dirty politics and dirty cash

What a fucked up world we live in. Sometimes it feels so bleak. The wrongdoers, often motivated by money, seem to create the all the rules. How can we win this game?

Culturally, it's been interesting to see the rise of organics, the new trend hitting the shelf at Safeway in its suspiciously uniform, monotonous, eye-catching "O" brand packaging. Something inside you squirms when you see the over commercialized health food sitting on the shelf next to the processed, plastic-wrapped crap that's sickly overmarketed to us in an E-Z, cheap, consumer-ready way. What have housewives learn about preservatives?


The story that inspires my sickness for the world today is pasted below.




AURORA THREATENS ORGANIC CONSUMERS ASSOCIATION WITH LAWSUIT

Just when we thought it couldn't get any hotter (or any more mind-boggling), the "organic" dairy factory farm controversy reached a new level of intensity over the past week. The USDA announced, to the disappointment of the organic community, that they were not going to take further disciplinary measures against Aurora Organic Dairy, a company that just a few weeks ago had a portion of its organic certification suspended by the USDA for "willfully" violating National Organic Standards since 2003 by failing to pasture its animals and by bringing conventional calves onto its feedlots and then declaring them organic. But caving in to pressure from Aurora and other big corporate players in the organic sector , the USDA now says the #1 organic private label dairy processor in the U.S. can continue selling milk produced on its factory farms as "organic" to its longstanding customers including Target, Wal-Mart, Costco, Safeway, and Woodstock Farms.

In a mind-twisting manipulation of logic, the new acting Secretary of Agriculture, Chuck Connors, a notorious cheerleader for biotech and corporate agribusiness, announced last week that this issue, regarding Aurora's violation of the USDA National Organic Standards, falls outside the scope of the USDA National Organic Standards. "I know there is controversy out there on a number of issues that really fall outside the bounds, if you will, of what constitutes that organic standard that is necessary in order for the product to have our seal," said Connors.

Now that they have the USDA in their pocket, Aurora is threatening to sue the Organic Consumers Association and Cornucopia Institute for educating and mobilizing consumers to oppose Aurora's blatant violations of organic integrity. In related news, the recent issue of Fortune Magazine reports Aurora's factory farms generated a record 100 million dollars in "organic" dairy sales to consumers this year. In other words, when it comes to suing the OCA, Aurora has plenty of money, from selling its cheap "organic" factory farm milk to Wal-Mart, Target, Costco, and Safeway . So given this David versus Goliath situation, OCA needs your financial support today, more than ever, to defend ourselves from this attack by Aurora and to expose the ongoing negligence of the USDA.

Attencion!

Old Ladies in the Mission...stop it!

the new girl

My first day at the new jobby couldn't have gone better. Within minutes, I knew I was home. On my tour of the office, I noticed a drawer stocked with beers. I asked what the coffee-making process is, "Does the first one to get here make it?" I was told, "Uh, you can do that if you want, but we have someone who makes it." Holy shit, they should have mentioned the coffee boy in my interview.

Overall, the day was more structured and more formal than any day at the last job. There was an actual introduction to my coworkers and a meeting to explain benefits. At my old workplace, there was no HR department and everyone called me "whats-her-face." They even do quarterly workstation ergonomic checks! I wonder if I can weasel my way into a quick shoulder rub from the HR lady?

More than one person encouraged me to take a long lunch, walk down to the water and relax. Best of all, all overtime is compensated with flexible time off. I'm already "out" as a same-name relationship participant and felt comfortable mentioning my better half throughout the day. Sigh (of relief)! I'm pretty sure that I'm going to be much happier here. Meetings start on time. Not one person was on MySpace instead of working. They have a machine that electronically licks envelopes. The weekly farmer's market is just a stroll away. As 9-to-5s go, this is paradise.

lazy with nature

Working from home is fun. I walk around my backyard thinking of all the possibilities. I found this cute/scary lil' butterfly chillin' on a leaf. He was pretty lazy. The dirty deck was bothering me, so I spent about 30 minutes scrubbing it and realized that I need to get a powerwasher. Then I stared at the overgrown yard some more and thought, "landscaping babes!" This must be the laziest day of my life.

party experiments

My friends had a “future” theme party on the night we set the clocks ahead for daylight savings time. (I’ve been too lazy to document it until now.) Given the fact that we were to lose an hour of sleep the next day, this was a cruel thing to do. Given the fact that the next day was also extremely sunny and unseasonably warm, this was actually the epitome of cruel.

It was a very, very drunk evening at a giant, crowded party of guests who dressed up as themselves in the future. I showed up in a bathrobe, symbolizing my retirement. I plan to get rid of all my clothing and roam around wearing nothing but a bathrobe (even in public). My two future-themed experiments were a time capsule for party guests to donate items and a digital recording of guests offering themselves a message in the future. The question I posed was, “What message would you give yourself 50 years in the future?”

