#ROW80 4TH QTR - WEDNESDAY CHECK IN – RUMINATIONS AND REGRETS

It crept up so easily, just so goddamned quickly. Assumptions. Judgments. These things always start as small frustrations towards ridiculously simple situations; opening jars, or dropping that same fork one too many times and then build, rather like an addiction. Then, it becomes impatience with people and their idiocies. I truly believe, even when I'm not feeling so crotchety, that a well-placed tongue-lashing delivered to an uncaring, or incompetent individual, besides being cathartic, may allow the person receiving the tongue-lashing more time to think and act, so as to not repeat that error. Although doubtful, I also make no claim to be the Miss Manners of the Nebraska Avenue set; it's a tough crowd, and not generally known for logic. 

More than likely, this is part of the same disease that at times torments me so. Call it depression, bipolar, Asperger, legacy of alcoholic and co-dependent parents; label it anyway you want and apply lipstick. It's still a pig and a pain. The last few weeks have been absolute hell. Trying to get the depression medication approved, and it being (still) tossed as a football via fax machine, from Pharmacy, to Doctor, to Drug Company, to Insurance and so on and so forth.

For now, the Primodone is working, but it is a case of too much, or is it? I have received some rather iffy blood analysis (high platelet counts 7888, BUN is too high, eosinophils are high – I've been out of the country a lot, and that's to be expected. Blah Blah. I have had higher platelet counts; in the 150,000 range, after having 2 perforated ulcers bleed, but that was taken care of. I've been sleeping lots. I mean, 12 hours and 14 hours at a time and it is worrisome. I also have a date with a pulmonary specialist on Friday, and I know that is not going to go well. I smoked for almost 30 years, and although I quit 3 years ago, I'm dealing with continual lung infections, asthma, emphysema, COPD and all the other crap that goes along with abusing my respiratory system.

I actually did a system rebuild over the weekend which took me about 16 hours and was a total nightmare, but got it done. So, for a while there, I could actually feel like a viable human being again, with some purpose, other than catering to JC. And JC needs to start trying to do things for himself; I really should not baby him, but it's hard. It is hard. How do you set limits on someone who has been so badly treated their entire life? How do you set those limits and not hurt someone's feelings. JC is sensitive and he can be needy. Who isn't? He's never had much and when he did work for everything and was married, she not only divorced him, she set him up and had him sent away; to prison and took all his assets. There. I've said it. Anyone who knows him understands that this is one injustice that cannot be borne. How do you give back a man 9 years of his life? How does that man, once released, ever learn to trust anyone again?

After his bad fall, I knew he was going to have issues with confidence about walking. He's much, much better, but he doesn't want to use a cane. I don't mind. I had to learn to walk again and I still have my walker. But still. He needs to start doing things for himself, and God bless him, he is. So, I feel so much better about that. He keeps Mama with him (she went to him, first) and he is content with spoiling her and talking to her. She follows him about and he is just so tickled by that. JC thought no one or no creature would ever care about him, ever again, when he was sent away. This is not true. A friend of his in Ohio, stood by him and they cackle and laugh on the phone like 2 old biddies. I am so grateful for that. He has friends here, who know he has a past (really, who doesn't) and appreciate him and look up to him.

But, last week, just mentioning in passing, he said, “I wish I could have a little dog.” I almost came undone. I've been crying off and on over that ever since. Just a simple request and it unhinged me. I've been a nightmare out in public. Last week, I was trying to get on the bus with groceries, back pack, cane and wearing my glasses. The driver didn't lower the bus. I clambered up somehow, and ran my bus pass through the thingy and said, “You could have lowered the bus for me. Didn't you see how burdened down I was?” He kinda smirked and said, “Ya haveta ask?” I took a deep breath, and said, “Since when did we have to ask?” “Oh, you're always supposed ta ask.” I cocked my head and said “Really? So, using that logic, does a wheelchair patient have to ask, or is he just supposed to levitate to get on the bus? YOU are not at my beck and call, and if you had 2 functioning brain cells to rub together, they might come up with some logic and do YOUR job, which is to kneel the bus, if you see a disabled person trying to get on the bus!”

