Working on the girl

Every few years I feel the need to reread Atlas Shrugged. Ayn Rand’s tale of passionate perfection, capitalist drive, and government corruption resonates with me on a very deep level. Her rich descriptive style and timeless story weaves the virtue of selfishness and objectivism into the trials and tribulations of the marketplace, and reveals the negative effects of corruption given free reign. Each time I read this book I learn more about human nature and the need for economic and social justice.

I see parallels to Atlas Shrugged everywhere today. We live in a society that since 9/11 has been rapidly eroding. We may not have a ticking clock above the city, but we are surely moving toward the demise of the middle class. Right now we are seeing a wave of philanthropy, as the wealth of our nation has never been greater. But we are also seeing more and more people go without basic needs and aid for natural disasters that are sure to become more commonplace as the system erodes. New Orleans is but one example of how our system has failed, just as Ayn Rand predicted years back.  The results are evident: no one took responsibility, no one fixed the problem and thousands of poor people are still displaced without a home. Who is John Galt?

What ever happened to Government for the people, of the people?  Why are we content with Government of the money for the money? The head of the Environmental Protection Agency assures us she did all she could to protect 9/11 Workers. How can we think to question her.  After all she’s the former Governor who said the factory’s pollution and runoff of industrial waste wasn’t causing the rampant illness of the elementary school students next door. We need cheaper fuel and more energy, yet a homeowner isn’t allowed to put solar panels on his roof?

Oxymorons are running the world.  

How did we come to this crossroads where today’s most popular Art is a Diamond Encrusted Skull? True artists seem to be in hiding yet we’re continually fed manufactured icons complete with critic’s approval and Reality TV votes.

Where are the true heroes of today? I long for a utopia where women and men are paid equally for the work they perform and where true philanthropy and equality exists. I’m tired of television commercials that tout lying and manipulation as ends to a means – have you seen the commercial for Thomas’ Whole Grain English Muffins? The wife and son conspire to get the husband to eat a whole grain muffin, he lies through his teeth about doing so, and they high five each other afterwards. The songs I loved as a kid are now used to sell me stuff I don’t need and can’t afford. I’m supposed to think this is okay? I feel like Dagney Taggart sitting through an agonizing performance of sub-par musicianship to standing ovations while longing for the work of Richard Halley. 

I ask myself, who are the true innovators today?  I know it’s not hopeless, but it does sometimes feel like the great minds are in hiding or working overseas where it’s less costly to give aid to the needy. I’m sure John Galt and Hank Reardon and Dagney Taggart exist today in our uneasy market, wondering why they work so hard for the “Bling.” James Taggart and Lillian Reardon seem to be thriving. I see them everyday.  Like the PTA mom who couldn’t handle the pressure and started chipping away at her perfectly manicured nails because a volunteer brought the wrong ethnic cuisine to a meeting.  

The push for polish and the need to look affluent and fit has never been stronger. The controversial and different are seen as ugly and dismissed by a society that values packaging over content. Our system is working hard to create automatons and factoids and many children today are no longer encouraged to think freely.

When the NY Times prints articles touting the failure of the government program “No Child Left Behind” I wonder why they haven’t begun discussing the repercussions of cutting art and physical education programs from city schools. I read about the “War on Terror” and think about the many contractors who are getting rich, while kids enlisted in the army write home to their parents for basic necessities. The “crony” styled government of Atlas Shrugged seems to be alive and well in Washington, stripping away our rights just like they took away Reardon Metal and let small business fail for lack of support and funds.

Atlas Shrugged is ultimately about human nature and our capacity to grow and understand the importance of individuality. An open free marketplace where trade is based not upon trust or contacts, but garnered through honest competition and competence, is a theme that is ready to see the bright light of day. 

I have hope for the future.  Brilliant minds are working toward bringing new technology to the forefront, even while being slandered by right wing fundamentalists. The fact that our “righteous” religious leaders and politicians have finally been caught taking bribes, drugs, and soliciting children is the beginning of change. I hope for a possible future that Ayn Rand would approve of, where free trade opens borders instead of building walls, and great minds no longer need to fear or hide.    

The Corner of Bienville and Bourbon Street

On Friday night at Ten O’clock,

An ashtray, littered with cigarette butts and beads.  

Smoke and mirrors at every turn. 

Partiers lit up like Christmas Trees

Hanging from delicate wrought iron balconies.

Still standing, they moan under the weight

Of Hurricanes and beads tossed carelessly to the street.

I got beads of every color

While wandering with the stumbling

Mass of Halloween revelers in

Feather masks and painted faces.

In New Orleans everyone meets your eye

“Hey Baby! Have some Southern Comfort with your Hurricane”

“Show us your tits baby, its okay. We got your pretty beads”

 Shiny red, yellow, pearl pink, blue, silver, and green…

 “Don’t wear ‘em downtown though sugar,

The muggers want the shiny stuff you tourists carry.”

 “Let me take your picture baby, you shine, you look so happy tonight.”

