#Birthday Bus Hire Brooklyn

[newyorklimorentalblog]

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[rtirman-blog]

39  The Flatbush Fireball

I was on Long Island early enough to start up my Good Humor route in Glen Head, late that March. This meant that my life at home, rather than being different as I had imagined, was going to be much the same. Perhaps, I will put my thoughts together and come up with a plan for my future.  I was grateful Good Humor was there.  I made very good money during the ice cream season.  Even though I was able to start in late March, people weren’t running for my truck until May.  My best income months were May through August. My thinking was to come up with a plan for my future that I could start in September or October.

 Again, like the previous summer, nothing spectacular happened on my route throughout that summer. As a Good Humor Man, I saw myself as a top money maker.  In reality, I was doing very well, but I probably was in the upper third of the money makers.  I suppose in working for Good Humor, I was able to have feelings of self-worth and the ability to make it in this world.  By the end of the summer, I decided to look for a job in the City.  I could stay with my father and Phyllis while I hunted for a position.  

 It’s a mystery to me how real estate popped up in my mind.  All I know is I was hired by Apostle Reality as a real estate salesman.  The office was on Flatbush Avenue, about a block north of the junction of Flatbush and Nostrand Avenues.   It was right where the IRT Subway ended.  If you needed to go further south in Brooklyn, you could walk, take a taxi, or ride the bus.

 In order to sell houses, I studied, took a prep course, and passed the State licensure exam for real estate sales.  By taking that prep course, which was sanctioned by the Real Estate Commission, it seemed as though I had previously seen every question on the exam I was given.  That was the first time I had ever taken a three-day prep course for anything. I think it worked well for me because by taking the actual exam immediately following the three-day course, everything I learned was fresh in my mind.  In high school, I didn’t have to take the SATs. But if I would have taken the SATs, I would have signed up for a prep course, and one that met on days very close to the actual SAT exam.

While preparing for and taking that real estate exam, things with my father and Phyllis were not working out well.  They had only one bedroom.  Since Daddy arrived home each night close to 1 A.M., I would fall asleep in their bed. Phyllis would wait up for him. When they were ready to hit the hay, they would turn their couch into a bed, and I would then go into the living room to sleep, and they would take their own room.  It wasn’t ideal for any of us.  I needed to find my own apartment.  First, I needed a roommate. When I told my cousin Walter, a.k.a. Butch, about looking for a roommate, he offered himself.  You may recall I attended his 12th Birthday celebration when I bedazzled that girl with my Humphry Bogart style kiss during spin the bottle.

Butch was still two years younger than me.  He was working at a cardboard box manufacturing plant in Queens.  But most important in Butch’s life, was his relationship to God.  He was a Billy Graham enthusiast, and a committed Christian. Since we always got along, having him as a roommate would be perfect.  We found a third-floor apartment in a house on Kenilworth Pl. The owner, Manny, felt Jesus had brought us to him in our time of need.  One thing Manny did insist upon- we were not to have girls in the apartment. That was fine with both of us.  It was a great place to live.  The apartment was clean and comfortable, close to everything, especially to my work- the walk was five minutes.

 At Apostle Realty, I worked diligently at my own desk.  At the start, the firm provided me several leads, and I learned how to greatly increase that number by asking for referrals and giving folks my business card. I began showing houses in November. I tried to make myself a busy guy, showing homes to as many folks as I could.  Somedays, I would go to homes for sale and talk with owners and other salesmen persons. I sold nothing in November, nothing in December, and nothing in January. I told myself people were busy with the holidays.  Since, Apostle gave me a small salary until I actually sold my first home, I needed to keep at it. The real estate commission was 5% of the selling price.  Apostle Realty, my broker, got half, and I would get the other half of that commission. Not selling anything for three months, I was getting pretty discouraged.  Then came February!

Early in February, I escorted a couple to a home for sale by another broker.   The house just came on the market.   I knew nothing about it, but we looked at it anyway.

We walked through the house without me saying a word. We stopped in a bedroom. The couple, to whom I was showing the house, started measuring that room.  The husband turned to me and told me if this measures right, you’ve sold yourself a house.  That’s just what happened.  They paid full price for the home, and were ecstatic…and so was I.  The seller talked to John Apostle about me and my expertise in showing the home. As I told you, I said nary a word.

 My next sale was pretty similar, only, it was closer to our office.  The home was a Calder (the builder), and those houses sold quickly. It was if I had the golden ticket.  The people, to whom I showed it, bought it instantly.  Keeping my mouth shut seemed like a great technique.  I always made sure I knew what people wanted, and I chose homes that were as close to what they desired.

 In mid-February, I was a co-seller with a salesperson who showed me, and my clients, a house in Bensonhurst, a Brooklyn neighborhood west of Flatbush.  Naturally, I had to share that commission with the other salesman.

 Then came the Delellis family from the Bronx.  They were delightful people whom I had met before.  They had a reputation of being lookers, but they would never buy.  Just about every salesperson on Flatbush Avenue had shown houses to the Delellis family. But something was happening to my luck. I was rolling 7’s throughout February. My luck meshed with Mr. Delellis’s bad luck.  He and his family were being forced to move, through no fault of their own, and had to find another home.  They called me to see if there was a home for sale near the subway.  I just happened to view a home, right on Flatbush Avenue, two or three doorways from the subway stairs.  Mr. and Mrs. Delellis hustled down to Brooklyn to meet me.  I made arrangements to show them the house as soon as they arrived. As soon as we walked into the house, the two of them were excited.  The house was perfect for their needs, close to the subway, and for sale at a very reasonable price.

