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An Open Letter to a Developer

16 Oct

Dear Ryan Pedram,

Hi, my name is Rebekah and I live down the block from the luxury condominiums you are currently constructing. Let me tell you a little bit about myself and my street. I have lived on this block for over 10 years now. Even still, even with all these young kids from where ever they are coming from moving into Brooklyn in droves every month and saying they are “from” here, I don’t think I can actually call myself a New Yorker. It never feels as though I have been here quite long enough to call this city my own without feeling like an impostor. Even still, I love my block and it is more my home than probably anywhere else. Despite what people say about the anonymity and lack of community here in New York, I know my neighbors if not by name then certainly by face. I wave at them and chat with them when I go about my day and they notice when I leave on some adventure or other for an extended period of time; they notice when they haven’t seen me running in a while; they just notice. Well, those who are left do, anyway. See, my block has changed quite a bit in the past few years. It seems like every few months one of those familiar faces is forced to sell their property under the pressure of constantly rising property taxes and in response to the threats made by developers like you.

Now listen, I am not going to sit here and pretend like my arrival over 10 years ago wasn’t a canary in the mine shaft to some of the people who have lived here for decades, generations, even. When young, white kids start moving in, you know shit is about to change. I did my best to respect the place I was moving to, the neighborhood that existed before my arrival. I never once acted, like so many newcomers do, as though I “discovered” something. Talk about some language reminiscent of colonialism, ya know? I know now that my young, privileged face read as an upcoming rent hike to those that lived here then. Like the beginning of the end. Like gentrification (which it was). To those people, I apologize. Seriously. I know it doesn’t make it better but I am truly sorry. Even with what followed: all the new faces, the new bars, the coffee shops, the thrift stores, the bike shops, the bike shops, the bike shops — all the trappings of Hipster New York that have made Brooklyn a brand and paved the way for a Banana Republic to open on Fulton Mall (like, what?!) — this neighborhood has, in many ways, remained itself: low key and unassuming. A lot of the people on my block have managed to hold on.

But now the new New York that has been plaguing neighborhoods all over the city, but most notably Brooklyn, has arrived here. (Thank you for that, Bloomberg.) And you are responsible for the building currently going up on my block. This past spring and summer, men in suits descended on my street, trying to buy up whatever buildings and lots they could. A house that had gone down during Sandy, one which was never cleared away, suddenly looked like dollar signs. Buildings with residents — houses where people lived — were condemned by the city and those people forced out to look for new housing in a place where rent prices seem to climb by the second. Then those houses were leveled. And then silence. Until this past week.

This week has been horrible. I, like many people I know, live an off-schedule. I am a bartender and a writer. I keep odd hours and I work from the table in my (usually relatively quiet) kitchen. I understand that I cannot expect the world to kowtow to my abnormality. But the construction has made my home absolutely uninhabitable. Noise I can handle. I live in New York and share this space with millions of people and I understand what that entails. If I wanted pitch black nights with stars and crickets and to be awoken by birds in the morning, I would move to the country. But Mr. Pedram, everything is shaking. The work your contractors are doing up the block, which, by the way, they said they would be done with by 6pm on Tuesday when I first spoke with them (it is currently Friday at noon), is causing things to fall off my refrigerator, my coffee to dance across the table, my cats to cower, fur standing straight up, under the sofa for hours. When I called you on the phone just now you said that the Department of Buildings had been called to the site 2 dozen times and that this portion of the work would be completed in 45 minutes. As if the fact that you aren’t breaking any of their bullshit regulations should offer me some solace. I mean, I know this is crazy but how about you offer us some compensation? I am paying rent on a space I cannot be in. You stand to make millions and millions of dollars. Do the math.

I am not going to act as though my experience has been any different from, worse than even, the hundreds of thousands, hell, millions of New Yorkers who have watched as their neighborhoods become unrecognizable, as the homes they’ve rented for years become unaffordable, as the mom-and-pop shops they have frequented close and make way for banks and pharmacies, banks and pharmacies, more banks and more pharmacies. And I know, it is a lot worse for other people. My roommates and I are still able to afford our apartment, for now. And I am so incredibly thankful for that. But when those starry-eyed newcomers with their strollers hogging the sidewalks, their cars taking our parking spaces, their money closing our neighborhood businesses arrive, how long do the rest of us have? They will have “discovered” this neighborhood that existed for so long before them and before me and it will start to look like everywhere else.

I know that it is all money to you. But just for a second, can you acknowledge that people live here? More than that, even. Acknowledge that people have lives here. Lives that they have worked hard to establish. Lives that deserve better than apartments that shake because you need to make way for the new hip neighborhood. Because after you do that, after you throw up this shottily-constructed building that, if the other new construction in this neighborhood is any indication, will begin falling apart within 3 years, you will move onto the next thing, pockets lined with cash. And those of us who live here now, probably won’t be able to afford it anymore. And where do we go? Where do any of us go? Where do all of the people — in Crown Heights, Long Island City, Harlem, East New York, Astoria, Mott Haven — go? And how much longer can this really go on? How many more newcomers with money can there be?

I’m sure you don’t have the answers any more than I do. And I am not going to act as though this is something only affecting me and the neighborhood I live in. I know this has been going on for years, that I am lucky to have avoided it so long, that other people, specifically people of color, have it worse. I know that I am partially to blame. But fuck, man. My house is shaking and the only thing I have to look ahead to is an ugly new building going up on my block. Assuming I can still afford to live here.

So thank you for taking the time to answer my phone calls today, for speaking with the contractors about my complaints, and for saying that you “understand and feel for what I am going through.” Thank you, in short, for attempting to placate me. But just so you know, I think you, and all the people doing what you are doing in the name of personal enrichment, are assholes. I think you are all destroying this city. This city that gets slightly less awesome with every single personality-less building that clutters the skyline. And by the way, it has been more than 45 minutes and my house is still shaking.

Sincerely,

Rebekah

Tip #14 on Being a Good Bar Customer

2 Sep

It has been well over a year but the tips are back! If you have forgotten about all of the other past tips because it has been ages, you can catch up with them by clicking on these handy little links! Here they are: Tip#1, Tip#2, Tip #3, Tip #4Tip #5Tip#6Tip #7Tip #8Tip #9Tip#10Tip #11Tip #12 and Tip #13. That took a really long time. Anyway, here is your tip for today:

Please, oh please, do not leave your house with only an American Express card. Especially in Brooklyn. Where a whole lot of places either don’t accept AmEx or are cash only. It is super annoying when I make you a drink and then tell you the price and you hand me an AmEx and then when I tell you that the bar I am working in doesn’t take AmEx you look at me as if you have never heard such a thing before. As if it isn’t a well-known fact that more places accept fucking Discover cards than AmEx and no one even has Discover cards. Except for my friend Katy. She has one. Katy? Are you reading this? Do you still have a Discover? Anyway, listen, I get it. I love my AmEx card, too. It gives me points towards free flights on JetBlue (whose Twitter account I had a short-lived love affair with), the customer service is fantastic, and they, unlike stupid Bank of America, will wire you money to a Western Union in Guatemala if your wallet happens to get stolen on a bus transfer! The thing about AmEx, though, is that the fees that they charge in order to process the card or whatever can be problematic for smaller businesses. Especially in this day and age when people run their cards for every individual round that they order like big, inconsiderate assholes. I have two stories!

Story #1:

This happened over this past winter so I might be slightly hazy on all the details. So this girl walks in and orders a Macallan 12 neat.  I have to say I was rather impressed! It’s not that often that a young woman in her 20s walks into a bar alone and orders a scotch. I poured the drink and let her know that it would be $12. She goes into the credit card section of her wallet and I say,

Oh, I’m sorry, we actually have a $20 card minimum but there’s an ATM in the back if you want to go take out some cash. Otherwise I am happy to hold the card and run you a tab.

Her response?

