I am getting sick of the word 'austerity', thrown around haphazardly by all of the Serious People in the news as the answer to our budgetary and economic woes. Austerity, as a media buzzword, has come to mean a new round of mass privatizations, wage cuts, tax cuts, and a general dismemberment of the people's half of our government ledger.
Our teachers are expected to get by on McJob wages, our firefighters are to be thrown into the streets the second their bad backs (from carrying the morbidly obese down flights of stairs on stretchers, thanks food lobby!) become too much of a burden. Our middle class is expected to pay for the education required to have a shot in hell at a decent living through burdensome, non-dischargeable student loans or service to the imperial war machine. Our elderly are expected to work as Wal*Mart greeters and live in their rusting out 93' Oldsmobiles for the crime of expecting a pension upon retirement. Our sick are expected to sit quietly in a corner and die of easily treatable illness.
Not once do these Serious People seek to discuss cuts which would have real, tangible effects- the big ticket items on the plutocrat's portion of the ledger are of course off limits.
The imperial war machine? Someone connected is making a buck off of our addiction to war and empire. We can't cut 'defense', mind that the actual salary for our nation's men and women in uniform are a small fraction of the system. The graft must go on, after all.
Taxing wealthy people on their capital gains? That would hurt investment!
Taxing multinationals that have the gall to operate in country? No, we cannot tax them, we must tax small businesspeople instead- they are not politically connected, you see.
Competitive contracts for government work with sizable penalties for going over budget? Nope!
Letting banks and big businesses fail when they fail in the marketplace? That would be socialism, surely! We must prop up outmoded institutions- they pay for my next election.
The poison pill of austerity is not directed at the powerful and the connected. This medicine is a weapon force fed down the throats of the working and middle classes. Is there waste and fraud at the low end of the totem pole? Sure. But the numbers matter. If some guy on welfare smokes a joint in his off time, I really am not to blame him. His life sucks. The 300 dollars in odd cash he might extort monthly from the system cannot and does not compare to the trillions being pilfered by investment institutions, defense contractors, our scam of a healthcare system, and university presidents.
Before we knock the last pillars of support from our least able citizens, we should give those at the top a damn close shave of a haircut.
After that we can and should address problems at the bottom. Not until then, though.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Industry That Makes Industry
From: http://rightleftwrong.wordpress.com/2011/05/31/industry-that-makes-industry/
Cincinnati, Ohio one hundred years ago was once the machine tool capital of the world. As recently as the 1970s, Cincinnati was home to leading machine tools manufacturers such as Cincinnati Milacron and Carlton. Factories hummed day and night with the sounds of expert machinists on the lathe creating true precision parts. The industrial might that beat fascism was made possible by American machining. Every bullet fired, every tank, every plane in the sky over Europe, all of these were made possible through an accessible, ready supply of American tool and die.
The globalization of industry that has hollowed out the industrial base of the entire country can be seen in the demise of American machine tool manufacture and market share. Domestic market share held by American machine companies is barely 30%. Even if we wanted to properly reindustrialize we would be beholden to foreign interests for the very tools to kit the factories. This is tragic. Strategically, the loss of control of capacity this represents means that were we to end up in a hellish, true war against a credible threat we have no native way to upscale our defense manufacturing needs. Economically, this loss is a good representation of why so many of our young people's highest legitimate aspirations will end with them serving burned coffee at a Starbucks. Skilled, fulfilling, well-paying manufacture has been on the wane for longer than they have been alive.
The only lucrative path in the early 21st century seems to be the path of finance. Wall Street always wins big. Owning your regulators and media outlets can't hurt. The recovery hasn't. It has been a lie spun of whole cloth. Main Street has been mugged, government is nearly insolvent, those lucky enough to have jobs won't see a real raise and are more likely to see their purchasing power decrease as the dollar radically devalues thanks to QE. Young graduates, freshly laden with student debt, can be sure to find applications at the counter of the nearest Starbucks. Or are they online only now, I cannot recall.
