I am an artist and have lived in Los Angeles all of my life, except for a brief hippie period when I lived in SF. I am currently (semi-unwillingly) retired, but have had several careers.
Signs were bolted to posts at major intersections in busy downtown areas. “Quiet,” read one, “Homeless people sleeping.” Another advised, “Homeless warming grate. Please keep clear.” But they were unofficial and taken down.
When I was ages ten through thirteen, my dad would take me to the bullfights in Tijuana. My parents were long divorced then and my father had probably run out of ideas of what to do during our weekends together.
“At one point, my son had $7,000 in a CD and I had to break it. That really hurt. I was saving that money for his college. I put $2,000 back but it’s hard."
Where did all the money go during the financial crisis? Every day-- X trillion dollars lost… Lost where? Turns out, money isn’t real at all—it’s fiction. The fictional quality is inherent in the very idea of money, as opposed to bartering goats for cloth.
It has come to symbolize the bittersweet moment when the clock strikes the New Year, when we mark time passing. It is a poem in Scots dialect, set to...
I just finished reading AdLib’s piece The Cool Before The Storm, which contains the video of a speech President Obama made to Democrats right before the crucial vote on Health Care Reform.
Several thoughts came to mind. And I have some questions.