By Molly Osberg, at The Awl:
Actually working at Starbucks wasn’t cool by any stretch of the imagination. It was my first and only corporate job, with its corresponding dress code (khakis, collared shirts, no tattoos) and business practices standardized to a point well past common sense (the temperature, I was told, was controlled remotely, from an office at HQ in the Midwest).
I worked with a number of rosy-cheeked middle-aged women who could quote the company’s binders of promotional materials verbatim. They anticipated Pumpkin Spice Latte season with a terrifying, giddy excitement. One had a "How to Make a Mocha" poster hung in her home, above her living room couch. On the weekends, they got together with their boyfriends—many of whom worked at a Starbucks across town—and made cocktails out of Starbucks-branded coffee liqueur. The motivational posters and the mandatory lunch breaks and the incremental raises every six months or so, practices ripped straight from a corporate (albeit paper-pushing) culture increasingly on the downswing, created an effusive sense of brand identification among its employees I hadn’t imagined before and haven't seen since.
I transferred stores twice, and though I wouldn’t recognize it until later, there was already something uniquely banal about my interactions with the customers at Starbucks.
She later moves on to independent coffee shops, including one in Greenpoint where the application asks her to list her five favorite bands and answer the question, "New York Magazine or The New Yorker?" She experiences the "solidarity economy" as well as "the practice of exploiting a vulnerable service class to build a playground for the wealthy." And... Well, you just need to read the whole thing.
Rain City Rock Camp for Girls hosts its annual benefit concert tonight at Chop Suey. (This Seattle organization holds summer day camps and year-round programs that are dedicated to building positive self-esteem in girls and encouraging creative expression through music.) Leading the festivities are Carson and Tess Henley, local siblings who have carved out their own musical careers but frequently perform together onstage. Whether they have a full band behind them, or are stripped down to a keyboard and a cajón, the brother-sister duo exude a type of joyful and timeless soul music, channeling the likes of Earth, Wind & Fire. For some nervier jams, check out Cryptobebelem, whose trip-wire songs build suspense and hold down steady grooves while also showing a lot of heart. They sound like the score to a high-flying and paranoid action movie that’s actually worth seeing. And if you need any more reasons to attend, there will also be raucous camper bands and sharpie tattoos. 6 pm, $10/$12 DOS.
And here's all our recommended music events—tonight, tomorrow, and beyond!
(Neumos) Austin, Texas retro-metal outfit the Sword’s initial traditional approach of black-light-poster medieval imagery and chugging doom riffs was cliché but well-executed, but 2010’s Warp Riders and 2012’s Apocryphon took different approaches in terms of both sound and thematic content, ditching the Dark Ages for outer space and other mythological subjects and moving to a more classic-sounding hard-rock style. Though this new stuff isn’t necessarily better than the old, the band seems to be doing something right, as they have recently been featured on soundtracks of big-budget Hollywood films and released their own line of hot sauces and beers (so metal). Locally founded Big Business manage to do way more with less—that is, make louder, better-sounding records with fewer members/publicity moves. MIKE RAMOS
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You can read Trent Moorman's interview with the Sword here »
(Snoqualmie Casino) Some people are dicks about musical legends who keep touring later into their lives. Those people, are, obviously, dicks. If you love Joan Jett, go to this thing. Celebrate badassery, rocking out, not giving a shit about your reputation. Woohoo! If you don’t care about Joan Jett, you can fix that easily in three steps. (1) Go watch The Runaways, a movie about her first band. It has the most feminist opening shot in film history: a drop of period blood falling to the pavement. FUCK THE PATRIARCHY. (2) Read about how she had to self-release the album now known as Bad Reputation because no major labels wanted it. Suck on this, ya dumb suits! And (3) is a duh: Listen to her music. Go do it immediately, it’s easy! Now: Don’t you fall into the “if you love Joan Jett” category? Good. You know what to do. ANNA MINARD
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And here's all our recommended music events—tonight, tomorrow, this weekend, and beyond!
Of all the female archetypes in need of feminist reclamation, the wicked stepmother probably has the fewest defenders. And for good reason! An adult who spends a whole lot of her life being jealous of a child doesn't exactly engender sympathy in readers. In her new novel, Boy, Snow, Bird (Riverhead Books, $27.95), Helen Oyeyemi contributes a doozy of an unsympathetic wicked stepmother to the tradition. Here's Boy Novak, a young woman with a troubled past, first laying eyes on Snow, the young daughter of the wealthy man Boy hopes to make her husband:
I watched the women watching Snow. Their reverence was over the top. Sure, she was an extraordinary-looking kid. A medieval swan maiden, only with the darkest hair and the pinkest lips, every shade at its utmost. She was like a girl in a Technicolor tapestry, sure, sure, but... they'd had a while to get used to her, and acting like that every time they laid eyes on her seemed to me like the fastest way to build an insufferable brat.