Ugh. (With the accompanying cliche over exaggerated eye roll. She failed to hand over her card and I was so put off by the “UUUGGGHHHH!!!” that I figured I should just leave her be)

So let me ask you this, dear readers. If a bartender said to you what I said, and you supposedly only had an AmEx card, wouldn’t you then say,

Do you accept American Express?

Personally, I always ask if people accept AmEx before I give it to them. Of course, I work in service and so credit card minimums and what cards are and are not accepted is always a consideration for me. I don’t expect everyone to think that way. But like, if there is some sort of regulation around cash usage, it would make sense, one would think, to then ask relevant follow-up questions. But did she? No, no she didn’t. She smuggly sat and drank her Macallan (which at this point I was mad about rather than impressed by), read her stupid book (it wasn’t actually stupid) and occasionally texted on her iPhone. Then she ordered another drink. And then she did it. She handed me an American Express. Of fucking course. So I said,

I’m sorry, do you have anything else? We actually don’t accept American Express here.

To which she said,

No! That’s my only card!

And then I looked at the card and realized it wasn’t even her fucking card! It was some dude’s card! Probably her dad’s because she was young, and white, and drinking Macallan 12 so I (perhaps erroneously) assumed that she was a trust-fund baby and her dad was paying her rent. And then I thought maybe it wasn’t her actual dad but like her sugar dad and since she had his card she was drinking the good stuff. And then I thought oh, what if she stole it? I cannot run this card under any circumstance. And then I looked down at her wallet which was lying open on the bar and wouldn’t you know it, she had other cards. Other cards that we accepted. Other cards with her name on them (I was hoping and also planning on checking her ID). And so I said,

Not to be a snoop or whatever, but what about those cards there in your wallet? (BUSTED!)

And she said,

Ugh! (Another eye roll!)

And then she grabbed a card out of her wallet, stormed over to the ATM and took out some cash, paid me and stormed out because I had obviously ruined her life. She made this clear by not tipping me. Whatever.

Story #2:

This happened way more recently. It was a Saturday night and I had just taken over the bar from my co-worker who is awesome and I love him. Any of you who have worked in service know that sometimes things get a little wonky at the change over. There is money being counted, tabs being transferred, tips being sorted, explanations about open checks and the temperment of customers being discussed. During this time my co-worker accidentally accepted an AmEx card to start a tab and didn’t realize it until the dude who gave it to him had sat down at a table. But whatever, it has happened before and all we do is when the person comes up to pay their bill we say,

You know, I made a mistake and took your AmEx card when we actually don’t accept them. Would you mind trading it out for a different one?

99.9999% of the time the person is like,

Yea, sure, no problem, whatever, shit happens. (Or some portion of that)

And then everything is great and we talk about how AmEx really ought to lower their fees and I tell them about the time I got a free roundtrip flight to San Francisco using my points and how it was one of my crowning achievements and so I totally understand why they would want to use their AmEx. Obviously though this dude was a member of the 0.0001% who is an asshole and is incapable of understanding the fact that sometimes people make mistakes. This is how it went down:

Me: You know, my coworker in the confusion of the shift changeover accepted your AmEx but we actually don’t take them. Do you have something else?
Asshat: No. I don’t.

I would like to just interject that he was holding cash in his hand at that very moment.

Me (looking at the very visible cash that happened to include at least one $20): Well, your bill is only $15. Do you have cash maybe?
Asshat (after glancing at the cash in his hand and making absolutely no effort to hide it): No.
Me: o_O
Asshat: Well, why the hell did you accept the card if you can’t run it?
Me: Because it was a mistake? And sometimes people make them?
Asshat: Well, if you can take it you can run it.
Me: That’s not how it works, actually, but let me get this straight. You left your house with nothing but an American Express card. No cash at all, not even a $20 (looking at the $20). No ATM card. No ID that you can leave here so you can pay the tab later. Just your American Express card.
Asshat: Yes. And my keys.

This went on for quite some time. Eventually I got so frustrated that I said,

You know what, just forget it. I don’t even care. Just go.

I then shot fire out of my ears and nose and singed his stupid, smug eyebrows and melted his fucking Gold Card (the part about the fire is a lie but if looks could singe, ya know?).

Fast forward a month. Saturday night. Post shift change. In walks Mr. I only have an AmEx card, no cash, even though I am holding cash in my hand while I tell you I have none because I am a dick.

Me: Hello. (Again shooting fire from nose and ears only not really)
Asshat: Let me get a Jack and ginger and a margarita.
Me: Before I make you those drinks I have to let you know what we do not accept American Express. Just to clear up any confusion. Also, you didn’t pay for your drinks last time so if you could tip on that round that would be great.
Asshat: Well, someone took my AmEx card and then someone else told me that they couldn’t run it. Why did someone accept it if they couldn’t run it?
Me: Because, as I explained last time, people make mistakes. Maybe you don’t. But other people do.
Asshat: Well, to my credit I was a little bit drunk last time.

This, again, went on for awhile. I didn’t have the energy to explain to him that being drunk is not an excuse for being a lying dickhead. I served him his drinks, took the non-AmEx card he gave me and decided to just give him another chance. Besides, he was moving to LA sometime the following week and so I would never have to deal with him again. Hooray for me! Hooray for life! Anyway, yadda, yadda, yadda he had a bunch of drinks, started a fight with someone much bigger than him over the bathrooms and got his ass kicked.

Moral of the story: don’t give a bartender your AmEx and then be an asshole about it because you will, a month later and in a completely unrelated incident, end up with a bloody nose in front of that very same bartender who doesn’t feel the least bit bad about it because you’re rude. The end.

You’re Not Actually Jewish

17 Aug

The other day after working a night shift at my bar I decided to fulfill a promise I had made to someone. I decided to do the thing that I very rarely do now that I drive to and from work: I stopped in somewhere for a nightcap. The reason I did it is quite simple. The guy who owns the bar I popped into works behind it on Friday and Saturday nights and occasionally comes into my daytime spot to have a sandwich before going up the hill to do his ordering, or whatever he does. The sandwich costs $12 or $13, depending on what he gets. He pays with a $20 bill and leaves the change. I am of the mindset that tip karma is a thing and so I figured it was my responsibility as a bartender to return the favor. See, that’s how it used to be back in the day. (And still is, among a certain set.) Bartenders would go out and visit their friends at work and drop money on them with the understanding that those friends would, at some point, return the favor. I think that’s a nice thing and so I do my best to remember who visits me and visit them when possible, keeping my wallet and my liver in mind of course. So on this Saturday night, after getting out of work slightly earlier than usual, I decided to go return the favor and drop some money on this dude.

I walked through the door at about 3:45 to a more or less empty bar. Perfect. If I had seen the dozen or so people that are apparently usually there on a weekend night at that time I likely would have kept driving because the last thing I want to do after working a busy bar all night is go and hang out in a busy(ish) bar. No thank you. So I walked in, took my seat by the door, and ordered a single pour of Don Julio and soda in a pint glass. I figured the more hydration the better. For some reason, and I am not entirely sure how this even happened, the conversation at the bar turned to everyone trying to figure out where I am from. Not like where I grew up – New Jersey all the way! – but where my family came from. And, as usual, the answer was shocking to people. I am Russian and Irish and Jewish. Apparently I look everything but those things and so it always becomes a longer conversation than I necessarily want to have. Such is the life of being an Irish, Russian Jew with long, dark, wavy hair and a good tan. At some point the dude sitting at the bar who had not just come from work and was therefore significantly less sober than I was asked me if it was my mother or father that was Jewish. I knew exactly where this line of questioning was leading and so I said what I always do:

My mom converted to Judaism before my older brother was born.

“Well,” he said, “then according to Jewish law you’re not actually Jewish.”

Ugh.

