Money
Yesterday, the Post Office announced their annual postage cost increase. Was it always annual? I seem to remember a time when you could rely on stamps as one of the Great Constants In Life, along with the cost of a large cheese pizza, a bottle of Prell, and movie tickets. Of course, I remember this from a time when I did not regularly purchase my own food, entertainment or personal hygiene products.
In May, stamps will increase from their current 47 cents to 51 cents. Oh, and postcards will be going up too, but I didn't pay attention to that.
To justify the hike, the Post Office claimed: 1. postal rates are pegged to inflation and independent of need, cost of service or any such un-democratic, pro-pragmatism measure. And, contradictorily, 2. Postage demand has fallen over the last few years, so they aren't hauling in what they used to. Because when a retail establishment begins to lose customers, the standard reaction is to RAISE the prices. In conclusion, says the Post Office, the postage-consuming public should be grateful they did not raise the price even more to actually reflect the cost of doing business, because then we'd really be hurting. Or rather, Grandma, who still sends us birthday cards with $3 inside, would be hurting.
Because I'm not the sort of person who criticises without providing my alternative solution (don't those people irk you? Don't you just want to strangle those people? Wait, are you one of those people? Never mind...), here are my suggestions for Post Office fundraising:
1. Sell VIP passes to a Post Office Frequent Mailer's Club, complete with secret entrance and expensive refreshments. Those willing to pay for the privilege get to avoid the hoypoloy in line and receive "concierge" service in a dedicated private lounge. Maybe there could even be a bouncer. Hey, it works for United Airlines.
2. Throw the Mother of All Bake Sales. Girl Scouts, the Salvation Army, the SPCA, Wilbur the Homeless Gentleman, they all make money standing outside the Post Office peddling cookies, guilt relief, dog treats, or their dignity. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right? I hear Wilbur pulls in a respectable six figures.
3. Hold a lottery to select the next stamp subject. Charge $1 per chance to win the right to choose a stamp honoree. It could be yourself, your hobby, your pet, your left big toe, no limits! Inclusion is very democratic, don't you think?
4. Start one of those "Executive Salary At Home" businesses advertised on median strips and telephone poles everywhere. I mean, the Post Office already spreads junk mail all over the country, why shouldn't they telemarket a little on the side, to make ends meet? "Want to earn six figures? Contact Wilbur."
Actually, since I do all my bills on line now and I've mailed all my wedding thank-yous, I don't have a vested interest in postal rates anymore. I just might take myself up on that bake sale idea, though...
In May, stamps will increase from their current 47 cents to 51 cents. Oh, and postcards will be going up too, but I didn't pay attention to that.
To justify the hike, the Post Office claimed: 1. postal rates are pegged to inflation and independent of need, cost of service or any such un-democratic, pro-pragmatism measure. And, contradictorily, 2. Postage demand has fallen over the last few years, so they aren't hauling in what they used to. Because when a retail establishment begins to lose customers, the standard reaction is to RAISE the prices. In conclusion, says the Post Office, the postage-consuming public should be grateful they did not raise the price even more to actually reflect the cost of doing business, because then we'd really be hurting. Or rather, Grandma, who still sends us birthday cards with $3 inside, would be hurting.
Because I'm not the sort of person who criticises without providing my alternative solution (don't those people irk you? Don't you just want to strangle those people? Wait, are you one of those people? Never mind...), here are my suggestions for Post Office fundraising:
1. Sell VIP passes to a Post Office Frequent Mailer's Club, complete with secret entrance and expensive refreshments. Those willing to pay for the privilege get to avoid the hoypoloy in line and receive "concierge" service in a dedicated private lounge. Maybe there could even be a bouncer. Hey, it works for United Airlines.
2. Throw the Mother of All Bake Sales. Girl Scouts, the Salvation Army, the SPCA, Wilbur the Homeless Gentleman, they all make money standing outside the Post Office peddling cookies, guilt relief, dog treats, or their dignity. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right? I hear Wilbur pulls in a respectable six figures.
3. Hold a lottery to select the next stamp subject. Charge $1 per chance to win the right to choose a stamp honoree. It could be yourself, your hobby, your pet, your left big toe, no limits! Inclusion is very democratic, don't you think?
4. Start one of those "Executive Salary At Home" businesses advertised on median strips and telephone poles everywhere. I mean, the Post Office already spreads junk mail all over the country, why shouldn't they telemarket a little on the side, to make ends meet? "Want to earn six figures? Contact Wilbur."
Actually, since I do all my bills on line now and I've mailed all my wedding thank-yous, I don't have a vested interest in postal rates anymore. I just might take myself up on that bake sale idea, though...
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Another One Bites the Dust...
