The influx of millions

It is 11:00 PM and I sit in an office tower that is empty. It was, during this Monday, bustling with thousands of people, who are now probably sleeping in their beds, and will be waking up in a few hours to the hustle and bustle that is NYC. And I wonder how many of us that occupy this building during business hours, making millions of dollars for our employers, reap some of the benefits of those dollars? How many of us are living from paycheck to paycheck, and through our due diligence and moral character, work at our occupation with the express intent to do the job we have contractually signed on to do. And that contractual obligation is to make our bosses richer, through the tireless work that we do while we, who are further down the totem pole, can barely rise above the ensuing sea of daunting bills.

As I look at the roster of some of Fortune 500's companies in the lobby of the building in which I work, and feel the quietness of the lobby at night, I know come 8:00 AM, express buses and subways will discharge the mighty workers of NYC who are aware, just as I am, that the system is not quite fair to those who work diligently and honestly at life. There are the haves and the have nots, and certainly the have nots are immeasurable in comparison to the haves. We, the people, are the ones whose labor rewards the owners and power brokers of the companies we work for, and therein lies the inequity of the situation. The work that you put out is not often rewarded fairly, but often, rewards only those at the top of the totem pole, for they are the ones who broker the deals to establish and sustain the companies for which we work, and therefore feel entitled. Because of this feeling of entitlement they then establish a system that hires underlings to do the hard work of the company that brings in wealth, and then systematically distribute the wealth garnered primarily to those at the highest point of the hierarchy of the business while those at the bottom receive a pittance of the wealth that they have worked so hard to acquire for their bosses.

The system is brutal and very self-evident. There is truly no pretense as to who is benefiting and who is not. And we the people often have no way to combat what we know is an unfair situation. Is the answer unionizing, sick-outs, sabotage, etc. to get the point across to the-powers-that-be that the little man is a vital component, if not the most vital, than those who sit in the corner offices? Or do we fight the good fight subliminally by working honestly and diligently knowing that we are doing the right thing and hoping things will change somehow because of karma? Or perhaps do so knowing that the power structure never changes because the power is in the hands of those who have the deepest pockets, and surrender to the inevitable continuation of the little man being used and abused? The quandry that is big business is never ending in its brutality.

The Art of Boxing

There are those who think of boxing as a sport that is barbaric and animalistic. I concur. And I am enthralled and thrilled with these and all the other disturbing things about boxing. The notion that two people are in a ring, pummeling each other, and strategizing the best way to win against their opponent, is amazing to me. It is the one of the few brutal thing in this world that is sanctioned by a governing body that allows the public to sit and look at opponents, some of whom are women, try to, essentially, kill each other. I have always loved boxing as it is raw and intense. There is no talking. There is no pretense. One boxer must try to physically hurt the other so much that they are unable to continue the match. Though this blatant brute force is the primary necessary requirement one needs to be a successful boxer, there is also a requirement of intelligence and cunningness. Many a fighter has used his brain and not just his brute force to beat his opponent. Such is the case of a fighter who is aware an opponent always drops his right hand after throwing a left hook. That smart boxer then knows to go in for the kill with a stiff left upper cut to the jaw. And down his opponent will go. Quickly to the canvas of the ring will travel the face of the opponent who telegraphs his moves to the savvy boxer. He will be laid out while his victorious ring mate raises his hand in victory, knowing not only his brawn, but brains were utilized expertly.

I like boxing because of its fairness. The best wo/man wins. S/he who is smart and cunning wins. No nepotism, cronyism, sexism, racism - none of the isms of the world - is involved in an honest bout. It is simply the gladiator who was smart enough and/or strong enough who will be victorious. That person who put in the work of training for months - perhaps denying themselves the carnal pleasures of drinking, smoking, staying up late, and devoted themselves to mastering the art of boxing, and then got into the ring - it is he who will be victorious after a fight that was played out fairly. Boxing, to me, is what life should be. Boxing is very base. If you put in the work, do the right thing, you will be victorious. And if you lose, you do so knowing you tried your best. Each opponent started out with the knowledge they would be entering a challenging situation, and both started out evenly. Both are opponents of the same weight class and approximate abilities. The rest is up to the individual to train enough and strategize correctly to win the battle.

Boxing is brutal, but fair. It is much more fair than life. Some persons are born with advantages of money and other prominence, while many are born to impoverished circumstances. Those who are born with the proverbial silver spoon in their mouths will subsist in a society that will reward them because of who they know and how much money they have in their bank accounts, while those who were born to common folk will have to claw their way up a slippery slope to achieve the kind of prominence, monetary and otherwise, that silver spoon kids are handed at birth. The playing field is very uneven in real life, while in boxing, it is supremely level. So level that when a defeated opponents' face smashes into it, they maybe be lullabied to sleep. I appreciate boxing and watch it as often as I can, knowing that the brutality I am viewing is not gratuitous, that it represents a fairness that I can only hope would happen in real life.

