Being 'Not' American

What does it mean to be an American? The first thing that it means is that you're so arrogant as to think that the United States is the only country in the world that comprises "America," and so when you say "I'm an American" you don't mean those damned "Mexicans," Mexicans here being a term used interchangeably to describe anyone with brown skin that speaks Spanish. To you, the term 'American' is one that you monopolize for yourself, one whose significance you either forget or ignore. To you, the term 'American' doesn't apply to immigrants, whether illegal or not, forgetting that only a few generations ago, your ancestors were themselves immigrants.

Those ancestors struggled, were paid nothing, and were despised just as much as you loathe those lazy Mexicans. Nevermind the fact that you epitomize the term 'lazy' and you wouldn't have the first clue what hard work truly is. Nevermind the fact that you haven't struggled a day in your life, unless you consider 'struggle' to be that time your power went out and you weren't able to watch UFC or Smackdown. You complain that they're taking your jobs and wasting your taxpayer money, but it's highly likely that you fall into an income bracket where taxation isn't one of your major concerns and the types of jobs that they're 'stealing' are ones you'd never consider lowering yourself to take. Nevermind the fact that you don't actually know a single 'Mexican.'

What else does it mean to be an American? It means you value your personal space above all else, that you live in a world of your very own, and that you care very little about the privacy or well-being of your neighbors. It means you think the other nations of the world should stay out of your business and that you should be able to play global warming tug-of-war with China to your heart's content. It means that you can complain about the environment, but continue to drive an SUV because you're paying "Carbon Credits" and that makes it okay. It means that you believe there is no problem a bunch of money can't fix. It means that you can police the world, but the world is out of line when it tries to resist you, so fuck those fascists!

What else does it mean to be an American? It means that you have more debt than you have assets, that you have no savings, that you'll never be able to pay off your credit cards, and you'll never be able to retire. It means that you are individually representative of the state of your nation, that your life is worse than your parents', your children will not have a better life than you, and their children will have a worse life than that. It means that you've sat on your ass and watched it happen, that your apathy has gotten the better of you, and that you wouldn't know how to fix things at this point even if you wanted to.

What else does it mean to be an American? It means that you are not particularly concerned about what I've just said because you're a greedy, ignorant, self-absorbed, racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, jingoistic, and megalomaniacal piece of shit. It means that the rest of the world laughs at you and your sense of entitlement, and it means that you need a serious attitude adjustment. It also means that in a few years, when the United States is part of the third world, your country is not going to elicit very much sympathy from its creditors. Maybe you should start playing nice with those creditors now?

One day, I will not be an 'American' and I won't regret that decision for a second. The false patriot's typical retort when one criticizes their government or country is to say "love it or leave it." In my case, I'll be overjoyed to oblige them. Others have said that it's not a good idea to give up dual citizenship, that it's convenient to have a US Passport. Well, I'd rather be inconvenienced than call myself an 'American.' Maybe if what it means to be an American should ever change, then so will my opinion, but I don't see that happening soon.

Sono un Cittadino Italiano!

Well, today ended a year and a half long mission of gathering documents, being ripped off (by myitaliancitizenship.com), driving from Phoenix to Los Angeles, and crossing my fingers. In the mail today, only four months after applying, I received official confirmation from the Los Angeles Consulate that my citizenship has been recognized and that I can apply for my passport. I want to thank Raffaella Buiano at the LA consulate who was incredibly helpful and gladly expedited the process for me. I also want to thank the people at The Italian Citizenship Message Board, for their advice, and for providing the birth certificate request translations that worked incredibly well!

The Seven Deadly Sins

The United States is a very Christian country, and so I'm sure that we good Americans know about the Seven Cardinal Sins that destroy grace in the eyes of God and condemn us to eternal damnation. Considering our knowledge of these sins, we obviously go out of our way to avoid them, don't we?

Lust: Easily our favorite sin, which is why hollywood continues to crank out talentless whores like this one. You'd rather see something that's easy on the eyes than be forced to think.

Gluttony: At least 23% of the world's obese population live right here! And since that number's growing daily, you'll eventually be one of them (if you're not already). Stop eating!

Greed: It's not just AIG that's greedy. There's a good chance you are, too! When's the last time you donated to a charity or purchased a sensibly sized television or automobile? Not ever!

