Category Archives: social commentary

Lifting A Finger! [audio]

political commentary, psychology, public education, slum culture, social behavior, social commentary, sociology, The Independent Party, the power grid, , , , , , , , , ,

 

 

THE NEW ENTITLEMENT: Restricted Access and “Reimbursement.”

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“FREE MONEY! FREE MONEY!”

This writer is feeling the burn, today.

Yesterday was the first day in my life that I got within eye contact of a living American Presidential candidate. It was also the first time in my life that I was ever so convinced by everything said, so aligned with every outlined principle and proposed policy.

Looking around me I saw a room, filled with young adults and poor people. Over two thousand, showing up with less than 24 hours notice, at least five of them my former students.

We all heard him say that America is the richest country in the world, and that he’d come to tell us we deserved a piece of the proverbial pie provided we worked to earn it. I wondered if everyone present fully understood the underlying structure of our candidate’s position – particularly as it related to money.

The teacher in me revved its engine; I came home compelled to speak. Here is my story.

About ten years ago, I signed up for a course in spread trading options. This course was held both online and over the phone, a group conference call in session two nights a week with a handful of participants. It came with volumes of hard copy reference material, which I have saved in my storehouse of human experience.

I learned buckets about the massive industry that dispenses free money. And, it ain’t what yer thinkin’.

I learned that, with essential skills in chart reading of key indicators and prudent decision making, putting down small money can, by day’s end, yield unbelievable windfall. How? By betting on the stock market. Betting that prices will rise, and betting that prices will fall, and doing so simultaneously.

The course trainer said to watch for a 20% move, and then act – in both directions. And, he was teaching caution!

What I discovered about myself was that chart reading was a piece of cake for me. What I also discovered was that I was far too impulsive to make the prudent decision. I’d place a trade, the smartest option on the boards, and then either close it out too soon or wait too long and watch my bet evaporate. Yes; along with obeying the indicators, timing was absolutely key.

But, what everyone needs to know about all this is:  the training necessary to do the thing right, that which yields incredible profits purely on the investments made by OTHER PEOPLE (i.e. their money (!), comes with a hefty price tag of its own: $10,000. And, though, by some fluke, my credit card was only charged $2000 for the course, in the end, I barely broke even on the trades I placed.

Yes; any American dream of making millions can come true. But, the price tag restricts that option (npi) to only those with enough to pay for the course in the first place. And, even then: one false move, and somebody else takes every penny.

Sound like the story of life in these United States?

Yeah.

And, here’s what: trades on stock, from the big corporate Blue Chips to the pennies, are happening every second, twenty four hours a day. There is computer software that does the thinking, following formulae (algorhythms) that would make the average math hater run for the vomitorium. And, by only lifting a finger, the top one tenth of one per cent of the American population is cashing in.

One key Presidential hopeful wants to impose a tax on the finger lifters. He’s the man I saw and heard, yesterday.

It only takes a fourth grader with the skill set and a calculator to estimate how much $$$ such a tax would generate. Senator Bernie Sanders would use that money to fund public education at the college level. Heck. There’d be enough left over to fund public education, period.

Yes. Wall Street has some ‘splainin’ to do. Problem is, there are those who are protecting their own stake in it who are fighting to prevent this. Certain Presidential candidates come to mind. The biggest among them, however, are the pharmaceutical giants, the ones who make the pills you take daily.

There’s a word, in the recording industry: payola. Look it up. Ever get free sample packets from your doctor of the latest drug to treat your condition? You’re right about one thing. Ain’t nuthin’ really free; somebody benefits. And, here’s the worst of it: medical oncologists get kickbacks for prescribing chemotherapy drugs. These kickbacks are called “reimbursements” and, for every drug that costs [the insurance company] 10 grand (and, you an increasing co-pay), the doc gets 600 bucks. Imagine 600 extra bucks for every customer who walks into a hardware store; if you’re the owner, you can by a yacht AND a second home.

So, yeah. I don’t blow the hot air. I might be a little behind on occasion [ totally missed Mellencamp at the Warner ], but I only speak when I’m as sure as I can be at the moment that I know what I’m talking about. And, if you find me errant, you tell me and I’ll be on it.

[ insert extemporaneous audio ]

Meantime, take a second look at the candidate you’ve been supporting for President. Then look, again, at Senator Bernie Sanders. There is far, far more under that shock of white hair than you’ll find inside the cranium of anybody else telling you for whom you should vote.

Speaking of voting, catch the latest in fraud following the still open New York primary. One hundred twenty five thousand New York voters, stripped of their option to vote at all, one of whom the daughter of an American veteran I know personally. Just enough to tip the scales for the other Democrat’s 10%, according to my calculations – and, my math skills are fairly rudimentary.

The verdict is not yet in. But, there are plans – concrete plans, in the mind of the only real visionary on the horizon. If you think for yourself, without fear, you’ll make the choice that will be right for you and everybody else. And, you’ll only have to lift your hand.

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Bernie Sanders for President 2016.

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo  4/20/16   SHARE THIS POST. SHARE IT, LIBERALLY! THANK YOU!!

LITTLEBAREFEETBLOG.COM

 

 

 

 

 

 

Birthed.

arts education, classical music, classical musicians, creative writing, drama, film reviews, musicians, performance, scenes, social commentary, sociology, , , , , , , ,

 

The American musical is ubiquitous. Sooner or later, all that is popular finds its way into the genre that delivers singing, dancing, singular sensation. Ever since opera buffa drew the local crowds to the town square, promising momentary diversion from war, pestilence, plague, and stench, humans have craved the escape of pure entertainment.