This happens more often than you might think and it drives me up a fucking wall. The first thing is that I identify much more closely with my Judaism than with the fact that my long ago ancestors came to the United States from Ireland and Russia. I have never been to either of those places, I do not speak Russian or Gaelic, I know virtually nothing about the history of either of those countries outside of potatoes and the crumbling of the Soviet Union (okay I might know a little more than just that but for sake of argument let’s go with it), and my name is Rebekah Esther. Rebekah Esther, for crying out loud! That shit is no joke! It’s double Old Testament! Also, I was Bat Mitzvah’d. I always try to ask the people who try and take my identity from me, whether or not they were Bar or Bat Mitzvah’d. The answer is usually no. I don’t know what that means exactly but it means something. Maybe they feel not so Jewish and so they’re like, whatever, that bitch’s mom wasn’t born Jewish so she is even less a Jew than I am!

On a more serious note, though, this plays into the world of identity politics. Listen, I know that I live in New York City and that some people call it Jew York City. We are everywhere. I am safe here. How I identify religiously and ethnically, because I think of Judaism as being more than a religion, does not put me in danger. But how dare someone try and take my identity from me. How dare they tell me that the way that I think of myself, the way that I go through the world, is actually technically not correct. I am not co-opting something that I have no right to co-opt. I was raised by two Jewish parents. I went to Hebrew School. I recited from the Torah at my synagogue. No, I am not the most religious kid in town but I take pride in my background. It is something that, in whatever way, has shaped the person that I am and the ways in which I go through the world. Do not take that from me.

And then it got me thinking just in the bigger sense: what right does anyone have to take someone’s identity from them? I have friends who do not identify within the gender binary and that, in many places (New York City included) is not always safe. But they do it because it is how they think of themselves and how they interact with the world around them. It is not a choice, it is a matter of fact and it is really nobody’s right or business to question that. And I have friends who are biracial who have people tell them that how they identify, how they were raised, who there parents are does not matter because they don’t look or sound or act black or white or Asian or whatever. As if there is one way to look or sound or act. And it’s like, fuck, how presumptuous some people are. And how violent it is to tell someone who they are because you think that it is your right or responsibility or something. My Jewishness is not any less valid because my mother was raised as an Irish Catholic (sort of). She converted because she liked the inclusiveness of Judaism and the fluidity of it. She chose to be Jewish and she and my father chose to raise us in a (some what) Jewish household. My Judaism matters to me so, drunk dude at the bar at 4:15, don’t act like you have any power over it or me.

Instead of all of that, though, I just looked at him, rolled my eyes and said, as my friend Ben would,

Mind your business.

And maybe we should all just do that more. We should all just mind our business. We should mind our business about other people’s religion, race, gender identity, weight, ability, and everything else. People navigate the world with a specific level or engagement with their past. Not only with their personal lived experience but the experience of those in their family who came before. And no one has the right to question that. Especially at a bar, after 4am, when you have no fucking clue what you’re on about. It’s rude. And I do not appreciate rude.

I Am Angry at the World Right Now and the Only Answer is Dirty Dancing

11 Aug

A few days ago a friend of mine who lives in another city messaged me that she had been held up at gun point before sundown a few blocks from her house, robbed and then hit on the left side of her head with the barrel of a presumably loaded gun. Standing behind the bar I tried my hardest to not allow my face to register the fact that my heart and my stomach had both crashed to the floor. I immediately went into response mode. Who of her friends can I track down, knowing that all her contact information was lost? What information can I gather without overstepping? How do I offer my support without allowing my fury to become overbearing? And how unreasonable is it for me to buy tickets and board a plane to where she is?

As the minutes and hours and days have passed by there is one thing that I keep coming back to. He held her up at gun point. He took her things. He had everything he wanted from her. And still, he hit her. She was not about to chase an armed man down the street. No money, credit card or cell phone is worth a life. She was terrified but thankfully unhurt. And then he hit her. I just don’t understand it. I just don’t understand what is so wrong in someone’s head that they would cause another human unnecessary harm. How do you look at someone in the face, see the terror in their eyes and lack even the smallest bit of decency. There was no danger to him. He was in charge. He had the power. And yet it still wasn’t enough.

So here’s the thing. I have gotten this far in my life generally believing that people are good. But as time goes on that belief gets harder and harder to hold onto. The certainty with which I once believed in basic human decency has eroded. And it’s not just this incident. It’s not just the glass I took to the face 6 months ago or the man who is wandering my neighborhood, attacking women between 4 and 6 am, causing me to walk down the middle of the street from my car to my apartment. It’s that it sort of feels like the world is falling apart and our humanity is the first to go. It’s that it feels as though every day it is something new, something horrifying, something inhuman.

I don’t know, you guys. Planet Earth has been a tough place the past few years. I remember back in late September, 2001, standing in the driveway with my mother wondering whether the world was going to still be around tomorrow. I remember telling her that I wasn’t sure I would ever have children because I didn’t think it was wise or safe or responsible to bring innocents into a world that felt so chaotic, unpredictable, dangerous and hate-filled. She told me that it always feels that way. That back when she was younger and John F. Kennedy was killed followed by Martin Luther King Jr and Robert F. Kennedy it seemed like anything could happen at any moment. That being good was dangerous and that darkness would eventually drown out the light. But time went on and life continued and good things do happen. And we can’t allow the evil to scare us from living the lives we want to live. But fuck is it hard.

It’s just that it all feels maybe a little bit hopeless sometimes. Well, right now it does. To me. Who are we that we behave like this? (I’m about to go on a super rant tangent so stay with me.) That we get so angry that we throw a glass at the face of someone half our size. That we, in broad daylight, rob someone and then hit them with a gun. That we are incapable of having a functioning national database of reported sexual assaults so we can protect women and men from the serial rapists that evade arrest because we are so fucking incapable of being realistic about the dominance and prevalence of rape culture. That black men and women are being killed by police and people still have the nerve to say this isn’t a racist society, that equal opportunity is a thing, that white privilege doesn’t exist. That some asshole American travels to Africa and kills a mother fucking lion because he can. That a woman runs a marathon on her period without wearing a tampon to raise awareness of the fact that women and girls all over the world lack access to necessary products. That people are fleeing their homes on rickety boats because they feel unsafe and are being turned away at the borders, if they even make it that far without the overcrowded vessels springing a leak and sinking. That Donald mother fucking Trump is somehow politically relevant and we think it’s funny but it isn’t funny because this is our fucking government and has everyone gone mad?!?

Okay, breath.

I just sometimes get really frustrated. I guess it’s that I really believe that if we would just open our eyes for a second and look around, like really look, and realize we aren’t the only people that exist that maybe things would be better. And I get it, we didn’t all grow up the same. We don’t all have the same world view. Inevitably there will be conflict. Everyone can’t get along all the time. But I do think we can all agree that we are all people. And then maybe we can take the next step and say we are all worth the same. That, no matter where we were born, what we look like, what we have, who our parents are, what cars we drive, what school we did or did not go to, that we share this space. And that the space isn’t getting any bigger, no matter how many poorly constructed bullshit high rise condos we throw up. And that money doesn’t actually matter. I mean, yea, it’s a necessary evil, but we invented it. It’s actually just paper that we assign value to by printing numbers using machines that we also invented. And some people have more than others. And for some, all of the money in the world isn’t enough. And sometimes, someone doesn’t have anything and they think you have something and they steal it from you. And that sucks, but it happens. But maybe, just maybe, they could steal the money and then not pistol whip you. I think maybe then the world would be ever-so-slightly better.

Or, maybe I should just rewatch Dirty Dancing and pretend that I don’t have the stiffest hips in the world and that I, too, could have an affair with the super sexy dance instructor and make him realize that he doesn’t have to go it alone. If you need me I will be in my room listening to Hungry Eyes on repeat.

Day 10: A Belated Mea Culpa

10 Jan

Here is my post today from ChafingIsReal.com. Seemed to fit nicely within the FranklyRebekah framework. So, enjoy?

