ROW 80 DAY 62 – YOUR TAX DOLLARS AT MAXIMUM INEFFICIECIENCY

I don’t know about you, but I like to get as much bang for my buck as possible. Maybe that’s because even though I’m batshit-crazy-out-of-my-tree-insane, I do know the value of a dollar, or at least used to think I did. I know everything is hideously expensive, and I see the prices rising alarmingly at the grocery stores and on my rare outings, I am able to get brief flashes of what gas prices are doing, and they are not going south. Again, another reason to be glad I don’t drive anymore. Even if I could, I would not be able to afford the cost of maintenance, insurance and fuel.

Like everyone, JC and I scheme and look for ways to cut costs and save a buck here and there. We try to take advantage of the sales at the local grocery store, which for us is SweetBay. SweetBay was Kash and Karry, before that, I can’t remember. There’s a Publix a bit farther up the bus line, but they’re “high,” at least I tell myself that. It probably all evens out, but it’s a pain in the ass, schlepping groceries on the bus; we’re settled in our routines. Besides, all of our prescription medicines are handled by the State of Florida for me through SweetBay, so there’s that. Some kind of Devil-at-the-Crossroads agreement, I guess.

Ah, yes, the State of Florida and DCF. Department of Children and Families; they handle our Food Stamps, the infamous Medicaid, that I have heard tell of, but am to this day, convinced exists in the same realm as Ahab’s White Whale, and the Tooth Fairy. Lest I get off on that rant, let me back up to the Food Stamp thing.

When I first was transferred from the hospital to the homeless shelter, I was told to apply for Food Stamps, and was given 2 bus passes and a voucher for food at SweetBay. It was a holiday weekend, and there would be no one at Homeless Recovery until the following week. After applying for food stamps, it took about 3 days for me to become approved; I actually got my card and was approved before they could complete the interview. It was that efficient. This was in 2010.

Well, times they be a-changin' as the story goes. The system is now being administered by those noted humanitarians Chase-Manhattan, JPMorgan, who I sued back in 2004. I sued them for violating the ADA when they fired me from my job as an IT analyst. They fired me because I was “too slow.” I sued them and won because I told them the prior week I was blind, but would be having corrective surgery. They pretty much derailed my life. I signed a non-disclosure agreement after I won the suit. So, sue me JP; I. Dare, You.

Anyway, these much-vaunted care-takers of humanity are currently care-taking the Food Stamp and Assistance program for the State of Florida. Guess what? It really, really sucks, now. When one of my roommates lost her card, we spent several weeks and what seemed like 40 phone calls getting a replacement. It’s no shock that the majority of the clientele on public assistance are challenged by bureaucracy; it's one of the reasons they're on public assistance. I'm stating a fact and it's not their fault, generally speaking. But it should come as a surprise that this selfsame bureaucracy is deliberately obfuscating. I am challenged by it. I help lots of people and I have trouble with deciphering this gibberish sometimes.

Sometimes, the letters’ that are sent us from State of Florida, et al., change meanings, depending on what time of day said letter is read, what type of mood the reader is in, whether or not the moon has risen, or it is raining. This shit is that vague. I once sat here and read a letter sent to me no fewer than 8 times; JC read it and recited it back to me. We finally decided I was either eligible for Medicare unless I wasn’t and hadn’t applied for it unless I had. I don’t even remember if I was there. Who in hell writes this stuff? Aliens? Romney speech writers? Perhaps the good writers over at X-Files were unable to find jobs after that show ended. Perhaps, this is one of those IA translators they use for films, ala "All Your Base Are Belong To Us." That's a miracle of clarity compared to letters I've read from the State of Florida.

What I’m implying let me just come out and say; this is a deliberate attempt to forestall granting aid to people who need it. There is a huge amount of waste, but I posit that the waste is not necessarily from the people who are getting checks who deserve it least. No, I believe the waste is being caused by the great State of Florida herself and these institutions such as Chase Manhattan JPMorgan, who I’m sure are receiving a huge piece of this pie for doing a shitty job. They are really taking it from the hides of people who are for the most part, too frightened, too ill, or too addicted to understand. I help those people. The social workers at places like Homeless Recovery and Metropolitan Ministries are too inundated with cases to really look at this closely and they need to get help to as many people as they can.