Worldwide Race Issues

Often in the life that I lead I am aware of how I am treated by society. I am a relatively tall African-American and am very dark skinned. I am sometimes treated as if I will physically hurt the person I am interacting with because I am assumed to be violent. I see fear in the eyes of persons occupying an elevator that I enter. Purses are shifted away from me as if I will snatch them and run in a closed elevator. I am sometimes treated as if I will be a diva and act sassy because of my ethnicity. I have been told to my face that I am not able to do many things based on the assumptions that because I am African American I will inevitably be a failure.

During my vacation in Italy I was often made aware that the many race issues are not specific to The United States. My tour guide during my Sicilian travels was a Northern Italian who performed his duties superbly. During the many excursions throughout Sicily, he talked of the pride of The Sicilian people. He intimated that this pride, while it evolved naturally from the self assurance of Sicilians, was also derived from and used as a deterrent to views held by many other Italians that all of the island of Sicily and its occupants are slovenly and lazy. This message of pride was repeated often, daily, on the many excursions throughout Sicily, during long drives on our tour bus. When we encountered miles and miles of farms that were obviously painstakingly cultivated into rows of marvelous harvests of lemon and other agriculture, the tour guide pointed to them as proof of the hardwork Sicilians put into their lands, and further stated that they put such effort forth in all of their endeavors. At the end of our tour Francisco wanted us, who were from all over the globe, to go to our respective countries and let the people of those lands know that Sicilians were a proud people and not what they were long reputed to be. Unbeknownst to me, I did not know that Sicilians were considered dirty, lazy, and uneducated.

I, from watching some of Spike Lee movies, and from my living in NY City and thus interacting with and knowing Italians, knew that there were some Italians who were very dark and had very curly hair that resembled some African American's hair. I also knew of Hannibal The Conquers history of traveling on elephants from his homeland of Tunisia into Sicily when trying to conquer that land. During the second Punic War legend has it that the African troops of Hannibal mated with many a Sicilian woman and the progeny of such unions resulted in many dark skinned, curly haired Sicilians. I have to now wonder did this notion that those who are Sicilian are lazy come about because they are the darkest of Italians. Francisco the tour guide who was a Northern Italian stated that many Northern Italians looked down upon their Southern brethren, The Sicilians, and thought of them in a very negative way. Some, when vacationing in Sicily, and Francisco happened to be their tour guide, often stated to him how surprised they were at how clean and orderly they found the land and people of Sicily. They expected the fulfillment of the stereotypes.

I understood, after imbibing all that Francisco said, that Sicilians are looked down upon, because of the color of their skin, that though they are Italian, they are of a darker hue, and thus are seen as less than. I found this concept amazing. I found this concept amazingly sad and so similar to what is found in The United States. It seems that the darker you are, the more you are seen as less than. This notion is world wide. And no matter where in the world this racism happens, it opens wounds that fester for hundreds of years. The legacy of racism translates into many languages.

I must acquiesce

I am fully ensconced in the dichotomy that is my world. I wake in the morning to hungry children who must be fed, clothed, and loved, and do so with as much love as I have to offer. They are sent off to school and into the world with an internal prayer from me that they learn scholastic and life lessons that will sustain them and help them navigate the world throughout their days with more ease than me. I then prepare for work, and get my game face on.

As I write these words I am feeling ill. I remember the days when I would forge ahead and not think about the ills my body communicated to me via pains and headaches and upset stomachs as I thought youth would always be on my side. I worked and played through the pain. I also gathered coping skills that provided an armor to block stresses that could cause more serious illness. But I am older and I am feeling shooting pains that I know have come about because of stress. And I must take a moment and acquiesce.

I know I don't feel well because I am back to that which has often driven me to run screaming to my vacation destinations. My job, my children, bills, romantic or otherwise personal relationships, unfulfilled dreams, and the pondering of such, has caused me to stress. When returning from vacation, I often abate these stresses for a long period of time, but of late, that period has shortened. It seems the shortening of these periods of bliss correlate to the mounting of stressful situations I find myself enduring. I must learn new coping skills as I am letting things cause me stress. I was always able to have a barrier to stress, it was as if I enveloped myself in an armor that repelled stress. But it seems that armor has been nicked by and has allowed new and improved stresses to seep into what it is protecting, my core, and has affect me physically and the essence that is me. I am stressed.

