Life's Little Injustices (Take XXII): The Blow-Up (Not The Movie --The Laundry Room!)

 

<"Laundry Room Blues/Take III": The Reckoner>

You can always tell when cramped conditions get to people. Today strikes me as a timely reminder of that principle, as I hurry to get The Squawker's and my own laundry done, on the second floor of our building. I have until 6 a.m. tomorrow, because management is closing the laundry down all week, so the flooring can be redone. Which also means that Sunday, being recast as D-Day, will likely prove competitive than usual.

As usual, my hunches aren't far off when I head upstairs about eight o'clock-ish, or so. Two washers are going full steam ahead, and so are three dryers. I just about manage to load the full contents of my cart into both of them, and head back down.

Come Trip Number Two, nothing changes. The same number of dryers are tumbling away, so I stuff the entire contents of my cart into the remaining one (Dryer #2) -- beggars not being choosers, and all that sort of thing, blah-blah-blah. 

An hour later, I pop back up. This time, I notice that Dryer #3 has long since stopped, but nobody has emptied it yet. Same story for Dryer #4, as well. I turn around, and notice a squat, thirty/fortysomething young woman casting a thumb anxiously in my direction.

"Is that stuff yours?" she asks. Her voice betrays a note of anxiety (as in, Christ, I'm still dealing with this crap -- just when I wanna go to bed, so I can get up for work!)

I snap open Dryer #3. Nothing in there, really, but a huge, fluffy pillow, and a couple blankets. I unceremoniously begin emptying them out, which doesn't take long. "Look," I tell the woman, "in rock 'n' roll, things have to happen on the beat, or you won't make it. Same story here. It's been sitting like this for an hour, at least. I'd go for it."

She nods, and begins emptying Dryer #4, which is far more filled -- mainly with children's clothing -- while I hurriedly parcel half the load from Dryer #2 into its neighbor, that I've just emptied out. The magnetic stripe on my e-card does the rest.

Another hour and a half passes. Right, I tell myself. Time to head back up, and finish off the job. I plonk down a chair in front of Dryer #3, and begin peeling off its contents into my cart. I'm vaguely aware of two pieces of paper taped to the wall, behind the machines, but at first, I'm too preoccupied to read them. But when I do, I can't stop laughing, starting with Note #1:

"Please remember, that wasn't your clothing in the dryer. It's disrespectful to touch another person's belongings. Thank you! :-)"

But it's Note #2 that inspires the loudest, most prolonged ripples of laughter from Yer Humbler Narrator, as you may well agree:

"It's also disrespectful to leave your clothes all night in the dryer, and not collect them when they're done. Thank you! LOL. :-)."

So did that woman I encountered write Note #2? I've no idea, but it wouldn't surprise me. The impatience flashing across her eyes when she popped her question ("Is that stuff yours?") told me everything I needed to know. 

In any event, I suspect the writer of Note #1 didn't expect that response -- assuming it stays up, if they make it up before 6 a.m. rolls around. Suffice to say that when the chips are down, crowded conditions don't bring out the best in us. What else is left to say here, though, except: "Game, set, match?" That'll do nicely, I think. --The Reckoner

<"Laundry Room Blues/Take IV": The Reckoner>

Life's Little Injustices (Take XXI): Hey, Mr. Monopoly (Your Five-Star Review Isn't Forthcoming)

 

<"Thumbs Down!"/The Reckoner>

Blogs are better than therapy. I've no trouble reaching that conclusion lately, as the problems at our complex multiply. Regular readers may recall the mother and daughter duo I profiled in my last entry of this series (see link below), which focused on who'd washed up on these crumbling shores, after the owner of the house they'd been renting suddenly decided to sell it.

As I recounted, they weren't thrilled about stepping down a notch, to a place like ours, but vowed to make the best of it. Last week, The Squawker and I ran into Mom Sixtysomething (as we'll now call her), in mid-junk mail persual.

We'd barely exchanged pleasantries, when she rolled her eyes, and said, "Boy, we can't wait to get out of here."

"Hm, couldn't imagine why," I responded, with a smile. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"We were promised a one-bedroom when we moved in here." Mom Sixtysomething's face squinched into a frown. "But that's not where we ended up."