But I see this; I see these connections. I make lots of phone calls and help online with friends’ applications’ for assistance. The other thing the state does is fritter away benefits. Instead of completely cutting off, say, my 26.00 in Food Stamps completely and giving it to a family who really needs it, they may cut it by 1.00. Seriously. How much did that cost the state? And then send me a letter. Really? Whose fault is this? So, instead of the GOP screaming about cutting all of these benefits, why don’t they REALLY put their money where their mouth is and do what they holler about all the goddamned time… conserve.

ROW80 POST 61 - LIBYA, THE TATTOOED LADY

I am completely breaking routine here and I am going to be swift in this first part. I have posted nothing for ROW80 since Tuesday, September 11, 2012. I intended and was working on a post as regards my viola, Wolf. That has been postponed to I don’t know when. When the mood strikes me and it’s not now.

I truly believe that my mental health is very closely tied to my physical health, to the point that my physical well-being is almost entirely overruled by my mental. I’m strong physically and when I’m strong mentally, my body acts on command, whether autonomically, or when I move at will. But, when I feel that dystonia, or when things are not right, it goes to hell. I’m having a rough patch. I told you, my readers, friends and casual drive bys that I would try not to evaporate and try not to end up at the Funny Farm, again. I’m getting too old for this shit. I’m tired of starting anew and I want to try and accomplish something; not just a bunch of “Sound and Fury signifying Funny.” Well, that came out better than I thought; I’ll settle for that; just not “Nothing,” or hopefully, “Nothing’s” boring fat sister “Mediocrity.”

This past week has been one of stress, for everyone, I think. I’ve had a couple of weeks where I may have acted in haste toward a friend and just said some mindless things. We got that ironed out, but I hurt someone I cared about, and I like to think I’m not like that, at my advanced age (perish the thought; it’s NOT about me!) I’m wiser and kinder than that. Imagine my shock to find that I’m human after all!

The dystonia has rather increased because I feel in a rut rather with my writing. It just seems that I’ve gotten into this groove and it’s either, A) pick on Romney, B) bitch about the Bus, C) tell stories about my, (fill in the blank.) I’m picking on myself, now. I try to avoid ranting on about my health, because it just sounds so damned alarming, but, there it is, and here we are: whatever is going on caused me to have 2 seizures on Monday. This is pretty much how I’ve lived my entire life and it allowed me to have 2 careers at the same time and do them well; not world-class, but I have credibility. I don’t know any other way to live. I just live full-out, hell’s bells. It scared my mom to death. Writing has become the same thing for me and I am at the point where I need to pay attention and step back, once in a while. Fair enough.

The kind of hang-on-to-your-hat, all-circuits-firing that I am so, so terrified of. I never know if I’m going to have a heart attack or a stroke. My pulse has been high, about 120, blah, blah. Only 3 weeks until I see my neurologist; it took me 9 months to get the state of Florida to get off the ASSES and do something. So, I have about 19 more ROW80 columns and I will start another, again, just not as regularly. The reason I’m telling you this is because after this post, I am not going to be this serious again. I can’t do this. I take it to heart too strongly and what we have done to the Middle East is horrible, indeed. It’s too hard on me. So, I’m going to take it out of overdrive and write about puppies and kittens or just do cyber-vandalism for a bit.

I don’t have TV; I pretty much read the news desultorily, so I had to backtrack through HuffPo, the DailyBeast, and AndrewSullivan, via “The Dish” my go-to guys, but if I understand this properly, it goes like this:

Terry Jones, an anti-Muslim pastor in Central Florida tweeted and then apparently posted a link to a Youtube video portraying Muhammad as a drunk and… right there, I thought “Oh, Jesú, that’s already asking for trouble.” A Muslim considers an image or portrayal of Muhammad sacrilegious and a gross insult. Why, oh why inflame people in that manner? There are zealots in every faith, in every culture, for every cause. What is it about certain groups that bring out the worst in people? Why did Nazis feel it necessary to shovel 6,000,000 Jews and 5,000,000 other people into ovens in Death Camps. This is not the total death count. I’ve seen the total estimated death count JUST for the Eastern Front from 1939 – 1945 at 55,000,000. The United States lost 450,000. Yet, here’s some fuckstick in Central Florida who thinks he has God’s Ear and is going to burn the Koran and prove a point. People wonder why I am so goddamned crazy. Well, I digress, but the point is this. We are brutal and evil and we are so, because we don’t even try to understand, we just brandish around a bunch of lies and misconceptions and think we have a cause. Now, back to our subject.