I forgot Southern Comfort is whiskey

As I went looking for the underbelly of New Orleans.

I found no such thing or maybe I didn’t notice.

I Visited the House of Voodoo,

Could have been the House of Pancakes.

Passed a few Gothed out Pentagram sporting kids

But they just wanted to read my Tarot Cards

On Toulouse, I noticed the most beautiful boy

Dancing outside of the Spotted Pig

He was in his own groove, man, you dig?

Eyes closed as he undulated and vibrated heat

With his long limbs and long blond hair.

We had a moment of blissful eye contact before

He went searching for the next good tune.

I Walked along
Jackson Square and sauntered in the alley

Where Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise made vampires sexy.

I sent out my vibes to the immortals

“Come and get me.”

But my call went unanswered

Amidst the swirl of tempestuous confusion,

The cacophony of drums, horns, and electric guitars

Blaring from every bar,

And mists filled with souls getting high on fumes and spills.

Desert heat burns brain cells. Add a little pot at seven in the morning before first period and a bottle of Bacardi 151 and a four-alarm fire can’t be far off.

Three desert flowers in full bloom were sitting behind the fence across the street from Rincoln High’s main parking lot trying to decide to go to class. Lori, the Nordic blond with the golden beauty of her ancestors and cold Viking blood wore wranglers and cowboy boots with steel toes. Leslie, the sweet mama of the group, doe eyed, large hipped, and statuesque, resembled a brunette Marilyn Monroe. She sat on a tree stump adjusting her cut offs and crossing her long satin legs. Tammy took a swig of rum and spilled a bit on her tight knit dress. She stood leaning against the fence in platform heals, her big brown eyes focused on the stain above her ample boobs. A few minutes before first period bell, Lori started talking about a letter she’d received from California. Her brother had asked her to come room with him in Laguna Beach. It sounded like heaven to them all, especially since the three girls were flunking sophomore year.

“Come on guys, we can make it to Cali in eight hours. By tomorrow morning we’ll be on the beach. We’ll hang out all day; surf, skate, party and dance all night in the clubs along the shore. We won’t need much money, and if we do I bet we can get waitress jobs or something.” Lori’s blue eyes sparked as she passed the bottle of 151 to Leslie. 

Tammy could think of nothing but escaping Tucson’s brutal heat and dryness. Her classes sucked and she was mighty pissed at mom. After spending the summer in NYC with dad, mom had moved them from Florida to Tucson. Three days before she was supposed to get on the airplane for home, mom called and told her she’d gotten them this really great house. She would love the neighborhood, it was right by the college. They had a front porch. And, oh, yes, I’m sorry you didn’t get to tell any of your friends you were leaving again, I didn’t think you’d mind. Don’t worry, you’ll love it here.Tammy sighed as she thought of her last letter from Tommy. He’d included a shirtless pic and some beach sand. The beach sounded like an excellent idea. She missed it almost as much as she missed Tommy’s tanned, sweaty chest.

“You know, moving to California could be an excellent idea, Lori.” As Tammy took another hit off the joint she became the voice of reason. “If we hitch it’ll take us about ten hours. We’re gonna need supplies and I’m not hitching without some sort of ammo.” She leaning in close and lowered her voice. “Did you guys hear what happened to Patty Thompson last weekend? She’s in the hospital.” Patty Thompson had been hitching up and down Speedway trying to find party friends. Two guys in a white El Camino offered her a lift and took her out to Pantano Canyon. They tied her up, raped her and then dropped her off at a Circle K.

Tammy had learned that story from Mom’s new boyfriend Stanley, a hospital worker who enjoyed spewing his job horrors over dinner.

“Excellent!” Lori felt waves relief. She was leaving! Dad was coming home tonight from his three day stint. No way was she going home. The welts on her back from last time were just starting to fade.

“Cool.” Tammy was also ready to leave. “After we go by Leslie’s we can stop at my place. My mom keeps around a hundred bucks or so stashed in a jar under her bed. We’ll get some money and food and stuff for the trip.”

Rides came easy at first. A group of college kids picked them up and drove them into
Phoenix. Then a trucker took them all the way to Barstow. He let them sleep in his cab and when they woke up it was nighttime and they were at a truck stop.

A mile from the truck stop a group of Mexicans in a big red flatbed truck offered them a lift. Tammy was a bit uneasy but the Lori and Leslie were buoyed up with courage from tequila and pot. After about twenty miles or so they pulled off the highway and drove into a deserted field. Another truck showed up and the guys lit a bonfire. Music blared from the truck’s open doors.Lisa and Lori danced by the fire with the younger boys. The boys kept dancing closer.

Tammy held the sharp metal star so tight there were red welts on her palm.  She began to think about the future while worrying about the present. She had hitchhiked four hundred miles and was out in the desert with a bunch of people she hardly knew. Her mom was probably worried shitless and her little sister….damn…Tammy hadn’t thought this through at all. The driver, an older man, came and sat down by Tammy and offered her a hit from a pipe.