Some Spacial Awareness, If You Please

12 Dec

I know I’ve been a little quiet lately but I blame the fact that I have been working like a crazy person. I also blame the amount I have been working on this massive cold I have come down with. It is epic. Seriously, I woke up yesterday and my snot was the color of a locally sourced organic egg. Orange. It was horrifying. I guess this is what you get for working regularly in 3 different bars, and occasionally working in two bars in one day. And then working the following night in bar number 3. You just end up coming in contact with all sorts of nasty things. Dirty glasses, people who blow their noses and then leave the tissues on the bar for you to pick up and lots and lots of one of the dirtiest thing out there: money. I touch a lot of money. And when I don’t put a small piece of fruit or a glass with some water near my register I end up licking my fingers a lot to get the change. I touch the money and then lick my fingers and then touch the money again. I can actually taste the grime. I don’t even want to know what kind of shit I am putting in my body on the regular. Probably the kind of shit that gave me the cold that I now have. Probably the kind of shit that caused me to have snot that resembles a box of Crayola crayons.

Anyway, not the point. The point is spatial awareness. I have been noticing recently, and I don’t really know why this is surprising to me, that people have absolutely no idea that they do not own whatever piece of ground they happen to be traveling over. I get it. This is a city inhabited by a huge number of self-involved pricks but if ever there is a time to think communally it is when you are traversing the grid. Or when you are traveling on the bus or subway. There is a finite amount of space, people. You gotta share it. So I decided to compile a list-like thing with some of the areas that could use some, er, improvement. And I am sorry for the quality of writing here. I blame the aforementioned snot infestation of my brain.

1. Umbrellas

Back in the day when MySpace was a thing that non-musicians used, I wrote a blog all about proper umbrella courtesy. I think about that blog often, mostly every time it rains and I almost get my eye poked out with someone’s mishandled golf umbrella. A size of umbrella, by the way, that has absolutely no place in a city like New York. I just feel as though the sidewalks are only so big and when your umbrella takes up the whole thing so that other pedestrians are forced into the street where they are likely to get soaked when a passing car plows through a puddle well, that’s a problem. And I get it, buying an umbrella from the “UM-brella, UM-brella” guys on the corner seems silly since those things last two, maybe three good rains but at least they leave space for the rest of us, ya know? I would take an UM-brella toter over a golf umbrella person any day, even though sometimes one of the prongs on the UM-brella is sticking out at an odd angle, making passing the UM-brella person a bit, er, treacherous. I fear for my eyeballs when it rains, I really do.

Since I am on about umbrellas, I have a few more little things to mention. There are some times when having your umbrella open is simply unnecessary. One instance that comes immediately to mind is when you are walking underneath some scaffolding. Scaffolding is like an umbrella, in that it blocks the rain from falling on you, only it is shareable in a non-awkward way and made of wood. There is no need to double up, folks, because when you do other people, people who maybe left the house without an umbrella and haven’t gotten a chance to buy a new one, are forced onto the street where they inevitably get wet. And there you are, safely walking under not one but two devices keeping your precious clothing bone dry. It just ain’t right.

And one other thing, when you are walking down to the subway or up from the subway, put your umbrella down. Especially if you have a golf umbrella. I know it sucks to get a little wet but come on. When you have a golf umbrella you are the only person that can fit on those narrow subway stairs because you are carrying a huge, unwieldy felt weapon that could blow in any direction at any time, splattering passers-by with rain droplets and maybe, just maybe, skewering an eye or two (are you sensing a theme here?). I have missed more than one train because some asshole with an oversized umbrella blocked the entrance to the subway and I was none too pleased about it. None. Too. Pleased.

2. Strollers

You guys, with the strollers, come ON. I honestly think, and correct me if I am wrong here, that double-wide strollers should simply be outlawed in New York City. In a perfect world we wouldn’t have to have such a law on the books because people would have enough sense to get those like stacking strollers, or the kids-facing-each-other strollers, but no. People in this city INSIST on the double-wide which, you know, takes up the entire sidewalk and then those people act inconvenienced when the stroller doesn’t fit in a store, or isn’t allowed in a restaurant. If your stroller can’t fit comfortably through a normal-sized doorway, then you shouldn’t be using the stroller. End of story.

Then there is this other thing that I have been noticing recently. On more than one occasion in the past few weeks I have noticed a dude walking down the street with a stroller, seemingly taking his child on some errands, or for some fresh air, or whatever it is that parents with kids do which I imagine is not that different from some of the things that I do only I do my things unencumbered by anything other than a shoulder bag. But here is the kicker: instead of walking directly behind the stroller, he walks behind the stroller and to the left, pushing the stroller with his right hand. He is not doing this so he can walk alongside the stroller and have a conversation with his kid which would still be annoying but at least would make sense. He is just casually walking down the street, paying the kid no mind, and meanwhile taking up the entire sidewalk. It’s like, dude, it doesn’t matter how far away you walk from the stroller we all know the stroller, and the child it contains, belongs to you. And if that is embarrassing to you for some reason, get one of those damn Bjorn things and give the rest of us some damn space.

On a side note does anyone else find it sort of off-putting when people go to the store without their kids but with their strollers and put their grocery shopping in the stroller where the kid would normally be? I am sure there is a reasonable explanation for this – the parent dropped the kid off somewhere and decided, since they already had the stroller in tow, to use it for other things – but it always gets my mind running. Makes me feel like I am in the middle of some horror film. Like, this kid got kidnapped and the parent never leaves the home without the stroller just in case she runs into the kid on the street even though the kidnapping happened like 15 years ago and the kid wouldn’t even fit in the stroller anymore if the kid was to turn up. Dun dun duuuuuuuuuun!

3. Hand holders, butt pocket hand-putter-inners, waist encirclers, etc.

Let me just start off by saying these two things: (1) I am not one of those angry anti-relationship, anti-PDA people who gets offended by people proclaiming their love for their partner, or their appreciation for their friend; and (2) I, personally, do not like hand-holding but that has nothing to do with this particular entry in the list. This is all about the space. Because what I have noticed, and maybe I am wrong, is that when people are holding on to another person in some manner or another they tend to amble along rather slowly. I’m no speed walker or whatever but I, like most New Yorkers, have a rather brisk gate. I might not have anywhere that I have to be at any particular time, but I will get there at a decent clip, ya know? I don’t actually mind a solo ambler, but it does become a little difficult when amblers attach to other amblers and they then create this impenetrable fortress of amble. Then you have to either slow down to their pace (well, I never!) or else step into the street and risk being run into by an overly aggressive cycler who may or may not be riding on the wrong side of the road. Treacherous.

4. Scooters

In the interest of full disclosure I need to make this one thing clear: I despise scooters. Oh man they make me so mad. I know that this is unreasonable but it’s a fact. So this paragraph will be dripping with disdain. Just so you know. Don’t take it personally but I hate your scooter and when you are on it, I hate you a little bit also. (Kidding. Maybe.) I think that adults look ridiculous on them and, honestly, if you ride a scooter as an adult you should ride in the bike lane along with the people riding respectable modes of transportation like bicycles and skateboards. As for kids on scooters, well that’s a whole other thing. Kids on scooters are my second worst New York City transportation nightmare, just after riding on a train with a bunch of middle school students that just get let out of class for Christmas break or some shit. Kids on scooters are a force to be reckoned with. They go so fast and a lot of times they don’t really know how to control their scooters and it’s like this horrible game of chicken only they are wearing helmets and you are not. Take one scooter-powered helmet to the hip and you’ll understand my concern. That’s a bruise.

I just actually had this flashback. So there was this girl in high school who got one of those rolly backpacks. She was this little slip of a thing and she was taking ALL of the classes so she always had so many books and she put them in her backpack, only it wasn’t really a backpack it was like a rocket-powered travel suitcase and the “rocket power” came from her, running full speed through the hallways so she could get the best seat in class. That’s what I always figured, anyway. I was always a little annoyed by her until one day, on my way to class, she ran right into me! And I fell down! In the hallway! And she didn’t even apologize, she barely even stopped, she just zoomed off down the hallway to class. I was furious. So what did I do? I wrote an article in the school newspaper about the perils of getting to class in the age of rolly backpacks. I am pretty sure I got called into the principal’s office over that one because this one girl was the only one in the school that had such a backpack and the principal thought it sounded like a personal attack, which it was, but it was too late because it was already printed. Rolly backpack girl knocked over the wrong spiteful writer!