"So what happened?" Squawker asked. "Was it something they did?"

"You could say that," Mom Sixtysomething sighed. "The manager claimed that she couldn't show the apartment, because it was still occupied. But I've read the lease, and it's not an issue. There's no language against seeing the unit, whether anybody's in there, or isn't."

"Well, wouldn't be the first bait and switch that happened to anybody," I offered. "What did you end up doing?"

"A studio," Mom Sixtysomething said. "The circuit breaker's so old, the air conditioning and the heater often run at the same time. The flashing around the window has crumbled, so the wind and the rain blow through it. We've been flooded a couple times, too." Her face hardened beyond mere exasperation. "Our lease is up in July. We can't wait to get out of here!"

"Trust me, nobody will hold against it you," I assure her. "Especially when they hear where you lived last."

"Well, that was the thing," Mom Sixtysomething sighed. "We were renting a motel room for almost a week, while we waited on that one-bedroom. When we found out it wasn't going to be available, we bit the bullet, and moved in."

I allow myself the luxury of another smile. "I take it, you're not leaving a five-star review, whenever you do go?"

"They'll be lucky if it's one star!" Mom snaps back.

We dissolve into peals of raucous laughter that bounce off the ceiling. With that, we adjourn the discussion, and head back to our separate existences.

The review I'm referencing is a prominent feature of our so-called resident portal, where you pay that exortionate rent (now that management stopped taking checks and/or money orders, about four years ago). As soon as you log in, the pop-up slaps you visually upside the head:

"Leave Us A

Review On Google!"

A quick glance at Google shows that 51 people have done just that, yielding 3.5 stars on a five-star scale. As I've written here before, that's a decent mark, though not exceptional, an impression that only strengthens when I read the more niggling verdicts.

I'm surprised that our complex's rating is that high, given the increasing MIA status of our maintenance team; the ever-spiraling rents; the increasingly grubby appearance of hallways and stairwells, that no longer get regular attention; and the erratic performance of fixtures like the baseboard heaters, whose giant knobs would elicit a familiar groan from anyone who struggled with them during the "Cosby Show" era.

So will it discourage anybody from renting here? Maybe yes, maybe no. The thumbs down notice that scares off more discerning renters may not matter so much during economic downturns, when the dismissed and the desperate have to check their pickiness at the door.

And, of course, we've all heard that old saying, "The only thing worse than bad publicity is no publicity at all," right? As the above conversation shows, Mom and her offspring had to hold their nose, and sign their lease, the because they had to figure an alternative, fast. Motels are expensive, right?

There's a reason why John Lydon once said, in dismissing his former cohorts' post-Sex Pistols ventures, like "Silly Thing": "If you notice a drop in quality, that's neither here nor there."

I just ran into another refugee from our complex, a nice twentysomething couple, whom I'd talk to in passing. They were checking out the dairy options, with their five-month-old son, when I asked how their new apartment was working out. They both expressed satisfaction, especially since their new abode is costing them $200 less in rent per month.

"I can't blame you, because I'm looking at some changes myself," I tell them. "The maintenance department is quieter than the cemetery."

"Yeah, well, we moved in with broken blinds," Mrs. Twentysomething offers. "And that's how we're leaving it. And that was the least of it."

Naturally, I want to dig a little deeper, drill down more, but they have to go, and get their son fed, before he gets restless. "No worries," I tell them. "I get it. Hope we get another chance to talk more next time."

I'm not a betting man, but this much I know. I doubt they'll leave a review, but even if they do, it sure as hell won't be a five-star one, let alone three. That's why we have blinker lights at busy intersections, after all. So we don't get blind-sided. Or T-boned by another car. --The Reckoner

<"Thumbs Down!" (Take II)/The Reckoner>

Links To Go (The Girl Can't Yelp It):
Ars Technica: One Apartment Complex's Rule:
You Write A Bad Review, We Fine You $10K:
https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2015/03/one-apartment-complexs-rule-you-write-a-bad-review-we-fine-you-10k/

Ramen Noodle Nation: Life's Little Injustices (Take XX):
"We Moved Out, Because We Had No Choice":
https://ramennoodlenation.blogspot.com/2023/07/lifes-little-injustices-take-xx-we.html

Life's Little Injustices (Take XIX): Hey, AT&T Greedheads: You're Scrambling My Budget!

