New York, May 2010. On one side there are the Chinese and blacks pulling carts filled with steel cans diced dawn. On the other there are freegans , young employees often, and not necessarily in need, who refuse to remain part of the consumer society which throws every day in the garbage 50% of its production. The first will toil to collect enough aluminum and incorporate a gang that recycles metals found in waste of large U.S. cities to earn a few dollars. The latter are activated at dusk and operate in groups to collect what restaurants and supermarkets throw bread, vegetables, cakes ... whose use-by date stops the same day and yet are still edible. This radical political movement denounces the American global consumer great mess that we are ... an example to follow. Tomorrow in crisis! (Click the blue link above to see a video of freegans) 
"Hey, Mom ... it's bars, the ED was pointing a pistol ball!" My teenage son is lying on her bed in jeans and T-Shirt "Fuck Your Mother" home made. He died of laughter, the ad appears on his Facebook. These are kids who did this ... I dig through my computer and I get the text that Goldilocks had sent me a few months ago: "In 1929 the economic crisis rages! Two Robin Wood decided to go get the money where it is: Bonny & Clyde. Many investors have seen their fortunes disappear with the collapse of banks. So one of the reasons that lead people to consider them more like "Robin Hood" that as criminals. At that time those who commit bank robberies have a certain fascination for people. The second reason that people do not perceive as dangerous is the love that unites them ... Where are our Bonnie and Clyde our 2010 version? "
"The food is of love. "chicken, fish ... all that is love. I am a little troubled at the slogan painted on a car traveling junk food. Yet I understand the words, my English does is not too bad. But when I translate these three words, I do not understand the meaning. Do not we say "live on love and fresh water" so far? Obviously everything has changed: if we lack Love can fall back on food, fill the gap by chowing down on tons of food ... joyful program! I want to take off the letters and to read "Love is food." Later in the day, I continue on a MacDonalds on Sixth Avenue: love tastes disgusting. It quickly consumed, ill-digested, cheap prepaid. I stay on my hunger and yet I feel sick, but it will be quickly forgotten. Tomorrow in crisis! 
T'es which side you? That of the oppressed? Oppressors? Victims? Executioners? Martyrs? Torturers? Whose side are you in? ... Unemployed? Workers? Do we really have to choose sides? Do we really need to be a blue elephant thrown into the street, the garbage, congestion? Because in the end it becomes bulky, no? No. I will not choose to camp, I'll stay Me: with a practice of sending checks in the five years to come (future?) and an airline ticket from Paris to New York for a start in a few days ... I'm living in the two camps, and that's it. I am neither oppressor nor oppressed, neither victim nor executioner, I'm alive and that's not bad (even if it hurts). Tomorrow in crisis! 
Centre Leclerc, this weekend, my little basket under her arm, I spot the body the least crowded. Style exercise that also involves checking that there is a display of newspapers TV to wait an interminable time (or inter shabby) tail. Cool: the 12, plus there are my "friend" to the fund, which quickdraw items faster than his shadow and that the scans with the rapidity of lightning. I jump right on it, followed by two other people packed trolleys. One person in front of me, it's great! I twitch ... but not for long. The client who preceded me out of a discreet black dolly cucumbers. Four, four, four more ... and again four cucumbers ... And it never ends ... the treadmill is completely covered with cucumbers, I can not even count them. The cashier either ... it shows a bewildered look, looking at the bed of cucumbers. "We'll count them." she says. First test: "53". "Oh no not possible, it is a promo of four cucumbers, the client responds, and 53 is not a multiple of four. Yes that's for sure, so we recount. I reach for my iPhone to take a picture behind me and the client begins to giggle and then pulls out his laptop too: "Well yes it's true ... It's crazy anyway it does what all these cucumbers?" New chuckle. Cons by the cashier did not laugh, it was still planted in its calculation. A little nervous, she asked her client that no one dares ask: "And you're going to do what all these cucumbers ma'am?". Tends all ears. "Bah, I want to eat them of course! In promo, it's worth four cucumbers per euro. I look the teller and I can read in his eyes a moment of solitude (see photo). Away in a loudspeaker, we hear "Super promo on cucumbers. Four per euro. I feel it will fail, that is, right now, she needs a very big hug. But actually it's not really my girlfriend, I do not know enough to do this kind of stuff with it. Then I sketch a vague smile and I just hope she will like my items well. There is no double I verified. Tomorrow in crisis! 