By the way, I take some comfort in the fact that my disdain is at least consistent.

5. Gaggles

I like to travel in a good gaggle just like the next gal but when gaggle traveling it is important to be aware of the scope and size of your gaggle. A gaggle takes up more space than a duo, or a trio even (trios being problematic because of the odd-numbered nature of the crew), and so it is good to break off into groups in an effort to share the sidewalk.

Okay, you guys, I actually don’t encounter gaggles all that often I just really like the word. Gaggle, gaggle, gaggle. It’s so fun. And, yea, it is annoying when you see a gaggle and you have to go around them but whenever I see one I always just giggle about the gaggle and it makes the slight inconvenience of passing them by totally worthwhile. Hopefully I will see a gaggle today. I could use a good gaggle giggle. Actually, just typing “gaggle giggle” did the trick.

 

This post brought to you by my snot-infested brain. You’re welcome.

Representative Peter King Blamed Garner’s Death on his Obesity

4 Dec

I am really angry. The decision to not so much as indict Officer Daniel Pantaleo in the death of Eric Garner is the most obvious case of institutionalized racism I think I have ever seen. It is unbelievable. Hearing the decision yesterday made me physically ill. I am so disgusted, saddened, disillusioned, embarrassed by our “justice” system that I can’t even put my feelings about the whole thing into words. So instead I am going to direct all my anger at Republican Congressman Peter King from Long Island. My mom once told me that sometimes it is good to have a hate object and well, Congressman King is my hate object. So, in over 3000 words, I transcribed the majority of an interview King gave to Wolf Blitzer of CNN interspersed with my largely unbridled rage. There is a lot of swearing. I hope I got it right but please, tell me if I didn’t.

Wolf Blitzer: What’s your reaction to the grand jury decision today?

Rep. Peter King (hereafter RPK): First of all the death was tragic and…uh…and our hearts have to go out to…uh…the Garner family. Having said that, I do not believe, I feel strongly that the police officer should not have been indicted. I’ve been following this case from the start. He had a 350-pound person who was resisting arrest.

They were arresting him for selling loosies. And although he did resist being handcuffed, which I would imagine happens quite often, Garner neither attacked any of the 5 officers who surrounded him nor did he attempt to flee. His being 350-pounds does not by definition make him a threat.

RPK: The police were trying to bring him down as quickly as possible.

Using a chokehold. The use of chokeholds, according to the New York Law Journal, was limited in some form since at least 1985, when police commissioner Benjamin Ward issued this order:

1. Effective immediately, choke holds, which are potentially lethal and unnecessary, WILL NOT be routinely used by members of the New York City Police Department.

2. Choke holds will ONLY be used if the officer’s life is in danger or some other person’s life is in danger and the choke hold is the least dangerous alternative method of restraint available to the police officer.

We can all agree, since we have seen the motherfucking video of Eric Garner dying in broad daylight while pleading for his life, that at no point in time were the lives of any of the officers in danger at all. There is no grey area here, there are no inconsistencies. Eric Garner was murdered, plain and simple. On August 1st the fucking medical examiner reported that Garner’s death was due to compressions of the neck and “prone position during physical restraint by the police.” It was ruled a homicide.

Also important to note, because the ban on chokeholds has been in effect for so long, New York City police officers are not actually trained to execute the move properly, increasing the risk of injury or death significantly.

RPK: If he had not had asthma and a heart condition and was so obese almost definitely he would not have died from this.

Apparently Representative King thinks the appropriate course of action here is to blame Eric Garner, and his pre-existing health conditions, for his own death. According to Rory I. Lancman and Daniel Pearlstein of the New York Law Journal, “What makes a chokehold so dangerous is how quickly it can kill, depending on a number of essentially unpredictable (and even unknowable) variables, including the underlying physical and mental health of the person being restrained and the skill of the officer applying the hold.” So, yea, Garner’s health was a contributing factor to his death (according to the coroner’s office) but do you know what the actual factor was? The chokehold. A chokehold which was likely improperly executed because, as per NYPD regulations, Officer Daniel Pantaleo was not properly trained to use the move. And the thing is that if he had not used it, improperly and unnecessarily, Eric Garner, despite his being asthmatic, despite his being overweight, and despite his having a heart condition would almost certainly still be alive right now. In the words of Representative King, “almost definitely he would not have died.” But let us continue.

RPK: The police had no reason to know that he was in serious condition. I know that people were saying that he said 11 times or 7 times I can’t breath? Well the fact is if you can’t breath you can’t talk.

Fuck you you mother fucking piece of shit. Do you know why people are saying he said “I can’t breath” 11 times? Because he did. And you know how we know that? Because we saw the video. Eric Garner was being strangled, he was forcibly put on the ground, face first, and held there by the weight of more than one police officer. He died as result of compressions to the neck and the position he was placed in by police officers during his arrest. He could not breath. He died because he could not breath. And that is the fault of the arresting officers. Not his preexisting health condition. He died because Officer Daniel Pantaleo murdered him.

RPK: And if you’ve ever seen anyone locked up resisting arrest, and I’ve seen it, and it’s been white guys, and they’re always saying ‘you’re breaking my arm,’ you’re choking me,’ ‘you’re doing this,’ so police hear that all the time. They…uh…in this case…uh… a chokehold is not illegal, it is against department regulations, but if you look carefully I don’t think there was an intent to put him in a chokehold because he does move the baton as he brings him down.

So according to King because the police apparently hear all kinds of people whining about being hurt or, you know, strangled and because sometimes those people whining are White guys then the police couldn’t possibly be expected to take the whining of this man, who just happened to be Black, seriously. But the point of a chokehold is to cut off airflow, to keep someone from breathing. And it has a history of killing people. It was banned in LA because it was the cause of death of 16 people being arrested between the years of 1977 and 1982. And if our knowledge of (the lack of) police accountability means anything, I would venture to guess the actual number is higher. Also, Representative King, does the name Anthony Baez ring a bell? Because the Eric Garner case is hauntingly similar. Anthony Baez died from asphyxiation after being subjected to a police chokehold and subsequently suffering an asthma attack in 1994. The officer was acquitted. Twenty years, no fucking difference.

RPK: Also people are saying very casually that this was done out of racial motives, or a violation of civil rights. There’s not a hint there that anyone used any racial epithet and also what’s not mentioned is the senior officer on the squad that was there on the location was an African American female sergeant. So I don’t knot where the racial angle comes in. I have no doubt that if that was a 350-pound White guy he would have been treated the same.

I don’t actually think that anyone is saying anything casually. I think people are saying this with all the seriousness and with all the gravity that they can muster. I think people are saying this based on a history of institutionalized racism that dates back over 200 years. I don’t think there is anything casual about hundreds of thousands of people taking to the streets across the country, across the entire world, to say this is not okay, that this is not justice, that Black lives DO matter and that all of us of all races and religions and backgrounds see that. There is nothing casual about the Lincoln tunnel being shut down, about die-ins, about the millions of tweets, about the pain that so many people are feeling, about the deaths of Eric Garner and Michael Brown and Anthony Baez and Sean Bell and Tamir Rice and Amadou Diallo and all the others. There is nothing casual about any of it because we are sick and tired of the consistent valuation of people based off their skin color. And the police officers don’t have to actually say anything racist for their actions to be racially motivated. They were not afraid of Garner because he was huge, they were afraid of Garner because he was huge while being Black. And they acted the way they acted because the risk involved was so low because the odds are they wouldn’t be held accountable for their actions because usually they aren’t. Because in our society, in our police forces, in our justice system Black lives don’t matter. This case is an example of that reality and there is nothing casual about it. It is fucking disgusting.

And the fact that the person in charge was “an African American female sergeant?” That’s like when people say they aren’t racist because they have Black friends. There being a Black person present does not take the element of racism out of the equation and that the person was female makes this statement absolutely laughable. We live in a culture that not only exhibits institutionalized racism but also institutionalized misogyny. And just as racism seems to flourish in organizations such as police departments, so too does misogyny. But I wouldn’t expect someone as unexamined, as willfully ignorant as Representative Peter King to be able to understand something like that.

