n. A form of economic growth in which the total number of jobs in the economy decreases.

Like "jobless recovery," I see very little evidence that this oxymoron is being used ironically, like it should be.

Also, I can't read about the 7.2% growth without blowing a gasket. Okay, people are buying a lot of stuff. That's because Americans are famous for spending money we don't have on stuff we can't need and can't afford. The GDP is so bogus as an overall economic indicator.

In fact, I'm too angry to write any more, and anyway, I have a menial service-industry job to go to. Job-loss recovery, my ass.

Let's review October in LA:
1) Arnold Schwarzenegger is still governor-elect.
2) The city buses are still on strike.
3) The major grocery chains are still on strike. Locked-out picketers are no longer whooping and cheering; they now look tired and bored. Cars still honk for them but not as many. The parking lots past the picket lines are much fuller than they were last week. The cashiers at Trader Joe's are still really, really tired.
4) Lots of places that really aren't that far away are on fire.

Number 4 has resulted in orange demon sun, dirty sky, and general stinkiness in the areas lucky enough to be in the general geographic region of the fire but not actually aflame. I drove past the ocean with my windows down today just to get a new smell. I've only seen one person with a mask over her mouth and nose. If I was closer to it, I'd have a scratchy throat and burning eyes. Even here in LA county, where nothing's on fire yet, we've been advised to stay inside if we have heart disease, lung disease, or asthma. Icky particle levels between 40 and 65 micrograms per cubic meter of air are considered pretty bad. In the San Bernadino area, 50 miles east of here, we're talking 300.

Thirteen people are dead, 850 homes destroyed. Bush has declared it a "major disaster" (genius). Radar in the San Diego area is hosed so flights are cancelled. Local firefighters can't handle it alone anymore. A football game has been moved to Tempe, Arizona ... because Qualcomm Stadium in San Diego is being used to house 5,000 evacuees. Even more apocalyptic, 400 people are camping out at an abandoned TWA hangar at San Bernadino International Airport.

Click here for a really disturbing NASA photo.

This Terri Schiavo situation has led me to finally get a living will. I'll find a notary public soon and make it legal. I advise all of you to do the same (or, if you're outside the US, do whatever's similar in your country) so you don't have to live your final years as a vegetable.

Reuters reports that "General Motors Corp will rename its Buick LaCrosse in Canada because the name for the car is slang for masturbation in Quebec."

Good one. Until Reuters says, "The mix-up is reminiscent of another GM vehicle with an unfortunate name. In the 1970s, GM exported its Chevrolet Nova to Mexico and other Spanish-speaking countries, only to be told that Nova translated into "doesn't go." Despite the name, and contrary to popular folklore, the car sold well."

One point to Reuters for knowing the car sold just fine, one point from Reuters for citing this in the first place. As usual, Snopes.com has the answer:
"First of all, the phrase "no va" (literally "doesn't go") and the word "nova" are distinct entities with different pronunciations in Spanish: the former is two words and is pronounced with the accent on the second word; the latter is one word with the accent on the first syllable. Assuming that Spanish speakers would naturally see the word "nova" as equivalent to the phrase "no va" and think "Hey, this car doesn't go!" is akin to assuming that English speakers woud spurn a dinette set sold under the name Notable because nobody wants a dinette set that doesn't include a table."

Click here for the full explanation of the Nova urban legend.

(Culled from a message I sent to my mailing list yesterday. Membership has its privileges ;) Sign up at the left.)

Solipsistic update, and then I promise I'll go back to pontificating on politics and LA.

I am no longer actively pursuing editorial work. I will continue to take any assignments that happen to come my way, because assignments that fall in my lap tend to be through editors I enjoy working with. But writing-as-full-time-career -- hustling for assignments I didn't want, interviewing people I didn't like, and pontificating on topics I didn't care about -- was starting to seriously erode my enjoyment of writing. Not just my enjoyment of writing for money, but my enjoyment of even writing in a journal, writing letters, and so forth. There are other things I can do to pay rent, but there is no substitute for writing for myself.

