"I believe people think their lives are more important than they really are."-- Daniel Schneider, pratfall analyst
I could use some pro bono assistance researching statue of limitation exemptions under Pennsylvania state law.
I am also interested in whether systemic failure of service delivery is actionable as gross negligence if it led to significant asset reduction and physical injury, I have a documentary timeline to establish this.
Can I bring a complaint to the Philadelphia bar association if I can establish that an attorney failed to engage in due diligence as an officer of the court when he was given evidence of hostile environment conduct and failed to act due to vested interest?
A legal aid professor I attempted to discuss this with wasn't interested due to a contractual relationship and budgetary gutting. I will find a legal forum, but I'm establishing my thought processes. Unlike bit industry guru's, I believe in self-worth.
Showing posts with label aclu. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aclu. Show all posts
Friday, October 4, 2013
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Mulch
It was after this failed interview post that I noticed the probtheme link in my traffic sources, (it was also my birthday) and it led me to speculate on what my isp trackers thought I was capable of. Scalping sweet briar on a spear shaft? I care far too much about my own ego to pelt lesbians with egg shells, and leaving vitriolic imagery with boiling vats aside, the reasons I have drifted rightward from the progressive advocacy Catherine represents in her Barack deification (I know, I have been there, though not, insofar as it concerns the Obamas, with them) is because I have been tortured on the rack of the lie of social equality fifty ways from Sunday.
And my interview, fuck wits, was to campaign for Planned Parenthood. It is incumbent upon me that I did not ask the girl on the phone, whose name was Emily, the right questions before I showed up, and so I gift wrapped my parachute when I realized it would be next to impossible for me to field that degree of inner city travel.
However, my point to the gay marriage girls is exactly the reality check my physical limitations represent: Gay marriage is cosmetic. Including people like me in the real world is not. I might have been able to handle in office clerical duties and was shot down. By what metric my exclusion on the basis of my brain damage is progressive in terms of reasonable accommodation, this eludes me. Perhaps when Catherine lowers her brimming temperature, she'd have a few thoughts in response.
And my interview, fuck wits, was to campaign for Planned Parenthood. It is incumbent upon me that I did not ask the girl on the phone, whose name was Emily, the right questions before I showed up, and so I gift wrapped my parachute when I realized it would be next to impossible for me to field that degree of inner city travel.
However, my point to the gay marriage girls is exactly the reality check my physical limitations represent: Gay marriage is cosmetic. Including people like me in the real world is not. I might have been able to handle in office clerical duties and was shot down. By what metric my exclusion on the basis of my brain damage is progressive in terms of reasonable accommodation, this eludes me. Perhaps when Catherine lowers her brimming temperature, she'd have a few thoughts in response.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
A Purveyor of Necessities
The Roman, like the Englishman who follows in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he set his foot (on our shore he never set it) only his cloacal obsession. --James Joyce, Ulysses, location 2112
How comprehensive one can be following a 4:40 am dash on the most frigid day of the new year is a good question, but let me dial myself back slightly, for your understanding: When Greg Zacharias admonished me about conspiracies, he meant my James list posts were not being bounced on purpose, not realizing I was attempting to make a sardonic joke. When my half brother admonished me, he meant my family was not engaged in collusion to put me back in a nursing home, but fuck that. My baby bro and my full blooded sister are selfish whining materialistic parents who let me down and feel guilty about it and are headed for a legal negotiation, while my family elders wish I'd shut the fuck up, and mother's sister has reverted to loving inclusionary noises, all well and good, but la damage has been done, though I grant you, in stealing my mentor's title from an old workshop piece de resistance, that I am the primary purveyor of my bubonic plague. If Rico was a Simenon morality play that the studio turned into an uneasy hatchet job that has a great deal to say about Caucasian caste, then Arlington Road is positively operatic red meat, and on my last viewing I paid very careful attention, and there is enough ambiguity about Hope Davis as Brooke, and the blond operative in the ponytail who closes the film, to leave hanging some interesting questions, and a film like Brazil, satire it may be, ties this up nicely, but I am still thinking, and am thinking now of sleep, and my wry smile when Catherine, the blue-eyed bright progressive, chatted with me and the North Philadelphia minorities, about hostility to the LBGT community. Little did she know I was bitter, disillusioned, and how victimized. She would not, none of them knew, and no, they will not, this ACLU offshoot, be able to accommodate me to do their canvassing. It will be too difficult, though the young woman involved in the Cairo uprising interested me, and though you know not to what I allude, she talked back, and the half century old cripple stood firm, unmoving, a virtual edifice of granite, watching humanity knowing not what it reaps.
