There's a guy outside my office, about 33 years old, longish hair, with some kind of mental impairment, that sells street newspapers to support himself (a street newspaper is a publication put out by a charity to help homeless people, since many cities prohibit panhandling, but by selling newspapers homeless people are technically employees of the charity and thus will not be hassled by police or security. The vendor buys the papers for a nominal sum, say around $0.25 and people usually pay $1 or $5 for each paper. This helps the vendor learn about managing his finances and gain some employment skills).
Anyway, Bob was very happy today. Turns out that after three or four years of selling these papers at this corner, he's saved enough to apply for a subsidized $600 a month one room apartment. He plans to apply for a job at Kroger then, since he will have a permanent address.
I was feeling pretty happy on my way home, thinking about people who experience hardships I can't even begin to imagine and who manage to overcome them.
I get home, login and read about Chris and his fucking legos and how much money the ungrateful bastard has spent on toys under precarious living conditions. That certainly put me in a bad mood.
I can't even get upset at him anymore. He's devolved into a useless, very dangerous 6 year old. I hope, for his own good, that he's maxed his credit cards already and that they manage to keep a roof over their heads. I doubt Chris would survive a month outside, selling newspapers to support himself.
DVD.