It could be the start of a memorable and delicious feud, except one of the participants, remember, is a 6-year-old girl. (As Boy judges Snow with the harshness adults usually reserve for rivals, Snow peppers her stepmother-to-be with questions: "Do you like cookies? Do you like cold water? Do you like elephants? How do you spell 'genius'? Can you jump rope? How are ya today? What does 'genius' mean?") Soon enough, Boy has insinuated her way into the family, and she gives birth to a daughter of her own, named Bird. This family isn't big enough for the four of them.
But big businesses would have to pay $15 an hour right away. "The mayor said he is concerned about very small businesses. Let’s take that off the table here today," Sawant said at the rally yesterday. "Let’s support both small businesses and human services by phasing them in over three years starting with $11 an hour on January 1st, with an inflation increase, with regular steps [toward] $15 each year."
As for Target and McDonald's? "Big business, all industries, with no exceptions will pay $15 an hour on January 1st, 2015 to all workers," Sawant proposes.
The devil's in the details—how do you define what a big business is? Do franchises count? What other policy mechanisms will be in place to make this work?—and we will be digging into the specifics of this proposal over the next few days. But on its face, Sawant's proposal sounds like a good idea to me. It provides independent businesses who give the city its character a competitive edge over the giant sucking sound of multinational corporations. It gives nonprofits more time to figure out how to adapt to rising costs. And it floods the market with cash in the pockets of all those McDonald's and Target employees, much of which will be spent locally.
So... it sounds like the hate machine founded by Fred Phelps—Westboro Baptist Church—has turned on its founder:
Some online sources are reporting that Fred Phelps Sr., pastor of the Westboro Baptist Church, a Topeka church known for its virulently anti-gay pickets, may be near death.... The reports are mostly based on a late Saturday Facebook post by Nathan Phelps, one of Fred Phelps Sr.’s children. “He is now on the edge of death at Midland Hospice house in Topeka, Kansas,” Nathan Phelps wrote....
Nathan Phelps, who exited the church years ago, asserted that his father “was excommunicated from the ‘church’ back in August of 2013.” Writing about his father’s condition, Nathan Phelps added: “I’m not sure how I feel about this. Terribly ironic that his devotion to his god ends this way. Destroyed by the monster he made. “I feel sad for all the hurt he’s caused so many. I feel sad for those who will lose the grandfather and father they loved. And I’m bitterly angry that my family is blocking the family members who left from seeing him, and saying their good-byes.”
Excommunicated from Westboro Baptist? What? Had Phelps grown too old and infirm to hate hard enough for the toxic little shits he fathered, raised, and poisoned? The Phelps family, of course, has picketed the funerals of gay hate-crime victims, soldiers killed in battle, beloved celebrities, and many others. Fred Phelps' funeral should be entertaining.
What we need are more great electronic shows in Georgetown. Right? This one here—the first edition of a new experimental-music monthly called Elevator, and run by Kirsten Thom and Matty McBride—is a positive step in that direction. Rene Hell (aka Minneapolis musician Jeff Witscher) ranks as one of the country's foremost proponents of beautifully decadent ambient music. On albums like 2010's Porcelain Opera, he carried the legacy of Coil's diseased symphonies to all tomorrow's dank dungeons. Last year's Vanilla Call Option on PAN opts for disjointed, pointillist, and metallic abstractions that recall Ryoji Ikeda and Iannis Xenakis—and machinery going haywire. These jittery, disorienting tracks hit like ice picks to your brain. Raica (producer/DJ/Further Records co-owner Chloe Harris) has become one of Seattle's most interesting creators of gloomy, cold-blooded electronic music. Her new cassette on Further, Motorsatz, contains 60 minutes of scary-ass, isolationist synth fuckery that has that early-'70s German feel, in the foreboding vein of Kluster, Schnitzler, Seesselberg. With Haniwa Horse. Machine House Brewery, 8 pm, $10, all ages.