It all goes back to industry. Industry that creates industry. Policy promotes growth. If you build a massive highway system, cities will sprawl to take advantage of cheaper land resources on the outer belts. If you kill tariffs, nations which utilize serf-grade labor practices will siphon off industry. A free people need be a productive people. An America built on entitlement and finance, ever more stratified, is an America begging tyranny. The more important finance becomes and the more the average person relies on government handouts to meet their basic needs the less free we become. The more we enslave our youth to debt through ever heavier student debt burdens the less entrepreneurial chances those kids can take in the future. The more we punish risk and reward rent seeking behavior the closer we are to feudal hierarchies with rights and privileges for the financial elite.
Freedom isn't free and policy can promote freedom. We need to promote the growth of American machining and American tool and die. Should we need to reindustrialize as fuel costs soar and resource wars loom on the horizon, we will need the expertise and capabilities here at home. We need these things should we wish to remain a free people in the days to come.
Cincinnati, Ohio one hundred years ago was once the machine tool capital of the world. As recently as the 1970s, Cincinnati was home to leading machine tools manufacturers such as Cincinnati Milacron and Carlton. Factories hummed day and night with the sounds of expert machinists on the lathe creating true precision parts. The industrial might that beat fascism was made possible by American machining. Every bullet fired, every tank, every plane in the sky over Europe, all of these were made possible through an accessible, ready supply of American tool and die.
The globalization of industry that has hollowed out the industrial base of the entire country can be seen in the demise of American machine tool manufacture and market share. Domestic market share held by American machine companies is barely 30%. Even if we wanted to properly reindustrialize we would be beholden to foreign interests for the very tools to kit the factories. This is tragic. Strategically, the loss of control of capacity this represents means that were we to end up in a hellish, true war against a credible threat we have no native way to upscale our defense manufacturing needs. Economically, this loss is a good representation of why so many of our young people's highest legitimate aspirations will end with them serving burned coffee at a Starbucks. Skilled, fulfilling, well-paying manufacture has been on the wane for longer than they have been alive.
The only lucrative path in the early 21st century seems to be the path of finance. Wall Street always wins big. Owning your regulators and media outlets can't hurt. The recovery hasn't. It has been a lie spun of whole cloth. Main Street has been mugged, government is nearly insolvent, those lucky enough to have jobs won't see a real raise and are more likely to see their purchasing power decrease as the dollar radically devalues thanks to QE. Young graduates, freshly laden with student debt, can be sure to find applications at the counter of the nearest Starbucks. Or are they online only now, I cannot recall.
It all goes back to industry. Industry that creates industry. Policy promotes growth. If you build a massive highway system, cities will sprawl to take advantage of cheaper land resources on the outer belts. If you kill tariffs, nations which utilize serf-grade labor practices will siphon off industry. A free people need be a productive people. An America built on entitlement and finance, ever more stratified, is an America begging tyranny. The more important finance becomes and the more the average person relies on government handouts to meet their basic needs the less free we become. The more we enslave our youth to debt through ever heavier student debt burdens the less entrepreneurial chances those kids can take in the future. The more we punish risk and reward rent seeking behavior the closer we are to feudal hierarchies with rights and privileges for the financial elite.
Freedom isn't free and policy can promote freedom. We need to promote the growth of American machining and American tool and die. Should we need to reindustrialize as fuel costs soar and resource wars loom on the horizon, we will need the expertise and capabilities here at home. We need these things should we wish to remain a free people in the days to come.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Crossroads, the Reckoning
Saturday evening I made good on a promise made a week ago. I again found myself in an old HQ building across the lateral in Oakley and again found myself confronted with an airport terminal. Kiosks and all. The Saturday night crowd was much akin to the Sunday morning folk. I felt quite overdressed wearing jeans with a button up and a tie. This time around, thankfully, I had the prescience of mind to grab a cup of coffee with a splash of cream from the coffee kiosk. The lauded coffee of Crossroads was to be mine. I also came prepared with a bit of paper and a new pen.
Unfortunately for me the pen was for naught and the coffee initially too hot for the sipping. The notes I attempted to scribble concerning the sermon are bordering on illegibility. The auditorium (it is more a sit down concert hall than sanctuary) is far too dimly lit for proper note taking. The weekly program hand outs are little help as well- containing no information relevant to the service though I dared not attempt to read it in such a dark place for fear of damaging my eyesight.
It seems to me as though the entire point of the production is not to teach as much as to entertain and provide a lifestyle. Glamor and glitz. Theater seating. A dearth of information. About a third of the way through the service I was finally able to taste the delicious coffee. "
Oh hey, it's that guy from last week. Brian Tome, I believe. I wonder what he has to say," I thought to myself while blithely stirring the coffee with a rocking motion.
