In Uncategorized on 28 April 2016 at 17:28
This is a really interesting article. It’s a little heartbreaking, too.
To start, definitions:
The poverty line for a family of three is $20,090 a year. The median household income in America is $53,657. Politicians draw $250,000 as the line between the middle and upper classes. And the true starting point of real wealth remains a cool $1,000,000. We asked four more or less typical men, each of whom earns one of these incomes, to tell us about the lives they can afford.
Crain’s looks at four separate guys who make $7.00 an hour (plus tips), $53,000 per year, $250,000 per year and $1 million a year.
Obviously, the answer to their questions are interesting (otherwise, the story wouldn’t have been published, right?) and very thought-provoking.
In Uncategorized on 23 April 2016 at 18:38
It’s been nice being back. Not that I’ve lived in here before, but the culture is much the same as Biloxi. Biloxi had less tourism and definitely fewer drunk people, but the heavy air that permeates everything and dampens the paper on which I write; the stumble-upon, crumbling history as notable for its mere continued existence as for its historical value; the tall, green trees and verdant gardens and honeysuckle along the sidewalks and in the random, frequent small parks; the mighty oaks with their bulging roots. The oaks I love. Magnolias, too, but oaks and I have a history. Except: The oaks have changed since I last spent any real time in the Deep South.
My friends and I climbed over what had been dubbed “The Old Oak” just inside Gate Six on Pass Road entering Keesler AFB in Biloxi. I hope it and the magnolia still stand even though the Air Force turned the neighborhood and adjoining kids’ park into a disc golf course. We would never climb it now.
In Uncategorized on 19 March 2016 at 13:46
I’m still waiting on my SIM card for my new Nexus 6P. It should have been here Monday or Tuesday (it was overnighted). But, because our buzzer is still broken, I’ve missed packages from UPS, USPS and FedEx all week.
Today, the postal mail woman (who can get into the building because she drops off mail and “Missed You” package notices) refused to walk up a flight of stairs. She had a woman next door knocking and yelling at me to go downstairs for the package. Then the mail woman yelled at me for the buzzer not working. When she told me she didn’t walk up stairs — only package delivery men do that — I suggested she could use them nonetheless. (Why would they give a package to a mail person if that person isn’t expected to actually deliver it?) I tweeted @USPS so they — and the local PO for 10030 — would be aware of an Inspector General investigation coming its way.
Two of my medications were “Returned To Sender” because they couldn’t deliver here. (They should be filling them at the local store anyway.)
Until we leave this city or this apartment, I will continue hitting the door buzzer at random times when I get a hankering.
I don’t even want to talk about the way Misty has been treated here.
I’m so sick of this town.