The word got around that I sold four houses in February, and most impressively, I did the impossible- I sold a home to the Delellis family.  I was soon known throughout Brooklyn realty offices as “The Flatbush Fireball!”  Hey, you need to buy a home? You need to sell a home?  Go see “Da Flatbush Fireball”!

 Truly, I was on fire. But if you stay at a craps table long enough, things will, eventually, go in the other direction.  The owners of gambling casinos don’t have craps tables in their casinos to lose money!

 One evening, when I arrived home, Butch was having sex with a gal.  Mr. Christian was now Mr. Sinner.  Whoa! I take that back.  He was now Mr. Mortal Sinner…he was banging her in my bed!  You would think he would have been kind enough to do it in his own bed. Making matters worse, somehow, Manny was aware of his devilish deed, and asked us to find another place.

Butch went back home, and I went back to my father’s apartment until I could find another place to live.  The second thing occurred as I was sitting at my desk trying to figure things out. Sitting next to me was an older guy, perhaps in his fifties, who looked at me and told me that real estate wasn’t for me. He told me real estate was for older folks.  He wanted me to seriously think about returning to school, finishing my degree, and doing something with my life.  His name was Bill, and I sensed that these remarks came from his heart. I think Bill saw me as his son or grandson.  I really did look up to him.  I wish I had thanked him and told him that I heard him, clearly.  His words had an impact, and they made me question and evaluate what I was doing with my life.  It was good money when I sold a home.  However, there are many months real estate salesmen make nothing, yet they put in impossible hours.  If I ever was going to get married and be a dad, that kind of job wouldn’t be so great. Bill was probably right.

 It was already March, and I could go back to Point Lookout, and to Good Humor, for the summer.  I was leaning toward finishing college, but I wasn’t set on it. Furthermore, would Notre Dame even think about taking me back, or would I have to transfer to another school?  Also, what would I study?  So back to Long Island I went.  Back to Good Humor, where the money was good, and the work was steady.

[imran16829]

Who is Maryana Beyder Bio, Wiki, Age, Married, Net Worth, Twitter, Instagram, Fast Facts You Need to Know

Maryana Beyder Bio, Wiki

Maryana is originally from Brooklyn, NY, She has a natural affinity for real estate and design. She is a real estate agent for Beyder & Company Realty in New Jersey selling homes that range from $600,000 to $14,000,000, according to LinkedIn. Maryana Beyder, that's what you get for carrying around a handbag that cost the same amount as some people's yearly salary...no sympathy. Why don't you go volunteer at a soup kitchen, it might change your perspective #maryanabeyder https://t.co/w3ZNSCA2N7 — Sean (@SOBJourneyman) November 12, 2019

Maryana Beyder Career

Maryana finds great satisfaction and accomplishment in helping clients find a house, create a home and assimilate into a community. She believes fostering client relationships is the key to her success. Maryana’s communication skills have allowed her to build a genuine rapport with her clients; her intuitive nature, genuine and thorough approach to the client’s needs sets Maryana apart. With Maryana’s love of real estate and her entrepreneurial spirit; she began flipping spec homes and collaborating on custom projects.

Maryana Beyder Husband

Maryana resides in Alpine, NJ with her husband Igor Beyder, who is the founder and CEO of the company and according to their website “is an entrepreneur with extensive experience in the real estate industry. Over the last 15 years he has been involved with every aspect of the industry including construction, development, financing and marketing.”

Maryana Beyder Children

The couple has three children.

Maryana Beyder Lawsuit

Maryana Beyder’s wasn’t just any ordinary bag, though. It was a pink Hermès Kelly clutch worth $30,000. A server spilled wine on it. Now the country club is suing its own waiter. https://t.co/9kOqpwCOVj — Toronto Star (@TorontoStar) November 12, 2019 However, Maryana Beyder's was not just any bag. It was a pink bag by Hermès Kelly since the expensive French fashion house had hired her. Byder's husband had given her the $ 30,000 bag for her 30th birthday. After a waiter in a sleek New Jersey Country Club poured red wine into the luxury bag last year, the real estate agent complained of negligence and demanded that the Alpine Country Club pay him the price. Surprise your pampered bag. She filed a lawsuit in October after repeated club out-of-court efforts to resolve the issue were unsuccessful. Alpine immediately threw his waiter under the bus and blames him directly on his shoulders. In court records, he is identified as "John Doe" and the club asks him to pay his purse. Beyder lawyer Alexandra Errico spoke to TheNew York Post, saying they did not want the responsibility to fall on him, and they are disappointed that Alpine has blamed responsibility on the employee. "It has absolutely nothing to do with the waiter, we did not try to collect money from the waiter," said Errico. "My client never intended to persecute this person at all. The sole intention was that the employer take responsibility. " Errico stressed that Alpine is a "very, very rich country club" and that due to his role in the incident, he was forced to include the server in the lawsuit. "You did not have to sue your own employee," said Errico. "It basically shows that they are really acting in bad faith." Louis Pechman, a labor lawyer, told Northjersey.com that "this type of counterclaim is unknown" and that "a good staffing policy would dictate that the restaurant has the back of the employee instead of stabbing the knife on his back " Alpine Country Club attorney Kenneth Merber made a statement on the case in which the authenticity of the bag was questioned: "The allegations raise problems regarding the property damage claimed by the plaintiff, the authenticity of the bag and its value on . The plaintiff has not submitted a receipt in connection with the purchase of the purse concerned. "Merber also said that in the present case, the club did not file a claim for damages against the waiter. "The Alpine Country Club makes no claim and requires no damage from any of its employees, including the waiter, who allegedly damaged the plaintiff's purse in relation to the incident in question."

