Bigots Win a Round, But No Knock Out

So a small victory goes to the small minded today, but it is a mere door stop meant to withhold a battering ram.

I am not going to investigate the depth of simple minded, hate and fear consumed, bigotry that causes people to think that there should even be a debate over whether some people are more equal than others. We are past the point of argument here. Those who understand our reasons will continue to do so, and those who do not will continue to clutch their crosses and desperately pray for a god to take their side.

The fact of the matter is that there are still 18,000 couples in California who's status as equals serves as a reminder of the progress that we have made. There are also five states states, which is a number inconceivable to activists who tirelessly toiled as little as a decade ago. The wheels of justice turn very slowly, but they do turn.

So chin up people! Working toward a cause is never easy or fluid. It is tough, riddled with ridicule, tireless work, and disappointment.

Keep fighting California!

This Texas boy is biting his lips, clenching his fists, and still believes that this fight is far from over.


Another Day in Car Land

"I'm just trying to keep it rollin'. Just taking it a one day at a time," says Soul, "but damn, 789 is a big number. It'll take you some time to count there one by one. 789. Lord! Think about all the people who losing they job!"

That's what Soul, our most experienced salesman, told me on D(ealership) Day. It was like having lightening strike five feet away from you. But we made the cut. We stayed open. I printed lots of job applications to suppliment the fresh wave of newly out of work applicants who would surely crash up against our glass doors. And they did. So, now that the earthquake has ended, things have gone back to normal. "Another day in Car Land," as our managers would say.


Why Buy a Chrysler?

Why would anybody want to buy a gas-guzzling vehicle that requires frequent maintenance and has a significantly shorter life span than its competitors from a company that has gone bankrupt?

I have no earthly idea, but this article offers a few accurate suggestions. People are still willing to buy, which astounds me.

It looks like a lot of dealerships will be closing down soon. Ours is one of the last in town. All of the smaller dealerships have shut down or have combined the larger ones that sell Chrysler, Dodge, and Jeep. We are one of two, I think, large dealerships left, both of us on opposite ends of the city. None of the salesmen seem worried about it. Their only concern is to sell cars. That is their focus. Gotta sell a car. Nothing more.

The phones are busy, but we are selling fewer vehicles. Perhaps people are calling just to see if we are still here. Or maybe they are calling with unreasonable offers, thinking that they can wrench a better deal from the corpse-like hands of Chrysler.

Actually, they can.

If they have good credit. Most people, I have learned, do not. They are trying to live beyond their means. I see it every day. People with virtually no income, bad credit, and enormous debt are all trying to purchase brand spanking new vehicles. A couple of years ago, they would all probably have gotten approved. With this in mind, America's current financial crisis comes as no surprise to me. People like to buy things. Unreasonable things. Unsustainable things. Anything.

Every time a customers walk through our front doors and gawks at the classic automobiles on our showroom floor, they say the same thing. "I want that." A phrase, shouted by children after every commercial, three simple words that encompass the mindset of nearly every American.

Service customers are impatiently pacing around the showroom floor. Our new-car manager is introducing himself to some customers. Things are as usual. Footloose is playing over our Muzak system and Jeff, our youngest salesman, is absurdly dancing and singing into an imaginary microphone. His customers are happily walking across the lot with the keys to their new American made gas-guzzler.

Americans and American cars; they both consume too much.


Not quite a poem

I first noticed the “thin line between love and hate”
That all nerds allude to
When you called me tender.

Tenderness is what our grandparents felt at the altar
And what ninjas know nothing of.

It’s dogs barking
And you altering your jeans,
meticulously. I didn’t think you could sew.

Tenderness is “This page cannot be found”
And me floundering to end your sentences
When I am fully aware that “The Newlywed Game” went off the air years ago.

It has so much less to do with me
But then, I’m writing this,
And you’re probably just glossing over it.

Rose petals are cousins of razor blades
And step-parents can mime affection without prompt.

It’s dogs barking
And you pouring over greeting cards
Until you find a phrase that meets your standards…

Or what you expect your standards to be.

So, you steal a line from Top 40 radio and I swoon
Because a line lifted is a line felt.