Okay, So, we have an asshole in Gainesville, who on September 11, 2012, has deemed it his “mission” to put on Youtube some really stupid video with jackholes wearing a bunch of fake beards and a lot of really shitty acting commit sacrilege and heresy and piss off a group of people, who, the Obama Administration has been working with. Some of them are actually GOING along with the ARAB SPRING, but it’s TOUCH and GO, because, these people don’t necessarily TRUST the WEST. GEE, I WONDER WHY??? (The capitals are mine.)

Said Asshole commits further assholery by answering when asked about his sense of responsibility for the attacks on the embassies and the death of Ambassador Stevens and other Americans, by commenting “I don’t think speech can be limited, to say OK, if I say this, then this could happen. I believe we absolutely don’t have that responsibility.” As Andrew Sullivan so rightly points out in his The Dish article, “I'm a free speech absolutist - but I'm not an anti-religion absolutist. I think a little respect for religions we don't share is something most Americans would think is precisely an American value.” Although I can’t really point to a shared analogy, I believe there is a shared value; respect implies responsibility. If you have no respect for your country or your faith, you sure as hell have no responsibility and are no shepherd. Jones needs to get his scurvy ass out of the pulpit. Note: in his article, Sullivan is referring to Romney. I applied the analogy here to Jones to make a point. I believe the principle is true. If I am wrong, please let me know. 

I hope I haven’t lost anyone on the logic trail. I know I get convoluted; blame it on the Jesuits. I almost fried my brain getting to this point. Right about here, the synapses started to blow. Because what happened next? Sure enough, the Mother Ship makes a (is it a one-way flight? I pray not) stop and drops off one Willard M. Romney, along with some of his fellow space aliens. Rombley then proceeds to huff and blow about what a complete mess the Obama Administration is making out of this attack by apologizing for a statement for a statement neither the White House nor the State Department made.

Color me huh? Romney is an even bigger tool and idiot than I ever thought. But since he was dropped off by the big Tuba In The Sky, what do we expect? Most of the GOP keep their yaps shut, with the exception of Donald Rumsfeld, Sarah Palin and that Reince Prebtensa (I just can’t figure out that name.) So, Will-Mitt is joined by a discredited Sec of Defense, Space Cadet and Unpronounceable name, who all escaped from the Mother Ship, when they booted the Romster. The rest of the GOP was silent; they either did not agree with Romney or had collective laryngitis. I’m not sure if there was any condemning going on. If I belonged to the GOP, I probably would have broken ranks, but since they all donated their balls over there to the Nutical guys, they’re quiet on matters they should be barking about. Damn! I shouldn’t even joke about this. But the GOP, Romneysham, the whole Circus-Zoo is just horrible. I can’t help it.

Lost in all of this is the fact that, once again, the Middle East is in turmoil. How banal and tame it sounds. Damascus, one of the oldest cities from Antiquity is rubble. It’s starting to look like Stalingrad did in 1943. There are other cities that are experiencing uprisings. People in al-Qaeda who stand to lose tremendous influence are taking advantage of this incident. Admittedly, this one thing is not the sole cause for this conflagration. Again, it is close to September 11, the “anniversary,” date and Jones knows how strongly the abjurement regarding any graven images. So, the deliberate act shouldn’t be lost on the U.S. What seems lost in all of this confusion and mayhem are the people in these Middle Eastern Muslim countries who have befriended the U.S., at great cost to themselves.

There are people who live in these countries who have counted on us to help. Who in good faith said yes, we want to have a democracy. We no longer want to have strongmen who steal our freedom and dictate and proscribe to us our liberties, if we’re allowed to have any at all. We want to raise our families in peace. We want to be your friends. We did something that may not be easily forgiven. We’ve befriended a country that has been looked at as our enemy. Some groups see you as an Evil, but we don’t believe that. We think you’re good. We want to help you, because we want to have some freedoms too.

On September 11, 2011, planes flew into the World Trade Center. Many people were hurt. Many lives were lost. People ran into the buildings at great cost to themselves. Many who went in to help did not survive. Some, who went to save lives, were visitors to the U.S. That does not matter. But this does. In the rocket attack, some Libyans ran to rescue embassy personnel from the shelled building and the mobs. More than 48 hours and several sources later, this is what I can piece together, 4 dead, 3 or more injured.