Almost. According to Moody's yesterday, Loehmann's clothing stores will soon be joining the ranks of the financially insolvent. Funny how that happens when businesses are held to the same credit standards the rest of us schmucks have to live by. But Loehmann's? The loss of a great international chain of bargain-bin designer-label pantyhose shills signals a fundamental shift the basic life processes of the American people.
Seriously, how did these people stay in business in the first place?
I have several traumatic childhood memories of visiting Loehmann's with my mother in the 1980's and possibly 90's. If you are a woman over the age of 25, with a depression-era female relative, you probably have the same post-traumatic stress syndrome symptoms.
Loehmann's contributed to the negative body images of young girls everywhere by providing, not the traditional minuscule, poorly-lit individual changing rooms, but one, giant, communal, mirrored-in-the-round, poorly-lit changing room. An octagon of terror without the chain-link fencing. On numerous occasions, I and my sisteren (??) were exposed to the lumpy, calcified flesh of anonymous elderly ladies, those with no decorous sense of modesty. These ladies bared all (and I mean all) to the harsh assessment of those wrap-around mirrors, the ones that allowed no escape for small children hiding behind the returns rack. Garters, stockings, brassieres, "support garments" of all shapes, compositions and styles, I think a corset or two (and not the cool types, either), hairy legs and crotches, the horrors unfolded in a slow-motion ballet similar to the elephant scene in Fantasia sans cuteness.
Admittedly, it has been many years since I approached the hallowed halls of Loehmann's (which may be their problem), so they might have subdivided the Octagon of Dystopia into traditional changing rooms. Perhaps, in an attempt to boost flagging sales, they abandoned the 1930's in favor of something slightly modern: privacy.
Still, if a cheaper version of TJMaxx can't make it in today's economic climate, we must be headed down a slippery slope.
RIP, Loehmann's, RIP.
Seriously, how did these people stay in business in the first place?
I have several traumatic childhood memories of visiting Loehmann's with my mother in the 1980's and possibly 90's. If you are a woman over the age of 25, with a depression-era female relative, you probably have the same post-traumatic stress syndrome symptoms.
Loehmann's contributed to the negative body images of young girls everywhere by providing, not the traditional minuscule, poorly-lit individual changing rooms, but one, giant, communal, mirrored-in-the-round, poorly-lit changing room. An octagon of terror without the chain-link fencing. On numerous occasions, I and my sisteren (??) were exposed to the lumpy, calcified flesh of anonymous elderly ladies, those with no decorous sense of modesty. These ladies bared all (and I mean all) to the harsh assessment of those wrap-around mirrors, the ones that allowed no escape for small children hiding behind the returns rack. Garters, stockings, brassieres, "support garments" of all shapes, compositions and styles, I think a corset or two (and not the cool types, either), hairy legs and crotches, the horrors unfolded in a slow-motion ballet similar to the elephant scene in Fantasia sans cuteness.
Admittedly, it has been many years since I approached the hallowed halls of Loehmann's (which may be their problem), so they might have subdivided the Octagon of Dystopia into traditional changing rooms. Perhaps, in an attempt to boost flagging sales, they abandoned the 1930's in favor of something slightly modern: privacy.
Still, if a cheaper version of TJMaxx can't make it in today's economic climate, we must be headed down a slippery slope.
RIP, Loehmann's, RIP.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Superpowers
George W. Bush gave me superpowers. Kind of like falling into a vat of radioactive waste, the sluggish (aka, flat-lining) economy, for which I justifiably blame W, forced me into my bizarre work schedule, 12 midnight to 9 am. If there were jobs aplenty, I would not be enjoying the life of a nocturnal mammal. However, just as the bite of a radioactive spider turned a mild-mannered nerd into Spiderman, my overnight status seems to enhance my sense of the ironic and absurd.
For example, on my way home from work in the morning, I pass a church. Now, ever since I moved south from Connecticut, I've collected church signs (those adjustable plastic marquees). Not the actual signs (I don't have the storage space for that); I like to keep track of the creative or off-the-wall sayings. I consider them a type of regional poetry, really. A Southern haiku. Well, the sign out front of the Charlotte Second Church of the Morally Righteous reads, "Here, Not Wal-Mart, Is The Place To Save."
Apparently, the Charlotte Second Church of the Morally Righteous competes with Wal-Mart for its Sunday morning crowd. I picture many a young family, gathered around the family car, all decked out in their Sunday duds, deciding, "Kids, we can either sit with out community to hear the word of the lord, or we can stand in line with a shirtless contractor to pay $0.55 for sauerkraut. What do you think?"
MMmmm... sauerkraut....
So, from what was admittedly already a strange sense of humor rises my Overnight Train skewed take on life, liberty and the pursuit of the eight-hour sleep-day.
