There were some people who woke up this morning and put on the same thing they were wearing yesterday.
The same overcoat. The same gloves. The same shoes. The same scarf.
May today be the last day.
Today was really hard. But the hard was worth it.
Verizon is the best example of a system that has created a semi-monopoly on a basic necessity, and now that their position and profitability is unquestioned, are using their clout and influence to eek more money out of unsuspecting customers. Where is the consumer watchdog organization that is supposed to be protecting us from this type of invasive exploitation?
Verizon tracks its customers without their consent, at times in direct opposition to your protests. They sell your data. There is no ethics in their business practices - they own the pipeline that is their customers' communication lifeline. They're exploiting this position - plain and simple.
There is no impetus in Washington to stop them. If you live far out of the range of competitors, your choices are grim. And expensive.
If you can leave them, you should. There are other, more ethical options.
We should all call our senators.
A list of things:
- 4 - 8 inches of fresh powder
- the colors the sky makes at peak sunset
- detailed crash reports
Sometimes I buy things that feel unnecessary and a bit extravagant, worrying that I'll never use them. 99% of the time, my worries go unfounded - they're so cherished that I use them constantly. The blanket I'm under was one of those things.
A tweet that got lost on it's way to twitter:
"The correlation between love for blankets and fresh snow powder."
A picture from today:
A snowman in a field of trodden snow. A dog in the distance yaps at his owner. Meanwhile, on the horizon, the sun sets behind clouds.
A truth to live by:
There is more love in the world than hatred.
A scientific fact:
Most humans can distinguish between 10 million colors, but only 30 shades of grey.
Working from California, distopian-esque utopic suburban lawns, flaming impressionist sunsets setting beyond undulating hills, swimming lessons (you didn't know how, but you learned), the flutter kick, harmonizing, beers, impromptu jam session, heading home, confession time.
A voice floats through the throng on the train platform: "hold the doors!" The passengers on the platform pause, parting ways for the voice to pass.
He arrives in the doorway bracing himself against the doors, as if he were Atlas holding apart the skies, all the while bellowing at his compatriot to hurry up.
We, the silent passengers, train riders, are with their arrival, transformed. We have become 'audience.'
They're dressed in what could pass as civilian army fatigues, a muted mustard yellow. With bags and baggage occupying the space between the doors, turning it into their private theater.
Man I'm broke, one begins. They talk loudly, not to each other but to the larger the we that can hear them but will not, if rarely ever, partake in their dialog. Their accents are southern, maybe the Carolinas, maybe Georgia. They're taking the A to somewhere. Getting off at the next station.
"We could catch the A at Jay street", one bellows, the close quarters ignored.
The train stops - we've gone all of one station further. They bundle themselves loudly off the train, backpacks and loudness off to find another audience.
The doors close, the train rolls on, the car feels suddenly and violently silent.
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