I have said that I will cry “bullshit” when I smell it, even if I spout it or think it. Originally, I saw 1 picture that shows 3 Libyan men carrying Mr. Stevens to the hospital and was told that was so by AP and their stringer. In doing my own research, I’ve run across at least 3 other sources, 2 of which are Arabic that could be depicted as “mobs.” So, I don’t know and the State department is not forthcoming. Still, it begs the point. Why be inflammatory during an “anniversary” period, much like April 19^th is a time of heightened sensitivity, for Oklahoma City, which we recognize. Why do we even allow the loony asshole Terry Jones to spew his hate? Oh yeah, nvm. In the end, we’re held hostage by a man who has no conscience and no sense of responsibility even to his own flock, let alone his country. Jones has sown dragon’s teeth that are in fertile soil indeed.

I find the implications of this stunning, tragic and just beyond ultimate horror. If you want Evil, here it is. Let’s start in our own back yard and turn it right back onto our own. I’m so ill with this. September 11, 2001 wasn’t bad enough. We just can’t lance this boil of hatred and perversity, can we? So, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to finish my ROW80 commitment. I really want to do that. I think it’s the right thing for me to do. I will always and forever have Homeless Chronicles in Tampa. But I am sick, not so sick that I am going to die, but I am sick of all of this senseless grandstanding and total horseshit. So, I am going to take it to the next level.

I am ending this post with something I want to share that is so sweet. I never thought that I had an especially Oriental mindset, but I’ve gathered some readers from the other side of the world. Maybe, because I worked at Verizon and lived among Middle Easterners and I understand what they enjoy and how they think. I worked and was trained by several folks from India, Pakistan and everywhere else and had a great time. My September 11 post garnered me 1 comment from Gujarat, India. A very sweet comment. I know I have readers over there. I answered and told the poster to say hello to my friends in Mumbai. It’s bittersweet; why can’t we be nicer to one another?

ROW80 – POST 60 - ELEVEN YEARS AND A DAY...

When I first started this, I wasn’t sure I would post it, it seemed too personal and maybe banal, but it is heartfelt and events of this scope can make us remember again why we cherish life, love and each other, even after all these years. Also, it had nothing to do with homelessness. Well, maybe figuratively; if you think about it long enough, maybe we are all rootless. I still feel the dystonia of that event and as if I’ve lost the anchor as a citizen to this country. Maybe with all the events from September 11, 2001 until now, I just feel betrayed.

In a way, this is a sort of re-post. I’ve left some of the original material from last year’s post, “Untitled,” including some of the events that occurred on September 11,2001, but have included some new; too much has happened since then, in my life and in the world around us. My writing style has changed somewhat as well, which is to be expected, I guess.

“On Tuesday, September 11, 2001 I was working at Verizon, in the Southeast Region Tech Center, up around North Tampa. I worked in the complex that houses the CERT (Computer Emergency Response Team) for the entire southeast region. I was also just home from a quick junket to teach a software application class developed in-house by Verizon and our fabulous in-house Software Development department, or whatever we called ourselves back in the day.

“By 2001, I had worn many hats at Verizon; platform support/network support specialist (fancy babble for “reset idiots’ Unix, IBM 5250 and Win passwords,”) Lotus Notes support (which should have been run on an OS/2 platform, hence the constant garble of WinNotes Email, and effed up Data Bases) and managed to supervise 95 floor technicians, who on any given day, were “hosting” giant “parties” of “Doom” and hoping I wouldn’t hear/see their multi-player raids. I caught them occasionally, but far be it from me to bitch and report. They got a lash with a wet noodle, unless I was in-game on my work computer, then they got ignored. Just kidding, but I am a Clan Elder in Runescape. . . never mind.

“I had kicked around in PC Support and Mainframe Support at Verizon and IBM and was driving around the Southeast, playing gigs and fixing customer’s computer bullshit from my hotel rooms at night. No wonder my marriage collapsed. I had gotten bored and stale with Tech Support and was offered a position in Development/Implementation. Much more fun was to be had installing and teaching classes in our software at various Verizon-type places for about a year before the Trade Center attack.

“On the Wednesday before the planes hit the World Trade Center, I had flown over them at sunset, courtesy of Delta Airlines and Verizon. I had just finished a 3 day teaching gig at the old Bell Labs up just north of Boston, Massachusetts. I remember the Towers; clear, lambent and vivid still. They were molten gold and bronze. Coppers and greens glinted off the glass surfaces. The argent light made them appear almost live and to move as we flew over them.  They looked to be so permanent and so monumental. I thought they would be there always. I was given a gift from God that day. Beautiful and breathtaking they were and of course later, heart-breaking. I was flying home to Verizon to the Tech Data Center where I was based.

