Worked and paid our union dues—what did years of that produce?
When I got to Davis Square this evening to pick up a medication and meet ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch for dinner on his half-hour break, a busker with good queer style and an electric guitar was performing the English-language verses of Daniel Kahn's "March of the Jobless Corps." I left money in their guitar case because I spent a portion of this afternoon seriously considering applying for a job that would require me to move half a dozen states down the Eastern Seaboard, which is not my first choice despite a strong ancestral tradition of going where the work is, but there's real money in it and health benefits and I am sick of clearing the rent by an ever-narrowing margin of not being able to afford anything else. I think we exceeded the metaphor of drowning and struggling for breath some months ago and are now firmly in the realm of waterlogged corpse somehow keeps screaming.
Last weekend I patched two pairs of my jeans so that I could keep wearing them. Tonight the zipper on the less-worn of the two pairs abruptly broke. So I guess I get to spend this weekend replacing a zipper. It is not an option to replace the jeans; they have been discontinued by the manufacturer, which infuriates me because they were the one style of 100% cotton, non-stretchy jeans I was able to find in more than ten years that actually fit my body and didn't make me want to peel off my skin. They fit so beautifully that I bought three pairs. I expected them to last longer than two years. For that matter, I didn't expect them to be discontinued within two years. Nothing is made to last anymore and we are always supposed to have the money to buy the next thing.
I rewatched Metropolis (1927) this afternoon, the 149-minute Kino restoration currently on Kanopy that's as close as we're going to get to the full original release without another broom closet in Argentina. I'd seen it last in 2010, accompanied by the Alloy Orchestra. This one had a re-recording of the original score by Gottfried Huppertz, which oddly I feel I paid less attention to except when it was quoting from the "Dies Irae." I love the movie; I did from the time I saw a scratchy videocassette of the butchered short cut in high school; it is still such a weird and beautiful thing. I'd like to write about it properly sometime, but I am so tired that that time is not going to be now.
I am glad to see that HIAS is throwing itself into the border crisis. The Supreme Court decision on gerrymandering really scares me.
I've just been working so much and I want to do something else and instead I find myself thinking about moving to another state so that I can work more. That can't be right.
spatch for dinner on his half-hour break, a busker with good queer style and an electric guitar was performing the English-language verses of Daniel Kahn's "March of the Jobless Corps." I left money in their guitar case because I spent a portion of this afternoon seriously considering applying for a job that would require me to move half a dozen states down the Eastern Seaboard, which is not my first choice despite a strong ancestral tradition of going where the work is, but there's real money in it and health benefits and I am sick of clearing the rent by an ever-narrowing margin of not being able to afford anything else. I think we exceeded the metaphor of drowning and struggling for breath some months ago and are now firmly in the realm of waterlogged corpse somehow keeps screaming.Last weekend I patched two pairs of my jeans so that I could keep wearing them. Tonight the zipper on the less-worn of the two pairs abruptly broke. So I guess I get to spend this weekend replacing a zipper. It is not an option to replace the jeans; they have been discontinued by the manufacturer, which infuriates me because they were the one style of 100% cotton, non-stretchy jeans I was able to find in more than ten years that actually fit my body and didn't make me want to peel off my skin. They fit so beautifully that I bought three pairs. I expected them to last longer than two years. For that matter, I didn't expect them to be discontinued within two years. Nothing is made to last anymore and we are always supposed to have the money to buy the next thing.
I rewatched Metropolis (1927) this afternoon, the 149-minute Kino restoration currently on Kanopy that's as close as we're going to get to the full original release without another broom closet in Argentina. I'd seen it last in 2010, accompanied by the Alloy Orchestra. This one had a re-recording of the original score by Gottfried Huppertz, which oddly I feel I paid less attention to except when it was quoting from the "Dies Irae." I love the movie; I did from the time I saw a scratchy videocassette of the butchered short cut in high school; it is still such a weird and beautiful thing. I'd like to write about it properly sometime, but I am so tired that that time is not going to be now.
I am glad to see that HIAS is throwing itself into the border crisis. The Supreme Court decision on gerrymandering really scares me.
I've just been working so much and I want to do something else and instead I find myself thinking about moving to another state so that I can work more. That can't be right.
no subject
Is the job attractive in itself - other than being in the wrong state, I mean?
I am so sorry about your jeans: it feels trivial to say this, because it's not the biggest problem in this post, and it's one you can take ation on. But it's so disappointing ewhen clothes you think werr going to be really good turn out not to be. And while I have replaced zips in the past, it's really above my competence level.
Sympathy all tound, in fact.
no subject
It is attractive in that it would be social justice work in a Jewish context and, if I got the job, I would come in knowing some of the people I was working with. If it were geographically closer, I wouldn't even hesitate. The massive uprooting it would require to move is daunting and it really isn't somewhere I would want to spend the rest of my life if I managed to get that lucky. It's a very frustrating situation.
Sympathy all tound, in fact.
Thank you.