Occupy Chicago Event October 10th

Nothing like a lovely Columbus Day, weather in low 70s with brilliant sunshine for a walk in the Loop this afternoon. As one of the 99%--not one of the 1% richest Americans-- I plan to walk in the Occupy Chicago march this afternoon heading for the Art Institute of Chicago.

Why would I do this? Because it matters.

Because as Grandma C I owe it to my grandsons, who one day will ask--where were you Grandma when public education was ended? When the roads became worse than the roads in Guayaquil, Ecuador when you lived in that Third World.

Because it matters that people who naughtily played craps with other people's money--did so with impunity, without public investigation and without Canadian style rules on the banks. If a black man with a three-card monte game did so with my dollars on the street corner--the cops would shut him down faster than you can say the Cubs lost.When bankers do it, we call it business as usual.

Because taxing the wealthy who got rich either from the lucky gene club (by inheritance) or by using the public infrastructure owe the public a return on that public investment.

So it is time to take a walk to be counted.

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  • I'm not in the top 1%. I'm not a billionaire, not even close. But I'm happy. I have a good job. I'm having sex on a regular basis with several women with big breasts. I'm not starving. I'm eating well. I'm healthy. But most importantly, I'm having sex with several women with big breasts. Also, I'm having sex with several women with big breasts.

  • You're awesome.

  • Let me know how many people you meet at the protest that have ever taken a college level economics class and gotten a B or better in the class.

  • Well said, thank you!

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    Candace Drimmer

    I was an accidental expatriate; love and marriage led me to it. One day I was a bandy-legged kid sitting atop my dogwood tree looking out of my small backyard world in 1950s New Jersey, wanting to move somewhere--anywhere, different. Next thing I knew my father had accepted a job in Houston TX. I was ecstatic, it was a foreign land in 1961 America. After high school graduation, my parents’ gave me a matched set of fawn-colored hardsided American Tourister luggage. Taking the hint, I went to college; well four colleges in five years--it was the 60s after all. Meeting a young hirsute anti-war, soon-to-be-Peace Corps volunteer, I fell in love. After finishing up college coursework for my degree, but before I even walking a graduation stage, I grabbed the paper airline ticket my boyfriend had sent me, my brand-new passport, and was off to the airport and Lima, Peru.

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