“The following Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I was on driving to our Tech Data Center to teach a teleconference via Communications Bridge. You know, the “conference” call where twenty-five people all get on a phone call and holler at one another for four-hour stints at once to “learn” the newest, hottest application of bug patches from Development. Some are playing rap in the background, some are eating their lunches. Most are anywhere on their PCs but where I have asked them to be, so they can “follow along” with the gibberish I’m trying to impart.

“I left my house in Central Tampa at about 20 minutes to 9 that morning. It’s about 20 to 25 minutes from the Verizon Tech Center. As I was motoring up Nebraska Avenue, I turned on 970 WFLA. I tended to listen to talk radio when I drove, because I play so much music. The morning show is good; local personalities. I avoid Rush, Glenn (shame on Tampa for giving him a boost) but I love the morning folks.

“I tuned in on the middle of an interview with some guy who was living less than six blocks from the WTC. I just caught the end about the plane hitting one tower. I thought, “Geeze, those poor towers. Flown into again? Bad luck, yadda-yadda.” In truth, I can’t remember specifics, but that was my general feeling. Then I heard this huge roar and people screaming. The radio interviewer lost his composure and the guy being interviewed was completely hysterical. Then, the radio feed was lost. I knew we were under attack.

“My speed went from 30 to 90 in less than two minutes. I ran red lights. There were sirens, but I never saw police, never saw fire trucks. I dodged other motorists, missing them I’m sure, by inches. I had to get to Verizon and in my Center before they shut it down. I parked in Visitor Parking and grabbed Wolf out of my back seat. It had taken me about seven minutes from the time I heard the second tower impact while on Nebraska Avenue to get to work in North Tampa. Wolf, or rather his case, weighs a ton. I schlepped viola and self up the drive and got to the walkway. The damn doors were closing. I took off my heels and sprinted. Squeaked just into the main area and ran up to the third floor, my lair. My cubby hole sat above all the Mainframes and Communications hardware for the Southeast, that were housed on the first and second floors. Wondered if we were a target.

“We had huge plasma monitors covering two walls in a room that houses about 150 people. This place was never quiet. I could always hear the phones, people talking on Bridge calls, technicians asking questions, laughing and brainstorming. The hardware guys would be lugging stuff around, installing and un-installing stuff and adding to the din. This center is a hub for all sorts of telecommunications support, not just in the Continental U.S., but in Europe, Central America and parts of the Pacific.

“It was always a noisy mess, but I loved the noisy mess part of it, as much as anything else in the job. The Center was funereal on that day. No phones ringing, no conversations, no hardware being shunted around. There were probably 80 or 90 people just standing, watching the monitors. The Towers were still standing. No one spoke. No one moved. I stood beside my boss, Kat Torres. An aside; Kat was the first person I met at IBM. I went to Verizon about two years after she left IBM for Verizon to work. Kat is my dear, dear friend. I am god-mother to her daughter. She and I stood there silent, crying. I have no idea how many hours we stood side by side. We left only to try and contact our loved ones.

“The class was never officially canceled. I rescheduled a new time for the following Tuesday, but it would be almost a month before I gathered my people for another one. There were seven people from Verizon on the roof or roofs that day. I do not know the specifics, but I do know that some of the lines and routers continued to emit “handshakes” for a long time after that day. We could trace their IP signatures via the mainframes. I am not a hardware person. My expertise lies in software and networking, so I am unfamiliar with why this would be so. I used to monitor the transmittals regularly until they ceased. Why, I don’t know, but I felt compelled to see them, to make sure they were there. Maybe I hoped that against all reason, the people were still there. Most certainly I was mourning; for all of us and dreading what I knew we were going to become.

For us to go from that time to this and look back is probably no more compelling than looking back at any great national tragedy. There are still things that beg the question “why?” Since then and now, our new marches into Folly, Iraq, and Afghanistan, that Graveyard of Empires and countless other Geo-political messes, we’ve had the so-called small disasters, the Aurora shootings, American Nazis killing Sikhs and countless other hatreds. The casual and not so casual cruelties, the fanatical hatred, vitriol, spite and venom that we spew and use to cause destruction just baffles me. I can think of no reason to justify any of this. Not political ideology, religion, patrimony; none of it is justified.

This is one of those days when I feel unable to state or sum up with any clarity how it can be overcome. The only thing I can do, as my own small confuse-a-what self, is to do what I’ve been doing. Go on my way. Doing what I do. Sow my confusion, along with my bit of hope, love, inspiration, caring and laughter.