I had a coffeehouse that had open mic poetry nights. There were a couple of poets that were great and went on to win awards. So, 20-30 minute of good poetry and 3 1/2 hours of bad poetry every Thursday night. I never made any of my employees work poetry night, I'd work it and schedule one of them to come in and do 2 hrs for closing if they wanted the hours.
Brutal is just fine, rambling and incoherent not so much. And, perhaps somewhat coloring my feelings about open mic poetry night - it was consistently the lowest sales volume of all my open mic nights despite not drawing a noticeably smaller crowd.
My mother's grandparents on both sides and many of their siblings and families all came from Canada to work in the mills in ME, MA, and CT in the 1870's and 80's. My grandmother was born in 1900 and worked in a cotton mill spinning room in CT starting around 1915 and was there for years. My mother worked in the same mill in the 40's during summer breaks and was lucky to end up getting full-time office work there instead. (Where post WWII, she met my father, of Irish descent.) My Irish grandmother worked in the woolen mills in MA for decades in the early to mid 1900's. I had a stint, the summer after high school, in a barely-lit, stinking hot basement of a linen mill. It was horrid.
I remember my grandmother talking about the 4th floor spinning room. In July and August. The heat, the dust, the dirt, and the long hours for shitty pay. And she was 5'0" and 100 pounds. I can't even imagine.
Aw. When I taught computer science, the most entertaining thing I could do is tell the class that if they ever successfully divided by zero, the universe would implode.
And I am convinced that left to their own devices, the owning class would do much the same today. Some stripes never change. Is anyone else participating in a Women's March this October 2nd? Reproductive slavery is one of the slaveries of today.
Two Saturdays ago was my two year work anniversary. I signed a union card about a month after I started my job. SEIU-1199 and HR are still negotiating. I want to be a Union Maid.
The circumstances outlined in this article haven't changed. They've just moved elsewhere.
Not good bread, though. Good bread should be donated to your local food bank if you aren't going to eat it yourself. Politicians should be beaten with Wonderbread or some other bread-flavored object.
I had a coffeehouse that had open mic poetry nights. There were a couple of poets that were great and went on to win awards. So, 20-30 minute of good poetry and 3 1/2 hours of bad poetry every Thursday night. I never made any of my employees work poetry night, I'd work it and schedule one of them to come in and do 2 hrs for closing if they wanted the hours.
She's a puppet.
I’m a poet. My stuff is like being hit with a brick, because life is brutal.
Brutal is just fine, rambling and incoherent not so much. And, perhaps somewhat coloring my feelings about open mic poetry night - it was consistently the lowest sales volume of all my open mic nights despite not drawing a noticeably smaller crowd.
My mother's grandparents on both sides and many of their siblings and families all came from Canada to work in the mills in ME, MA, and CT in the 1870's and 80's. My grandmother was born in 1900 and worked in a cotton mill spinning room in CT starting around 1915 and was there for years. My mother worked in the same mill in the 40's during summer breaks and was lucky to end up getting full-time office work there instead. (Where post WWII, she met my father, of Irish descent.) My Irish grandmother worked in the woolen mills in MA for decades in the early to mid 1900's. I had a stint, the summer after high school, in a barely-lit, stinking hot basement of a linen mill. It was horrid.
I remember my grandmother talking about the 4th floor spinning room. In July and August. The heat, the dust, the dirt, and the long hours for shitty pay. And she was 5'0" and 100 pounds. I can't even imagine.
Aw. When I taught computer science, the most entertaining thing I could do is tell the class that if they ever successfully divided by zero, the universe would implode.
Damned if each of them didn't try it.
Nitric is where it's at. There was a sudden scarcity of cotton fabric when I got access to nitric acid in the tenth grade.
Pay no attention to those frequent explosions, Mumsy. Do we have any more cotton balls?
Whistles innocently...
Nitrogen triiodide.
Welcome to the All-Mail California.
Timely! I voted yes on our union contract today. It's a good time to negotiate these things.
On a side note, I wouldn't mind hitting our mayor over the head with a loaf of bread.
Whoops. reading out of order...
And I am convinced that left to their own devices, the owning class would do much the same today. Some stripes never change. Is anyone else participating in a Women's March this October 2nd? Reproductive slavery is one of the slaveries of today.
Two Saturdays ago was my two year work anniversary. I signed a union card about a month after I started my job. SEIU-1199 and HR are still negotiating. I want to be a Union Maid.
The circumstances outlined in this article haven't changed. They've just moved elsewhere.
Nobody wants to work--for free.
Not good bread, though. Good bread should be donated to your local food bank if you aren't going to eat it yourself. Politicians should be beaten with Wonderbread or some other bread-flavored object.
I'll be voting for the IATSE strike this Friday.