This asshole was chewing on a toothpick and he almost swallowed it; I wish he had. But, something happened today and this goes back to what I said, earlier. “It crept up so easily, just so goddamned quickly” Tonight, I was at the grocery store late; it was already dark, and I am not usually that late. I was done picking up our meds and some food and had called a cab. There was this black guy who was talking to people as they were coming in and out of the store and he seemed either high or drunk. When I'm by myself, I'm really defensive, for a good reason. First off, in that neighborhood, you can show no weakness of any kind. I can summon a whole lot of crazy and hostile in 1 microsecond. So, this guy says to me, “Are you blind?” pointing at my stick and glasses. Insta-hostile kicked in; holding out my cane, I said, “What does this look like? Shit!” He says, now kind of intimidated, “I dunno.” I said, “That's right, you don't know.”

Now, we're having kind of a Mexican standoff. Some guy was going into the store and I snagged him and said, “would you mind waiting here with my groceries, just for a minute? I'll be right back.” The man agreed and I went back into the store and got one of the head cashiers and told him about this guy. He said, “It's okay, it's okay.” I noticed a couple in the express line kind of giving me dirty looks, but thought nothing of it at the time.

The head cashier and I went out and he saw the guy and he says to my everlasting shame, “oh, he's harmless. He's homeless, he sleeps underneath the underpass.” I told the head cashier that I had been homeless and couldn't he be helped? The cashier just shrugged. I asked him if there was anything I could to for the man. The cashier said no, and he had to get back to work. The couple who gave me the dirty looks came out and the homeless man tagged along after him. I feel terrible. I apologized, and explained that I had been homeless once, too. But I don't know that it registered. 

I was still waiting for my cab and another man came up to me and asked me about my blindness and I told him. Then I started to tell him about the homeless man, and then, I started to cry. I feel like all the sins of the world are on my shoulders for that one unkindness. You see, I used to be like that and I worked so hard to not be like that. Because I know what it is to be homeless, a pariah, unwanted and living a marginal existence. I never want to go back there again. Being poor doesn't mean not caring, judging, being envious, or loveless. I'm fine with being poor, but I need that compassion, love and non-judgmental acceptance that is all our due. I have always felt that I did more harm in my life than I did good. Or just wasn't good enough, or just fill in the blank. This is my last chance at redemption through grace; I must remember the love, kindness and compassion and generosity that have been shown to me and pass that on, because without it, I am nothing.

#ROW 80 POST – JC'S OBSERVATIONS

I live with a man. Okay, now that you’ve all recovered, picked your jaws up off the floor, told the cat, and went “well! I never!” I have to say this: I love this man whole-heartedly, completely without reason and would die for him, Truthfully. He has had a terrible life; living among a population of truly dysfunctional people and having had a pretty toxic childhood myself, this says much. His childhood and personal life have been absolute hell. JC is from west Texas and has a wonderful drawl and a colorful way of speech. He’s not the type to go out of his way to tell knee-slappers, or shaggy-dog stories, but in a non-calculated way, he places his comments perfectly, leaving me breathless with laughter. He can tell stories so prosaically and honestly, the depth of realization of the tragedy doesn't really impact until later. I mourn for hours at times.

Mama is good balm for the soul and she loves the affection. She wouldn't be here if it weren't for JC.

He never finished grade school; according to him, he can barely read. He learned to read by reading the Bible, which he knows Chapter and Verse. JC is almost Old Testament in the depth and breadth of his knowledge. He is righteous, but not judgmental and steadfast. At times, I feel he is too generous, but he must do what he feels is right. He is good and wants to help people who hurt and really need it and he is protective, but prudent. He has moral limits he will not cross. He thinks he is not “smart, but has common sense, because he doesn’t read well.” He is one of the smartest men I have ever met. He has been with me through everything; my having to be Baker Acted, my many trips to the hospital and has listened to me whine about all the weirdness from my PD-essential tremor symptoms. His is a courage found rarely and I cherish it.