Maryana Beyder Hermes Kelly Bag

Beyder’s handbag is far from the costliest item sold by Hermès. In 2017, one of its purses — made from the hide of a Nile River crocodile, with 18-karat gold buckles and diamond-encrusted strap loops — was sold for about $376,000 at an auction in Hong Kong. But her purse was still valuable enough to become the subject of a year-long legal battle between Beyder and the club. Read the full article

[newstfionline]

‘The Social Contract Is Broken’: Inequality Becomes Deadly in Mexico

By Max Fisher and Amanda Taub, NY Times, Sept. 30, 2017

MONTERREY, Mexico--Viewed from above, greater Monterrey, with its corporate headquarters and golf resorts, appears as one city stretching between the mountains that surround it.

Closer up, though, it becomes clear that invisible walls enclose Monterrey’s wealthy core, creating a dividing line between its four million residents. For the people within those invisible walls, government is responsive and crime low. Those outside face rising murder rates, corruption and, activists say, police brutality.

Sergio Salas exists in both sides. He commutes between the education ministry in an affluent area downtown, where he works on special education programs, and his home in the working class suburb of Juárez.

Mr. Salas always assumed he was safe at his home, with the butterfly preserve he built in the backyard. Then, last year, criminals arrived at his house, tied him up and robbed him. Shaken, he returned only after installing a fence and hiring a part-time guard.

His beloved town, he said, has changed amid a rash of such crimes. Families put up walls, decamp for more prosperous areas or simply endure. The very notion of community has vanished.

As Mexico descends into its most violent year on record and the state proves incapable of responding, those with resources are taking matters into their own hands. Landowners, businesses and the rich are buying security by means legal and not.

Any social compact is built in part on the agreement that security is a public good, shared and maintained by all. As Mexico’s rich effectively withdraw, the implicit arrangements that hold society together are breaking down.

Though the effects are subtle, they are everywhere. The rise of vigilantism, criminal impunity, police corruption and state weakness can all be traced in part to this growing security inequality.

In Juárez, neighbors would once come together against common challenges like crime or a corrupt police officer, but now, Mr. Salas said, “there is a culture of not participating, of not caring, of silence.”

“The social contract is broken,” he said.

As the war on drugs fractured large cartels in recent years, smaller and more predatory groups rose in their place. Extortions and kidnappings spiked, targeting not just businesses and the rich but also middle-class workers.

In response, those who could afford it enlisted private security to do what the state could not.

Between 2013 and 2015, the number of private security companies nearly tripled, according to government statistics. Industry analysts believe the real number, including unregistered firms, may be several times higher.

The shift may be worsening Mexico’s notoriously ineffective justice system, which secures convictions for only a tiny fraction of crimes. Armed guards can prevent a murder but they cannot investigate one, much less roll up a local cartel.

Remaining police resources tilt toward the connected. One study estimated that 70 percent of Mexico City’s police work to protect private interests, such as guarding banks.

As powerful classes grow less reliant on the state for security, political pressure for addressing crime or reforming police has declined, even as the murder rate rises.

In moneyed enclaves across Mexico, where guards patrol boutique shops and hip restaurants, the violence rarely comes up in conversation, as if it were happening in another country.

Meanwhile, ordinary citizens are left unprotected. Gangs and organized crime have flowed into poor neighborhoods.

The divide is starkly visible in places like Santa Fe, an affluent neighborhood on Mexico City’s western edge, where glass high-rises and shopping malls overlook slums that sprawl out from their shadows.

On a recent afternoon in one such slum, Andres Ruiz, a sometimes-employed musician, leaned against a wall as he waited for the bus that, though frequently targeted by robbers, was his only way into town.

He squinted across the street at a stone cliff that rises, like a castle battlement, some 20 feet above the shanties. The fresh white walls of a gated neighborhood, built right up to the ledge, seemed to gaze back down at him.

“Security is only for them, for the high people,” he said, using a word that also means elite. Gang members, who openly patrol the streets, crawled past on a motorbike. “We are relegated, forgotten.”

Living outside those walls, Mr. Ruiz said, “is like being in a slaughterhouse.”

Marilena Hernandez, who sells quesadillas and tacos down the street, said it might be for the best that police ignore the robberies that come “at any hour.”

“It can be counterproductive to call them,” she said. The police, for her, were just another form of private security that she could not afford. “If you have money to give the officers, maybe they’ll be more eager to help you, but otherwise they won’t.”