In the spirit of putting words in a row for fun rather than profit, I've decided to participate in National Novel Writing Month, a crackpot project wherein participants write 50,000 words during the month of November. Certainly, one can't write 50,000 *good* words in a month, unless one has absolutely nothing else on the calendar, and maybe not even then. The point is to write horrible swill just to get your creative juices flowing.

This is extra-funny for me, because I don't have much interest in fiction writing and "write a novel" is not actually on my to-do list. Though perhaps I should put it there in the next couple of weeks so I can cross it out on December 1!

Back to the job transition. One of the things that's been bothering me about my writing career for about two years is that while my recent documentation has surely helped some people understand some obscure software, and Media Unspun entertained and informed a cadre of devoted readers, I didn't feel like my writing had the impact it used to. At first I wondered if this was massive ego at work: "Oh, darling, I just *won't* write for an audience of less than 100,000." No...it's just that I like to feel like there's some kind of point to what I do all day. And I just didn't have that feeling anymore.

So I started to think...what's the point? Is there anything I like doing that's a little more altruistic than reading books, hanging out, and drinking beer? What did I used to like about writing for a living, anyway? If I was independently wealthy, what would I do all day, and is there any way to do any of it for paychecks? This all seems a little trite, I'm sure, but I'd rather be happy than cynical. Though, in an ideal world, I can be both.

Long story short, I've been thinking idly about teaching since late 2000, when I first moved to Germany and found myself functionally illiterate. I've always found an excuse to not pursue it. None of my past excuses make much sense anymore, so right now I'm registered to take the CBEST (California teaching credential test) in December, I'm in contact with a volunteer adult literacy program, and I've accepted an after-school job tutoring kids in reading and spelling. I'm in training right now for the kiddie job and feeling like I've made a good, albeit challenging, decision (I'm not what you'd call great with kids, but they don't need to like me, they just need to learn). I feel a little dirty that the reading program is funded by Dubya's "No Child Left Behind" Act, but hey, whatever throws some money at schools with a lot of poor kids -- unfortunately, that seems to be most of the public schools in LA -- can't be totally bad.

So far the best reaction to this news has come from my friend Andrea, who replied, "Mr. Escalante, what's calcoolus?"

The big chain grocery stores in LA went on strike on Sunday. At midnight today, the bus system went on strike.

I drove past one of the striking stores, Albertsons, today. The parking lot was almost empty. I'm not convinced anyone was in there except the scabs. The picketers were out front with signs, whooping it up as passing motorists honked their horns and gave thumbs-up. Apparently Angelenos are not the picket-line-crossing type.

The Trader Joe's -- an earthy-crunchy but affordable California-based chain -- across the street is not unionized, so no pickets. Ditto for the Longs Drug. And yes, even the drugstore was more crowded than usual. I circled twice before I found a parking spot. Entire displays in Trader Joe's were picked clean. The lines were long. I chatted with someone in line who said on the first day of the strike, people panicked.

Panicked? Come on, even drugstores sell food in this country. I'm really only slightly inconvenienced by this. I should do more shopping at local markets, anyway.

I'm a little more ambivalent about the bus strike. The bus Rick takes to UCLA is not affected, because it's a Santa Monica bus that happens to run in LA, not an LA city bus. But still. We have a car, and losing that bus would still be an inconvenience. Imagine having no car, no bus, and trying to get to work. In LA. Very spread-out LA.

