How I learned to stop worrying and love socialism

 

The wage slave system drains our blood;
The rich are free from obligation,
The laws the poor delude.
Too long we’ve languished in subjection,
Equality has other laws

–the International/E.Pottier

 

When I was younger so much younger than today
I never needed anybody’s help in any way
But now these days are gone I’m not so self assured
Now I find I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors
–Help!/the Beatles

 

I don’t really have a point to make today, so I’ll tell a story of inaction and the wonders of socialism.

When I lived in Paris, I had a job as a waitress in a cafeteria in one of the suburbs on the opposite side of town from where I lived. That meant a 45 minute commute by train. Which was great–the public transportation in Paris is wonderful, or it was back in the Stone Ages when I lived there. Commute time = reading time, so I didn’t mind it.

Waitressing did not agree with me–over period of a month or two I started to get sick. Maybe it wasn’t waiting tables at all. It could have been the layer of mold lining the concrete block walls of the appartment I lived in. Maybe I’m just a wimp. Whatever the cause, I was not doing well. I lost a lot of weight and was exhausted all the time. Because I was in my early 20’s, broke, and working 6 days a week, it didn’t occur to me to go to the doctor.

One morning on my way to work, I fainted on the train. I woke up a couple of stops away on the floor of the train. Everyone in the seats around me had moved as far away from me as possible, so I found myself all alone, crumpled on the floor in my little red waitress uniform.Although there were a few dozen people there with me, they were all squashed together in one half of the car pretending not to notice me on the floor.

And no one helped me get up.

At the next station, I managed to crawl off the train and sat with my back against the wall of the subway station for a little while, too weak to get up onto the bench. People on the bench also moved away from me. I assume that people either thought I was contagious or a junkie. Or both.

For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to ask anyone to help me. It was very clear that I needed help and it was just as clear that no one was planning on offering. After what seemed like a long time, I managed to get to a pay phone and called my husband and asked him to come and get me.

He pointed out something that I didn’t even know, or had maybe forgotten. In France, anyone who works at any sort of job legally has health insurance. The pharmacies will typically post the address and phone number of the nearest physician seeing patients on call. So off we went to indulge in some Socialism. a visit to a doctor. They did some labs, and it turned out I had some sort of electrolyte imbalance causing my heart to do funny things. (I didn’t think it was a bit funny). They wrote orders for me to stay home for a period of at least 4 weeks. When I said I couldn’t be off work without a paycheck for that long, they looked at me like I was an idiot and told me that it was covered. Not only that, but that there could be random home checks to make sure I was home resting. I ended up being off work for something like 6 weeks with full pay.

When we got home, my husband asked me what I thought would have happened if I’d passed out in a subway in the US. My guess was that someone probably would have stolen my purse, but that someone else would have helped me get up and make a phone call. Then I’d have gone back to work after a day or two because I wouldn’t be able to take much time off. I’d have been sick for months in a purely capitalist society.

Vive la effing France, mes amis! They could give a crap about the individual person laying on the floor of a subway car, but once that individual gets off the ground she can get some pretty awesome health care and actually stand a chance of recovering from what ails her.

The lesson? Or rather, the question?
Is it better to care more for society as a whole than for each  individual or to hold the individual as sacred at the cost of what is best for society?

I’m voting for society on this one, even if people think that means I’m a socialist.

Are individuals important? Absolutely.

Do I think the US values the individual too much and neglects the good of society? Very much so.

 

I’m going to use that word again, aren’t I?

Yep.

 

Balance.

Why’s it so fucking hard?

That’s a serious question, and I have no idea what the answer is.

 

 

Being realistic is not a sin

 

I could look at the sunlight
And I feel no fear.
With a mountain of maybes
And some Icarus wings,

–Danny Elfman/The Little Things

 

The term realist is sometimes flung around like it’s an epithet.

I beg  to differ. Pragmatism is a good thing.

There is a place for dreaming, but there is also a place for practicality.  For the commonsensical.

One dictionary defines it like this:

adjective

dealing with things sensibly and realistically in a way that is based on practical rather than theoretical considerations

What is wrong with that? I like things that are sensible. You can be sensible and whimsical at the same time, you know.  Dream big, but you’ve got to realize that unless you take some practical and concrete steps and consider the consequences of them, those dreams won’t go anywhere outside your own head or may have unfortunate results.