 

<Cover art: goodreads.com>

<i.>

Not so long ago, I found myself rereading The Saga Of Hawkwind (2004), written by the late Carol Clerk. If you haven't come across it, by all means, check it out: it's a fantastically written, 500-page epic history of the Founding Fathers of space rock, as they're commonly called. 

Clerk dishes out everything you ever wanted to know about Hawkwind, but didn't know what to read, or where to ask. At its core, it's a narrative defined by 50-odd years of constant lineup changes, and dueling egos, often working at cross purposes, amid the usual music biz skulduggery, with one constant (guitarist Dave Brock) at the center of the vortex.

Some of the most relevant tidbits happen when Clerk explores various aspects of the industry that make it hard for musicians to stay afloat. As Brock himself notes in the last chapter ("Dave Brock: God, Satan...Or Just The Captain Of The Ship?"): "The trucking companies are getting more than I'm getting on a tour.

"The rock 'n' roll business being so corrupt, all these different people, trucking companies, bus companies -- the guy who's driving the bus wants £10 food and £30 per diem, and he's paid to drive the bus.  It's all these things around the periphery which piss me off."

After revisiting that passage, all I can say is: Dave, you have my deepest sympathies, as I know the feeling. I got a fresh reminder of this phenomenon last week, after my phone bill landed in my mailbox.

<"Sick 'N' Tired, 

So Sick 'N' Tired..."

The Reckoner>

<ii.>

This is how crazy it gets 'round the periphery: last month, I had a $3.46 credit. This month, I'm starting down a bill of $236 and some change. 

See, when November started, I'd paid two months' worth of bills, because I'd fallen behind. Chalk it up to that cost of living/inflation thing everyone's going on about lately, so when I got a surplus of 200-some-odd bucks, I'd promptly paid it, to get caught up. 

That mess started around the second week in October, when I tried calling the doctor, and got a nonstop dial tone. I realized something was up, as a panic-stricken email from my supervisor confirmed ("Your phone has been busy all day. Please call me, I can't get through"). I wound up calling AT&T, who duly confirmed they'd cut me off. 

I don't recall getting a disconnect notice, I protested. Of course, you got it, the rep stoutly maintained. Once upon a time, they called to pester you, whenever you fell behind; now, they've switched back to paper notices, apparently. Whatever.

In the end, I borrowed from my supervisor to get the phone back on. Of course, that meant having to repay her, forcing me to repurpose another amount intended for something else. That's how it works around the periphery: one domino topples another, creating a ripple effect that scrambles your budget.

Of course, the chaos came during a particularly busy week. I didn't really have time to fight it, let alone think about it, so I did what anybody in this boat does. "Right," I told myself. "Here's your $110, and some change. Now please go away." And that's the last thought I gave it, essentially. That is...until the new bill arrived.

<"Thank You For Your Business..."

The Reckoner>

<iii.>

Lo and behold, that $236 amount jumped right out at me. "What's going on here, then?" I ask myself. A quick scan confirms my worst fears. Apparently, they've whacked on a $30 reconnection charge, which they told me was coming. I can live with that, I suppose.

Guess what, though? They've whacked on $30 and $50 sums for a pro-rating of the bill. Say what? How or why that happened, I'm not sure but I'm still on the hook for it, so I'll have to let it slide. It's not like there's a Phone Bill Appeals Board to hear my case.

By the time you include the inevitable taxes ($11.74), they've added $129 on an otherwise unremarkable monthly bill of $100 or so. Luckily for me -- if that's the right word -- I can spread the cost over a couple weeks, and minimize some of the damage. Sure, a couple more dominos will topple, but it's the beginning of the month, and I'm getting paid again. All's well that ends well, right?

I suppose, but it pisses me off, all the same. It's all part and parcel of the corruption around the periphery of Big Business, as in, "We know you're hurting, so guess what? It's time to squeeze you a little harder." It's the same mentality that you see with local governments, when they whack the cost of somebody's forced lawnmowing bill onto their taxes. Or water bills that they're struggling to pay, because they're double the local average. Or retroactively compounding interest, as many student loan borrowers discover, to their everlasting regret.