Rep. King then goes on a minute long explanation of the police officers’ presence in the neighborhood, saying that it was at the request of the people “in that minority community” that they were there because Garner was “constantly selling cigarettes outside their establishments.” So obviously since people of color allegedly had a problem with Garner selling loosies then the police presence, and their subsequent actions, was not only justified but also completely without racial undertones. Oh, okay, I get it now.

Wolf: Chokeholds, I’m told, are banned by the New York City Police Department, Congressman, so I guess a lot of the question is why isn’t the police officer, in this particular case Daniel Pantaleo, being held accountable if in fact he did engage in that chokehold?

RPK: First of all it’s not illegal it’s against departmental policy so that has nothing to do with committing a crime. Secondly there is a real debate as to whether or not that was a chokehold because he did not seem to sustain the baton at the Adam’s apple…

A debate in your head, and amongst your racist friends, does not actually count as a real debate, sir. And when you are capable of watching a man murdered on tape and come out the other side saying only “he did not seem to sustain the baton at the Adam’s apple,” I just, you have not a human bone in your body. You have no emotion, no empathy, no sense of right and wrong. You are so blinded, so controlled, by the societal norms that you claim don’t exist. You actually make me sick.

RPK:…and again I don’t think there’s any indication either they intended to choke him…when you have a 350-pound guy that’s resisting and he’s almost 6 to 7 inches taller than you (and he’s black) you try to grab him where you can and bring him down. And when he was on the ground, I heard someone before say they beat him, nobody punched him, nobody kicked him.

But again the autopsy showed that the pressure on his body during the attempt to handcuff Garner was a contributing factor in his death. They didn’t need to punch him or kick him. They just needed to forcefully push him into the ground and ignore him as he begged for his life, which they did. That they had the sense to not punch or kick him does not make this justifiable, it does not make them any less wrong and it doesn’t make this any less racist.

RPK:...and remember, they didn’t know this was being video-ed. And yet there is no indication of any racial remarks, or attempt to kick him or punch him while he was down.

So what, is a congratulations in order? Can I remind you, Representative King, that the sergeant in charge was a Black woman? And while I think that, as I said before, given the misogyny present in society and, in an even more pronounced ways within police departments, while her presence is not enough to make the argument that there were not incredibly clear racial elements to this entire event, I do think that her presence is enough to keep those under her from using racial epithets. And just because someone doesn’t speak like a racist, doesn’t mean they don’t act like one. And it certainly doesn’t mean they aren’t one.

Wolf: Because the uh, the allegation is that he was, what, selling cigarettes without tax. That’s relatively, that’s a pretty minor crime so the question is was it excessive force to go ahead and try to apprehend him with all these police officers surrounding him and using that kind of force?

RPK: First of all he wasn’t gonna go. Once the police come to arrest someone and he resisted you have to arrest him. You can’t have the community see someone be able to walk away from an arrest.

Well it seems as though the responding officers, through their use of unnecessary and yes, excessive force, made it pretty clear that Eric Garner wasn’t going to walk away from the arrest. But on a more nuanced level, the community already does not trust the police. The community does not respect the police. Our own mayor made a speech in which he discussed how he and his wife had to “train” their son Dante to be especially careful if he had an interaction with the police because the odds of it turning violent, or of Dante getting arrested without good reason, are higher because he is a person of color. The mayor of New York City essentially called the police department out on its racism and, in my mind, he was absolutely accurate in doing so.

RPK: The cops have to establish themselves….they were there serving the purpose of the local community… and again he was resisting arrest…I don’t think there’s any evidence at all, any indication that they wanted to choke him, or they wanted to kill him or cause any severe harm at all.

Wolf: Is it appropriate that Eric Holder, the attorney general of the United States is about to formally announce a federal justice department investigation into what happened?

RPK: I don’t see how there’s any civil rights violation.

Of course you don’t and that is because clearly you don’t have an accurate understanding of civil rights or simply do not believe that civil rights apply to Black people in America. You know who else thinks there was no violation of civil rights? And who actually called Mayor De Blasio a racist? Rudy Fucking Giuliani. And we all know what that asshole is all about. Actually, let me just highlight what that asshole is all about because I cannot stop myself through the rage. He actually said the following thing about De Blasio:

“If he wants to train young black men in how to avoid being killed in this city, he can talk about police. Police should never kill anybody unjustifiably. But you should spend 90% of your time talking about the way they’re actually probably going to get killed, which is by another black. To avoid that fact, I think is racist.”

OH MY GOD WHAT THE EVER LIVING FUCK?! Seriously! So now not only do we have fucking King talking about how the fact that Eric Garner was overweight caused his death, but we have Giuliani blabbering on about how De Blasio should “stop being a racist” and therefore focus on black-on-black crime while literally the entire country, or at least the portion of the country that isn’t mind-bogglingly racist or living under a goddamn rock, is up in arms about the deep-seeded problems inherent in policing in this country and by extension the justice system and society at large.  At least King, in the part I didn’t transcribe here, where he talked about the decreasing violence  in New York had the good fucking sense to not explicitly bring up black-on-black crime although anyone with half a brain could read through the lines. Also, Giuliani? This killing was unjustified and unjustifiable, but Eric Garner won’t see justice. And THAT is what people are talking about.

RPK: And I think it should also be kept in mind, Wolf, that no one has done more to save the lives of young African Americans than the NYPD.You know thousands of young African Americans are alive today because white and black police officers put their lives on the line every day going into the toughest neighborhoods to protect them…and if President Obama is serious about bringing racial peace to this country the last thing he should be doing is having Al Sharpton sit in The White House. When he says that people in the African American community don’t trust the police one of the reasons is because agitators like Al Sharpton are constantly criticizing and denouncing the police before he has any idea what the facts are.

The reason the Black community doesn’t trust the police is not because of Al Sharpton. It is because the police have been incarcerating and killing Black people at significantly higher rates than white people for decades. And that is a fact. Al Sharpton knows it, the Black community knows it, the rest of society knows it. It is just you and your racist friends that seem to be willfully ignorant of this fact. It is not a coincidence, it is not because of some ridiculous and untrue notion that Black people are more violent by nature than people of other races. It is because our system, from top to bottom, is racist as fuck. And people like you work to keep it that way.

And, just to add insult to injury (and to make all of this even more infuriating), here is the outtro:

Wolf: Alright Peter King the Congressman from New York, the son of a police officer, himself grew up in New York City so its obviously a subject that hits right at home to this United States Congressman.

So now I am going to provide a link to Jon Stewart’s bit from last night. He was, as many of us were, completely without words. He managed this, though,

“If comedy is tragedy plus time, I need more fucking time. But I would really settle for less fucking tragedy to be honest with you.”

And I wish he could look Representative King, and Rudy Giuliani, and Robert McCulloch and all the other assholes who are using every ounce of strength and power they possess to simultaneously deny and reinforce the racism in this country and say what he said last night:

“I think what is so utterly depressing is that none of the ambiguities that existed in the Ferguson case exist in the Staten Island case. And yet the outcome is exactly the same. No crime, no trial, all harm, no foul.”

Racism is real. Quo erat demonstrandum, mother fuckers.

A Call to Arms

16 Nov

I have a topic in mind that I want to write about (which I likely will not actually get to) but first I would like to share with you all a little snippet of an email I received from my student loan provider, an organization that I not-so-lovingly call Numbnut (actual name, Nelnet). And, honestly, you should read that thing I linked to because it’s a letter I wrote to Numbnut awhile back and I just reread it and it was good, actually. Probably better than this post is going to be to be entirely honest with you. Maybe just skip this one and read the other one, unless of course you want to know what the real topic is that I plan on writing about (hint: the topic is The Duggars and I am totally not ever going to get to it). Anyway, so let me say the thing about Numbnut so we can move on (we will never move on). So recently I have been in a financial, how should I put it, bind. I mean, it’s not so bad but I could really use a new pair of running shoes and I have to take my cats to the vet and neither of those things seem likely to occur in the immediate future. And you know who I am blaming for this? You got it, Numbnut and the entire fucking student loan racket. Also, the US Government. Seriously you guys, I know that having a piece of paper saying I can do things is awesome, but going back to school was probably the worst financial decision I have ever made in my entire life. Invest in your future, they said. There will be jobs when you’re finished. Well here’s what I have to say to this all-knowing group of anonymous soothsayers:

Go fuck yourselves.