Sloth: God gave you feet, lady, use them! Last month, Honda unveiled an electric unicycle that allows people to travel around their houses at 3mph without standing up. America will be its best customer.

Wrath: 3,000 of our people die, so we attack the wrong country. Our occupations are responsible for over 1 million deaths, and our 'peace loving' President is causing that number to rise daily.

Envy: If he can be president, so can I! So what if I have no experience? I want what he has: vast power with no idea how to wield it responsibly.

Pride: No words can express the joy I feel when I see bumper stickers proclaiming the pride one feels for simply having been born in a country to which they barely contribute. It brings a tear to the eye.

Saying Goodbye

My grandmother just passed away. She left this world much as she lived her life, peacefully, and I'm happy for both of those things.

On CNN.com, there was a poll where 81% of those responding claimed that 'Love' is more important than 'Work.' Well, if that's the case, then why are most Americans miserable? Why do they work themselves to death with nearly no hope for advancement, and deriving almost no happiness from it?

I received a call from the Italian Consulate in Los Angeles yesterday. They told me that my Italian citizenship has been officially recognized and that I will receive papers (including a passport application) on or around November 11th. So one door closes while another opens, I suppose.

I will miss her and how she always confused me with my cousins. I honestly think she did it on purpose, perhaps a soft jab at my not visiting quite often enough. I probably deserved it.

Dignity

Like most people, I have two grandmothers, and each couldn’t be more different from the other. Charlotte, my father’s mother, can only be described as an unstoppable force. Indeed, even after suffering an aneurism and having the doctor tell her that she must stop chain smoking and drinking two pots of coffee per day, she continues to do so, possibly fearing that to stop would result in her dying from boredom. She’s incredibly active, loud, outspoken, argumentative, and sharp as a tack, even if her hearing is starting to go.

Frances, my mother’s mother, is quite the opposite. She was born with a hearing impairment, and as a result, has to be very attentive to follow a conversation. She is soft spoken, and doesn’t like to argue, preferring instead to go with the flow, even if it means suffering fools. She’s fiercely independent, never asking for assistance, and hating to burden her family. Since the passing of my grandfather, her health has deteriorated, and now she is dying.

When I walked into the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit of Massachusetts General Hospital, I really had no idea what to expect. The waiting room was full of people, speaking as if they were at a cocktail mixer. How bad could it possibly be? As I walked down the hall, turning the corner to approach the bays where patients were being treated, I saw a woman in front of me, alone in a room, pale, sunken, lifeless. For a brief second, I thought to myself “I pity the family she belongs to because there’s no hope for her… Now, where’s my grandmother?”

As I got closer to the bays, looking at the areas that had just entered my field of vision, I scanned them for my grandmother. There were family members in both of those bays, none of whom belonged to my family. My attention was drawn again to the woman laying in the center bay, and I could suddenly feel my lungs empty, as if every last drop off air was being forcefully suctioned from them. It was her. She was nearly unrecognizable.

She is suffering from Septic Shock, probably the result of a Urinary Tract Infection. Septic Shock, like its little brother Sepsis, is no fun at all. An infection in the patient’s blood stream causes systemic organ disfunction. In her case, her kidneys failed first, requiring a constant connection to a dialysis machine. Then, her blood pressure began to plummet and her breathing became impaired, requiring intubation and a constant drip of dobutamine, fentanyl, and midazolam to keep her in stable, but critical, condition.

It went on like this for nearly two weeks, during which they feared she may have suffered a stroke. Only two days ago did they take her off of her sedative. When she awoke, she was able to open her eyes in response to auditory and physical stimuli, but she’d look through you, neither recognizing you nor able to discern what she was looking at. The woman I knew as my grandmother never woke from that slumber. She was in pain, both physical and emotional, fearing the unknown, hating the cruel joke that life had played on her.

Yesterday, after acknowledging that her sepsis had yet to be quelled, the doctor finally proposed what we had been dreading to hear. He told us that it may be time to slowly remove my grandmother’s life support and allow her to pass peacefully rather than suffer in misery for the rest of her life. My grandmother, a woman who refused to be helped while crossing the street, did not want to burden her children, and if she could, would never agree to nursing home care. Instead, she’d insist on returning to her apartment, and would hope to quickly return to her walks around the neighborhood. This is not to be.