The same story holds true at the grocery store, where the Squawker and I spent $350 -- literally, half my paycheck -- to avoid making the trip for another couple weeks A loaf of bread? Ka-ching!  $5.89. A jar of mayonnaise? Ka-ching! $5.49. Eight-ounce package of sliced turkey lunch meat? Ka-ching! $4.29. A bag of onions? Ka-ching! $2.99. A bag of tomatoes on the vine? Ka-ching! $5.66. And so on, and so forth.

God knows what everything will cost next time, as prices like these keep on rocketing upward. Even a meal out, to give you a break from cooking, averages 25 to 40 bucks in this town. But there's the dirty little secret, right? It doesn't cost them $30 to turn your phone back on, anymore than it costs $350 per person to get your food on the grocery shelf. A lot of this stuff is just the banksters making out like bandits. Because they are bandits. 

Even after a catastrophic global pandemic, we're still left where we started, of agitating for change that most people see as long overdue, and desperately needed. That is, anyone who isn't a rich right wing greedhead, like a certain rogue billionaire who just bought a certain media platform, that a certain rogue ex-President publicly poo-poohs interest in reclaiming. They're fine with all the chaos and crap that they've stirred up. 

In one sense, I guess I could consider myself fortunate, in that I can generate income beyond my day job to deal with these problems. But in another sense, I'd say, "Maybe not," since the same greasy global shuffle is going on -- or, as Don Letts says, in "Outta Sync," the teaser for his forthcoming solo album: 

"Predictions of dystopia? 

Three jobs to pay the rent.

The threat of just a few degrees? 

We're talking two percent." 

We'll find out how close to reality those predictions come, as dire as they are. Because, you see, that's another collateral consequence of life on the periphery -- we usually know what's going down before everyone else does. 

We feel the social ills first; when things fall apart, we're first to catch cold. When things finally rebound, we're the last to catch up. Because, unlike everybody else, we don't exactly get to shop till we drop. See you at the checkout line. --The Reckoner

Links To Go (Hurry, Hurry, 

Grab Your Ticket Outta Babylon

Because It's Burnin' Red Hot, Hot Hot...):

Don Letts: Outta Sync (Official Video):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q7Zf0KWPJoE&t=108s

Poverty Level Republicans (You Gotta Love 'Em)

You've probably seen this book making the rounds at one time or another. Originally published in 1937, Hill's purported rags-to-riches instruction manual has entered the inner ring of all-time best-sellers (reportedly racking up some 20 million copies at the time of his death in 1970). Of course, it's a tad light on specifics, though Hill apparently believes that visualization is sufficient to get the heavy lifting done: "You may as well know, right here, that you can never have riches in great quantities unless you work yourself into a white heat of desire for money, and actually believe you will possess it."

It's not a stretch to imagine such disparate characters as the Beach Boys' lead singer, Mike Love, corporate raider T. Boone Pickens and the late "Queen Of Mean", Leona Helmsley, reading such passages aloud to themselves, nodding their approval: "Some day, I'll stand at the top of the pile...and when I do, there won't be any stopping me."

My introduction to Hill's book came as a teenager, after my late father -- who was a contractor -- brought it home from a job one day, shaking his head. When I queried further, it turned out that Dad's latest client had practically pressed the book into his palm, suggesting that he give Hill's ideas a try. What did Dad have to lose? Besides, once he finished reading it, he wouldn't avoid the only logical conclusion...and become a Republican, since they were the cash-endowed ones, right?

However, my dad had no interest in joining The Party Of No, let alone voting for any of their so-called representatives...especially after doing jobs here or there for members of the local GOP hierarchy, who'd often treated him (as he told me) "like just another dumb laborer"...even though he'd largely educated himself after the Second World War ended, primarily by reading just about every book he could get his hands on. Suffice to say, Mr. Hill's masterpiece sat gathering dust on the shelf in our den, and my dad never broached the subject again.

Dear Old Dad's encounter with Napoleon Hill's ideology ("What the mind of man can conceive and believe, it can achieve") marked my first encounter with a new phenomenon: The Poverty Level Republican.  The above graphic sums up the distinction cleverly enough, but for those who just tuned in, it's the opposite of the image typically associated with the Elephant Set: those grubby little "One Percenters" that we all keep hearing so much about.  However, I don't hate them for voting Republican, because there's a rational undercurrent behind such choices: they're only looking after their own best interests (such as reducing their individual tax burden to infinitesimal levels...but I digress).