 Our poor grocery store; an endless series of delights and japeries for me. I keep being warned that I will end up on You Tube for one of my idiocies, by the store employees, who are terrific in personality and customer service skills. Jim, of the Pink Pumpkin saga has taken his awesome to the front, to help with bagging, and managing the cashiers. It suits him; along with awesome, he is unflappable and unbelievably kind and generous, as everyone there is. I consider it my 2nd home. It was the first store I went to with a food voucher, no ID when I was place in the homeless shelter by Homeless Recovery.The Manager, understanding immediately, my situation, honored that voucher, so I could eat that weekend. It was the day after Thanksgiving, 2010 and all the official agencies were closed. Josh Hamilton is still there. They are my friends; no. They are family. Which means I pick on them at every chance I get. I was totally unaware that chickens had paws. I guess I slept through Biology or Chicken Anatomy at school that day, whatever. 

JC holding the chicken paws. The best part of this was getting him to smile. He has a beautiful smile. It was 10 am on a Saturday morning and we were waiting to have some prescriptions filled. It's dead quiet in the store, except for me holleriing, "SMILE, SMILE, SMILE, HA HA. COME ON. DON'T BE SUCH A WOODEN INDIAN! LOOK AT ME! HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT THE LATEST FORM OF URBAN VIOLENCE? DRIVE-BY VIOLA SOLOS! BLAH BLAH BLAH" No one else is in the store and it's pretty quiet, all anyone can hear is my cheerful blathering, trying to get this man to smile. Behind me, I can hear the Pharmacy department cracking up. Finally, he smiles and I quick, take a picture. Otherwise, this picture would have had all the charm of death row.

I am liberal. I am so liberal, I am an anarchist. I read and understood at a post-Graduate English level at the age of 15. I am righteous and mercurial. I want to help. He and I work so well together and watch the folks here and decide who might need a hand up. Plus, we have a bunch of fun.

This day started as many others do, with the hopes, speculations and trepidations of a Bus Ride. Ah yes, First, the inevitable 1 minute equals 7 years. This means that JC must leave the house around August 9, 1872. I hope he set the alarm early enough. So, off he goes. I sleep on and miss Garfield’s assassination and the turn of the Century, the 20^th.

JC comes in around 10:30 on August 9, on 2012; he must have taken the wormhole home, and plops down. I’m doing something different. Pounding madly on the keyboard as if possessed, typing drivel or doing my latest form of side-splitting cyber vandalism; it’s all pretty much the same thing.

“What do you make of this?” JC asks… and he proceeds to tell me about the ride home. Some cat got on the bus and pointed at JC’s shoes. Just plain lace-ups, kind of like running shoes, only black. The dude mentioned “shoes” and looked at JC. JC looked around the bus; the riders looked at him. JC looked at the dude. The dude looked back at the shoes and mumbled “shoes” again. JC shrugged and said, “Okay.” The guy proceeded to get down on the floor and pick each one up and one, by one, rub his face all over the bottoms. “What in hell? Do I have shit on them?” JC asked, but no one answered. Guy gets up and sits down.

EW M G! It wasn't this creepy, but since it happened to JC, it's happened to several other men on the HARTline bus. I'm pretty open-minded, but this is a bit much, particularly since this jerk wasn't even asking for consent; he was just helping himself. I would love to have seen it, just for a laugh. But, yikes!

Of course, JC can’t wait to get home and tell me about this squirrel. We sort of have a running competition about who runs into the biggest loon on the bus. So far, JC’s got me beat. No one’s asked to smell my purse or underarms yet. If someone asks to smell my panties, it’ll be the last thing that person ever asks in existence, or non-.

We proceed to go sit on the front porch and watch the stupid world of Nebraska Avenue go by. Here comes Jo-Jo (either “Jo-Jo, the Ho” or “Jo-Jo The Dog-Faced Girl, if I’m feeling particularly ugly that day.) She is being led by one of the newer denizens of the homeless shelter. The homeless shelter is an amalgam or payors, felons and people sent there from the state. Jo-Ho gets an SSDI check. She had a stroke, most likely due to her excessive drinking which has not abated since. Anyway, she is being “led” by a newbie, a woman. Usually it’s a man. Jo-Jo has all the grace and charm of a 58-year old cheerleader who pissed herself 40 years ago after being dragged face-down through a gravel-pit. She has the voice, face and outfit to prove it.