As the state recedes, inequality and violence, once largely distinct phenomena here, are feeding into one another. That cycle can be seen especially in the rise of vigilante militias. Those groups are “the extreme of the phenomenon of private security,” Edna Treviño, the director of México Evalúa, a public policy think tank, said in her office in Mexico City.

They began as a grass-roots solution to the violence. Local communities, fed up with police, organized self-defense groups to replace them. But this only accelerated Mexico’s breakdown, with the proliferation of untrained gunmen who often acted with impunity.

Many militias were bought off by cartels. Others were tempted into drug trafficking, kidnapping or extortion. They are now considered a major driver of the disintegration they were once meant to solve.

Those groups may be a manifestation of inequality, according to recent research by Brian J. Phillips, a political scientist at the Center for Research and Teaching in Economics in Mexico City.

In a study of 2,500 towns, Mr. Phillips found that vigilantes did not necessarily arise in the areas with higher crime or a weaker state presence, as one might expect.

Rather, the wider a town’s gap between rich and poor, the greater the odds that vigilante militias would form. Conversely, a town with more equality, even if it is poor, rarely produces such groups.

When looking at individual cases, it becomes clear how inequality, more so even than violence, drives the vigilantism tearing apart the rural countryside.

For the rural rich, who are often landowners, hired guns can guard a business or farm that local institutions are too weak to protect. Then, in a microcosm of national trends, the militia effectively replaces the police, but rarely protects those who cannot afford to pay them.

This often prompts the poor, seeing that only militias provide security, to form their own volunteer forces, or to turn to lynchings, a form of vigilantism that requires few resources.

Or the poor may arm first out of perceived necessity. For every percentage point increase in inequality, the murder rate rises 1.5 points, studies find.

Mark Ungar, a Brooklyn College professor who studies security issues, said that might-makes-right vigilantism has shifted the “gravity of power” in rural areas toward those with the most money.

That can mean cartels. But sometimes the deepest pockets belong to agricultural and resource extraction firms, which have been accused of deploying armed groups against environmental activists and indigenous communities.

“Private security has become a central part of criminality itself,” Mr. Ungar said.

“There is something particular to security,” said Rita Abrahamsen, a political scientist who studies security’s effects on society. “It’s different from something like health care. If you don’t have security, then that cohesion cannot be maintained.”

This fraying can be felt across Mexico. Polls show rising distrust in institutions and dissatisfaction with the state of democracy.

Andrés Manuel López Obrador, a left-wing populist known for challenging the legitimacy of elections, leads polls for next year’s presidential vote. Though he has emphasized economic inequality rather than security issues, his supporters include many poor and working class people who feel left behind.

Inequality “is one of the great issues in this country,” Jorge Tello, a former director of the national intelligence service, said over coffee at a private club in Monterrey. Nearby, a well-dressed family sang happy birthday.

When violence first rose citywide, Monterrey’s powerful corporate leaders pushed for, and often directly financed, root-and-branch reforms intended to protect everyone.

But when crime fell in wealthy areas, so did pressure for continuing the reforms. Though rich citizens had spent benevolently, they had deepened a political culture in which institutions and officials serve the moneyed. Areas like Juárez fell into neglect.

“That’s why I think López Obrador has a huge chance to become the next president, because a big part of the population doesn’t have access to a restaurant like this,” he said.

As Mexicans withdraw from the social compact, Mr. Tello warned, problems like crime and corruption entrench.

“When you talk about these issues in Mexico, it’s said that there’s such a lack of governance,” he said. “But it’s the lack of citizenship as well.”

“Mexican society has always been unequal,” Ms. Treviño, the director of México Evalúa, said.

Now even security, the bedrock of social order, was becoming a matter of every Mexican for himself or herself, altering how citizens see their obligations to society itself.

“We are a society that won’t mobilize very much, won’t act against deadly violence,” she said.

As the sense of collective good recedes, neglect is becoming the new norm.

“In some slums of the city, there is no presence of the state,” she said. “There is nothing, literally nothing. Young people have to take care of each other in the street.”

[ohaileigh]

Things I Did In 2016

Took a nap on my living room floor on January 1st and woke up to a walk off

Ate a $100 donut covered in gold

Created a realistic timeline and game plan to finally move to LA

Had an embarrassing screaming/crying fight in front Soho House

Starred in my first video ad for MNSTR

Started working at the desk at MNSTR to help out and for free classes!

Published my first piece of serious personal writing about coming to terms with your relationship and your career not defining who you are as a person with a media brand I really respect, Mask Magazine

Got an X-Files tattoo

Raised money for AIDS awareness by cycling, organizing a party, and DJing…aka all I ever do

Got really good at riding a hoverboard

Threw a Kanye West theme party with a Möet sponsorship

Immersed myself in work and workouts to deal/not deal with missing someone a lot as a distraction from the physical distance and blatant growing emotional distance

Learned how to wrestle at NYWC and interviewed trainers and wrestlers for [redacted media company] to put on their new channel [redacted] and never heard back from them regarding the footage…

Became a hair model for Bumble & Bumble

Parted ways with the job I took after leaving the job that started my career

Went to dinner with my BFF/cycle boss who asked me “have you ever thought about becoming an instructor?”

