Photo credit: gari.baldi

Once upon a time there was a fairy princess named Lorena. Princess Lorena was imprisoned by the Evil King Hardage in the Woodfin Castle in a Kingdom called Emeryville. She was made to scrub and polish and vacuum at whirlwind speed, so fast that she could barely see. Even worse, the modest allowance she received was barely enough to cover her basic needs, never mind a doctor to look at her achy back.

After many years of this treatment, a ray of light appeared. The Kingdom of Emeryville had begun toying with the idea of Democracy, and its subjects were cautiously allowed an opinion as to the treatment of imprisoned fairy princesses. The Kingdom decreed that said persons should be paid no less than $9 hourly, and that they should not be required to clean at whirlwind speed but instead at a reasonable, steady pace.

This was excellent news for Princess Lorena. She whirled of her own accord – a whirl of glee, not of backbreaking, underpaid labor. Unfortunately, King Hardage wasn’t nearly as happy. He simmered and stewed and plotted and planned until he came up with an idea: he would ignore the decree. He was King, after all, and had lots of money and power and, well, aren’t kings supposed to be evil?

Princess Lorena sighed and continued scrubbing and polishing and vacuuming, still at whirlwind speed and still for a modest allowance. However, she began to notice something: there were other fairy princesses in the Woodfin Castle, and a few princes, and even a good witch or two. They were all victims of the evil King Hardage, and together they could outwit him. They simmered and stewed and plotted and planned until they came up with an idea: they would work in solidarity until they were treated justly. They held press conferences! They signed petitions! The spoke to the People, and demanded that the decree be upheld.

The princesses and princes and good witches enraged King Hardage. His wrath was felt from one end of the Kingdom to the other. The People were scared, and forgot about their decree. Princess Lorena and her friends were terrified, but they knew that their cause was just. They bravely stood their ground, until King Hardage threw them out of the Woodfin Castle, claiming that they were in the wrong Kingdom anyway and that he didn’t know why he had imprisoned them in the first place.

Well, there’s one thing scarier than being overworked and underpaid, and that’s not working and not being paid. But the Princess and her friends bravely carried on, supporting those who were left in the Castle, and demanding the money they were owed. King Hardage became even more furious, and summoned an army that he called Immigration and Customs Enforcement. The army, which was comprised of a vicious group of hooligans, did its very best to scare everyone away. Princess Lorena and her friends were again terrified, but still they knew their cause was just.

The next part is yet to come, but the Princess and her friends need your help! Pay close attention to the clues, and you’ll see what to do.

All the people in the Kingdom and in the kingdoms all around it gathered together to say that they would not tolerate worker injustice! They insisted that the Woodfin Castle pay the money owed to the workers who had scrubbed and polished and vacuumed at whirlwind speed. They met on Monday, November 17th, 2008, beginning at 5 PM at the Woodfin Castle, which is located at 5800 Shellmound Street in the Kingdom of Emeryville. They marched and picketed and yelled until they were heard all through the land, and then they arrived at the Emeryville City Council meeting to demand that the decree be upheld.

Princess Lorena and her friends were awarded their back pay, and even returned to their jobs. They didn’t forget their struggle, though. The lived happily ever after, in solidarity with all workers in all kingdoms everywhere.

Photo credit: -sel

Obama won the presidential election tonight! Aside from being thrilled and relieved, I’m also now free to reflect on the political climate in my current locale.

Living in San Francisco is like being on another planet. To use the popular color-based analysis of political leanings, my world is blue. Naming a sewage plant after a US president, no matter how incompetent that individual may be, is just plain weird. Having a ballot measure that would legalize prostitution — with the goal of protecting sex workers, not increasing the tax base — is also pretty crazy. Crazy in a good, forward-thinking way, though.