I began seeing more Poverty Level Republicans after starting college. Overall, they tended to occupy the bottom or lower middle class rungs of the American economic ladder, which didn't dim -- not for a second -- their admiration for such up-and-coming conservative spear carriers as our newly-elected fortieth president, Ronald Reagan, or his eager acolytes (including supply-side gurus like Arthur Laffer and Milton Freidman, for example). They boasted a comically exaggerated self-confidence in their own bootstrapping abilities, even if that "some-day-my-ship-will-come-in" moment seemed an awfully long way off (as in, "dig-up-John-Lennon-to-reunite-the-Beatles" or "Finding-Jimmy-Hoffa's-perfectly-mummified-body-in-an-oil-drum-in-Southfield" territory).

However, you never heard any resentment voiced towards a political system that had only just begun its hellbent descent toward record levels of inequality. Hell, they wanted to become rich -- or, at least, well to do -- so why vote for anyone trying to interfere with the emerging Trickle-Down way of doing business? At the same time, the Poverty Level Republicans I met couldn't wait for the day that Reagan would finally push those mooching welfare queens right off the couch, and into the cold, where they so rightfully belonged.

If that meant putting off social equity a little bit longer, so be it. If that meant having to brown bag it a couple more times per week, so be it. If that meant stitching together two, three or even four part-time jobs to cobble enough money for tuition, housing or meal plan rates that were already approaching stratospheric levels, so be it. If that meant putting off major life decisions like getting married, or buying a house, to pay back those student loans -- which were also ratcheting into outer space -- so be it.

Whatever personal difficulties lay ahead, Poverty Level Republicans just confidently asserted that their personal boom time lay just around the corner (even if they didn't know which corner)...or President Reagan would give one of those folksy, but blistering fireside chats on TV, and whip those pinheads in Congress back into line...then everything would work out somehow, in its own surreal American way. You had to love optimism like that, even if no empirical evidence suggested the remotest chance of the above-mentioned scenario happening.

One of the tragic ironies of Barack Obama's presidency, it appears, is that some of his most ardent haters are the "99 Percenters" that he's trying to save -- even if it's from themselves. A recent Yahoo News story that Your Humble Narrator came across puts the whole situation nicely in perspective, focusing on why those "red state" Kentuckians can't bring themselves to support Obama.

I won't belabor the contents but what's funny (and sad) is the deepest hatred coming from the people with the least money -- and the most to lose. As one Kentucky resident (Eric Miller) observes, "If there weren't government programs, it would be a ghost town." Yet, in the same breath, he states: "The Republicans, they are the ones that know...raised up like we have, you know. Know what it's like, what we need, what shouldn't been taken away."

Such comments are downright surreal, especially when you consider the Republican-dominated House of Representatives' attempt last year to cram steep food stamp cuts down the throats of gents like Mr. Miller, who gets by on $380 per month.  Congress's recent decision to let additional unemployment extensions expire -- "not with a bang, but a whimper," as T.S. Eliot would say -- is another indicator of how the political class feels about the pesky 99 Percenters they claim to represent so ardently.

At best, they view them as a nuisance to fool into re-electing them; at worst, they harbor a deep-seated hatred and hostility toward the Eric Millers of the world. After all, various members of the Elephant Set have openly boasted of "starving the beast" as a strategy -- the theory being, if you continue gutting social programs past the point of no return, the poor will eventually shrivel up and blow away, just like all those tumbleweeds you've seen lately at dead malls across America. 

So why do the Eric Millers of the world, then, vote for the people who seemingly stay up around the clock, thinking of new ways to keep down?  Various explanations have been trotted out to try and account for the Poverty Level Republican phenomenon, which you can read below, too. Speaking from experience, however, I personally see little or no point in trying to explain bullshit for bullshit's sake. In my time, I've seen a more mundane phenomenon at work.  