Decided not to move to LA due to new career opportunity

Went to Wrestlemania

Interviewed BABYMETAL on a Twitch livestream

Went to Montreal with a bunch of my friends, most of whom work for Red Bull, all of whom are certifiably insane

Started boxing and got addicted

DJ’d at the Ace Hotel in NY and LA

Slept with someone I had been interested in the moment I met them 4 years ago and instantly realized how not interested I had become

Got an emoji tattoo because my BFF/boss literally made me do it

Manifested a Prince impersonator the night Prince died when I dropped Little Red Corvette at Elvis Guesthouse

Had to say goodbye to my roommate, Arnold, who I grew really close to, because he moved back home to LA before moving to Berlin. RIP original cast of Donk Mansion.

Began teaching at MNSTR Cycle and kicked off my first class with tons of friends, and kept a Slipknot video in there successfully

Cocktail waitressed for the first time in my life. Got fired a month later for not giving a shit. Big surprise.

Went to a pool party at one of my favorite judges from RuPaul’s Drag Race NJ house with M & D, squished in their 2-seater car 2 hours away to hang out with a bunch of beefcake gay guys who were in shock and awe at our “alt-ness”

Dyed my hair pink while drunk with my roommates

Met David Duchovny and somehow forgot how to say anything witty or clever which is all I have in this life

Went to EDC in Vegas after driving alone and losing my mind somewhere in the desert on the way. Would not recommend.

DJ’d the NYC Health Department float in the NYC Pride Parade

Got to teach a weekend of classes dressed up as Harley Quinn for a Suicide Squad themed ride with my BFF/boss

DJ’d the Sailor Moon Day Party for the 2nd year in a row

Started Soft Leather NYC with the help of Johnny, which is still going on strong!

Spent most of my summer with one of my best friends Lina, who moved out of NYC, and think I’ve successfully convinced her to return

Received a dick pic shot in Pokemon Go

Got to see both my best friends Diane and Erin in NYC even for a short amount of time

The revival of our *cough*ORIGINAL*cough* Emo Night in the LES, big shout out to Brik for holding us down at Leftfield

Experienced yet another disappointment from a budding relationship and came to the realization that I truly do have no desire to be with anyone right now

DJ’d Soft Leather in LA to one of the most fun crowds I have ever seen

Helped open MNSTR’s second location at the legendary Limelight building

Met Biblegirl at my BFF’s birthday brunch, discovered my fucking spirit animal

Got to teach my first ever METAL MONDAY ride on my 26th birthday

Went back to platinum blonde. where I belong

Threw a joint birthday party with Lina featuring the best party flyer I’ve ever made and our amazing friends (big thank you to Marie for the Snap filter and Rob and Logan for DJing—numetal DJ set was definitely one of the best parts of this year!)

Celebrated the release of Jess’ literally perfect album After Hours on a party bus that drove around Brooklyn (go buy it, Jubilee #1!!)

Learned the entire choreography to Fade by Kanye West but really, by Teyana Taylor, with my BFF Sarah

Got to teach a class based on high school/Hot Topic called Mall Goth, and my Warped Tour ’04 (emo and pop punk) ride became my highest rated class so far—go emo kids go!

Taught a class in a PVC leotard and covered in fake blood based on the opening scene of Blade

Dressed up as Lady Gaga from the 2009 VMA performance of Paparazzi—basically the least clothing I have ever worn in public, and honestly felt great about it/myself, which for any female in her 20’s is basically finding nirvana

Went to the Boiler Room Weekender with all of my favorite people in Pennsylvania, USA, one of my least favorite states!

Met good dogs

Auditioned for a role in an Adidas commercial—didn’t get it, but felt good to be called in and try it out

Taught other babes how to DJ at Intersessions in NYC while several of my amazing, hardworking girlfriends organized the programming and events in other cities, and met a lot of great women

Put a hammer in Dewine’s bedroom wall

Was contacted by Nike to be shot for their spring video lookbook campaign—also never heard back, but incredibly grateful that someone scouted me without my knowledge and that they came in to see me and the studio

Filmed a video with Vice about the actual workout of cycling and how it relates to me DJing

Finished 4 weeks of a sparring class at my boxing club-full contact, and by week 3 all the girls stopped showing up so I had to fight the boys. Me? Fighting boys? Imagine.

Took my BFF Sarah to her first wrestling show ever. It’s a fucking spectacle and is honestly so great to see someone experience this for the first time.

Decided to stop sleeping with people I am already friends with and tried dating strangers, already sick of it

Decided after a tumultuous year of career changes and accruing debt tacked on to the outstanding cost of my early career (intern life and supporting another person on my credit line) that I could build up my savings account again while still tackling the immense burden that I had previously let hang over my head and discourage me.

Booked trips to see my best friends in Texas and LA after not taking time off work since the opening of our new studio

Realized I’ve been creating graphic assets for brands, as well as myself, for the past year and a half and I have no portfolio assembled. I’m making a portfolio. Hire me to do graphic design because I actually really fucking like it.

Wrote this list while procrastinating some graphic design work. Oops.

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[socialjusticeartshare]

They were one of the first families separated at the border; 2 1/2 years later, they’re still apart

FORT MYERS, Fla. – She tries to avoid the word. What she says is that her mom is in Guatemala. Or that her mom has been deported and will try to come back soon.