The scene is very simple: a Mercedes Benz gray metal, a one way street close enough, a bus filled with exhausted workers hurry to go home and me at the window with a cigarette making scrolls and enjoyment of life. It is eight o'clock. The Mercedes pulls up in double file (as I am only a poor girl, I do not specify the model, but I'm pretty proud to have already recognized the brand), two types come out (for those who read post from Thursday, 8 April two thousand and ten, they are the same two idiots pissed on their Merco). They fly direct to coffee "lounge" on the corner, leaving the car in the middle of the road. The bus arrives and of course it can not happen. My cigarette is completely burnt so I threw it (like a real man ... with a flick of the end of major projects that the cigarette away, far away, so I trained and now I can do ...) and I close the window. But the double glazing can not stifle the horn accidentally on the bus. Twenty-thirty, the horn still roared ... then falls silent. I cast a glance at the window: the bus driver commits a third between the car and the sidewalk. The right mirror of the Mercedes was sprayed! Workers will finally return home ... phew! Twenty-one hours: the mirror is always in the middle of the road, it looks like a poor little dead bird. It's sad to cry. I look on the internet the price of a Mercedes Benz mirror: 279 euros plus installation! It will be expensive to drink ... Twenty-two hours, another cigarette, scrolls and other delights of life. Retro is still on the floor but there is one small change: both have returned and are now laying the plastic wrap on the left rear door. Someone blew up their glass. Increasingly expensive this drink at the bar "lounge" on the corner ... I have not the courage to look at the price of a window in "care-care-repair-ice-ice-replace" on the net. Tomorrow in crisis! 
Crisis forces is the recession ... so we try to spend less and less. After having deprived of chocolate, taxis and other trifles to keep that which I call "God bless Florica," I finally decided to part with the gem: one that cleans my house from top to bottom in every corner, even those I did not suspect the existence ... And "God bless Florica" coming Usually on Wednesday we have today, the daughters of the house and I rubbed, scrubbed, drawn, washed, folded, put away, etc. ... I'm talking about girls because boys have vanished, one in the toilet (I know all day long ... it sounds) and one in her room (to rank five and three T-shirt jeans). Apart from the substantial savings to clean oneself, the eldest has discovered that we had a vacuum cleaner and how he got started and the girl, a vocation for cleaning windows and mirrors (and mainly those last because we can look into working and that's pretty awesome!). Usually it fills me enough to clean my house (also in other course) but this afternoon was a good day's crisis. Of course if it is less nickel Florica had done itself but I still had the joy of seeing Margot vacuum between his bed and wall, and the little Hortense bawl me out because it ' the bazaar is so in my office that she did not see how she can clean, "Mom you got five minutes to tidy up!" Tomorrow in crisis! 
I do not know his name or his nationality (Even if I wanted to say "Chinese", which is completely absurd ...) or age (between 30 and 50 years, the complexion smooth) but I know him well. For years he walks the trash in my neighborhood day and night, with a cart checkered green and black. He searched tirelessly each tray green, yellow, brown. At first his wife accompanied him. She followed him on a full stomach and empty eyes. Then probably found a stroller in a trash allowed the child. The woman I've never reviewed, the child yes. He grew up and he followed his father in his excavations hung cart. When I look at the scene that immediately reminds me of Cormac McCarthy's novel which follows the journey of a "man" and a "small" in a post-apocalyptic world and whose only wealth is contained in a supermarket trolley and a rucksack. To tell you the truth, I closed the book on page 80 so the atmosphere was depressing to see sealed. The "no future" in its purest form ... I'm going to make me retype Beigbeder want! A snoopy will do the same ... But if I close the book, "Chinese" is still there, trash trash, carcasses of chicken in mismatched socks everything is good to take. Recently I finally told myself that the crisis did not change much for him, that fucking crisis he lived for years. Actually no, the crisis is hard for him too: the garbage lose weight, the carcasses are scraped to the bone and mismatched socks back in fashion. In short, the "no future" in its purest ... McCarthy did not invent anything, its metaphysical history based on the myth of Sisyphus is mapped onto the real: the contemporary human condition. It's even worse than in the novel, no one can close the book ... you tomorrow in crisis! 
You see the lady in pink in the photo? She is beautiful, right? This is my grandmother Teresa. She died of cancer in 1993. 