The Sword's intro for "The Hidden Masters" has bass and clean guitar walking out paired together. They shadow each other's notes unhurried as drums fall in. A screaming riff is next, burrowing in an additional layer. When vocalist/guitar player J.D. Cronise enters the darkened realm, you are ready. His delivery is a foreboding monotone à la Ozzy Osbourne. Cronise moans a warning: "Your gilded houses will give no shelter when the heavens fall/Your sacred tomes will give no answers when the masters call." It's a step away from the Sword's usual gallop and fire metal. Besides Sabbath, the song's hesitation echoes Zeppelin's "Dazed and Confused" (which is actually Jake Holmes's song) and Golden Earring's "Radar Love." Some have condemned the Sword for sounding too much like Sabbath and other bands. But at some point, isn't all rock derivative? Does Cronise sound too similar to Ozzy? Have fun debating that. If you don't like the Sword, don't listen to them, and don't go to the show. The Sword will miss you from the bottom of their hearts. Guitarist Kyle Shutt spoke, from somewhere near Albany, New York.
And here's all our recommended music events—tonight, tomorrow, this weekend, and beyond!
More than 400 people in Seattle streets today for a $15 minimum wage. pic.twitter.com/ANJWOmy0biKIRO's Natasha Chen says Sawant proposed "big businesses ALL pay $15/hr by Jan 1st, no tip penalty, no 'total comp', no teen wages," and for "small businesses and human services [it] should be phased in OVER 3 YEARS, starting $11/hr."
— Dominic Holden (@dominicholden) March 15, 2014
Medical Pot On the Chopping Block: "Durkan said Friday that all medical-marijuana dispensaries in the state are illegal."
Liberal Democracy Is Flourishing In Afghanistan: Hamid Karzai is on his way out, and somehow all ten of the presidential candidates who might succeed him aren't opposed to US troops staying in the country
Menace to Society: Explosive oil trains have infiltrated the Bay Area, despite attempts to keep them out.
You Don't Say? The International Monetary Fund, reversing decades of pushing neoliberal privatization schemes on poor countries like a bad drug, now favors "progressive redistribution—national tax and spending policies that are purposefully tilted in favor of the poor."
Why Are We Enabling the Rise of Fascists in Ukraine? "Given our own hypocrisy—don't violate agreements (except the one not to expand NATO eastward), don't invade countries on phony pretexts (except Iraq) and don't support minority secession movements (except Kosovo)—why wouldn't we want to restore U.S. credibility by living up to our principles in this critical case?"
Collapse Going Mainstream: Usually you hear predictions of civilization-wide collapse from fringe elements (though I have a journalism professor from back in the day who's been writing thoughtfully about apocalypse for years). Here's a NASA-funded study that says there's no way around it: elites in industrial countries need to stop consuming so damn much.
Where I am:
The Marijuana Business Association Vendor Fair runs through Sunday at Magical Butter Studios, 2225 1st Ave S in Sodo. Organizer David Rheins tells me the Association's goal is to promote new cannabis businesses that are sprouting all around our post-legalization landscape.
About twenty pot-industry vendors set up tables in a second-story, ramshackle warehouse-turned-event-center in Seattle's industrial neighborhood. The business fair is a small but energetic environment for cannabis entrepreneurs to network.
As a reminder that marijuana can make for awkward social interactions, studio manager and Magical Butter machine seller Jeremy Cooper singled me out as media and asked me to leave the building as the event was closing. But other than the artless and counterintuitive eviction, the MJBA Vendor Fair was all positive energy and worth checking out. Hours are 11 a.m. - 5 p.m and tickets are $20 at the door.
The drum sounds on Battlefields Forever are so ripe and full. I hear them and feel like a baby nursing life from a teet packed with milk and nutrition. And I mix it with protein powder. “Chump Chance” comes on and I become an infant wanting to pull from mommy’s dunes of life. Coady Willis spoke. They were having major van trouble about 100 miles outside Chicago.
What do you guys think about nursing? What do you think about public nursing? Were you nursed?
Willis: I don't remember. It must have left an impression though, everyone I've ever been attracted to is a mammal. Jared says he is pro public nursing and that's all he has to say about that.
