This little sign inside the Kirby Starbucks got me thinking about all the Red team's political speechifying and how it refers to people by only their first name and their day job title as presumed last name. What are we now? A legion of the "guy you call when your toilet backs up" and nothing else? I find it manipulative, condescending, and idiotic. I do not know about where you live, but here in El Paso we call each other the normal way, like Jose, Rosie, Chuy, Maria, Susan, Mark, and Rita.
People in their daily lives do not refer to one another as Jose the Barista, Rosie the nurse, Chuy the CPA, Maria the teacher, Susan the lawyer, Mark the restaurateur, and Rita the piano teacher. It would take forever to have a simple conversation. People! It is not normal. It is condescending. And while I know it's just political speak, those people need to understand that our identities are not exclusively tied to how we make money--It is only the portion that allows us to do what we really like--painting, writing, Freestyle and croquet playing, and even talking to our friends.
If the Republican Party can only see us as moneymaking robots, concerned with only coin, then they do not see us as individuals with souls, families, lovers, children, and interests outside the act of earning a buck. Instead, they see us as easily frightened rabbits—afraid of change, ready to follow orders, ready for them to make our decisions for us. Moreover, if we as a country elect someone who thinks of us in this manner, then I guess we will get what we deserve. To but monetize us, see nothing but dollar bills standing at the ready to pay for their past recklessness, hubris, and failed domestic and foreign policies, is perhaps the saddest thing that I will take from this election season. And it was done before. It was called U.S.S.R.
I am glad all the speeches begging and scaring us for votes ends tomorrow. Because I want and need change, which I hope we get soon. Like tomorrow night.
Portfolio: about.me/chacal/
This site includes occasional ramblings by carolyn rhea drapes (chacal la chaise), Designer, photographer, artist. MA, ABD PhD, Rhetoric and Writing Studies, UTEP. Social media: Flickr, Tumblr, and Instagram.
Showing posts with label mesa at kirby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mesa at kirby. Show all posts
Monday, November 03, 2008
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Kirby at Mesa: A View from Kinley's Window
Today, we (MJ and the Judge, and I) were all able to meet up and have lunch together at Kinley's Coffee House. After MJ took the judge to work, I stayed to finish up work on my laptop.
Late in June, before our Second Childhood Road trip to Wisconsin, my hard drive took a dive. And although I was able to get a new drive installed before we left, I was unable to grab the last minute documents from the Spring Semester. So, they are history unless I can get copies back from my professors. Although, most of my newer images were not lost, so I'm OK in that respect. But, I now realize I need to back up semester work as I go along and not wait to backup "sometime" after the semester ends.
Sometimes old dogs forget their new lessons supposedly learned.
In terms of this image, it's interesting seeing how the clouds moved in after I took this picture about 2 hours ago. Now it looks like it may rain in about 30 minutes or so.
Late in June, before our Second Childhood Road trip to Wisconsin, my hard drive took a dive. And although I was able to get a new drive installed before we left, I was unable to grab the last minute documents from the Spring Semester. So, they are history unless I can get copies back from my professors. Although, most of my newer images were not lost, so I'm OK in that respect. But, I now realize I need to back up semester work as I go along and not wait to backup "sometime" after the semester ends.
Sometimes old dogs forget their new lessons supposedly learned.
In terms of this image, it's interesting seeing how the clouds moved in after I took this picture about 2 hours ago. Now it looks like it may rain in about 30 minutes or so.
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