Admittedly, I slipped a few times and said, “What advice would you give yourself 50 years in the future?” rather than asking for a message or, more generally, “what you would say to yourself in 50 years.” Some people had trouble with this. Many gave themselves what seemed like advice for the current year. Others gave advice to themselves in the past. One just flat out refused to answer based on the principle that you cannot give yourself advice for the future because, theoretically, you should have already followed that advice presuming that your future self remembered the message. I shouldn’t have expected conceptual thinking or proper verb conjugation from a bunch of drunken fools in the first place, but the results are interesting nonetheless. Here they are (verbatim):

This thing doesn’t work. This thing is technology.

Be good to everybody (That was in Bill & Ted’s!).

You shouldn’t have taken that little tab at that show in 1988. That really fucked with you.

You better go to Hawaii in the summer of 2007.

I hope you haven’t gained too much weight. You know, you’ve seen your dad and you don’t want to end up like your dad. Stay in touch with your feminine side. I hope you have feelings.

The number four horse, twenty-eleven, place!

Hang in there!

Note to self: You wanna be that old bag that’s alive 100 years from now giving your great, great, great, great grandchildren advice. Stay alive! Eat your apple jacks with ya vitamins and ya fortification so you’ll be sayin’, “Back in my day, maxi pads were only made of plastic and we only had 2 arms!’

I told you so!

Relax, it’s gonna be fine. You know you don’t have to worry so much. It’s gonna be fine.

Don’t take advice from yourself when you’re drunk!

Listen to more Devo.

Please do not destroy yourself. Please do not progress to the point where you no longer resist tension. Please, Mr. Wickford, no longer kill yourself. Never ever kill yourself. There must be some time where you believe you are not the Eden. You are not the end.

Get a job, find life fulfillment, be happy when you die.

Oh Jesse, you’re still digging holes under foundations. What a loser! Get a life!

Two things: Drink more and lighten up, baby!

I know you’re someone I’ll know in 50 years. I know! In 25 years, I’m gonna be 50. Muthafucka, you better make some good films. Make good films, a few. I’ll still be chillin’ with Rachel.

You better still be wearing striped stockings, be a damn good gardener, be inspired, and be alive.

Relax!

Erin, you definitely need to get your lips done. They’re not looking as plump and fluffy as they should be. Your lips are drooping and sagging down to your boobs and your boobs are sagging down to your waist. So basically, you’re not lookin’ so good. Start at the top and work your way down.

Thank god the earth is growing.

Tell those fucking kids to get off your motherfucking lawn, cuz your lawn and really nice and they are all gonna be pissing anarchy symbols on it and playing whiffle ball. And you know what’ll happen? I’ll fuck you until you get off my lawn! You’re gonna bleeeeeeeed, get off…my lawn!

Hello. Hope you’re doing well. Don’t take any wooden nickels.

Get rid of all the small, daily stresses of your life.

Don’t be fooled, those aren’t real twenties.

Never listen to authority.

The 90s really sucked. Don’t go back to the 90s.
I believe the children are the future. Teach them well and they will lead the way.

How do I know that in 50 years’ time that I didn’t already follow my advice?

Do you still wish you had something cooler in your handbag than just a hair tie?

Grow your money now!

I would like to commend you on you rnew position as a dictator of a small island in the South Pacific. It’s well deserved. You’re one sexy bitch!

Yeaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Be sure that you turn the stove off before you leave the house. Always lock your door. And frequently change the litter box, cuz that shit smells.

Never bullshit anyone cuz it doesn’t get you anywhere.

I hope I life a god damn good life.

West Virginia isn’t nearly almost heaven. It’s almost hell! It’s hot and humid there. I lived there in a past life and pa made me work on the wagons. I didn’t like the goats. There were a lot of flies. It was hell.

Relax, have fun, live life.

Don’t turn into the other lane very quickly. Look over your shoulder first!

Stop leaving puppies for people.

Google me or whatever modern form of attainment there is.

change is good

Hooray, a wonderful thing has happened....I quit my job! I've been in my current position for about 4 years now. Sometimes it's bad. Most of the time it's good. On the day-to-day, it's damn easy. Lately, I go in a lil' late and leave a lil' early. I work from home whenever I want, which is often. I'm just as productive as I need to be, which is 10 times more productive than the rest of the staff and everyone knows it. The future was looking quite stagnant, so I decided to put the feelers out there.