“Look, Jo-Jo has a new “helper” JD says to me nonchalantly. I kind of glance over that way. I get a dim impression, my eyes being kind enough to allow seeing 2 little blobs; one wavering, the other helping the other on the sidewalk to the liquor store.

JC continues on, “You know for someone so feeble and ill, there is certainly nothing wrong with the hinge in her elbow…” This is all said placidly, with the nonchalance of “nice day out. Do you want eggs?”

We are both together in a tiny apartment now, and his healths is not good, so I'm never going to be that wife who writes to Ann Landers as I once saw in the paper. Her husband had died, and she was so sorry for bitching about his snoring, not picking up after himself, and on and on. I felt so terribly bad for the woman, because even though she had not loved her husband, she had not told him, nor showed him, even in the smallest of ways. Due to the fact that we would lose our SSDI, we live in “sin.” I'm sure Rick Scott, GOP family values guy, being the asshole Republican Satan Governor of the State of Florida is just hopping mad over this. Fuck him, although he probably has some indescribable man-ware and can do himself. Anyway, as JC well knows, it is my mission to make him experience happiness, or miserable trying.

Our fair Governor, Rick Scott. Florida GOP, friend to Satanists everywhere. I believe that this is the finest Paint job I have ever achieved, and it took a whole 2 seconds, with no do-overs. Revel in the stupidity.

When we lived at the Homeless shelter, JC had all sorts of sayings. Mr. Pimp My Ride was always talking about how he “worked for a living,” and wasn't a lazy slacker like JC and I were. Well, this idiot was working under the table and getting paid daily and it couldn't have been much of a job, because Mr. PMR was not quite as bright as a sack of hammers. I'm fairly sure he was illiterate, and he spent most of his time drinking and smoking crack. He babbled something at JC and I when were in the kitchen and wanted us to look at something, I told him that due to my cataract in my left eye, I was unable to see it. Mike, aka Mr. Pimp pipes up, “Ooh, I've had about 37 o' dem.” Then he, apropos of nothing, starts talking about “cyclostopy” and wondered to JC, “is that the one where they take the balls off, too?” JC was washing the dishes, didn't turn a hair, he said, “No, that's the one where they sew up your mouth and stop the bullshit.” I had to leave the kitchen.

They say one picture tells a thousand words. This one pretty much writes the whole novel. Who in the name of all that is holy or unholy wraps tinfoil around his spokes? The only time this is acceptable is one is 11 or maybe 12 years of age. He used to get him some bungee cords and tie his boom box to his handlebars. Stylin' man. I don't want to give the impression that he was just a fool; he was mean and dangerous and his weapon of choice was a knife. He was rather impaired about what or who should be stabbed. He stabbed cars, trash cans, but seldom people. I guess his folks didn't read "Why Little Johnny Can't Stab." His brother lived there, also. They both had a younger brother who was a regular guy and would occasionally have to bail one of them out of jail and I remember him saying in an exasperated tone, "Why in the Hell can't you and Benny just get it together?" Never gonna happen; people like that will never even try to get out of that life.

The following week, Mike tried to sell us a DVD. It was like “Big Butts” are something. JC just looked at him and said “What the hell is wrong with you?” Mike launches into this story about how he'd originally bought the thing, and then lent it to someone else. It was then stolen from that person and sold to another person in the house. Mike found out about it, and bought it back from that person, and then wanted to sell it to JC “to earn a profit.” As if. After hearing this, JC, nodded his head and said “I think you're an Astronaut.” Mike says, “How you figure?” JC said, “All that space between your eyes.” I ran down the hall, cackling like a hyena.

JC tried to get me back and make me laugh. He forgets that I've spent a lifetime on stages holding in the ha-ha. Besides, I was pissed because the bed was it's usual mess. As if. I'm about as domestic as a panther.

I always laugh, when he starts recounting these stories, because of the “demonstration.” I look over to see the frantic motion of right elbow going up and down 90 degrees from chair arm to mouth. That's his Jo-Jo imitation. The motion says it all. “Nothing wrong with her smoking elbow either.” Motion repeated on left side. I fall out of chair. How many ways do I love this man? This is just one of them.