I used to think you couldn't survive in LA without a car. You can. I've met plenty of people who do. It's just inconvenient. I bitched a lot about the T when I lived in Boston, because I'd been spoiled by European public transit. But let me tell you, LA buses make Boston look like Berlin. Yet 500,000 people -- the entire population of Boston is 589,141, while we're on the subject -- rely on LA buses. Some are students, but many are the working poor. And a lot of them are going to have a lot of trouble getting to work until this thing is over. I'm sympathetic to unions: they're one of the few pro-worker institutions in this ridiculously corporate land of ours. However, one of the reasons we need unions is to keep the richer from screwing the poorer. With the bus strike, the union members are the richer, compared to the poorer transit riders they're screwing. No one's winning here except the SUV drivers charging $10 a ride to people whose median income is $12,000 a year. (Source: LA Times, free registration required but worth it.)

So I'm not sure I'd honk my horn for the bus mechanics that caused this, if they were picketing by a bus stop. Part of me would want to -- the fight is over health insurance, and that shouldn't be a luxury. Then again, the people stranded at bus stops this morning probably don't have health insurance, either.

A 60-year-old legal secretary quoted in that LA Times article identified the real culprit: "We're the only industrialized nation that doesn't have a national health care system and that's at the root of the problem." Amen.

There's this store chain around here called Big Lots. It's one of those places that sells closeouts, and the stock rotates often. (Former Middletown residents: think Xpect Discount). Cans that are dented but not enough to cause contamination, clumpy drink mix, that sort of thing. And some food that's past its expiration date. Gotta be careful about that.

I bought some Nutella there a while back. "Hmm," I thought, "what's Nutella doing on sale at Big Lots?" Seemed like kind of an upmarket item for this particular store. No matter, I bought some cheap and was happy.

I only recently noticed that my jar of Nutella includes a photo of a certain controversial basketball player, and the tagline "Try Kobe's favorite!"

That explains that particular closeout.

This says just about everything about the results of California's dumb-ass election that I could, and more.

As a happily married woman, I say YUCK

I just returned from voting against Arnold. I phrase it that way because it felt like voting for Clinton in 1996 -- I wasn't so much eager for a second Clinton term as I was disgusted by the idea of President Bob Dole. Bustamante is as much of a clod as any career politician, but he'll do.

I'm used to voting booths where you flick switches and pull a lever, and this was a confusing punch-card system, so I had to ask for help. They had a practice system rigged up for all of us ignoramuses.

"Make sure you punch the hole all the way," advised the polling volunteer.

"Right, or I'll accidentally vote for Pat Buchanan."

She laughed.

Last Saturday night, walking from a barbecue in Santa Monica to our car parked blocks away, I said to Rick, "You know we're at a different place in our lives than your classmates, 'cause we're skipping a kegger to get up early for the county fair."

"County fair" makes you think of Iowa, Illinois, Kansas. Not LA County. But LA County is big, and includes some fairly agricultural areas, so there you go. The LA County Fair, unfortunate tagline, "Kinder. Simpler. Funner." Way to reinforce the stereotype of more rural people as illiterate hicks.

The first thing I noticed, other than the sheer enormity of the Fairplex's parking lot, was the separate line for people with wheelchairs and strollers. (Insert mean joke about children being a handicap.) There were a lot of strollers. In fact, there seemed to be more people in the stroller line than anywhere else. And me without my Klonopin. There was also a disturbing number of people in rented vehicles that one sits in and rides sort of like a motorized golf cart/wheelchair. Nice innovation for the elderly, for whom walking around a large fairground all day might be taxing. However, all the youngish, healthy-looking people riding them gave me pause. Especially the obese ones. If you're morbidly overweight, isn't a nice stroll exactly what you need?

Another thing that made me shake my head only a few minutes into the fair experience was the food. Call me sheltered, but I'd been unfamiliar with deep-fried Twinkies, Oreos, and Snickers bars. (There was a whole Deep-Fried Favorites category in the program's listing of fair food.) The food-on-a-stick genre was also well-represented, with your basic Hot Dog On A Stick supplemented by egg roll on a stick, pork chop on a stick, and -- for your ultimate experience of fried *and* sticked -- mac and cheese on a stick.