I can safely say that every one of my 26 coworkers voted Democrat, even though I am not employed by a social justice organization. I can also report that I haven’t seen a single McCain poster, brochure, magnet, or other such endorsement in the entire city. Not one, from the beginning to the end of the campaign. I know there are Republicans in San Francisco — maybe 5 or so? However, I have no idea where they’re hiding. While this is admittedly an indicator of my affinity for certain areas, it’s still pretty bizzare. I’ve lived in nine cities in six states, and I’ve never before observed a total lack of bipartisanship.

The politics of the rest of the country are clearly not reflected here, maybe to the point of being statistically impossible. I also acknowledge that, in this culture, it is probably difficult to be conservative. But guess what? I like it here. I like it a lot. I like the fact that, having seen a college classmate burst into tears after hearing a homophobic diatribe from a future Miss America, I live in a city where a newsworthy problem is this: the Castro is so gay its residents can’t live in peace, because buses full of gaping tourists won’t leave them alone. I also like that our wacky mayor with his wacky hair has been mocked and/or vilified for everything from banning bottled water at City Hall to disallowing drugstores from selling tobacco products.

I know that the world, including San Francisco, can always be a better place. There is work that must be done to make that happen. Tonight, though, I am taking a step back to say that I love being here. Thank you, San Francisco, for being so improbably cozy.

Photo credit: btobin

Happy Election Day! Sadly, this time around there are no Medical Anthropologists on the ballot, but San Francisco does have a measure proposing that the sewage plant be renamed in honor of George W. Bush. However, I must say that neither anthropologists nor sewage plants quite live up to San Francisco’s attempt last year to have the federally controlled island of Alcatraz designated a “Peace Center”.

Seriously, though, this year has been pretty intense. I just cast 8 federal, 13 state, and 22 city/county votes via absentee ballot, and there’s a lot at stake. From Obama to yet another attempt to require parental notification for abortion to EVIL DISCRIMINATORY HOMOPHOBIA (Prop 8 makes me a tiny bit livid), we’ve got enough crazy stuff out there to make me nervous. However, I did remember to maximize the utilization of my available resources (a corporate-sounding word for “friends”) while choosing my voting strategy. Many thanks to Brooke, Sanjay, and Google!

In other news: check out this picture of George Bush eating a kitten.

My old neighbors unsuccessfully lobbied their City Council for a crosswalk for a year and a half. Early one morning, this appeared:

Hmm.

As I’ve recently switched jobs, I’m currently in the process of figuring out my healthcare situation. I found myself in need of a flu shot, so, sans regular doctor, I headed over to the Public Health Department. Upon registering, I noticed a prominent sign asking for a donation in addition to the price of the visit. The rationale is that the charge is not enough to cover the cost of services. I ran through my standard donation checklist:

1) Is it a good cause?
2) Am I gainfully employed?
3) Am I part of a captive audience?

After determining that I had a 100% yes verdict, I agreed to donate the suggested 15% of my total bill. The receptionist took out an abacus calculator, and pronounced my contribution $4.20. I blinked, ascertained that this was correct, and told her to round it up to $10.

I know that every little bit counts, but honestly? What kind of country are we living in if the local government-run healthcare provider must ask for donations that roughly compare to the cost of a Big Mac? Are they supplementing these donations by panhandling? Selling discarded stuff on eBay? Peddling Mary Kay products on slow days?

Why is the public health department just scraping by? Why is an agency that serves mostly low income clients forced to resort to a donation system? Why am I so often reminded of how “lucky” I am to have health insurance? Call me crazy, but it seems to me that we shouldn’t require people to pay for health care in the first place. If we can’t manage this, is it really a better system to knock off a few bucks and guilt people into paying the rest? Sure, it’s possible to refuse. However, many people are not comfortable accepting what appears to be charity. A sign announcing that the cost of a visit won’t allow the agency to break even, and insinuating that this is at least theoretically the client’s problem, falls into that category.

I’m not suggesting that public health increase prices to cover the real cost of services, and I know this is the only way to get rid of the donation sign. My point is simply that there’s something wrong with a system that requires the sign in the first place. Healthcare is almost universally recognized as a human right, not a luxury requiring charitable contributions from poor people. Yeah — almost.