By Kevin Sieff The Washington Post

But when her teacher, or her social worker, or her best friend Ashley asks, Adelaida sounds it out – one of the first words she learned in English. “They separated us.”

Adelaida Reynoso and her mother, María, were among the first migrant families broken up by the Trump administration, on July 31, 2017, long before the government acknowledged it was separating parents and children at the border.

They haven’t seen each other since.

Adelaida is now 9, a third-grader in southwest Florida, one of the top students in her class, carrying a thick English dictionary in a purple backpack. María, now 31, was deported alone to rural Guatemala. She has met with lawyers and smugglers and priests about reuniting with her daughter. Nothing has worked.

Despite a massive legal effort and protest movement, many of the migrant families split up at the border remain apart. The children have now spent enough time in the United States to narrate their stories of separation in fluent English. Their parents are back in Central America, watching sons and daughters grow up over grainy video calls.

One call came last month, from Sacapulas, Guatemala, to Fort Myers, Florida, as Adelaida leaped off the school bus on a quiet, palm tree-lined street.

“I want to show you my papers from class,” the girl told her mother. “It’s the report about how I behave.”

She held the black cellphone in front of her. On the screen, her mother’s face was blurry, a sliver of the Guatemalan countryside in the background.

“I got a 100 and a 92 and two A’s.”

“How smart,” her mom’s voice crackled through the phone.

Adelaida wore a red polo shirt and a pony tail. She waved her books in front of the phone. She showed her mother her bus stop, a stretch of sidewalk outside the two-bedroom apartment she shared with 11 people, including two aunts and an uncle.

“Do you have any homework?” María asked.

“No, they didn’t give us any today,” Adelaida said.

María summoned her most maternal voice.

“When you get home, you need to wash your hair,” she said.

They stared at each other and said nothing. Adelaida moved her finger over the image of her mother’s face, caressing the screen.

“You’re always in my heart,” Adelaida said.

It’s the same every afternoon. Adelaida spends her days at Manatee Elementary, her English vocabulary overtaking her Spanish. Then she goes home and looks at her mother’s face on the phone.

Some days, Adelaida gets angry. When other kids in class talk about their mothers. When her aunt kisses her cousin Angel good night, but not her.

María can see her daughter’s eyes getting big and glassy, her face turning red.

“I need you by my side,” Adelaida exclaims.

“I’m trying,” María responds. She hangs up and cries.

– – –

The Trump administration said in 2018 that nearly 3,000 children had been separated from their parents at the border – the parents detained or deported, the children sent to foster care or family members in the United States.

A court ordered the government to reunite them, in the United States or their home countries. ACLU and other lawyers searched for parents and children, and have reunited most.

But the actual number of separated families was much higher. María and Adelaida’s case was one of the hidden ones. They weren’t acknowledged in reports to Congress. They weren’t given the option of reuniting in the United States.

Then, last year, officials gave the lawyers a batch of Excel spreadsheets identifying 1,556 earlier cases of separation, above the 3,000 previously acknowledged. Many of these newly identified families remain split up.

Lawyers traversed Central America with only scraps of information: misspelled names and phone numbers no longer in use.

Some parents have disappeared. Others have gone into hiding to avoid the threats they once tried to escape.

The lawyers found María in December.

She’s a small woman with big brown eyes who keeps her cellphone tucked into a hand-stitched skirt. She lives in a cinder block hut at the top of a hill at the edge of Sacapulas. She’s lost weight.

“You could just see how fragile she had become, how profoundly sad,” said Rebeca Sanchez-Ralda, an attorney with Brooklyn-based Justice in Motion.

After María was deported, she tried twice more to cross the border. She told immigration agents she was trying to get to her daughter. Each time, she was deported again.

María had her interview with an asylum officer on Aug. 16, 2017. She kept a copy of the transcript.

“I hope you or the officer can give me the opportunity to stay here with my daughter,” she told the interpreter. “I don’t want to return to the things that happened in Guatemala.”

Other separated parents – the ones initially recognized by the administration – have joined a class-action lawsuit filed by the ACLU. Some asked to be reunited with their children in the United States.

A federal judge ruled in favor of 11 of them. Nine of them landed in Los Angeles last month. Twenty-nine others, aided by American lawyers, crossed the border last year.

But María wasn’t a part of the ACLU lawsuit, or any other petition, because her case hadn’t been recorded.

“This is a group who the government kept hidden from us, the court, Congress and the public,” said Lee Gelernt, an ACLU attorney. “And these children were even younger than the original group, hundreds just babies and toddlers.”

After each deportation, María returned to the hut in Sacapulas and picked up the phone to tell her daughter she had failed.

“I tried my best, but it didn’t work,” she said.

She asked Adelaida if she wanted to return to Guatemala. But by then the girl had astonished her teachers, acing math tests fast enough to read chapter books while the other kids are still working.

“She’s one of those kids who just does everything right,” said her principal, Scott LeMaster.

Adelaida tells María she should come to Fort Myers, where “they protect us.”

“I tell my mom, ‘No, you need to come here, because there, there’s a little danger.”

They’ve now spent nearly a third of her life apart. Adelaida has grown six inches. She’s lost her baby teeth. She’s learned to ride a bicycle. She sends her mother photos of her Florida life.

