Where the fight is fought

Such an epic title! Where the fight is fought, where the war is won! TONIGHT, WE DINE IN HELL!

How I Imagine All Mecha Anime. 

Seriously, I wanted to get your attention, but the battle isn't some Frank Miller epic. 

History does show that eventually violence is the way to solve income disparity. The problem with "Guns, God, and Grenades" is that the wealthy can buy way more Guns, way more god, and many more grenades. 

So let's call violent insurrection plan D and see what else we can bring to the table. 

My solution to the wealth disparity is pretty straight forward. It's small business.

I know I am hearing groans from some my more socialist friends, but hear me out. You see, when we get upset about business, it's rarely the small business that we rage against. It's the Wal-marts and the targets and the Krafts. The huge corporations.  That's who we have a problem with. 

We never have a problem with the Yellow Bicycle Shops or The family Run Coffee shops or the Greek Diners. It's not the farmers at the Farmer's market who are the utter cockbites 

At least from a capitalist standpoint. As people, I hear anecdotal, some small business owners can be real dicks. 

It usually happens when a small or medium size business grows just so to put profit over people. A small business - say, a local bike shop, is run by people who love bikes, who live and breathe and talk bikes, and who hired people so in love with bikes that they hung around a bike shop until hired. 

I am talking about the Coffee shop owner who had a vision of a comfortable place with well made  locally-sourced food at a fair price. The type of coffee shop or diner restaurant where the owner is still in the kitchen, willing to come out and chat with the customer. 

Or the record store where the clerk is an elitist snob - who wouldn't be caught dead listening to "Now that's what I call Pop Vol 3784634739" but can rattle of the influence to Mars Volta (That's a band, right?)

This song is the cat's Meaow! It's sure to give the bluenose's the heebie-jeebies

These companies and people aren't making a mint, and while the bottom line is important, they have yet to reach the point where money is more important than quality of service, product and experience.

Passionate, grassroots capitalism is going to save our asses. I guarantee it.

Now, why we should be doubly mad. These companies are often under the same laws that larger companies are under. A rule for Wal-mart is a rule for Small businesses. What's worse, these small businesses don't have the money to fight these regulations. They have to follow the rules but aren't the rule makers. 

And if violence comes, guess which businesses get looted? The small ones. The ones that can't afford to get robbed or to pay for lawyers. 

Regulations and risks make it hard for small businesses today. As ever, your anarcho-moderate writer isn't suggesting pure deregulation. I am just hopping on the hipster bandwagon by saying small, local businesses, who care about the product only a little more than the bottom line, are how we are going to beat the wealthy. We put our money into those companies, and not into the Wal-marts and Palermo's.

So today, I say to you, gird up they loins with thy thin and spare wallet, and take your hard earned dollars (75 cents after inflation) and spend it locally as often as you can. 

. 

In the early morning, with no place to go.

It's hot as hell where I am. Makes sleeping hard on a man. Went to bed at 2:30 and woke up at 4:30. Felt fine, really. I am sure I'll feel it later. But for now, i took the opportunity to apply for a job and look up getting a US passport. It's something I should have done long ago, but never bothered to. Let's be honest, kittens. Your narrator never thought he'd get a chance to travel outside the US.

Well, with this last application, it's entirely possible that where he is building what he is building will be built in another country.

While you parse that sentence, I shall continue.

So after applying I was full of pent up energy. I had not worked out on Saturday, being too sore and, well, too lazy, quite frankly. My legs were stiff and I was sweating like a pig a hippo in flannel. I figured it's better to sweat to burn calories. So I hopped on my bike and pedaled my fat ass to Starbucks to journal, draw and read.

Did I mention that my lappy and my car died? Then I got an abscess in my jaw.

I tell you, kittens. I have been keeping a right positive attitude. I may have tilted slightly this last week. Just a bit. a few manly tears may have been shed. Many curse words were said. My naturally Pollyanna attitude may have just slightly been shaken.

So now I have "upgraded" from a gas guzzling POS car to a fat guzzling bike. It's for the best. I have a lot of tummy to burn off.  About 294 thousand calories worth. I find numbers like that meaningless. So let's try this:
About 1730 cake pops. Yikes

As confections or cakes go, it's not bad. No fructose and no Hydrogenated oils. But I wouldn't recommend more than one a week.

Sunday mornings, by the by, are magical. The people are firndlier. The atmosphere calmer.

Finally, today's list:

Why MKE hates bicyclists

1) Few trails.
When I lived in Madison, I couldn't kick a n octogenarian hippy without tripping on a bike trail. You never had to take main roads to get anywhere. The Milwaukee sprawl dwarfs Madison, but I find that none of the trails direct me to the places I need to go. This is great when you want a leisurely bike ride. Not so good for getting to work.

2) Cars.
When I lived in Madison, I found the drivers to be somewhat sympathetic to my plight. I am on a vehicle that weighs in at around 30 lbs, huffing and puffing like an asthmatic corgi, with no external armor. Here, in MKE, it's a crap shoot. Some drivers will kindly pass with a wide birth. Some will zip by so closes as to brush your back hair, and some, I believe, will go out of their way to give you a love tap.

3)Weird hills.
OK, so Madison has hills, but they never seemed as bad as here. Except for Monroe street, most of the hills in Madison are short and sweet. Or I imagine they were.
Now, I don't really want to classify as a hill what amounts to a berm with delusions of grandeur, but it is graded as an incline for a mile.

I dunno, maybe I was in better shape in Madison, but fuck my tubby ass with an iron poker it was brutal.

Normally I would source my conclusions. This is not always useful to you, dear readers.

One last bit. Wish your dad a happy Father's Day. Unless he was a grade A dick. If his grade in Dickhead 101 was a B or less*, give him this one day, K? I normally don't like holidays. I must be getting sentimental in my dementia.

Cheers all.


*He'll never get his masters if he doesn't apply himself.