People display a remarkable knack for doublethink.  They rail against "welfare moochers," even they collect food stamps and cash assistance themselves. They vote against ballot proposals and millages -- even renewals, which are considered no-brainer propositions in municipal circles -- yet are the first to scream for the services that have long evaporated  They fight like a wounded bear cub for whatever government benefits they collect, even as they pay lip service to that moth-eaten cliche that's all too frequently trotted out during the latest national debate ("America must learn to live within its means").

Contrary to what some of my left-of-center friends think, I don't believe these inconsistent attitudes reflect a desire to get rich quick anymore -- hell, with so many people broke and leveraged to the hilt, the New American Dream is simply getting out of debt.  The simpler explanation comes down to a quote attributed to Mark Twain, though I haven't managed to track down its source: "Few political systems are as ingenious as getting people to vote against their own best interests as this one."  

That's as good an explanation as I've heard for the current administration's struggles. When Obama came to Capitol Hill in 2008, he hoped, prayed and stated that -- somehow, somewhere, doggone it -- people would line up behind him, whether they agreed with him or not, for the sake of the nation. It's the kind of kabuki theater that causes seasoned political journalists to piss their pants with laughter, but apparently, our Commander In Chief really believed that scenario would happen.

Alas, such dew-eyed dreamin' and doe-eyed optimism collided head-on with The Party Of No...and their accomplices, the Poverty Level Republicans. Meanwhile, the collateral damage continues, with everyone else paying the price. In short, it's business as usual. --The Reckoner

Links To Go (And Get Depressed By):
AppalledByLePage.com: Against Their Own Interest: Why The Rural Poor Vote Republican
http://www.appalledbylepage.com/2012/10/18/against-their-own-interest/

DemocraticUnderground.com: Poor Kentucky Has No Stomach For Obama
http://www.democraticunderground.com/10024955559
[Note: This is only a partial recap, since the link apparently doesn't exist anymore -- and I don't want the Copyright Cops chasing me down if I post it all here.  Anyway, the resulting discussion should give you a good feel for the actual content.]

The New York Times Opinion Pages: Moochers Against Welfare
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/17/opinion/krugman-moochers-against-welfare.html

Flat Wage USA: The More Things Change, They More They (Fill In The Blank)...

I've always held vivid memories of this image, which I remember seeing in Otto L. Bettmann's book, The Good Old Days -- They Were Terrible!  While some critics accused Bettmann of going overboard with his debunking of the Gilded Age, published in 1974, the book's most cogent points focus on the glaring income inequalities that characterized the era. That's why this particular image and its caption ("Corporate greed octopus gobbles up freight for Great Railroad while unemployed handlers look on") remains so haunting, and so compelling, more than a century later.

I felt inspired to start this post after doing some research on Edith Wharton's novel, Ethan Frome (1911), of all things. The title character's frustration with his limited resources is an important subtext of the story, which focuses on his failed attempts to start a new life with his lover, Mattie, outside the confines of his marriage.  In researching the story, I came across numerous references to The Working Girls Of Boston (1884), which marked a serious attempt by the Massachusetts Bureau of Statistics of Labor's to document female workers' conditions.

Suffice to say, the conditions these "working girls" endured were horrendous -- including arbitrary bosses, cramped work areas, lengthy schedules, little time off and poor ventilation -- so we need not belabor the point here. In 1880, the bureau reported that the average working girl in Boston earned $269.07 per year. However, once she finished subtracting $261.30 for necessities (food, clothing, shelter and medical care), she took home a whopping $7.77 in discretionary income...and you wonder why everyone frowns so heavily in those 19th century sepia-toned photographs!

While nobody's suggesting that we're back in the Gilded Age -- actually, most wiseguys like yours truly argue that we're at Roaring Twenties levels of inequality -- it's no stretch to suggest that Americans are faring poorly overall in the Discretionary Income & Savings Sweepstakes. One point that the Suze Ormans of the world overlook in all their endless lectures to the groundlings -- y'know, "waste not, want not, why buy that latte when you can put it away on a condo, yada-yada-yada" -- is that, after 30-plus years of flat wages, people have little or no money left to save.