But ninjas wouldn’t even pause for this cold pot of coffee.
Ninjas don’t like coffee at all.


prodigal daughter

That's a shitty title, but we're stuck with it. Something I read recently (I'm a champ at not being able to cite sources) talked about the Prodigal Son's real moral as one that demonstrates the fact that some people do not wish to be loved. Which if you think about it, is totally different and more poignant than the whole unconditional forgiveness Sunday school spin. Why am I talking about alternate bible interpretations? Maybe that can be, like, my thing. Tomorrow: Leviticus -- god's call for the chosen to eat fish sticks. (You're fucked Richard)

And anyway all I meant by prodigal is that I don't frequent the talkhard blog, though I intend to start. I definitely want to be loved. Like probably too much. Like probably way too much. My cat is rubbing his face raw against my laptop while I write this, I think to demonstrate that he sympathizes with my need to be lavished with affection. Or else he's just a fucking cat.

In other important global events: I hate/am jealous of people who use the phrase "meta" frequently and appropriately. As retribution I'm going to start using it as arbitrarily as possible.

Person Who Isn't Me: Hey, Nicole-- Do you believe breakfast really is the most important meal of the day, or is that just more greeting card company hullabaloo?
Me: (thoughtful pause) Meta.

Person Who Isn't Me 2: Let's play kickball!
Me: (pregnant hesitation) Meta.

Updates to follow

(but probably I'll just forget the whole experiment or bore of it. Not a lot of follow-through with this kid)


A Live Reading

Here I am reading an article from issue 4 of TalkHard at Ruta Maya.

Thank you Chris Savage for posting this on your blog.


Good Morning Chrysler

I keep reading in the news about how far car sales are sliding, but you wouldn't know it working here. Our numbers for last month were as steady as they have been ever since our current management team took over. I think that this story paints a fair picture of how many of us feel. Certainly, we are not getting out two to three hundred vehicles a month like we did in the often reflected upon heyday, but we have kept ourselves steady since December.

It is early morning now, and I won't have time to blog later today because I am training our new evening receptionist.

Our lot manager, Booker, passes by my desk. He has a small, but muscular frame, like Bruce Lee. His eyes, which could pierce a hole through solid steel, are softened by the small framed glasses that he wears. A thoughtful and considerate man, he often stops by my desk to talk about various tidbits of knowledge. "Good morning Booker," I call to him. "Hey brother-man," he calls back, and walks toward the garage.

Now I check on yesterday's numbers and call our main store to give them to Lorraine, who is the morning receptionist over there. She is the voice of my mornings. Every morning I talk to her. Sometimes I ask for her advice. Often I just tell her about my evenings or weekends. Every morning for close to a year now I have talked to Lorraine, but I have never actually met her.

The salespeople are trickling in, tucking in their shirts, tying their ties, smoking their morning cigarettes out on the concrete stoop that looks over our parking lot. They lean on the rail and talk about yesterday's near misses and today's possibilities. Sales people always focus on the possibilities. Theirs is a profession that can't look back for too long, there's no money in it. You can't eat your past, or take shelter in it.

I see my trainee walking up the steps so I need to wrap this up. Until next time.


Porn Star Chicken Sanwiches

Remember when McDonald's was trying to appeal to the health conscious with this load of bullshit?Of course the "Go Active" campaign failed, because nobody could possibly believe that McDonald's actually gave a good god damn about fitness. Meanwhile, unused pedometers fell into the sticky linings of countless couches.

Meet Micky D's new mascot, The Dollar Menunaire: ********(Click the image to enlarge)*******

So basically the Dollar Menunaire is a an stupid slob who doesn't have any money, which is, as I see it, the most honest ad campaign that McDonald's has ever conceived.

No, they are not going after your kids. No, they don't want you to be healthy. With the Dollar Menunaire, McDonald's has created their ideal customer, a fucking moron. It's like they are saying, "hey fat fuck, this shit is for you and it is CHEAP!"

Though one could easily be offended by how McDonalds characterises consumers, I have to admit, I appreciate their honesty.

And the salad in the background? Old habits die hard I guess.

Oh, and one more thing, doesn't Mr. Menunaire look a lot like Ron Jeremy?

Nice touch, McDonald's.