Where’s the difference? Like pretty much everything, it’s often in balance.

Icarus and the Wright brothers shared the same dream of flight. It killed Icarus, but not Wilbur and Orville.

Sadly, Icarus forgot to be pragmatic and think about what he made his wings of, and where he flew with them once he took to the air. He was so caught up in the excitement of flying that he melted his pretty new wings right off and plummeted to his death.

Wright brothers. Same dream. They took it slower and lower, but still flew. Wilbur did die young, but of typhus. Orville died of a heart attack in his mid 70’s. They were more pragmatic than Icarus.

 

Probably because Icarus is a  myth and the Wright brothers were real.

 

What?

 

Yeah. It’s true.

The Wright brothers were real.

 

 

 

 

Sad songs say so much

 

I’m causing a mild sensation
With this new occupation
I’m permanently glued
To this extraordinary mood so now move over
Let me take over
With my melancholy blues
–Queen/Melancholy Blues

 

I was singing along with the iPod on my way home from work (as usual) and decided something: I really like singing along to sad songs. I really like sad songs in general. When I’m happy, they make me even happier. Being happier is always gooder, right? When I’m sad they make me sadder. Nothing cheers me up like a good sing-a-long mope during my commute home from work. It’s very cathartic. Yes, people do look at me funny. No, I don’t give a shit.

On the commute to work, I also sing  but I tend to focus on the more upbeat tunes. No one wants to mope at work. That is clearly untrue–let’s just say that I don’t want to mope at work. I prefer veiled hostility to moping.

A really clever girl would put a list of people here and let you all  play pin the sad song to the person. A really mean clever girl. I prefer to be more passive-aggressively mean, but by all means do feel free to out yourself as the reason I love any particular song in the comments.

 

Everybody Hurts — sad REM. Obviously, I sing this one on my commute home when I am stuck in traffic. So hold on. Also a great video.

Almost Blue— sad Elvis. Being sad in love is the saddest sort of sad. Elvis is the master of the super-literate sad song. Also the creepy sad song. Just listen to  I Want You for some proof.

No Birds Today— sad Cowboy Junkies. Desolation and isolation are a great musical combination.

Am I Blue —sad Bette. Old school melancholy.

Melancholy Blues and Love Of My Life–sad Queen. No one does sad like Freddie. I miss him.

Atlantic City— sad Bruce sings about sad America and the losers therein. Everything dies, babe, and that’s a fact.

Ne Me Quitte Pas— sad,  pitiful, forlorn Jacques Brel. This would probably win the contest for Saddest Lyric Ever. At one point he offers to be the shadow of her shadow, the shadow of her hand, the shadow of her dog if she will just not leave him. If you’ve ever had someone not love you back, this is your song. The linked video has a handy translation for the non-francophones.

Creep— sad Radiohead. I was far too old to be a Loser Teen when this came out, but if I had been this would totally have been my anthem. I have been known to play this several times in a row. Huh. Maybe I am a loser teen…

Too Drunk To Fuck— OK. This isn’t sad. It’s funny. Well, not if it happens to YOU. If it happens to you, it’s sad. I could out some guys here, but I won’t.

The Crane Wife 1, 2 and 3 –sad Decemberists. This grouping of songs is one of my favorite sad song cycles of the last 10 years. It’s about 15 minutes of music based on a Japanese folk tale, and it’s about the sadness of loving someone to death because you don’t understand them.

Boys of Summer –sad Don Henley singing “I see you walking real slow and smiling at everyone” Kills me. KILLS me. And I don’t even like Don Henley. Definitely reminds me of someone in particular.

Breakeven—sad the Script. They’re right–when a heart breaks, it doesn’t break even at all.

Stubborn Love—sad Lumineers. The sadness of being in love with someone who is just going to hurt you, lie to you, and probably ruin your life. And you love them anyway.

 

OK–pick a song and tell us all why you are the reason it makes me sad!!!

I’m not going to get any takers on that, am I?

It doesn’t have to be true, you know.

Just make some shit up. That’s what I do.