I think this might also be the only nation to host competitions based on how fast you can stuff the most food down your gullet. (Nauseating examples here, here, here, and here). And don't forget incredibly oversized portions, such as the Texas Donut.

So it was a relief to stumble into The Vineyard, a sedate, semi-classy building dedicated to wine education. And off in the corner was The Beer Tavern, showcasing the winners of this year's commercial beer competition and offering samples. Alas, it was 10:30 in the morning and we elected to return later.

The next pleasantly air-conditioned building we ducked into was the Education Expo arts exhibit, where we spent some time looking at kiddie art. Some of it was teenage art, actually, and fairly impressive. Particularly the deluxe furniture build by wood-shop geniuses. Tables, desks, and only one gun rack!

Another oddly museum-like exhibit was the building full of living rooms. Huh. This is where I started to think the high price of this fair ($14 for adults on the weekend, though we got in for free, long story) was justified. This thing takes some effort, and it's not just a bunch of cows and oversized zucchinis. That building also had a few rooms of photography. In addition to the usual Artsy Pics and Beautiful Scenery, there were a pleasing number of shots with a sense of humor. In one, a dog looks eagerly out the car window at the little dog in a Legally Blonde billboard. Cute.

For every bit of genuine culture, of course, there must be 5 servings of commercial schmaltz to pay for it. Imagine that you have satellite television, it's 3 a.m., and you can't sleep. Now imagine that every infomercial on every channel has come to life in a series of buildings, so that everywhere you walk, someone is demonstrating a gadget to help you chop your food, clean your floor, or lose 20 pounds. In its own words, "The Fair is the largest consumer products show in the west. There are products and services for sale or display at almost all corners of the grounds," (is this something to be proud of?) "Guests can purchase anything from a small diamond to an in-ground swimming pool, modular home, clothing, kitchen gadgets and home improvement items." Three words: designer toilet seat. A few more: dozens of flavors of beef jerky.

Hidden in the back of some of these buildings dedicated to commerce, you could find the Tapestry of Tradition exhibits, featuring old-fashioned County Fair items like the winners of quilting bees and bake-offs. Display cases full of muffins, cakes, breads, and cookies. Fruit-fly heaven.

A quick break for the greasiest pastrami sandwich in the world. The woman in line in front of me was named "America." Then we were off again to Heritage Square, the educational but hokey recreation of the wild west. (More accurate than the similar displays at German fairs, which imply that cowboys ate ox.) Mostly kiddie fare (wow! pan for gold!) but I was actually interested in the metal spinner, intrigued as I am lately in crafts that would be good to know when the apocalypse comes. This guy had bowls and plates for sale that, while expensive, will probably last long enough for you to will them, in good condition, to your great-grandchildren. Jack Davis is one of only 25 to 50 metalspinners left in this country. He gave a demonstration in which he turned a flat copper disk into a bowl using a giant machine and some odd-looking tools. He made it look easy, but I'm sure it's not (I was reminded of our chance to watch glassblowing this summer, and now I regret never asking my friend Elana in Cambridge if I could watch her make her stained glass.) The website says "Jack is looking for any grants that may be available to assist in keeping this dying craft alive for future generations." I hope he finds them.

Okay. We could escape the animals no longer. Bunnies. Lots of bunnies. Followed by a much stinkier building of cows, goats, pigs, and sheep. Suckling pigs, baby goats, and so on. Much ooh'ing and awww'ing. We even threw dignity to the wind and stood in line for the petting pens, as it's not often city folk get to pat a pig. The milking exhibit gave me a strong craving for a big glass of milk, but by the time I saw the stand where they were (of course) selling big glasses of milk, I'd thought a little harder about the process and decided I'd stick to my overpriced water.

A word about the LA County Fair and water. Most fairs, we've noticed, won't let you bring in any outside food or drink, so we didn't bother trying. What we learned too late -- after we'd left the fair and I was poring over the program -- was that any of the food/drink vendors were required to give out free, small cups of water upon request. Try this at your next public event when bottled water is $2.50!