At work we were told in early August that we would be informed of how much of a raise we would be getting by late August, and that the actual raise would then appear in our first pay in September. Of course, that did not happen, and we have been told we would, most likely, get our raises in October, and that they would be retroactive to September 1st. This is extremely upsetting to me and many of my co-workers. I cannot voice how upset I am to any of the people at my place of employment because it would be unprofessional, and because of this dichotomy, I internalize the financial hardship this issue presents to me, while externally I have on my game face at work. I smile while inside I am angry at not having a raise for almost 4 years while diligently working a thankless job.

This anger derived from all of the aforementioned pressures has manifested itself into headaches. This anger impinges upon not only my physical health but my my mental health. This must stop. I must get an outlet that allows me to think of the positives my life always offers. I have healthy, beautiful children, good friends, a job, albeit not a lucrative one, but a job nonetheless, and relative good health, and a home. But I am stressed. Last year I started taking voice-over classes as I decided to try voice-over work as an occupation, and loved it. I was happy to be doing something that I loved that was creative and could ultimately lead to a cash flow that would allow me to quit a job that I don't feel my bosses respected me for performing per their not giving me a promised raise. I also took acting classes to help me with my voice-over work at the suggestion of my voice coaches. I had an avenue to express my creativity, but it costs big bucks. The classes relieved the tensions that I felt from being stuck in a job that stifles creativity, but because the job does not pay well, I am stuck in a catch-22. I wish to pursue creative ventures to stop the feelings of being stagnated by a low paying job, but cannot do so because the ventures cost money that cannot be paid for because I work a low paying job.

I had hoped, with the raise, to start taking more voice-over and acting classes, but am stymied because it has not come to fruition. I now have headaches that I know come about because of my frustration with my financial situation and its control it has over my creativity and that creativity's potential to make more money on my terms. So, I must look for ways to make more money. And I must look for ways to re-work the money that I already make. I must hope the raise that I get is enough to cease monetary anxiety. I must re-vamp my budget, and look at where I can cut corners. I must re-assess my financial priorities as I have to get back to what makes me happy. What makes me happy costs money. Taking classes makes me happy. And hopefully if I master these classes I will find new employment that will showcase all I have learned from these classes, and allow for a creative outlet coupled with a new occupation. I look forward to the future. I just hope it has less stress.

Reciprocation

I went to purchase something in a store and walked up to the counter and said,"Hello," to the woman behind it. She gave me a disgusted look. I placed my items on the counter, and she snatched them to the scanner area, placed them in a bag, and barked out the price of my purchase. I've said hello to tellers in banks and they've scowled at me, finished the transactions, and not said a word to me, the hello never returned. I've said hello to persons walking the floors of departments stores, who clearly were employees as their cheery name tags designate them as such, look at me with contention. When I follow the hello with a question of what aisle I can find a particular item, some have a look of guilt, knowing they've been rude. And I am left wondering why did they think I was saying hello but to greet them with the respect they deserved as someone who will be servicing me. Was I supposed to just bark out a request. "Where is the flatware department?" or just slam down the items I wished to purchase on a counter. Perhaps they thought I was going to ask for a handout, a favor. Certainly none thought the hello was appropriate for me to say as they did not reply in return. Often none said anything, and returned the greeting with a look of trepidation.

I've always noticed how rude the general public can be to the people that service them. I've had jobs that has placed me in direct contact with the public and have been on the receiving end of their rudeness. I never connected that experience with what I should and have always done when approaching someone who will service me. Perhaps those service people who are rude to their customers were once treated rudely when they were customers, and now do the same to those they are paid to service? My experience as a service worker reinforced how and why I treat those who service me with respect. What surprises me is the reaction I get from service workers when that respect is given to them. When I was on vacation, the head waiter came over to the table where I was dining with my tour guide and asked him to translate his Italian to me to express his staff's appreciation of how I treated them. I was amazed as I did nothing spectacular. I greeted them when they first came to my table, said thank you and please, and I always looked them in the eye. Upon recollection, I did notice that many of the other diners and members of my tour completely ignored them when the servers served their food. In Italy, where I vacationed, the meals in restaurants are never brought out on a plate, but rather each course doled on a plate, by a server, at the table, while the diner sits. The closeness of the servers to the diners when leaning over to dish out food created an atmosphere that necessitated camaraderie between both, but often the server was ignored. When someone is that close to me, I make eye contact, not purposefully, but simply because they are in my face. And they are servicing me and deserve that respect.