One indicator of this trend is evident from a Bankrate.com survey cited in the following Huffington Post article (see link below, or click the actual survey link for the full gory details). The figure that leaps out is this one: about 25 percent of the adults surveyed by Bankrate between June 6-9, 2013, had no cash reserves for emergencies, while roughly half said they had three months or less of funds -- well shy of the six months that experts recommend. By contrast, 72 percent of those making $75,000 per year or more had at least three months' of emergency savings, compared to 35 percent making less than that sum.

Granted, it's a small survey pool, but those are stark figures, by any measurement. The frustration is fully evident from the comments of interviewees like Kim Norton, who told the Huffington Post: "I rob Peter to pay Paul; I don't spend my money frivolously on crap; I just make sure my kids have what they need. I get really wound up thinking about how you just can't get ahead." That does seem rather unlikely for someone working "part time as a research coordinator through a temp agency" (emphasis ours), as the story suggests -- need we say more?

In many ways, that little tidbit aptly sums up where we are now, along with the never-ending parade of dubious ads from crappy for-profit colleges, gold buying shops and structured settlement purchasing outfits like JG Wentworth...do these images speak to an economy in recovery? The jury's still out on that one, we suspect.

If you're like the great majority, you're probably writing enough checks to float a raft -- noting which companies run to the bank immediately, versus which ones wait a couple days, or even a week, God forbid -- while you pray for the roof not to cave in. Needless to say, though, don't expect any lift from the political classes, because they're having too much fun to care about helping the groundlings to any meaningful degree.

As we've stated here previously, the few measures that the Obama administration has proposed -- a year-long mortgage moratorium here, begging the House of Representatives to extend unemployment there -- have been too weak, timid or half-hearted to benefit people on a massive scale. And, in real terms, whatever Obama propounds now will essentially come too little and too late, since those guys in colonial drag (The Tea PartyRepublicans, basically) have no incentive to make those dreams happen. As the old joke goes, there's a reason why second-term presidents suddenly start talking up their foreign policy accomplishments.

What's often missed in these debates, however, is that these yawning disparities bear the hallmarks of policy. In Washington, access is power, and you can tell who wields it by who's actually sitting at the table. It isn't the inner city resident whose neighborhood lacks a decent supermarket...or the retired firefighter whose pension isn't fully funded...or the senior citizen having to choose between food, or medicine...or the contract worker piecing shit job upon shit job together for the privilege of surviving another day, never mind another week.

As one of my close friends observes, it's as if Ronald Reagan won a seventh presidential term, because the trends that began when he arrived on the scene in 1980 -- help the rich get richer, let the poor stay poorer, hollow out what's left of the middle class -- are more firmly entrenched and noxious than ever. The jabbering continues apace, while relief for the average person seems farther away on the horizon than ever, amid continuing choruses to "pull yourself up by your bootstraps". However, as the customs man says at Heathrow Airport, "there's just one small matter": your bootstraps were cut long ago, when nobody was looking.  --The Reckoner

"Sometimes history takes things into its own hands." --Thurgood Marshall, Associate Justice, U.S. Supreme Court (1967-1991)

"Consolidation becomes the fourth chapter of the next book of their history. But this opens with a vast accession of strength from their younger recruits, who, having nothing in them of the feelings or principles of ’76, now look to a single and splendid government of an aristocracy, founded on banking institutions, and moneyed incorporations under the guise and cloak of their favored branches of manufactures, commerce and navigation, riding and ruling over the plundered ploughman and beggared yeomanry." -- Thomas Jefferson (A/K/A "The Guy On The Two Dollar Bill")

Links To Go (As Always...Read 'Em And Weep Some More, Eh):
Bankrate.com: June 2013 Financial Security Index Charts:
http://www.bankrate.com/finance/consumer-index/financial-security-charts-0613.aspx

Consumer Reports:
Can Singing Vikings Solve Your Cash Crunch?
http://www.consumerreports.org/cro/2010/03/can-singing-vikings-solve-your-cash-crunch/index.htm

The Economic Policy Institute:
A Decade Of Flat Wages:
The Key Barrier To Shared Prosperity And A Rising Middle Class
http://www.epi.org/publication/a-decade-of-flat-wages-the-key-barrier-to-shared-prosperity-and-a-rising-middle-class/

The Huffington Post:
75 Percent Of Americans Don't Have Enough Savings
To Cover Their Bills For Six Months: Survey:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/06/24/americans-savings_n_3478932.html