Enter Steven Sondheim.

A boy, born to a woman who loved a man who left her for another. Said child to learn at the feet of the greats – Oscar Hammerstein, Jimmy Hammerstein (Jimmy Hammerstein). Leonard Bernstein.

One would have thought that, bathed in such saturating influence, the young composer would have churned out second rate imitations of the icons who surrounded him. But, there was another factor at play, one that would be profoundly key to what would ultimately distinguish him as the social commentator of the age.

But, to reveal it would give away the heart of the story.

Steven Sondheim, for any musician from any genre, for any poet, for anyone who loves or has loved, for any student of the human condition…….people, you know when you come home from a session with your therapist, and all you can think about is how much money these people make for telling you to breathe deeply when you’re angry? Last weekend, I saw this man’s definitive autobiography, “Sondheim on Sondheim” at the Erie Playhouse. If you are privileged to see any production of this blended retrospective of his work, two full acts which he narrates on accompanying video, be sure to stay until the end. If you do, you will see into a mirror that will show you what you never before realized, feel things that you didn’t even know you needed to or could, and be floored by what is revealed.

As in his very life, the experience will tear you up and put you back together, like nothing else. It’ll be all the therapy you’ll ever need.

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© 4/15/16  Ruth Ann Scanzillo     All rights those of the author, whose name appears above this line. Thank you for your respect.

littlebarefeetblog.com

 

 

Spoiled Lettuce.

civic commentary, contemplative essays, Good Food, health and wellness, political commentary, psychology, Recipes, social behavior, social commentary, sociology, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Donald Trump was speaking again in yet another televised appearance. At this point, she only watched to keep her eye on him. You had to. You just never knew what would happen next in the theater of pernicious absurdity. But, she was getting hungry.

For the third time in twenty minutes, she stood at the open refrigerator door. They were still there. Organic spring greens, pre-washed three times.

Perhaps her motive arose from a deeply imprinted, Mediterranean gene expression, but she always spent the three extra dollars to get fully viable salad. And, that first serving…mixed with freshly baked Beauregard sweets, olive oil, Apple cider vinegar, a dash of Parm, a sprinkle of ginger…yes; the perfect gastronomic blend*. And, plenty more, where that came from, to serve an agenda guaranteed by all the gurus to melt all the sludge that had barnacled to her belly over the winter .

But, the week had been fraught with interruptions. Duty calls; deadlines. Easier to throw a cheese sandwich, or spread an avocado on the bread. Yet, this time, just too many vital days of life already passed.

She removed the large, canned ham sized plastic container, and opened it. Sure enough. The lettuce was talking back.

Greens were funny like that. Distinct from their isolated, molding fruit counterparts, lettuce created a certain society around its half life; each leaf seemed completely committed to the survivability of its own species. Why they didn’t all just give it up in chorus was beyond her psychology. No; only a few at a time, the ones prevented sufficient aeration by the amassed population, would begin their dissolution, leaving the rest unmarked by any sign of decay.

Even as the stench of each slimy morsel infused the entire collective, the majority was determined to rule. Liberal servings of spinach, endive, Romaine, and arugula remained. Would she play the conservative at this caucus?

The greens stared up at her, as if to challenge her most resolute bipartisanship, yea, her very morality.

Plus, the spoiling leaves were consistently adhering to the healthy ones, leaving snail trails on the surface of each. In order to rescue the edible members, one at a time had to be hand-selected, wiped clean, rinsed, and patted dry.

Here’s where the real would meet the road. Here’s where the mark of intention would confront the heart of the matter. Here’s where the gamete of the game would either take its chromosomes in the order they appeared, or wreak genetic relay. One way or another – selective euthanasia, or worse – the salad would meet its maker.

First, she decided, condemn the obviously contaminated; then, hose down the entire community. Next, dump the collective into the centrifuge, pumping furiously to spin out and extract every last drop of humid toxicity. Then, pour out the bilious liquid; separate; rinse; and, repeat.

Segregate selected, diverse populations. Lay in flat layers, on and under absorbing material. Wait, for nature to render a verdict.

The next morning, nature’s results were in.

The leaves were dry. They’d carried no trace of the scent of their decayed counterparts. She emptied a layer into a salad bowl, and mixed in the baked Beauregard, the oil, the vinegar, the ginger, and the grated cheese.

But, the salad was tired. Though bearing up in color, there was a marked absence of convincing flavor and texture. Not until most of the meal had reached digestive phase would she note the faint waft of spoilage. Had there been residue on her fingers? Perhaps the air contained spores? Could this be a ghosting of greens ?

Naturopathically bent, she went for the apple cider vinegar tonic, following with a denatured charcoal capsule. The salad had moved beyond her jurisdiction. Only the body, functioning as a whole, could feed the final conclusion.

She hoped the same could be said for the body politik.

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo 3/18/16   All rights those of the author, whose story it is, and whose name appears above this line. Thank you for your respect. *Credit to Amanda Kleckner formerly of Jekyl & Hyde’s/Erie for the loosely based recipe; credit to Chris C. for the inspiration.

Bon Appetit. Namaste.

littlebarefeetblog.com