Seriously. I mean, hey, you know what’s a good fucking idea? Let’s take a whole bunch of people out of the workforce now to try and cushion our employment numbers and then dump them back a few years from now once all this nonsense is over and then, and then, we will take everything they have in the form of unethically-high interest rates on government bought, owned and then sold loans. A bunch of thieves, I tell you. I will happily pay my goddamn loans back when the interest on my savings account gets anywhere in the neighborhood of 6.8%. I’m not asking for much. A clean 3% would be nice. Off-topic again. Sorry.

Anyway, so I got this email from Numbnut that, among other little bits of wisdom, contained the following sentence:

“If you’re in repayment, we’ll do everything we can to help your loan payment fit comfortably into your budget and make repayment as easy as possible.”

Um, you’re lying. You will not do everything you can, Numbnut. So this is what pisses me off. I had this conversation with my dad a few weeks ago (have you noticed that I am basically always having conversations with my dad? He is like FranklyRebekah famous, if that is even a thing.)  And in the conversation which my dad instigated because he became focused on my student loans (he focuses on things, it’s great), we determined that because so many people can’t find jobs and therefore cannot afford to pay their loans back people like me who bust their balls to uphold their end of the bargain end up being chumps. (Yes, my father actually called me a chump. And he was SO right.) Like, when this whole thing blows up and the country faces yet another financial catastrophe, am I going to get a medal that says

“Wow, Rebekah, you’re really swell! Sorry you just flushed all that money you didn’t actually have down the toilet!”

No, no I am not. I am going to get nothing but the feeling that I was taken for an extremely expensive ride. And all because I am a total stressball when it comes to money and like obsessively need to pay things back regardless of the amount of pressure it puts on my life. So here’s the thing. I do autodebit for my loans. Why? Because every time I look at my loans, and the dollar equivalent of 6.8%, I fly into a rage. So I find it best to just let the money go quietly out of my account without me really having to actually face it. Avoidance is the only way forward. But the thing is that Numbnut will not allow me to autopay anything other than the monthly payment, despite the fact that my anxiety means that I am more than a year ahead of my loans. I don’t actually owe anything until this time next year. So can I pay less monthly, just to keep the interest from mounting? Nope, sure can’t! I have to go onto the Numbnut site and transfer the money from my bank which, as I mentioned before, throws me into a blind rage.

Breath, Rebekah.

You know what the thing is? With the interest rate where it is, and potentially going up (thanks Republicans! You cats are AWESOME!), there is actually no way for this shit to “fit comfortably into my (or most other people’s) budget.” You know what I do for a living? I serve drinks. And spend a lot of time writing for free on the internet.

I guess here’s the thing. I went back to school to feel like I was more qualified to do things. And to be honest, I think I am way more qualified to write for free on the internet than I was before. I might even be qualified to write for money if any of you know anyone who would like to pay me. The thing that going back to school did not give me that I was fairly certain it would was options. Because here is the thing. Sometimes we go through things to teach us what we want to do but also what we don’t want to do. I do not want to work in an office. I do not want to have to deal with nonsense office politics and type-A competitive people and organizations with questionable funding, histories and policies. Those are some of the things that I learned. And I find value in those things. I also learned how to be more self-critical, how to engage more in what is going on around me, how important my values and ethics are and who I want to surround myself with. Those things matter. They make me a better part of my community. All of those things don’t, however, help me pay back my student loans.

But here is the other thing. I am valuable. I, along with a lot of my peers who are also struggling under the weight of their student loans, deserve to get the chance we were told we would get. I know that we took the loans out, but we took the loans out with certain banks and then got cycled through the government and farmed out to other companies without being asked our permission. And meanwhile so many of these large financial organizations are being exposed for the lying cheats that they are. They have been stealing from people for fucking YEARS and now here we are, many of us working in non-profit or the same goddamn jobs we were forced to keep through school in order to make ends meet and we are suffering. We are a resource! We have so much to offer but so many people are taking jobs with companies they don’t believe in so they can pay their loans off. Give us a break. Let us do the good things we went to school for. Let us get out there and make things better.

Or are you too scared? Come on, United States Government, be honest, do we make you nervous?

Woman from Street Harassment Video Receives Rape Threats, No One is Surprised

30 Oct

Over the past few days a video documenting the degree to which women experience street harassment in New York City has been making the rounds on the internet. As of this moment, 11:49am on Thursday, October 30, 2014, the video has been viewed 15,831,699 times and that is only the official link from Hollaback!. The Hollaback! video was a small excerpt from a 10 hour long silent walk that Shoshana B. Roberts did, all the while being videotaped by Rob Bliss who walked in front of her, a camera hidden in his backpack. If you haven’t watched it, you should. This will either bring back memories of your own experience of street harassment, or give you a little taste of what it is like to be a woman walking the streets of New York, and, really, any other city.

Watch it. Because while there are some problems – as pointed out in this Slate article although the video claims that she was harassed by people of every background, the vast majority of the men featured in this video are either black or Latino – it makes a really great point of what it means to be female in public. Just yesterday, for example, on my walk home from the super market, a man in a truck honked at me, and then proceeded to park in the crosswalk I was about to enter in order to comment on my outfit and my legs. The only response when you’re on a relatively desolate street right near Hamilton Avenue? Keep your eyes straight ahead and walk on lest you are dealing with a person with anger management problems. And the thing about it, the thing that is so incredibly fucked up, is that that shit didn’t even phase me. I had already experienced 3 other men commenting on my legs, been “god blessed” about half a dozen times, been leered at, honked at, had cars slow down as they passed me, been wished a good day, and had someone tip his fucking hat at me. And it was only 4:30 pm. I had left the house at 1. This shit is so goddamn normal that I completely forgot about it until I came across an incredibly upsetting article.

Since the release of the video, Shoshana B. Roberts has been receiving rape threats on the internet. I would love to say that I am shocked by this but the reality? Not so much. This is completely and totally unsurprising. And I am not the only one to feel this way. Kelsey McKinney over at vox put it really well in her article on the subject, emphasis mine:

“Let’s lay this out in plain terms. Women are forced to feel uncomfortable and scared for walking down the damn street. Then, when one woman takes the time to show just how uncomfortable those interactions are, people threaten to physically assault her. If the video reminded us that women are constantly made to feel unsafe when they leave the house, the response is a reminder that women are constantly made to feel unsafe when they simply turn on their computer.”

And it is so true. I don’t know if you guys remember a few months back when I decided to poke the bear that is the Men’s Rights Movement. I wrote three different articles on the subject and I have to say I don’t think I have ever received so many comments, all of them negative. None of the comments were scary or violent in nature. They were just, well, stupid. They were written by angry people who have created for themselves some incredibly bizarre alternate reality within which they, American white men and their brain-washed white female supporters, are somehow the oppressed class. There is no reasoning with them. They live in a land where logic simply does not exist and all events can somehow be changed and manipulated in order to feed into their myth of the misandry of American culture spear-headed, of course, by the “feminist agenda.” They have been in the mix of people claiming that if Roberts were to have worn something less revealing then maybe she wouldn’t have been harassed so much. As David Futrelle from We Hunted the Mammoth said,

“Today I learned that wearing clothes that cover up most of your body is the same as going outside practically naked.”

