If it's illegal for people to come and work without the proper papers,
why is it not illegal to send our factories to where these people are coming from?
Papers or no, stop the debate regarding "Taking our jobs" and set up some parameters
for these people closing factories here because it's cheaper to open there.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The Race is On!
Who will give in to protests first?
Governor Scott Walker, or, Moammar Gadhafi?
Let Democracy Ring it's Liberty Bell
Governor Scott Walker, or, Moammar Gadhafi?
Let Democracy Ring it's Liberty Bell
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Wes, whom I met at Anne Frank Elementary's playground has two dogs. No matter how many dogs are at the park, they hang together to the side in their own brotherly wrestling match.
Wes works as a contract pilot, taking business execs and families where they need or want to go. He flies Hawkers and gets bored when work is slow, which is increasingly so in the current economy.
"Where does that road go?" I asked. "Do you know?"
"Yeah, it's a great neighborhood. Lots of cool houses. There's a great park in there. Plenty of space to throw the frisbee."
"Oh, cool. Does it go to the other side? To Preston?"
"It goes through, then turns left and lets out at, uh, at Beltline."
We sat on the bench talking while his dogs walked around the playground and my dog, Kao, sat beside me, all of us doing little, for little needed to be done to enjoy the day.
The sun shined almost hot, except that a consistent breeze kept the slightest of chills on my bare arms.
"I never asked your name," I declared, feeling funny that I knew his dogs' names and he knew Kao, but we had yet to introduce ourselves.
"Wes," he answered. "And yours?"
"Wes, I'm Brian." We shook hands, sat a while longer. "Well, I think Kao and I are gonna head through that neighborhood."
"Alright. Yeah, there's a lot of cool houses in there." We looked at the street that led into the neighborhood as a trio of people exited. "See, a lot of people walk through there."
"Great. Well, nice to meet you, Wes."
"Brian, nice to meet you too. Maybe I'll see you again."
I took Kao to the neighborhood and walked past enormous house after enormous house, dejected by the size, ignoring the splendor. Finally, as I made a point to divert my eyes, I decided I had no reason to feel the way I did. I had no idea what the houses looked like; that, in looking away, I was not giving the time to the efforts that went into building each home, the money made to afford it, the design drawn out by an architect, the sweat and calloused hands that made it look how each family wanted their home to look.
I lifted my eyes and saw something I had never seen before. A chimney made of stacked bricks and stones, an aesthetic to make it appear like an old European or New England smoke stack that had fallen over time and was rebuilt by available materials. A mix match of red, white, pale yellow, stacked to the vent on top and I was blown away. This was excellent and the pattern repeated itself elsewhere, in slightly different fashion, on the facade of the house.
Kao stood patient beside me as I looked on. "Pretty cool, isn't it, Kao?" He looked up at me. I looked down at him, back to the chimney, back to Kao. "Well, nous allez."
Wes works as a contract pilot, taking business execs and families where they need or want to go. He flies Hawkers and gets bored when work is slow, which is increasingly so in the current economy.
"Where does that road go?" I asked. "Do you know?"
"Yeah, it's a great neighborhood. Lots of cool houses. There's a great park in there. Plenty of space to throw the frisbee."
"Oh, cool. Does it go to the other side? To Preston?"
"It goes through, then turns left and lets out at, uh, at Beltline."
We sat on the bench talking while his dogs walked around the playground and my dog, Kao, sat beside me, all of us doing little, for little needed to be done to enjoy the day.
The sun shined almost hot, except that a consistent breeze kept the slightest of chills on my bare arms.
"I never asked your name," I declared, feeling funny that I knew his dogs' names and he knew Kao, but we had yet to introduce ourselves.
"Wes," he answered. "And yours?"
"Wes, I'm Brian." We shook hands, sat a while longer. "Well, I think Kao and I are gonna head through that neighborhood."
"Alright. Yeah, there's a lot of cool houses in there." We looked at the street that led into the neighborhood as a trio of people exited. "See, a lot of people walk through there."
"Great. Well, nice to meet you, Wes."
"Brian, nice to meet you too. Maybe I'll see you again."
I took Kao to the neighborhood and walked past enormous house after enormous house, dejected by the size, ignoring the splendor. Finally, as I made a point to divert my eyes, I decided I had no reason to feel the way I did. I had no idea what the houses looked like; that, in looking away, I was not giving the time to the efforts that went into building each home, the money made to afford it, the design drawn out by an architect, the sweat and calloused hands that made it look how each family wanted their home to look.
I lifted my eyes and saw something I had never seen before. A chimney made of stacked bricks and stones, an aesthetic to make it appear like an old European or New England smoke stack that had fallen over time and was rebuilt by available materials. A mix match of red, white, pale yellow, stacked to the vent on top and I was blown away. This was excellent and the pattern repeated itself elsewhere, in slightly different fashion, on the facade of the house.
Kao stood patient beside me as I looked on. "Pretty cool, isn't it, Kao?" He looked up at me. I looked down at him, back to the chimney, back to Kao. "Well, nous allez."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