What little I was able to gleam from my notes tells me that the service focused on Revelation, that old fallback of American Christianity known colloquially as 'End Times'. How we Americans love our end of the world scenarios. The service, however, was a very unique take on this idea. No word or whisper of the dreaded R word, Rapture. No mention of pie in the sky when you die. No, this Revelation message was actually both less and more painful.
It was financial.
The entire push of Mr. Tome's sermon was on "God's physical agenda." The idea that Christians should put their money where their mouth is and donate time and money to the church. A noble pursuit. Sadly, the nobility of the message was tainted irreparably with a five minute interview with a poor soul who sold his car so that he could start tithing, as tithes will surely come back hundredfold or more in God's great blessings!
I honestly felt like leaving at that point. The idea of a man down on his luck selling his transportation so as to give homage to a wealthy church and its staff rubs me the wrong way. Strong soul that I am, I stayed through the service and found myself back at home a scant bit wiser and a good deal more caffeinated.
It seems to me that Crossroads promotes a broken, Starbucks version of the religious experience. Superficial community, over roasted beans, decidedly apolitical and amorphous. I recall hearing it said, once, that the man who stands for everything stands for nothing. As much as I might loathe the crazy churches of the Christian Right, at least those people stand for something.
Perhaps I am the broken one. Unable to understand the appeal of places like Crossroads. The fake veneers, the full ensemble band, dressed down pastors, coffee and dim lighting, all of it seems hollow and empty and commercial. So completely commercial. So empty. Bland.
A part of me hopes that I am wrong about this. So it goes.
Unfortunately for me the pen was for naught and the coffee initially too hot for the sipping. The notes I attempted to scribble concerning the sermon are bordering on illegibility. The auditorium (it is more a sit down concert hall than sanctuary) is far too dimly lit for proper note taking. The weekly program hand outs are little help as well- containing no information relevant to the service though I dared not attempt to read it in such a dark place for fear of damaging my eyesight.
It seems to me as though the entire point of the production is not to teach as much as to entertain and provide a lifestyle. Glamor and glitz. Theater seating. A dearth of information. About a third of the way through the service I was finally able to taste the delicious coffee. "
Oh hey, it's that guy from last week. Brian Tome, I believe. I wonder what he has to say," I thought to myself while blithely stirring the coffee with a rocking motion.
What little I was able to gleam from my notes tells me that the service focused on Revelation, that old fallback of American Christianity known colloquially as 'End Times'. How we Americans love our end of the world scenarios. The service, however, was a very unique take on this idea. No word or whisper of the dreaded R word, Rapture. No mention of pie in the sky when you die. No, this Revelation message was actually both less and more painful.
It was financial.
The entire push of Mr. Tome's sermon was on "God's physical agenda." The idea that Christians should put their money where their mouth is and donate time and money to the church. A noble pursuit. Sadly, the nobility of the message was tainted irreparably with a five minute interview with a poor soul who sold his car so that he could start tithing, as tithes will surely come back hundredfold or more in God's great blessings!
I honestly felt like leaving at that point. The idea of a man down on his luck selling his transportation so as to give homage to a wealthy church and its staff rubs me the wrong way. Strong soul that I am, I stayed through the service and found myself back at home a scant bit wiser and a good deal more caffeinated.
It seems to me that Crossroads promotes a broken, Starbucks version of the religious experience. Superficial community, over roasted beans, decidedly apolitical and amorphous. I recall hearing it said, once, that the man who stands for everything stands for nothing. As much as I might loathe the crazy churches of the Christian Right, at least those people stand for something.
Perhaps I am the broken one. Unable to understand the appeal of places like Crossroads. The fake veneers, the full ensemble band, dressed down pastors, coffee and dim lighting, all of it seems hollow and empty and commercial. So completely commercial. So empty. Bland.
A part of me hopes that I am wrong about this. So it goes.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Twenty-Seven Seconds
I found myself in a church on Mother's Day. Not the church I have been frequenting at the request of a friend over on the west side but a larger facility out in Oakley. Crossroads is a 'megachurch' in truth, a place with over 2,000 regular attendees. You can tell.