Sadly I am reminded of this fact daily, whether I am wearing running clothes, a dress or a puffy fucking winter jacket. Back to the point. So after Day 3 of me fucking with a bunch of MRAs, my dad called me up and said, and I am paraphrasing here,

“I know this is going to make you mad but hear me out. I need you to lay off this stuff you’ve been writing about.”

And you know what? It did make me mad. Because I should be able to say whatever the fuck I want. I mean, everyone else does, right? I should be able to call people on their bullshit and tell people that there is nothing complimentary about having a man whisper in your ear as you walk down the street on your way to mail your cable bill, or have some assholes in a pick up truck comment on your clothing while they drive past, only to then run into them 20 minutes later in the super market. But my dad also had a point. The reality of the situation is that while the internet appears to be a safe place for the anonymous rape and death threats that men seem to feel entitled to hurl at women who speak their minds, the internet is very much not a safe place for those of us doing the speaking. Under our real names. Because we are responsible people who stand by our beliefs. I didn’t really see it at the time, probably because I am stubborn as shit and don’t like to be told what I should and should not discuss on my own personal website. And I also believe that I have a responsibility to myself, and to women in general, to say these things. We should be able to speak our minds, to design video games, to call out bullshit, to believe that we are deserving of respect and safety. And you know what? We shouldn’t have to fear our information being made public. We shouldn’t be bombarded with threats of violence. We shouldn’t be going into hiding. This is fucking ridiculous.

And the thing that makes it even more ridiculous is that all this shit does is prove the point that women, and our allies, are trying to make. That we are not safe. Anywhere. That we are not valued. That our opinions don’t matter. But guess what? We aren’t going anywhere. So bring it, mother fuckers.

Also, that video has now been viewed 16,451,646 times and counting. Let’s keep the conversation going and let Shoshana and the Hollaback! team know that they are supported and, hopefully, safe..

The Luckiest Girl in the World?

16 Oct

You know how people sometimes ask each other what their super hero power would be if they had one? And then people come up with all sorts of awesome answers? Like being invisible, or flying, or context clues, or mind reading, or being able to speak all the languages? I have thought long and hard about what my super hero power would be. I mean, what would be the best possible power to have with the least possible number of moral issues? Being able to see through things — like walls — would be awesome but then, you know, privacy concerns and also being a total creeper. Reading minds might be neat but then you might find out things that you really don’t want to know about people you like — for example, their obsession with ferrets (gross!) — which might then make you not like them so much and, also, make you a total mind creeper. Basically, I would ideally have a super hero power that would give me the ability to do something awesome, without making me any kind of creeper at all. I pride myself on being as close to 0% creeper as possible. After lots of thinking, and really not very much progress, the world stepped in, probably because my ridiculous ethical concerns in the midst of imagination games are incredibly annoying, and told me not what my super hero power would be if I had one, but what my super hero power actually is. Ready for it? Drum roll please.

My super hero power is getting shit on by birds and also other animals that spend time in trees.

Yea, yea, yea I know. It might not seem like a super hero power but bear with me here. I was talking to my friend Asher* over drinks the other night and he said he never, not in his entire life, has been shit on. I have been shit on three times in 2014 alone! And the year isn’t even over yet! There are plenty more opportunities for me to be walking around under trees, minding my own business, and then feeling (and let’s be honest hearing) that familiar <splat> and just knowing, deep in my bones, exactly what that was. Let’s take a little walk down memory lane, shall we? (Experiences recounted in no particular order.)

(1) There was that one time I was sitting on a bench in Union Square doing some reading for grad school when all of a sudden <SPLAT>, squirrel shit all over an article about malaria. And it like rolled into the binding too and I tried to shake the book to get the shit out of it, but I am fairly certain it left a nice little schmear in there.

(2) I was running, proudly, in my brand new bright pink Adidas running top, having a wonderful time when, you guessed it, <SPLAT>, bird shit on my shoulder that then somehow oozed all down my arm and also splashed onto my right boob.

(3) I was in India with two of my friends and we were heading back to the hotel after a very eventful, yet ultimately unsuccessful, journey to visit a temple with some animatronics (we made it to the temple but, surprise surprise, the animatronics were not working). As we approached the final stretch I looked up and noticed a rather disturbing thing: there were hundreds, and I mean hundreds, of birds perched on all sorts of surfaces. Some people might have thought this was a foreboding of some future misfortune but I, knowing the realities of my life, turned to my friends and said “see all those birds? One of us is most definitely going to be shat on.” And sure enough, no sooner did the words leave my mouth than <SPLAT!!!>. All over my shirt. It was as if a fucking pterodactyl had taken a dump on me. I have never seen so much shit in my life.

I could continue but I really think the India shit story takes the cake. Anyway, so the other day I was on an adventure with my friend Ben when we decided to sit on a bench under a tree. You would think that by this point in time I would decide that sitting on benches under trees, or doing anything under trees really, would be something I would avoid at all costs but no. I sat there. And no sooner did I sit than I felt the smallest little <splat>. Obviously I freaked out because it really doesn’t matter how many times you get shit on, it is always jarring and very upsetting. Ben, being the good team player that he is, cleaned the cleanable shit out of my hair with his bare hands and then remained friends with me when, after arriving at a place with a bathroom, I totally left him standing at the bar while I retreated to the bathroom first like a complete and total asshole. In my defense, I panicked and also, even after washing my hands and the portion of my head that had been crapped on, I still had poop on my person whereas he had no poop left after washing his hands but whatever, I’m making excuses. This event is from here on out, in our friendship, known as #PoopGate. It was not my finest moment.

So here is the thing about being pooped on. Whenever I tell people I got pooped on (which happens incredibly often, relatively speaking) they always say “that’s good luck!” I am calling bullshit. The only reason that people tell you it is good luck is to make you feel better about the fact that you have shit on your head. Or your shirt. Or where ever. It is just a way to put a silver lining on a rather shitty (hehe) situation. Also, as I mentioned, I have been shat on 3 times so far this year and this has been my unluckiest year ever! All the stupid things have happened. Until the other day because, the other day, I was at work, minding my own business when, who should arrive and sit down at my bar on a Tuesday afternoon? Little Pete from Pete and Pete! And let me tell you, he looks exactly like he did when he was 11, only older. I know that sounds weird but it is uncanny. And, while internally I was exploding from sheer excitement, externally I pretended he was a normal, every day non-child actor dude because that seemed like the right thing to do. I didn’t even ask him about Petunia. This was exceedingly difficult for me. The only thing that might have been better than Little Pete from Pete and Pete showing up at my bar would have been if Alex Mack showed up. I loved that show. And in fact, to this day about once a month I daydream about how awesome it would be to have the ability to morph myself into a puddle and escape all sorts of awkward and potentially dangerous situations. Or, like, get home faster when you get caught in a freak rainstorm as I did last night. I try not to think about the long-term side effects of having been involved, at a young age, in some weird chemical accident because that might take the shine off things. Anyway, I digress.

So there he was, Young Pete from Pete and Pete and I realized, hey! Maybe this is the luck. Maybe this is the moment that all the shit was leading up to! The moment where I got to complain to Young Pete from Pete and Pete about how aggressive some people are about the sports that we have on television and how you never hear me bitching about how bars won’t play gymnastics with the sound for me when ever it’s on (which isn’t often). He thought that was funny. Anyway, so when he left we had a little convo:

Little Pete from Pete and Pete (LPfP&P): I never got your name. I’m Danny, it was nice talking with you.
Me: Rebekah, likewise. Hopefully I’ll see ya in here again! I’ll be here Mondays.
LPfP&P: Cool. I’m in a band and do some sketch comedy. Look me up.
Me: Great! Will do!

I was like a volcano. I wanted to be like “I know who you are and I also know that you recently performed at The Bell House, maybe with Big Pete from Pete and Pete, because I was secretly texting with my friend Kris about you and she told me and we freaked out a little!” But I didn’t say any of those things. I stayed strong. But Pete, if you’re reading this, you might have been the answer to all the bird shit. So, that’s a thing.

*I know, our blogs use the same design theme! Total coincidence and totally weird! Meant to be friends!