#ROW80 SUNDAY CHECK IN – FUN WAYS TO CONFUSE OUR NEWLY-HATCHED POLICE STATE

I'm not even going to try and put lipstick on this pig; from Techdirt comes this article, “Creating Chilling Effects on Speech is aFeature, Not A Bug, Of the Surveillance State.” Regarding Free Speech and written by Mike Masnick. As a tech article, it starts out with the usual blah-blah, but this caught my eye, “implicit in our assumption is that these “costs” are things that are negatives of the program (kinda like a bug.) Others would point out that for those in power, that's not so much a cost as a benefit. It's not a bug, or an unintended consequence, but a “feature.” By the way, an update or a patch is also a bug, just not one that spies on you, in most cases. Or maybe it does.

On July 11th, 2013, Microsoft granted access to the NSA and FBI for Outlook, SkyDrive and Skype

Yeah, I get that, in 2 ways. Calling something by another name makes it something else. Not. A bug is a bug. But, hey, if it's Microsoft? Microsoft is nothing but a HUGE bug patch, along with JAVA, ORACLE and all the other half-assed software companies that are raking in big bucks for shitty software. I am not bitching; I have a cottage industry going in fixing crap you never got right in the first damn place!

"When email isn't enough for us to get our nosy little mitts on your information," would be 

truth in advertising.

The author then goes on to write about the “chilling” affect this has been on free speech, not just as a consequence, but as a motive. Even Peggy Noonan, describing a conversation with longtime civil liberties advocate Nat Hentoff, writes that “the inevitable end of surveillance is self-censorship.” Well, since I've been in a homeless shelter and mixed it up with different sorts, I tend to NOT self-censorship; a lifetime of it, pretty much fucked up my personal life. As long as I don't foment treason, I can say any damn well thing I want, under the 1^st Amendment, and so can you, if you're a U. S. citizen.

Also, at TechDirt, the July 11^th 2013 headline was regarding the “Latest Leak Shows Microsoft Handed the NSA and FBI Unencrypted Access to Outlook, SkyDrive and Skype. Even though I hardly think Microsoft has the warm fuzzies for the ABC agencies, we're talking about Microsoft. I truly believe they don't their ass from a hole in the ground. IBM worries me, as they made a deal with the Nazis in the early 40s that hardly anyone talks about. And yeah, I've worked for them both and know the chicanery they are capable of. Remember too, that I hunted down rogue servers at IBM, back when no one thought it was a big deal. This was in 1997. When I worked for Verizon, I didn't have that type of job, but we did have computers up on the towers on 9/11, and they were still transmitting signals for weeks, until their batteries finally died. Shivery stuff.

Anyway, if were being told it's not a “bug” but a “feature” how fucking stupid do the NSA, FBI think we are? Wait, don't answer that. We gave up it all up with a stroke of a signature in 2001, when Bush, Jr., signed the Patriot Act. Obama re-signed and expanded on some things the government can do, with no warrants, no knock, no nothing. President Obama is our first technically savvy president and understands the ramifications over time of what this all means. We put up with Joseph P. McCarthy's nonsense, list-waving, his 238 or 149 names, whatever, of known members of the American Communist Party. Until Joseph Welch chastised during the first of the televised Army-McCarthy hearings. Senator McCarthy and his lists and career went poof!

People who say, “I don't care who listens to me, I have nothing to hide,” are full of shit and let me tell you why. 99% of them have nothing the NSA, the FBI, or the CIA cares to hear, but that is not the point. We, as Citizens of the United States have and inalienable right to privacy. If an outside government agency wishes to breach that privacy, they MUST produce a warrant. It doesn't matter if it regards coming into your home, reading your mail, email, searching your car, requesting certain documents and wiretapping your phone. Interestingly enough, 5 amendments come into play here, the 1st, 3rd, 4th (especially for wire-tapping) 9th and the 14th amendments. I am not even going to get into Habeas corpus, which is sort of a “Get Out of Jail Free” card.