There’s Adelaida on the Fourth of July, watching fireworks. In a white dress as the flower girl at a wedding. Holding a stack of library books. Blowing out the candles on her birthday cake, when she turned 7. When she turned 8. When she turned 9.

“She’s such an intelligent girl,” María said. “I know she’s better off there. But seeing (the pictures) – sometimes it only makes things harder.”

– – –

The threats started even before Adelaida was born.

When María was pregnant, she says, Adelaida’s father tried to force her to have an abortion. He was married. When Adelaida was a baby, María says, he entered their home with a pistol and threatened to kill them both.

María and Adelaida fled to Guatemala City, where they were threatened by a gang. María and her younger sister Patricia, with a baby of her own, decided it was time to try for the United States. They paid a smuggler $8,000; they planned to request asylum at the border.

Once María was in custody, she said, an immigration agent approached.

“He said, ‘I’m taking your daughter with me,’ and he took her arm. I started screaming. He wouldn’t say where she was going or for how long.”

Adelaida started wailing.

“I didn’t want to leave my mom,” she said. “When I was almost going to say goodbye, they took me, so I couldn’t.”

Patricia Reynoso, Adelaida’s aunt, tried to reason with the agent. She wasn’t sure why María was separated from Adelaida, but she was allowed to stay with her daughter.

“The agent looked at me and said, ‘I’m a father. I don’t want to be doing this, but it’s my job,’ ” Patricia said.

Adelaida was flown to New York, where she was placed with a foster family.

María was taken to a detention center in southern Arizona, where she pursued her asylum case. She told the asylum officer about Adelaida’s father: “He said he was going to kill me. And that I was not going to know how or when.”

The officer put a check next to the box: “Reasonable fear of torture established.”

The officer asked where Adelaida was now.

“I was told that she was going to be taken away because I had to serve my sentence,” María responded. “I asked if I would see her and I was told they don’t know, that I was not going to see my daughter again.”

María borrowed $3,000 to hire a lawyer. But after seven months, he told her to drop her case to avoid being detained for a much longer period.

“I know she wanted to be reunited with her child,” attorney Israel Hernandez said in an email.”But with the new Trump rules and lack of evidence to support (her) claim, it was difficult.”

The guidance confused María. She had a folder full of documentation to support to her case.

“It all happened quickly,” she said. “The lawyer told the judge that I was dropping my case.”

Within days, she was on a plane to Guatemala.

Adelaida was sent to Florida, where she moved in with her aunt, Patricia, in the crowded two-bedroom apartment. Another aunt moved in, and then an uncle. Other housemates were strangers.

She started attending Manatee Elementary – but at 6, she couldn’t read or write in any language. “She needs to improve all the Spanish skills and the English skills as well,” an instructor wrote.

Officials from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, which facilitated the family separation policy, gave Patricia a pamphlet in Spanish on how to support Adelaida. It was called “How to Help My Child.”

“Spend time together as a family,” it suggested. “Make time for your family to eat together and play and take trips.”

– – –

One Saturday afternoon last month, two police cars drove into Adelaida’s apartment complex in Fort Myers. Adelaida stood near the window in a gray dress with a koala. Her shoulders trembled. Every time she sees a man in uniform, she feels a shock of fear.

The officers had made the building a frequent stop. It is overwhelmingly Guatemalan, often with 10 people or more crammed into small apartments.

Women walk around in Mayan fabrics. Many speak indigenous languages, not Spanish. The men work mostly in landscaping and construction. There are dozens of children, most newly arrived from the border, with asylum cases pending.

“When I just arrived, I was a little afraid,” Adelaida says. “There were so many boys.”

Sometimes when she gets scared, she sneaks away to her room and squeezes her stuffed bear.

“I pretend it’s my mom,” she says. “I dream that we are playing together.”

This corner of Fort Myers has become what Guatemalans call a ciudad espejo – a “mirror city” in which Guatemalan villages are replicated on this side of the United States border. A pipeline has formed between the northern Guatemalan departments of Quiche and Huehuetenango and the city of Fort Myers.

Almost half of María’s class is Guatemalan, mostly children who arrived in the United States over the last two years. LeMaster, the principal, has come to feel as if he’s on the front lines of the country’s immigration crisis, 1,500 miles from the border.

“Here it just comes and smacks you in the face,” he said. “We have 6-, 7- and 8-year-olds arriving who have never been to school a day in their lives.”

When the government began separating families, Manatee Elementary saw the consequences. In his Wednesday staff meetings, Le Master told the school’s teachers: “We need to be aware that some of these kids are missing water and clothes, and others are missing both of their parents.”

Adelaida says “about half” of her classmates “don’t have their moms.”

“It’s hard because sometimes the kids with moms make fun of us.”

She told her aunt. Patricia gave her advice: “Tell the other kids that your mom is coming.”

It was confusing for Adelaida. Was her mom coming or not? She did what her aunt advised. The bullying stopped. But Adelaida’s pleas became more frequent.

“I need you by my side,” she screamed at her mother last month.

“I know,” María said. She had run out of responses.

An American attorney had suggested María might be able to petition to return to the United States, now that her case was finally recognized. But there was no timeline, and no certainty. She was reluctant to mention it to Adelaida.

“I miss you more than you miss me,” Adelaida said.