Next-to-last but not least, the pig races. We went for humor value but apparently there are some people in southern California who take pig races very, very seriously. There was much indignant shouting at those of us who stood in the large space between the bleachers and the pigs. So we all moved -- when the emcee told us to, not in response to the psychotic drunk-on-Bud ravings of the rubes in the bleachers -- but Rick and I decided that a) pig races aren't really funny, b) the emcee's horrible puns were particularly unfunny and c) between the critical mass of small children in the barnyard area and the pig-race hecklers, we were about done with the LA County Fair masses.

We did make one final stop back at the Beer Tavern to sample some tiny cups of brew. (more here for the beer nerds) Some wine drinkers being idiots about the oh-how-icky-BEER they were lowering themselves to taste, but in general, it was nice to be back among our people. Then we left the massively crowded fairgrounds behind.

Our final assessment was: interesting, fun, glad we went, but..aaauuurrgghh! Sea of humanity!

And "funner" is still not a word.

Okay, I lied about what the next entry would be about. Though the county fair is on its way, I had to point this out:
The Census Bureau used the wrong marginal tax rates to calculate after-tax income data for 2001. As a result, the 2002 poverty report released a week ago contains numerous errors in its year-to-year comparisons. In particular, several measurements showed no change in median household income, when in fact there were significant declines. Other figures indicate that child poverty rates remained stable, when they actually may have risen.
The mistake, discovered by the Phoenix, has been verified by officials in the Census Bureau’s Housing and Household Economic Statistics Division, as well as by economists familiar with the data.

The Guterman Index of Economic Indicators is looking better and better.

Catching up on web reading between shifts: An interesting column about suburbs, sprawl, and the American ethos of "Give me convenience or give me death," as Jello Biafra put it. This ties in pretty well with this article (by Andy Serwer, one of the few readable biz journalists out there) about the obscene amount of retail in this country -- "the number of malls is growing faster than the number of babies." Also, "American households owe on average $8,940 on their credit cards, up 173% from 1992, when we had an average outstanding balance of $3,275." Both links via Cyburbia, my favorite source for urban-planning geekery.

Something I've already read, but maybe you haven't: It's nice to see Arnold's crappy behavior towards women finally get some mainstream airplay, but I read this article about it more than a month ago (and probably should have blogged it then). Three cheers for the indie presses. You know the 1977 interview the Governator is in trouble for? Here's a quote from it: Bodybuilders party a lot, and once, in Gold’s — the gym in Venice, California, where all the top guys train — there was a black girl who came out naked. Everybody jumped on her and took her upstairs, where we all got together. Some say this sounds more like gang rape than an orgy and I have to say I agree. (Yes, being naked in a semi-public place full of large men is risky and stupid. No, it's not consent.) I also think it's fair to say bragging about this is worse than lying about an affair with your intern.

Next post, I'll tell you about the LA County Fair.

What middle/high school kids are wearing these days (or at least the kids at the private school where I do catering in the mornings):
* 80's: terrible flourescent colors, skinny rubber bracelets, T-shirts from bands like the Sonic Youth and AC/DC, I even saw a skinny tie today. Bonus points for combining them, like the god-forsaken flourescent pink Ramones shirt I saw yesterday.
* Weird furry boots. Even on 75 degree days. Stinky teenage girl feet!
* The usual unflattering stylistic mishmash of teenagers trying to find themselves
* The crooked-trucker-hat, ironic-thrift-store-T-shirt, artfully-torn-Dickies-work-pants look. These wanna-be working-class fuckers ask me if they can buy one of the hats I'm wearing for work. On one hand, it's really annoying...on the other hand, I was semi-grunge at that age, so I shouldn't talk.
* Converse high-tops. At least there's something good in fashion in high schools in 2003.