“Hey Chica, don’t look so worried. My amigos are just having fun. Look, my lady is over there making dinner. We’ve been working all week in Barstow. We just got paid. It’s party time!”“I know, It’s okay man.” She took a hit and passed it back. “My friends and I ran away from home today. I’m not sure why. This morning it seemed like such a good idea. Now I’m feeling like it was a big mistake. ” “What’s your name, chica?”

“Tammy.” “I’m Jorge.” He took a deep long hit of the pipe, looked to the sky and continued. “ You know…sometimes you need to leave home, sometimes you don’t…. Most of my amigos left family and friends too. We had no jobs and no future. No food. So we came north and made new families. It’s not easy, this life. But we take care of each other. Don’t worry about your girls. They’ll be okay. See?” He gestured to the back of another truck where a few women were busy putting out aluminum trays of food and smiled. “Things are good for my family. We have another job waiting. You can work too if you like. We’ll take you all the way. You don’t need to hitchhike no more. It’s not good for young girls to be alone on the road at night. “Jorge and his friends dropped the girls off at a gas station in Long Beach at five o’clock in the morning.

A long haired surfer boy manned the all night booth. The girls decided to use the bathroom to change clothes. Tammy asked the boy for the bathroom key. His booth reeked.

“Hey, that smells really good. What you smoking in there?” Lori was already flirting.

“Just a little hash. I got a friend that brings me bud and I trade him for gas. It works out well. Where you girls headed? “ He didn’t seemed fazed at all to see three young girls out on their own at five in the morning.

Tammy answered.“We’re on our way to La Jolla to visit Lori’s brother.” “Cool, there’s a bus that will take you to San Diego about a mile down the road. Don’t go near that park over there. The police have been patrolling all night. They say some rapist got loose. They brought me a picture. Looks like the guy from the cover of Mad magazine.” He laughed at his joke and passed his pipe to Leslie. Leslie took a hit and passed it to Tammy. At that moment a police car drove up. Tammy dropped the pipe and kicked it away. She held her breath for as long as possible, turned blue and finally coughed out the rest of a huge hit.The boy went back to his booth. The girls tried non-chalantly to walk towards the road. The police car drove up and stopped next to them.“Where you heading to girls?” The cop asked as he got out of the car.
“Um…we’re on our way to school officer” Lori answered first.
“Isn’t it a little early for school? You live around here? How did you get here? Did you walk? Haven’t you heard about the rapist in that park?”“Ha, ha, ha. No rapist is going to bother us. We got protection..man.” Leslie’s stoned answer cemented the officers need to know more.

“Where do you girls live?  You know we can always drop you off at the entrance of that park ther let you take your chances with the slasher.”

“Yes please…let us out…we can handle ourselves” All three mouthed the words in unison, laughing and not heeding the seriousness of their situation. The police officers passed a look that said these girls are spending the night in jail.

Central booking at Long Beach was empty, cold, and grey like the metal folding chairs the girls sat on while being questioned. They tried to stay mute. Finally a woman officer came in. She separated them and started questioning Leslie. Leslie broke down and gave her father’s name and phone number. Tammy followed suit. Lori caved last and only at the threat of being separated from her friends. As the drugs and alcohol haze began to wear off they looked around their cell. It was freezing cold but at least they were together. The police had taken away Tammy’s cigarettes and her pot had also mysteriously disappeared. An officer brought them plates of curdled white food, the kind of dried stuff water is supposed to make palatable. Without thought for the consequences they threw the food around the cell and started screaming for heat and cigarettes. After a while it got tiresome.Tammy huddled by herself on the hard cot. Lori and Leslie balled up toilet paper, wet it and threw it on the walls and ceiling. Tammy wished they had stayed with the Mexicans.“Just you two.” The officer pointed to Tammy and Leslie. Then he turned to Lori.
“Sorry princess, your parents didn’t want you back. You’re going to Juvie.” Lori’s face crumbled than turned to stone as she watched the two girls leave. They didn’t hug goodbye.Leslie’s Dad took them to the airport. His voice dripped ice as he spoke to Leslie. He ignored Tammy.   “When we get home I’m enrolling you in St. Mary’s. You will be grounded until your seventeenth birthday.”

They flew back in silence, arriving at the Tucson Airport barely twenty-four hours after they left. Tammy and Leslie exchanged sad goodbyes. Tammy’s mom was waiting.

When Tammy saw her tear streaked face she crumbled and flew into her arms.

“How could you do this to me!” Was all her mom could manage as she clung to her daughter for dear life.

The maker tells me
My cigarettes cause harm.
www.Philipmorris.com
Will help me quit.
Why bother when
The songs I worshipped as a kid
Persuade me to buy a
New car I can’t afford and
I’ve no guts to pick up the sword.
I’d rather give an opiate to the Jones’ and
Watch them ghost through their homes.
But I’m easily petrified in my sphere.
My government informs me when to fear.
And my burdened eyes
Are heavy with tears of incredulity.
I hear patriots now can torture me -
Without rhyme or reason.
So I guess
I better not
Appear
Odd.