Walking in was as daunting and disorienting as finding yourself in an unknown airport at the edge of the world. The lobby was large and open, filled to the brim with people milling about, queued up for coffee, congregating around kiosks and seating areas, and going about their Sunday business. I considered lining up for coffee myself. I love a strong cup of fresh coffee and perhaps some caffeine to properly energize my brain would make the service easier to follow. Unfortunately the line was quite long and time a luxury. It was Mother's Day, after all.
A bit before noon, right on time for the final service of the day, I confidently strode into a dark hallway that led into the main auditorium, no coffee in hand. Dark as a movie theater already rolling trailers, I fumbled my way to an aisle seat towards the back of the first level. It was a bit impersonal and surreal. On stage there was a young man dressed in thirties attire at a desk with a typewriter. Suspended from the roof there was a thin wispy banner of cloth upon which the words of a song were projected. The band playing the song was one of the better church bands I have seen in some time though they only played the one song. The man at the typewriter left the stage and the pastor came on stage.
The message, presented in plain, frank speech, was a continuation of the Easter series. He presented the message of Christ's resurrection jumping around in scripture from gospel to epistle. Emergent churches seem to love their epistles most of all. At the end of the service communion was offered and I quietly slid out the back door to see if I could ask any questions and then beat traffic. Sadly, the newbie kiosks were no longer manned. I wandered for a bit in vain hope of being greeted by a friendly local or finding some yet unknown truth of the Crossroads and then exited when the small ember of that hope faded neath' the ash.
A barista friend of mine recently told me about hand pulled shots of espresso. The ideal shot, he claimed, takes around twenty-five to twenty-eight seconds to pull well. The best shots? Twenty-seven seconds.
I think I'll try again this coming weekend. I'll grab a coffee and be a touch more proactive in my questioning. I'm a poor believer if anything and am used to churches and such centers being the ones to reach out and greet the newcomers. Such a large place seems to lose a bit of community in the hustle and bustle. A place like Crossroads seems to grow based on production values and retail religion. Fashionable. Marketable. With that in mind I'll try again for a friend's sake and grab myself a shot in the dark.
This time I'll be counting seconds.
Walking in was as daunting and disorienting as finding yourself in an unknown airport at the edge of the world. The lobby was large and open, filled to the brim with people milling about, queued up for coffee, congregating around kiosks and seating areas, and going about their Sunday business. I considered lining up for coffee myself. I love a strong cup of fresh coffee and perhaps some caffeine to properly energize my brain would make the service easier to follow. Unfortunately the line was quite long and time a luxury. It was Mother's Day, after all.
A bit before noon, right on time for the final service of the day, I confidently strode into a dark hallway that led into the main auditorium, no coffee in hand. Dark as a movie theater already rolling trailers, I fumbled my way to an aisle seat towards the back of the first level. It was a bit impersonal and surreal. On stage there was a young man dressed in thirties attire at a desk with a typewriter. Suspended from the roof there was a thin wispy banner of cloth upon which the words of a song were projected. The band playing the song was one of the better church bands I have seen in some time though they only played the one song. The man at the typewriter left the stage and the pastor came on stage.
The message, presented in plain, frank speech, was a continuation of the Easter series. He presented the message of Christ's resurrection jumping around in scripture from gospel to epistle. Emergent churches seem to love their epistles most of all. At the end of the service communion was offered and I quietly slid out the back door to see if I could ask any questions and then beat traffic. Sadly, the newbie kiosks were no longer manned. I wandered for a bit in vain hope of being greeted by a friendly local or finding some yet unknown truth of the Crossroads and then exited when the small ember of that hope faded neath' the ash.
A barista friend of mine recently told me about hand pulled shots of espresso. The ideal shot, he claimed, takes around twenty-five to twenty-eight seconds to pull well. The best shots? Twenty-seven seconds.
I think I'll try again this coming weekend. I'll grab a coffee and be a touch more proactive in my questioning. I'm a poor believer if anything and am used to churches and such centers being the ones to reach out and greet the newcomers. Such a large place seems to lose a bit of community in the hustle and bustle. A place like Crossroads seems to grow based on production values and retail religion. Fashionable. Marketable. With that in mind I'll try again for a friend's sake and grab myself a shot in the dark.
This time I'll be counting seconds.
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