Combining the stylish science-fiction jams of Glass Candy and the far-out danceability of the Carrie Nations, Atomic Bride high kick their way into the deepest corners of spacey psychedelia and blaze their own unoccupied niche in the Seattle music scene. Though their groovy ’60s influences are transparent, their originality guarantees they’re more than a retro act. With a rhythm section of danceable, heavy bass lines and visceral drumming to bring the band back into the earthly stratosphere, the result is catchy, nervy songs, complemented by co-vocalists Astra Elane’s Shocking Blue-worthy contributions and Chris Cool’s Cramps-by-way-of-Thurston Moore delivery. Adding to their eclectic mix of influences, Atomic Bride’s most recent release, Electric Order, was produced by industrial-music superstar Bill Rieflin. Come bask in their nuclear glow within the dark underbelly of Barboza. With Gladiators Eat Fire, Ghost Town Riot and Keaton Collective. BREE MCKENNA
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(Highline) “Assholes Unite!” This seems to be the self-proclaimed slogan for this Derelicts reunion show—the first time these ye-olde-timey Seattle punks have played in 21 years. The Derelicts formed in 1987, but they were NOT a part of that Seattle scene that was about to explode (the one that rhymes with “sponge”)—the Derelicts played faster, messier, more hardcore music—describing it as “punk fueled by alcohol and hate!” They released music on both Empty Records and Sub Pop. There were still live shows at the Vogue downtown, you could still buy vinyl at Fallout Records, and other bands like Gas Huffer and the Gits were just getting their start. I hear the Derelicts used to cover one of my favorite punk anthems of all time, originally by Frantix, called “My Dad’s a Fuckin’ Alcoholic.” If they play this, I will shotgun a fuckin’ Rainier. With Last Gasp, Tom Price Desert Classic and the Lucky Boys. KELLY O
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Charming, poetic, and slyly subversive, The Boy at the Edge of Everything—a world premiere by Finegan Kruckemeyer—is, on its surface, the story of two boys who need each other. Simon (a fresh-faced and vibrant Trick Danneker), a 12 year-old living on Earth, is harried and overscheduled with math club, tae kwon do, swim class, computer club, Chinese-language homework ("Which is crazy," he tells us, "'cause when you're 12, the words home and work shouldn't even go together"), and the rest of the busyness of life. He tries to remember his parents' advice, to "try and find a minute for myself, between all the everyone-else-minutes," but it's tough when everyone else wants him to be either working or engaged in some structured, self-improving "hobby" that is really just another appendage of work. He needs a little do-nothing time.
The other boy (Quinn Armstrong, equally fresh-faced but calmer and more reflective) lives at the far edge of the expanding universe, his house perched right on the border between Everything and Nothing, and he's bored. Though he builds intergalactic train sets, practices alien instruments ("like the Chehhhurnu, which has lots of buttons and sounds like water being emptied from a bathtub"), reads books about other planets, and "binocularises" the people living on these other worlds, he needs company.
Due to a misunderstanding, Simon's parents think he wants to be an astronaut, and they cook up an adventure. They dress him in a firefighter jacket and a diving bell, stuff him in his mom's old saltwater-float/meditation tank (from when she, as Simon puts it, went through her middle-class "transcendental Vishnu yoga phase"), and are going to shove him off the roof onto a pile of hay bales so he can experience the thrill of liftoff. Things go awry, a cache of fireworks explodes, and Simon is launched to the far end of the universe where he lands in the Boy at the Edge of Everything's garden.
From this week's I, Anonymous:
Way to go, tagging your deep message of "fire to the prisons" on the historic, family-owned, inexpensive apartment building. I did notice meanwhile that the new development of soul-sucking, corporate-owned shitbox condos right across the street was neither tagged nor set fire to. Excellent choice and very ballsy of you. I really have to say, though, you really stuck it to the man—that man being me, the blue-collar, clock-punching proletariat who had to paint over your musing. I feel so ashamed to be a puppet of the corporations, painting over the substance and depth of your message, but I cannot help it, I am a prisoner to the mighty dollar. Fuck me, right? In short, stay in the suburbs—and when mom and dad send the next check to cover your tuition, instead of buying cans of spray paint, buy a giant rubber fist and spend your valuable evenings fucking yourself with it. Whatever your cause may be, I'm now wholly against it, as, to paraphrase Marx (that's Groucho, by the way), I'd never belong to any club that would have you as a member. Viva Le Douchebag!
Join the fiery, Godwin's Law-proving debate in the I, Anonymous comments.
Susan Cahill has been offering family practice services in Kalispell, Montana since 1976. She has provided abortions as one part of her comprehensive reproductive healthcare model—and this is why she was targeted by an anti-choice extremist. The damage at All Families Healthcare has been described by Susan Cahill as "a total loss." All of the equipment was systematically destroyed, records were trashed, and personal effects, including pictures and cards, were purposefully ruined. Susan Cahill and all of the staff at All Families Healthcare need our support—emotionally and financially! Read her own inspiring words in a letter to the editor for the Daily Interlake.