So, in actuality, these things trump stupidities like the Patriot Act, at least in my book, and here is where the fun comes in. Get yourself a batch of Facebook friends, preferably some from Russia, Kazakhstan, or Tajikistan and the Middle East. Chat back and forth and then exchange jokes and stuff. Misspell lots of your words and talk about your dogs, pets and hobbies. For instance, mention that great WIRE-HAIRED TERROR that your mom bought you. Swap recipes. The ones for bombe glaceé, or bombe Alaska might just perk up some ears.

That thing can won't be around long enough to explode. It looks delicious!

Talking in pig latin, or maybe esperanto is probably good. I don't think the NSA has any algorithms for that yet. Better yet, before posting on FB run your text through several translators. It works like that stupid game “Telegraph,” where a bunch of kids would sit in a circle and someone would pick a phrase and whisper it to his/her nieghbor. So, we have this sentence that I started out with in English and ran through several different languages before going back to English:

Kid 1: The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. – English

Kid 2: قفز الثعلب البني السريع فوق الكلب الكسول – Arabic

Kid 3: Le quick brown fox saute par dessus le chien paresseux – French

Kid 4: wyqfz ạltẖʿlb ạlbny ạlsryʿ fwq ạlklb ạlkswl – Georgian

Kid 5: wyqfz ALTHʿポンドạlbnyạlsryʿFWQạlklbạlksw – Chinese (simplified)

Kid 6: wyqfz ALTH ʿ பவுண்டுகள் ạlbnyạlsry ʿ FWQạlklbạlkswl – Tamil

Kid 7: wyqfz alth ʿ ポンド ạlbnyạlsry ʿ FWQạlklbạlkswl – Czech

Kid 8: wyqfz alth ʿポンドạlbnyạlsryʿFWQạlklbạlkswl – Norwegian

Kid 9” wyqfz alth ʿ ポンド ạlbnyạlsry ʿ FWQạlklbạlkswl – German

Kid 10: wyqfz alth ạlbnyạlsry ʿ ʿ ポンド FWQạlklbạlkswl – English

Fun!

This is very much like the crap that Bing comes up with. I like making up my own stories.

http://www.cracked.com/blog/the-most-baffling-subtitles-in-foreign-action-movie-history/

As always, my undying gratitude and love to Mr. Brockway at Cracked.com

And that is how you play “Telegraph.” This would be great and send the NSA haring off into all kinds of directions, and wondering what sort of nefarious things are going on. I plan on doing this, as I already know I'm on all sorts of lists, ala Joseph P. McCarthy dating back to my father's non-escapade, when 2 of his employees somehow managed to smuggle out 2 personnel carriers and then sold them to the Saudis, back when they weren't our friends. So, we got to put up with the FBI showing up at all kinds of hours, replete with sunglasses at night. My dad used to pick me up after school; it was my senior year, and then we'd spend hours aimlessly driving around, not even bothering trying to rid ourselves of the remoras in our wake. I joined the American Socialist party in the 80s. President Reagan was in office, so not looking very kindly upon anti-capitalists, I'm sure I went in the barrel for that.

Tampa has one of the largest presences outside of D. C. because of MacDill Airforce Base. That Base was the center for the prosecution and direction of the Iraq War in 2003. I guess this is Eric Holder; all FBI agents look alike to me.

Anyway, we have inalienable rights, per the Constitution and the Bill of Rights and those are being abrogated and this is a fearful thing because, when one right is stepped on, then 2 are stepped on. When we get to Writ of Habeas corpus, which I fear has already been violated, we're toast. We've lost and we have nothing to protect us then. No matter. I have no one, other than JC, and he understands this very clearly. He also knows that I will not let this happen, if at all humanly possible. We need to wake up, get over the bullshit. People breastfeeding in public, so what? People get outraged about stupid temporal things, but this is hard because it feels like an abstract idea. It isn't.

It's very real, and it's what I call a chromatic failure, because it's at every level of the government and then some. Corporations try to tell people how to vote. That is none of their goddamned business. In one of my Triberr groups, I heard about a Chief who won't share a poster's blog if they don't agree with the opinion. That's fucking censorship and wrong. In closing, we must look to ourselves and not just to what is going on outside. A free society means that all can air their opinions, peculiar or antithetical to ours they may be. That's what liberty is about.