Sep 24, 2008
Sep 22, 2008
Sep 21, 2008
petition
Subject: No blank check for Wall Street.
Dear Friend,
Congress is on the brink of making a one-sided deal to give George W. Bush a blank check to bail out his pals - offering nearly (or perhaps more than) a trillion taxpayer dollars to Wall Street to cover its bad debts. That works out to somewhere between $2000 and $5000 from every American family. So what do the taxpayers get in return?
Nothing. No new regulation or oversight to help avoid this kind of crisis in the future. No public interest givebacks to help people whose homes are in the hands of the banks. Perhaps most shockingly of all, the taxpayers get absolutely no share in the profits if and when these finance giants bounce back, even though we are now assuming a great deal of the risk.
This is worse than a bad deal - this isn't a deal at all. This is a blank check to some of the richest companies in the world.
I just signed a petition calling on key members of Congress to impose a few sensible conditions to this bailout in order to protect the American people -- I hope you will too.
Please have a look and take action.
http://act.credoaction.com/campaign/no_blank_check/?r_by=-1841693-zaUmmwx&rc=paste
ThanksSep 18, 2008
Sep 17, 2008
Remember that theater doing Food For Fish in Baltimore?
They were named Best New Theater in City Paper's Best Of Baltimore
We're Gonna Frickin' Lose this Thing
Don Hall http://donhall.blogspot.com/
points us to this article by Adam McKay
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/adam-mckay/were-gonna-frickin-lose-t_b_124772.html
Sep 15, 2008
Sep 14, 2008
Palin Monologue
Unknown Theater in LA had a call for short plays about Sarah Palin. I wrote this:
Sarah Palin sucked the soul out of my cat. She did. I saw her do it. Blood was dripping down her fangs. My kitten, Fluffy by name, was torn open and her tiny guts were pouring out onto the pavement all over Sarah’s PTA dress. “Wait, I said. That’s my cat.” But by then she had picked up her automatic and semi automatic and strapped grenades to her chest and jumped on the back of a camouflage truck. “Northward!” she screeched and the tires kicked up dirt all over Fluffy as they sped away. Four years ago it would have been snow, not dirt. “The old man is dead,” she had said as they drove away. “Tomorrow we go to war with Russia and Pakistan and Switzerland. We will bomb the fuck out of them. But first, let’s go kill us some polar bears.”
And she was gone. And my cat was gone. And my wife had gone the year before, because we were denied health coverage when it turned out she had cancer. I had nothing. Not even Fluffy. And that’s when I began to make the bombs in my basement. And that’s when I began to dream of Sarah.
Sep 13, 2008
Sep 12, 2008
Sep 11, 2008
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