“No, I miss you mooooore,” María said.

Their calls could go on like that for an hour. But lately, Adelaida had homework to do and friends to play with and books to read. The Florida Standards Assessments test was coming up and she was nervous. She excused herself.

“I remember less and less about Guatemala,” she said. “When I left, I was small.”

She paused.

“And sometimes it’s hard to think about what happened.”

Article Source

[plogan721]

Sadness Turned into Mayhem, turned into Chaos, Turned into More Sadness

(c) The Real Deal Title by P.Lynne Designs

I have been intrigued lately by the many ways people decide for themselves to end a life.  I am filled with sadness because of recent events in this country.  As I think about these events, I am always left with the question of why did this particular event happen.  I want to break down the event that happened yesterday.

I do not live in or near New York City.  I have, however, visited it many times as a child because my mother’s sister lived in the borough of The Bronx.  In case you are not familiar with that area, the areas of Manhattan, Long Island, Queens, Brooklyn, and The Bronx are called boroughs, not suburbs, like the ones where I now live in Columbus, Ohio.  It is confusing, to say the least, but not as confusing as some states are called Commonwealths, not states.  Another lesson for another day

I am not sure where this hospital in The Bronx is located at, but the news story mentioned that a former employee, a doctor, went into the hospital, took the elevator to the 16th floor and started shooting.  He killed one doctor and injured several others.  I also heard that he was let go in 2014 or 15 for sexual harassment. After going to the shooting rampage, on both the 16th and 17th floors, he took a bullet to his head and killed himself.

As I watched this event on Youtube, my mind went to several other recent events, where the shooter killed someone, then took their own life.  It seems to be a common as of late.  The home my parents bought when we first moved to Columbus had a tragic ending.  The previous owners were killed that way.  This was the couple’s second marriage, and they both worked for the State of Ohio highway patrol.  They were police officers.  They were on their way to work when the wife ex-husband opened fire on them.  They were both killed, and soon afterward, he killed himself.  This was back in the 1980’s.

Back to yesterday’s event….

I wonder what goes through a person’s head as they prepare to kill someone.  Do they think about the events that lead them to an act of killing?  It had to have been humiliating to find out that one day you have a job that you love doing, and the next minute, you are filling out an application for employment or unemployment.  In this doctor’s case, was he able to find a job after he was let go from the hospital in that time?  Sexual harassment is a serious crime that in the court’s eyes needs to be proven, such as the case of Bill Cosby, and I do have a say on that case back when he was first convicted of the crime in 2015.  I wonder if this doctor was not able to find employment because of this accusation? 

After The doctor was not able to find employment (I assume), I wonder if he blames the hospital for that situation.  Upon this discovery, I wonder if that was when he started plotting his killing spree.  There are so many unanswered questions that this doctor will not be able to tell the NYPD (New York Police Department) because he is dead.  They will have to piece together the events through the many witnesses that were there when it happened.

  Now my attention turns sadly to the doctor who was killed.  He did not expect to die that day.  He probably got up, kissed his family, and went to work to help people.  He may have stopped in the cafeteria, or at a food cart, a habit that many New Yorkers enjoy doing daily.  As a child, whenever I visited my aunt, I used to get the Italian Ice from the cart, not far from my aunt’s apartment with my cousins.  When we visited her and my uncle in 2003, which by that time, she moved to Brooklyn, I bought a pretzel from a food cart. 

Before this doctor arrived at work, he might have taken a taxi, Uber, or the subway.  Subways are a more common to travel in New York, than the bus.  I also remember this as a child.  It would take 3 trains to get from my aunt’s apartment to their church.  Another 3 to get back home.  If we had to go downtown for anything, it was another 2 trains coming, and two trains back.  In fact, my aunt was stuck on a train during the 9/11 event.  They finally had to manually open the doors to let people out.  She was 5 blocks from her apartment in Brooklyn and did not get home until 11 PM when she normally gets home at 6 pm.

Yes, things are not the same when someone goes on a killing spree.  Things get turned up expectedly, and you pray that you get to be one of the survivors.  I thank God that I have never been part of this madness, both as the shooter or as the victim. I am also lucky that none of my family members or friends have thought about doing this, or have been a victim to these types of crimes to my knowledge. 

You think that life is going to be the same, and one attitude, one side remark, or one act can set things off.  They say that all of us in the world can crack any moment.  This world is that volatile.  Even saying hello may set someone off.  It is a shame that people are not more helpful.

My takeaway: 

There is no takeaway, but there is a lesson to learn here.  Be mindful of another people’s feeling.  I am not saying that the hospital should not have fired the shooter.  When you fire someone, there are tactful ways of doing it, and I am afraid that no matter what you say to the person who is being fired.  You never know when they might snap.  I think that is one of the reasons you are pulled into a room to be fired.  This is the one fear I have when I start hiring people. 

As for the doctor who was killed, his family will have hard times ahead.  I am sure that every birthday, holiday, or annual event will come with great sadness. When each of my grandparents died, I would become sad when an event would come up, but I am happy that I will get to see them someday.  I would remember the good times I had with them, and wish I have gotten to know Paw-Paw Will, my father’s father.  I am sure he would have loved me.

Do me a favor and hug your family.  You never know when it is the last time you will see them.

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