Violence by the Rakhine ethnic group, driven by an extreme Buddhist ideology, has led tens of thousands of Rohingya to flee in the last 18 months through smuggling rings that pledge to take them to Malaysia, a Muslim country that quietly accepts the desperate newcomers.
I didn't know buddhist extremists were a thing—a violent, xenophobic, murderous thing—until pretty recently. I suppose there are bomb-throwing Unitarians out there somewhere too.
Don't Forget: The $15 minimum wage rally is this afternoon!
So Say We All: "Tear Down the Damn Viaduct Already!"
Paul Ryan Is More Than Just Racist: He also doesn't understand that cities are better than suburbs.
Who'd'a Thunk It? A higher minimum wage doesn't kill jobs.
Constructive Criticism: Long stretches of roads in Seattle have no sidewalks. Does the Seattle City Council want to kill us?
Digital Tipping: Is bullshit.
Book-Buying Gone Wrong: Mars Hill Church admits that it paid a PR firm to place Pastor Mark Driscoll's book on the New York Times Bestseller List.
Who Bagged Lenin? Charles Mudede investigates.
An Important Conversation: Hugo House executive director Tree Swenson wants to talk about building a literary arts center.
Idolizing or Fetishizing? Danielle Henderson says that Lupita Nyong'o doesn't need your permission to be beautiful.
Go Stick a Pie in Your Talk-Hole: Going to a show tonight? Dave Segal wants you to shut up and enjoy the music that you paid to see.
Get Happy: Songs to get you out of your rut.
No, They're Not Anatomically Correct Gummy Bears: Emily Nokes writes about adult-flavored gummy bears and sophisticated Easter candy.
Fuck a "Vaping" E-cigarettes are here to stay, so we need to come up with a better word for e-smoking.
Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah: This is what summer camp drag looks like.
GO TO THIS MARCH TODAY—1pm at Judkins Park: After all, the mayor's income inequality committee is stacked with unabashed capitalists—haven't they heard how broken that system is? And rather than let them define the agenda (or perhaps because of their hidden one), Kshama Sawant will announce her specific proposal for how raise the minimum wage at the event. Go!
Amazon Will Build A Warehouse in Kent: Remember when Amazon had to be shamed at its shareholder meeting into installing air conditioning at its warehouses? Kent's mayor says this is an example of attracting "high-tech" industry, but the area's relative poverty and low-cost workforce are probably what did the trick. The casual adoption of Amazon's corpo-speak—"fulfillment centers"—by the Associated Press, by the way, is upsetting.
Liberal Democracy Is Flourishing In Iraq: Thankfully nobody who advocated for that invasion was hounded out of public life or prosecuted or anything.
Like For Example, Our Dour Head Diplomat: Indeed, so very dour-looking after failed talks with Russia over Ukraine.
I'm A Soccer Fan, Not A FIFA Fan: Is there such a thing as an ethical international sporting event? Does it exist?
For-Profit Prisons Are Even More Racist Than Regular Ones: There's a notorious one in Tacoma where a hunger strike by immigrants is entering its second week.
Whoa, Washington Democrats Stood for Something! They looked Department of Education Secretary Arne Duncan in the eye over No Child Left Behind, and he appears to have blinked.
Did you know?
It used to be that people employed the term "wall of sound" to describe the studio production work of now-convicted murderer/hairpiece cautionary tale Phil Spector. But bands of today provide an all-consuming product well beyond anything Spector did with the Ronettes or anyone else. Seattle four-piece Constant Lovers are one of those bands: Everything about their sound is mammoth, imposing, and—incidentally—a total blast.
And all that is a bit ironic considering the demeanor of frontman Joel Cuplin—the quartet's loudest quadrant. You may know him as the mild-mannered, conscientious, and skilled bartender behind some of the more quality bar tops in the city (formerly Liberty and Pettirosso, and currently Pioneer Square's Bar Sajor). That a quarter of his left front tooth is completely chipped off is perhaps the only hint of the Mr. Hyde that appears onstage for a Constant Lovers set: a possessed and formidable yowler not unlike Michael Gira, behind the wheel of something just a bit less grim than Swans.