How comprehensive one can be following a 4:40 am dash on the most frigid day of the new year is a good question, but let me dial myself back slightly, for your understanding: When Greg Zacharias admonished me about conspiracies, he meant my James list posts were not being bounced on purpose, not realizing I was attempting to make a sardonic joke. When my half brother admonished me, he meant my family was not engaged in collusion to put me back in a nursing home, but fuck that. My baby bro and my full blooded sister are selfish whining materialistic parents who let me down and feel guilty about it and are headed for a legal negotiation, while my family elders wish I'd shut the fuck up, and mother's sister has reverted to loving inclusionary noises, all well and good, but la damage has been done, though I grant you, in stealing my mentor's title from an old workshop piece de resistance, that I am the primary purveyor of my bubonic plague. If Rico was a Simenon morality play that the studio turned into an uneasy hatchet job that has a great deal to say about Caucasian caste, then Arlington Road is positively operatic red meat, and on my last viewing I paid very careful attention, and there is enough ambiguity about Hope Davis as Brooke, and the blond operative in the ponytail who closes the film, to leave hanging some interesting questions, and a film like Brazil, satire it may be, ties this up nicely, but I am still thinking, and am thinking now of sleep, and my wry smile when Catherine, the blue-eyed bright progressive, chatted with me and the North Philadelphia minorities, about hostility to the LBGT community. Little did she know I was bitter, disillusioned, and how victimized. She would not, none of them knew, and no, they will not, this ACLU offshoot, be able to accommodate me to do their canvassing. It will be too difficult, though the young woman involved in the Cairo uprising interested me, and though you know not to what I allude, she talked back, and the half century old cripple stood firm, unmoving, a virtual edifice of granite, watching humanity knowing not what it reaps.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Leitourgos
I am a liberal Row-Ark. What I am not is a card carrying ACLU radical
-- Matthew McConaughey
Many people are turned off by Joyce's meta-textual efforts, myself included; the saga of Ireland's violins are wearisome, even if this is a callous modern sensibility, and makes me pea green, and thereby inducted, when I think of the money I spent. You do not want to know what I paid to become a patron of a small slice of Philadelphia's cultural history, but it is comparable to what a three credit course went for when I was a student. One among the group is a novelist, and he and I were the first two people in the room, generation divided, I read and typed notes on my kindle, and he had three huge books. Our exchanges were clipped, heightened, and I caution myself to remain passive and let the clover patriots indulge themselves. I am only there to contrast Joyce with Lampedusa and Proust and Broch, who I am slowly rereading, scribbling notes in the book. I did not know The Sleepwalkers was in the Modernist family when I bought the novel, and only remember the anarchist, with a strange jolt, a pang, as if his death was my loss. I am more familiar with Joyce than I let on, but harbor an ambivalent hostility (you gasp! no!). He is one of the greatest writers in the English language, but those Irish violins, the Troubles, the Celtic warriors who corrupted my Roman legions, I sigh... Perhaps the novelist is published, not play acting an amateur. We shall see, and I suppose I should reread Portrait and really make an effort and be a good girl; tis my money, but I think Joyce, and perhaps Marcel, were creating a secular liturgy, and that is my very simple defense of Ulysses and Finnigans Wake. Not sure I shall ever attempt the latter, though I cannot be definitive.