Tomorrow, the doctors at Mass General will begin to remove the drugs and machines that are keeping my grandmother alive. She will pass in her sleep, without pain, and without ever having to see her children torn apart, watching her wither away in a nursing home. She is Frances Madeline LaCava-Barter, and she will be missed more than she can possibly imagine.

My Album is now on iTunes Music Store

And now for a bit of blatant self-promotion...

My album ('The Magician') is now available worldwide on iTunes Music Store. It is my first album, and does a good job of representing where my head has been (musically) over the past couple of years. I'd like to break even on the project, so if you like late 1970s/early 1980s post-punk music, please consider purchasing a copy.

You can find the album here. iTunes Music Store should redirect you to a version of the album for sale in your country, but if not, just search for "Thom Bradford" and you'll find it.

You can listen to some of the songs at my page on MySpace.

Customer Rape - It's the Bank of America Way!

Let's say that on Monday morning, you have twenty dollars in your bank account. You use your debit card to buy a coffee in the morning for two dollars and then a sandwich in the afternoon for three dollars. And by the way, those prices are unrealistic, as everyone knows a cup of coffee costs around five dollars these days.

Anyway, you do the same thing on Tuesday and Wednesday, buying a cup of coffee and a sandwich. How much will you have left in your bank account come Thursday? Five dollars or negative two-hundred sixty-one dollars?

The answer is negative two-hundred sixty-one dollars. Why? Well, you forgot about a check that you wrote for twenty-one dollars, and that check appeared on your account just after midnight on Thursday morning. "But wait," you point out "that should only bring your balance to negative sixteen dollars plus a single overdraft fee," and in a logical world, you would be absolutely correct. Unfortunately, you're dealing with Bank of America in the real world.

Here's how it would work in a logical world

(overdraft in red)

How is this possible? Well, Bank of America, like most banks, registers pending transactions, and posts them in a batch every few days. Unlike many banks, Bank of America doesn't post those pending transactions in chronological order, they post them in order of monetary value from highest to lowest dollar amount, making it far more likely that an overdraft will occur sooner in the batch.

So on Thursday morning, instead of the check triggering a single overdraft, as you would expect, that check is the first item processed, immediately sending your account into overdraft and triggering an overdraft fee for every subsequent item.

Here's how it works in the world owned by Bank of America

(overdrafts in red)

So what should have been an ending balance of negative fifty-one dollars (negative sixteen minus a thirty-five dollar overdraft fee) instead becomes negative two-hundred sixty-one dollars because you're charged seven overdraft fees instead of one.

What's worse is that even if your paycheck goes through at exactly the same time on Thursday and you have sufficient funds to cover all pending items, you'll still be charged these overdraft fees because Bank of America will back-date posting of the twenty-one dollar check to Wednesday, even though it didn't appear on your account until Thursday at midnight.

Is this how banks should treat their customers?

Bank of America seems to think so because they've been doing this for years. They're almost proud of it, claiming in their automated response to my inquiries that their customers actually like their transactions to be processed in this way because it makes it easier for them to read their statements.

I'm a software engineer, and I know a little something about how software is written. The way that something is displayed to the user and how it is stored and processed behind the scenes are two entirely different things. So when Bank of America tries to use the excuse that people like being raped, I immediately have to call 'bullshit!'

This year, a class action lawsuit was filed and won against Bank of America for this very practice. BofA settled, unwilling to admit any wrongdoing, and will be giving everyone who responded a check for seventy-eight dollars. (Didn't you get the memo? I certainly didn't) Yet they continue the practice to this day. Why? The answer is quite simple, because they make far more money raping people with artificial overdraft fees than they could ever lose in court settlements.

The economy is bad right now, and people are hurting, including me. Banks got bailout money from the government whereas the American public did not. For Bank of America to now turn around after taking forty-five billion in TARP funds (taxpayer dollars) and gouge us for even more money with these practices is completely unacceptable.

As the victim of this practice, I threatened to leave Bank of America as a customer as well as take legal action predicated on knowledge of their class action settlement and got yet another automated response that they wouldn't be reversing the charges. I'll be leaving Bank of America at the end of the month, and I suggest you do the same.

(NOTE: I'm told that several other banks do this as well, including Wells Fargo and Chase, but I can't confirm that information)