Sorta random notes, on account of I'm tired.

100.  Million.  Dollars.

For quitting, sort of, at age 81.

100.  Million.  Dollars.

One man.

Who had already "earned" three-quarters of a billion dollars over the past quarter-century or so.

Poor guy.  The 100 million was barely more than a third of what he HAD been promised, until shareholders realized that 267 million was actually a lot of money (and money out of their pockets) to pay a guy for dying or getting fired.

100.  Million.  Dollars.

In a world, and a country (ours), in which 100 (no million) dollars would make the difference between living--you know, "eating," stuff like that--and dying--you know, dead, not breathing, "disassembled" to quote a long-ago movie robot--to a huge number of people, maybe even 100 million of them.

I cannot even wrap my mind around a number like "100 million," or even tease it into any tiny cracks in that number.

Eugene Isenberg must just be loving how he managed to game the system and suck the blood out of everybody who ever worked for or held stock in him and his company.

The shareholders in Nabors, Inc. must be wondering who in hell ever thought that contract with Isenberg was "good."

Gotta wonder sometimes how "value" is assigned to different people at different "ranks" in our originally "rank-less" American society. 

I'm running out of steam on this post because it wasn't what I originally intended to work on tonight.  I was thinking instead about how we have become all about "bread and circuses," without having really voted such for ourselves.  I do NOT remember where I first heard that phrase, "bread and circuses," but think it was from a Robert Heinlein novel and his assertion that when people are allowed to vote themselves bread and circuses, the world immediately spirals downward, or something like that.

Well, we DO have "bread and circuses" now, but we are not voting for them.  We are having them tossed to us like so many scraps to hungry dogs.

A few years ago I worked at a children's hospital.  We were (supposedly; we only knew what our "masters" told us) going through some tough economic times, and we were going to have to cut some corners, shave our expenses, etc.  I was an office coordinator then, sort of a glorified secretary who supervised other, less-glorified secretaries, and, as such, had to attend monthly meetings with other glorified secretaries and our immediate masters.  At one or two or a few such meetings, we discussed how to keep the "masses"--those we supervised--happy, and how we could retain them.  There would be no pay raises, of course.  But the head master confidently explained to us that "job satisfaction," for people like us, had very little to do with income, with fair payment for services provided--"no," he said, "they care more about 'other' stuff, about 'recognition'" and so on.  Basically he "educated" us that we care more about pats on the back than food on the table, and he had studies to prove it (although he never produced such).

So we wound up, at his direction, coming up with "awards" for our underlings--plaques or gift certificates, accompanied by admiring speeches, etc.--that would keep the masses happy, and at very little cost to the hospital, the "corporation."

It was like an occasional treat, a milk bone, would prevent the masses from bailing on us, keep them feeling all warm and cuddly to us.

"Demeaning" was what I thought at the time.  Dehumanizing. 

We have become "worker bees," somehow less than human.

"All animals are created equal, but some are more equal than others."  Orwell (more or less; I don't swear this quote is verbatim--it is from memory).

I don't care if somebody makes more money than I do--a LOT of people make more money than I do.  But dammit, I am no less human simply because I make less than you do.

At its heart, I think that is what Occupy Wall Street is all about.