PS, another church sign I observed this last weekend: "If you have a pulse, you have a purpose." I have a number of aquaintences (heck, close family members), who possess one but not the other. Sadly, none of them are vampires. Vampire relatives would be awesome. Reality is so not that cool.
For example, on my way home from work in the morning, I pass a church. Now, ever since I moved south from Connecticut, I've collected church signs (those adjustable plastic marquees). Not the actual signs (I don't have the storage space for that); I like to keep track of the creative or off-the-wall sayings. I consider them a type of regional poetry, really. A Southern haiku. Well, the sign out front of the Charlotte Second Church of the Morally Righteous reads, "Here, Not Wal-Mart, Is The Place To Save."
Apparently, the Charlotte Second Church of the Morally Righteous competes with Wal-Mart for its Sunday morning crowd. I picture many a young family, gathered around the family car, all decked out in their Sunday duds, deciding, "Kids, we can either sit with out community to hear the word of the lord, or we can stand in line with a shirtless contractor to pay $0.55 for sauerkraut. What do you think?"
MMmmm... sauerkraut....
So, from what was admittedly already a strange sense of humor rises my Overnight Train skewed take on life, liberty and the pursuit of the eight-hour sleep-day.
PS, another church sign I observed this last weekend: "If you have a pulse, you have a purpose." I have a number of aquaintences (heck, close family members), who possess one but not the other. Sadly, none of them are vampires. Vampire relatives would be awesome. Reality is so not that cool.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Overnight Train
I work overnight. A night shift. But I'm not a steelworker or a security guard. I'm a thirty-year-old married Caucasian woman; I work a normal, white-collar job and hold two college degrees. My job title is "Analyst," but it could be "Network Supervisor," "Team Lead," "Account Executive" or any other vague, undescriptive moniker.
This is the new world we live in, the one our parents don't understand, the one where our employers consider us commodities and we offer no loyalty to our employers. Displays of loyalty are met with, at best, distrust. We consider ourselves lucky to hold a steady job, and our employers often take advantage of that gratitude with a myriad of tiny degradations. But I don't intend to catalogue my sardonic mental gymnastics with respect to neo-corporate evolution.
When you work at night and sleep during the day, your perspective shifts. You operate under different social rules, and I suspect there's a growing population of us, the "creatively scheduled," wandering around at 7:30 on a Saturday morning.
How do we cope with our displacement? Previously, we joined friends for 5 pm happy hours, slept late on weekends, hustled through endless am rush hour commutes, watched two hours of "must-see tv" at 7 and 8 pm, maybe even carpooled or used public transportation. Much of the normal American lifestyle is beyond my reach, at least in it's unadulterated form. I now know which bars sell food until 4 am, which bagel shops open at 5 am, where the 24-hour grocery stores are, and which of my neighbors are unemployed and making unjustified, unruly, unrelenting noise at noon on a Thursday. A girl's got to sleep, after all.
Life turned literally back-to-front presents challenges and unexpected windfalls. For example, at 11:30 pm, when I'm commuting to work, it takes me less than 20 minutes, less than half the normal time. All I have to do is slalom past the occasional drunk driver (why are they always, regardless of weekday, drunk drivers? Have we lost the moral sanction of the 90's?), and I'm sitting at my silent, fluorescently lit desk.
This is the new world we live in, the one our parents don't understand, the one where our employers consider us commodities and we offer no loyalty to our employers. Displays of loyalty are met with, at best, distrust. We consider ourselves lucky to hold a steady job, and our employers often take advantage of that gratitude with a myriad of tiny degradations. But I don't intend to catalogue my sardonic mental gymnastics with respect to neo-corporate evolution.
When you work at night and sleep during the day, your perspective shifts. You operate under different social rules, and I suspect there's a growing population of us, the "creatively scheduled," wandering around at 7:30 on a Saturday morning.
How do we cope with our displacement? Previously, we joined friends for 5 pm happy hours, slept late on weekends, hustled through endless am rush hour commutes, watched two hours of "must-see tv" at 7 and 8 pm, maybe even carpooled or used public transportation. Much of the normal American lifestyle is beyond my reach, at least in it's unadulterated form. I now know which bars sell food until 4 am, which bagel shops open at 5 am, where the 24-hour grocery stores are, and which of my neighbors are unemployed and making unjustified, unruly, unrelenting noise at noon on a Thursday. A girl's got to sleep, after all.
Life turned literally back-to-front presents challenges and unexpected windfalls. For example, at 11:30 pm, when I'm commuting to work, it takes me less than 20 minutes, less than half the normal time. All I have to do is slalom past the occasional drunk driver (why are they always, regardless of weekday, drunk drivers? Have we lost the moral sanction of the 90's?), and I'm sitting at my silent, fluorescently lit desk.
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