The other day, I met up with Cuplin at his Capitol Hill apartment to discuss the band's new record and things in general. Sample topics: Crimson Beaver Tears, his and his girlfriend's yet-unstarted monthly mail-order menstrual-care service ("We're better at coming up with ideas than executing them"); blue-eyed soul veteran Scott Walker's comeback and contemporary work ("He got really gothy"); and record collections ("Are you going to tell the world that I alphabetize my records?"). Throughout the visit, Cuplin is characteristically sedate. That is, until we're on our way out through the apartment building's mail room, and he notices that a package has arrived for him. Turns out it contains a six-foot-tall cardboard standup of the Photoshopped figure on the cover of the upcoming record, a composite of all four band members' facial features/body parts. With this, Cuplin's persona ignites, and he dashes back upstairs, unpacks the figure, and assembles it to be standing just behind the front door when his girlfriend arrives home from work.
And here's all our recommended music events—tonight, tomorrow, this weekend, and beyond!
Slow Dance producer Rudy Willingham cranked out a mix of pulsing frat party beats and futuristic death bangers on RIA, and emcee Murder Dice (Aaron Greene) played the part of working class party monster. Since then, the duo has evolved on both fronts. Their self-released follow-up Hunks (out today) is described as "Yacht Rap" on Bandcamp, and though the production still hits hard when it needs to (like on "Serious Danger"), it's mostly saxophone-and-lounge-guitar-ed up to make good on the yacht
rock rap promise. Murder Dice is even more entertaining this time around, and changes course with the pull of the music. He begins the album with the line "I want to fuck you / and take all of your money," then shifts mood later in the same song ("Juicin'") with "Shorty can't eat no books / so shorty became a crook." His cadences are tight (check the brilliant "USSR"), even when he's singing at the top of his lungs, and over-sharing like a spiked punch-chugging ex-model at the marina social ("Barbizon").
The feel of the album is similar to drinking off a hangover from risking it all the night before, but rather than succumb to the looming mid-day nap, Slow Dance keep slugging dockside martinis, like the champions they are.
Stream Hunks after the jump, or download it here.
I started at IFC's party to catch a set from Typhoon in a city park that the cable channel had transformed into a rickety fairground, complete with carnival games and people sunbathing in a empty public pool. Because, why not? There, a guy overheating in a celery costume that sprung from a Steve Buscemi Portlandia episode wandered around the park to liven up people's "selfie shots" or accompany them on their treacherous rides down giant slide...
Maybe you should take a tip from Panda Man. Click the photo for more!
I called her up to ask if she's suddenly gone and sold out. So far, she's held firm to what she ran on—what does she want? $15! When does she want it? Now! And so on. When people have called her unwilling to compromise, she's said she's just waiting for a real counteroffer from business and political opponents. So what's new? I thought "15 Now" was the whole plan?
She says the process has gone on for months without any viable plan coming forth from the business side. Instead, there's some nonspecific talk about possible counterproposals, which include what she considers nonstarters—like total compensation, which could mean counting things like health care coverage or tips as wages. (Dominic wrote a piece explaining what all is on the table in this week's news section.)
"I don't agree with all of these other carve-outs," she says, "but I have ideas." She say it seems like making progress will require her finally taking the first step with a comprehensive, specific bill.
What Sawant doesn't say—but is the obvious subtext—is that her proposal may be the start of a potential $15 minimum wage ballot measure. There are no low-wage workers on the mayor's advisory committee, so what she's offering is a policy that she thinks best represents them. And she's always left open the option of a ballot measure if the committee can't land on something that serves that demographic well.
But of course, she's not gonna lay out her plans in a press release or make an offer straight to business. She's going to roll it out on her terms at a rally full of workers, tomorrow. Which makes for another damn good reason to attend tomorrow's rally and march.
The true life story of the hardest working man in show business Mr. James Brown, AKA the Godfather of Soul, is getting the Hollywood treatment this year as film called Get On Up. Have a gander at the newly released trailer...
Hmmm, well, the trailer looks alright. I bet the movie won't go THAT deep, but it'll prolly be square with the facts, and filled with all the well known incidents of Brown's life: hella splits, The Apollo, some mashed potatoes, the Flames, angel dust, rhythm and/or blues, wigs, and a LOT of sweat. Also, in the flim's favor, during the trailer's quick cuts, @2:34, I recognize a nod to Brown's little known acting debut, in the 1965 teen film Ski Party, where he has a few lines and lip synced "I Feel Good!" That is cool.
Film due out August 1st, 2014
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