Today’s Clueless Comment comes via this New York Times article, and offers a scintillating look at why NYC stagehands should give up their fight for decent pay and fair working conditions:

On September 25th I bought three tickets, for $310 in total, to the Cyrano De Bergerac limited engagement performance that was supposed to play today. It seems today is the day that a strike will begin. I also made reservations for three to have dinner at Ben Benson’s after the play. We have been looking forward to this day for almost two months. Needless to say I am disappointed. If the play is cancelled I will also cancel my reservations at Ben Benson’s and not drive and park in the city. This day was to cost me about $650. Hopefully I can get a refund on my tickets. I work hard for my money and do not spend it frivolously. I have not been to a play in over 5 years. Thank you strikers for making my life not as nice as it would have been.

Contrast this to a conversation between a head stagehand and a Broadway exec during contract negotiations, courtesy The Humble Nailbanger:

S: Let me ask you a question. What do you do on a Sunday morning? Do you sleep in a little bit?
E: Yeah, I might get an hour or so extra.
S: Sleep in, have a little breakfast with the kids?
E: Sure, eat with my children, hang out with them, you know. Spend time.
S: And then what? Mow the lawn, have a couple drinks?
E: Maybe. Get in a few rounds of golf. You know, relax.
S: You spend your Sunday just hanging out, relaxing, playing a little bit? Seeing your family?
E: Yeah, why?
S: Well, you know what I do with my Sundays? I get up at 5am, kiss my sleeping kids goodbye, and I come in here and run your fucking theatre. And you want to pay me less now?

I’m sure it’s disappointing to be a Broadway ticketholder right now. It’s never fun to get a new installment of that lesson that we all learn as toddlers, i.e. You Can’t Always Get What You Want. However, I seem to recall the next line stating that Sometimes You Get What You Need. To honor this theory, I pose a question that most of the press sidesteps while covering this story. Which of the following is a basic human right?

1) The right to attend a Broadway performance.
2) The right to just and favourable remuneration ensuring for [one]self and [one’s] family an existence worthy of human dignity.

If you chose option 1, you will be “rewarded” by a life in which you are required to sing and dance your every thought. If you chose option 2, you win the I Am a Grownup Who Realizes That Instant Gratification Is Not Always Reasonable award. Yay!

Yes, it sucks to plan a weekend and have some unexpected event shake things up. However, it sucks more to plan a life and then find that you can’t pay your mortgage, or that you have to dip into your kid’s college fund to pay the bills. However, in either case, another of those grownup lessons dictates that a change of plans simply means that it’s time to get creative. Theatregoers can take their screaming kids to FAO Schwartz, or move the anniversary celebration to Central Park for a carriage ride. Those in the latter situation can organize and collectively bargain for their rights.

That’s what the NYC stagehands are doing - fighting for a decent living. If you have Broadway tickets during the strike, you can do the following:

1) Collect your refund.
2) Have a conversation with one of the picketers. You’ll get some clarity on the situation, and maybe even a local’s recommendation on what to do with your extra time.
3) Contrary to this article’s advice, don’t compensate by going to a show with non-union stagehands.
4) Grab a picket sign, or write a blog post, or a letter to the editor.
5) Buy pizza for the picketers.

Most importantly, remember this: a strike is a big deal. No one wakes up one morning thinking, heyyyy! You know what sounds fun? Organizing a majority of my fellow union members to vote to walk out on our jobs and march around in a circle holding picket signs for who knows how long in a New York November for whatever the strike fund can pay us (read: not nearly as much as the too-low wages the employer pays) for no particular reason.

Wake up, people: A STRIKE IS THE LAST RESORT. It’s not designed for you personally in an effort to make your life “not as nice.”

The ad-themed proposal for bailing the Golden Gate Bridge out of an $87 million budget deficit, which was the subject of this Project Janna post, has been rejected.

Half full: this is good.
Half empty: this was actually a serious proposal. I bet they had PowerPoint presentations and everything.