The feelers had just come out for a split-second when wham!...a dream job made a dreamy offer. I accepted the job offer. It's a position at the local headquarters of a national organization doing some seriously good work. For me, it's like getting into Harvard without all those messy GREs and all the much ballyhooed intelligence. Telling my boss was sort of easy because of the particular organization and position I was accepting are so clearly fantastically better than the current deal. It's pretty much a no brainer. Nonetheless, she didn't take it well.

She cried and said "fuck" a few times. I tried to fill the awkward silence with a list of some of the accomplishments I contributed to over the last few years. There were more tears and more silence. I explained my mixed emotions and said how sad I was to leave this organization, but still she didn't offer the congratulations. In fact, she admitted, while wiping away more tears, "I wish I could say I'm happy for you, but I'm not even going to lie."

Suddenly, a coworker bust in to make fun of us for meeting behind closed doors, a somewhat formal practice in our very informal office that is reserved for the rare case of discipline. The coworker jumped in and said, "You know, you guys don't have to shut the door. It's not like you're working! No laptops, see.....uh, are you crying?" From there, things just became more tense and tear-filled. Other coworkers filed in, "YOU'RE LEAVING??!!" The meeting ended when I abruptly stood up and said we'd see each other later to talk more. She obviously wasn't ready to discuss the work that needs to get done before my departure or agree on an end date.

She left early that day. And she's worked at home every day since then. Normally, she works at home once a week, so this is feeling a bit strange. All of my coworkers were shocked too, and there have been jokes about my boss' depression, shooting me with paintball guns, having me jumped, and other bizarre forms of torture. Lots of snipey "traitor" jokes and other half-joking comparions, "Your new job isn't going to give you a laptop AND a computer for your office!" It feels all too unprofessional. And so, I've been enduring the guilt and secretly smiling on the inside. Oh, and I'm working from home right now so I have to go watch a movie. Bye!

a thoughtful note

Dear Men,

Please stop wearing denim shorts. It's bad enough that you're wearing shorts, but wearing denim shorts is unforgiveable.



How about leaving something to the imagination? Your doughy calves, though not an intimate area of the body, are just as sickening to the general public as your pasty, lumpy bellies. So let's keep them both covered up, okay?

This may be difficult for you to understand because "everyone else is doing it" and you "really don't care about fashion or trends," but let me summarize the endless list of reasons you should avoid this look with a simple illustration of how just a little of men's exposed leg skin goes oh-so far:



Sincerely,
Women

My weakness prevails!

After 4 solid weeks of slaving on four 40-page documents (containing far too much use of my sub par math skills), I caved! I gave in to the divinely aromatic and jitteringly powerful daily temptation that I'd been staving off for the previous 5 months....coffee!

It was a record-breaking stint of caffeine avoidance. I've written about this before, but here's a brief recap. The morning drip was a hurried routine that was more about habit than flavor. So I quit. I was tired of relying on the cheap buzz. And after about a week, I didn't even miss it. It had become easy to carry on my daily routine without the morning cup. So easy, in fact, that drinking an occasional cup of french press in the afternoon was something I began to look forward to not just on the weekends, but whenever I'd work from home. The pace picked up, from a once a week treat to a few times a week (approaching 'vice' status).

Then the avalanche at my job happened and my weak mental focus and poor impulse control kicked in. I started working from home more often, and each time I'd look to that afternoon delight for a burst of flavor and more than a hint of energy. And man, you can FEEL that burst of energy much more when you’re only having one or two cups a week. In my final week approaching the deadline, I was a full-fledged junkie---drinking up to three cups of strong french press a day (while I was working 10 and 12 hour shifts).

So I’m currently stable in decaf rehab where the flavor is lacking and the mugs shoot blanks. I'm not even sure what invisible force has inspired me to face my lack of self-control, but whatever it is has surfaced. At least the force hasn't asked me to quit booze!

very simply stated

The reason why I despise math is this:

$6,617.97 divided by 416 = 15.908581730769230769230769230769

Seriously,that's a fucking number!

15.908581730769230769230769230769??? Fuck You!

And when you reverse the equasion in a rage, trying to simplify it, (15.90 multiplied by 416) you get a different fucking answer which is $3.57 less than the correct figure. And that's enough to buy you a bagel and coffee so it actually does matter.

This is the first and the very last time you will ever read about math on the Zesty Armpit Dance.

a moment of seasonal clarity

It's 60 degrees in March. Is this winter? I'm not complaining. I've noticed how happy this nice weather has made me feel this week. I'm not one of those seasonal disorder types, but I am really fucking ready for the summer right now.

OH, and I'd also like to add that I am extremely grateful right now that I no longer have to deal with the "garden" in this photograph. Fuck you, weeds! My backyard is big and, for the most part, clear. I'm going to stare outside for a while.