I treat people as I would want to be treated, and do so in any situation that I find them. I want to be acknowledge when I am in a room filled with people and I would imagine that persons who service others want that acknowledgement. Drinks are not just magically served in a glass. Re-fills of those glasses do not magically happen. The hands that pour the re-fills are attached to a person who has dreams and aspirations just as I do. I hold this sentiment true for those who service me. In turn, I wish for them to treat me respectfully, however I am often confronted with rude service people, especially those that work in NY. I often ponder if a rude reaction to friendliness is a preconceived notion on the part of a service worker to protect themselves. They have often been treated rudely, so any acts of kindness cannot be computed as such because of its rarity in occurrence. Perhaps, in the interactions between service workers and customers, the point is to be voiceless, and do the job as if you are invisible. For those customers who act out of the norm, and treat service people as the entities and humans that they are, perhaps it is too unsettling to deal with the reverence given, and a rude reaction results. For those service people who act appropriately during the dispensing of service and thank customers for treating them respectfully in return seem to do so not only because of appreciation but because of surprise. I just wish that people would not react to appropriate actions in such an surprised fashion, or worse, in a rude fashion. Appropriateness should be common place, however, in the world we live in today, often it is not.

Consequence of Diaspora

I spoke with a best friend today and we talked of the three hurricanes that have passed through Florida in the last 3 weeks in quick succession, and we both were amazed as to the quickness and destruction all of them seemed to have. She mentioned that a friend of hers spoke of hurricanes forming off the coast of West Africa, starting off as thunderstorms, garnering speed within the confines of the Caribbean, and then unleashing their fury, fully formed into hurricanes, unto such states as Florida and North Carolina. He believed in the possibility that these hurricanes are a consequence of the African slave market.

I was intrigued by this notion that the souls of those African slaves who were often captured thousands and thousands of miles inland and brought to the western coast of Africa to be shipped to Florida may have conjured hurricanes with their perpetual cries of injustice. Florida was the closest point from the west coast of Africa to which slaves could be transported, and therefore served as the gateway from which these slaves were then dispersed to other states in Colonial times. Florida has a history that bleeds the blood of those who made the passage from their homeland of Africa to a place unknown to them, snatched for chattel, to provide free labor for masters who paid pittances for them on the docks of Florida. These slaves were then transported by their new masters to places like Mississippi, Alabama, and North Carolina, places that have had the most torturous hurricanes in history come upon them.

The intrigue of hurricanes precipitated by the anguish of those stolen from their homeland in which they were once ensconced makes for sad thoughts. If true, the pain has become so palpable that it manifests itself into horrendous rains that pummel the land and people it encounters centuries after the pain was inflicted. The pain is living on and has become tangible. That the pain at the land point, when there was no return to the homeland for those newly enslaved, exhibits as hurricanes years later, is a lot to ponder. It is sad to ponder.

The consequence of the diaspora, perhaps theoretical, appearing as hurricanes continues the legacy of pain for the souls of the past and presents pain to those who live in the path of the hurricanes.

The good, the bad, the ugly

I've returned to work. I did so on Tuesday refreshed from my vacation, and happy to be back in my hometown. Whenever I return to NYC after being abroad I always have a new found appreciation for all that it offers. The shopping, the museums, the cultural differences the populations exemplify, etc., are the many things that I appreciate more upon my return. I thought of this as I dressed for work and on my way to the #4 train for my trek into The City from my Bronx apartment. I was on the train reveling in post-vacation exuberance when this woman comes from another car of the train, bangs the door between the two cars shut, and proceeds to scream that she is hungry and wants all the occupants of this particular car to give her money so that she can buy food to feed herself because she may kill herself because SHE was stressed and in a situation. What were supposed to be the whites of her eyes were the color of brown paper bags and she looked like a life long crack user. Everyone's attitudes and thought processes on the train car shifted from individuality into a singular thought process simultaneously, and it blared "I'm not giving you jack," and she was stared down as she walked through the car, individually and quietly asking people to give her money. None complied with her request. She skipped asking me completely when in my vicinity as I guess my vibe was completely readable. The vibe I exuded was,"I have 3 children, and if I can work a penny ante job, so can you." I was very much a NY'er at that moment. I was back.

There was a flood in NYC that rendered much of the transit system immobile. The remnants of the hurricane that hit Florida wrecked NYC trains, and many NY'ers commutes of 45 minutes to their jobs turned into 2 or 3 hours. It always amazes me that the transit system of NYC shuts down when a little flooding and/or snow happens in its areas, but a man can be sent to the moon. The news media reported the many squabbles and murders that have happened in the week of my return to work, and I am amazed at the escalating violence that NY always seems to have. These events, some publicized and some that happened in my own little world, are a welcoming factor as they introduce me to my world of NYC. There is much good, there is much bad, and there is certainly much ugly. But I am happy to be back in NYC. I wouldn't have it any other way.