Hoping to get to the DMV today, but not positive. Partly the problem is the distance of the drive; the Septa routes are bothersome for such a short distance, but I do need to get the mug updated. If I hate PresbyHomes as much as I assert, I am not on an intracounty transfer list because I fail to see the point. Every other location is problematic, and I was on the suburban transfer list but DCCC HUD lost me. I can go as blue in the face as is survivable, but this doesn't change the fact that I have set myself up for trouble, barring charitable private property. For all the nerve it took me to write to Babette, getting an acknowledgement is elusive, which does not bode well for my late life cause of independent living center reforms; my public avatar and private sentiments are slowly merging, however, because I do believe that disability centers kill the disabled through incompetence, I really do.
This is the danger inherent in building managers like Trudy Richardson and her bulldog, Debra. They are handed power without the professionalism or training to handle it without violating the very civil liberties the ACLU holds dear, but the ACLU spikes a fever on fusion centers and their infringement of privacy, right of association, or sex, or fringe protest; if I was in Columbia having Marxist orgasms with trade unionists, I'd expect the FBI to have a hard on for my hard drive data. What compliance and case management are doing to our basic rights, however, never mind; it's an afterthought, like me, the scars I carry. The glare Obama bored into Romney is my own, except the odds that my injustices will be rectified are virtually nil, and yes, it was in part my social fear, and the knowledge that the cruelty of my former employer destabilized me.
I worked last night during the debate, and I'm pushing my body beyond what is safe. Have a good one peepbles.
-- Matthew McConaughey
Many people are turned off by Joyce's meta-textual efforts, myself included; the saga of Ireland's violins are wearisome, even if this is a callous modern sensibility, and makes me pea green, and thereby inducted, when I think of the money I spent. You do not want to know what I paid to become a patron of a small slice of Philadelphia's cultural history, but it is comparable to what a three credit course went for when I was a student. One among the group is a novelist, and he and I were the first two people in the room, generation divided, I read and typed notes on my kindle, and he had three huge books. Our exchanges were clipped, heightened, and I caution myself to remain passive and let the clover patriots indulge themselves. I am only there to contrast Joyce with Lampedusa and Proust and Broch, who I am slowly rereading, scribbling notes in the book. I did not know The Sleepwalkers was in the Modernist family when I bought the novel, and only remember the anarchist, with a strange jolt, a pang, as if his death was my loss. I am more familiar with Joyce than I let on, but harbor an ambivalent hostility (you gasp! no!). He is one of the greatest writers in the English language, but those Irish violins, the Troubles, the Celtic warriors who corrupted my Roman legions, I sigh... Perhaps the novelist is published, not play acting an amateur. We shall see, and I suppose I should reread Portrait and really make an effort and be a good girl; tis my money, but I think Joyce, and perhaps Marcel, were creating a secular liturgy, and that is my very simple defense of Ulysses and Finnigans Wake. Not sure I shall ever attempt the latter, though I cannot be definitive.
Hoping to get to the DMV today, but not positive. Partly the problem is the distance of the drive; the Septa routes are bothersome for such a short distance, but I do need to get the mug updated. If I hate PresbyHomes as much as I assert, I am not on an intracounty transfer list because I fail to see the point. Every other location is problematic, and I was on the suburban transfer list but DCCC HUD lost me. I can go as blue in the face as is survivable, but this doesn't change the fact that I have set myself up for trouble, barring charitable private property. For all the nerve it took me to write to Babette, getting an acknowledgement is elusive, which does not bode well for my late life cause of independent living center reforms; my public avatar and private sentiments are slowly merging, however, because I do believe that disability centers kill the disabled through incompetence, I really do.
This is the danger inherent in building managers like Trudy Richardson and her bulldog, Debra. They are handed power without the professionalism or training to handle it without violating the very civil liberties the ACLU holds dear, but the ACLU spikes a fever on fusion centers and their infringement of privacy, right of association, or sex, or fringe protest; if I was in Columbia having Marxist orgasms with trade unionists, I'd expect the FBI to have a hard on for my hard drive data. What compliance and case management are doing to our basic rights, however, never mind; it's an afterthought, like me, the scars I carry. The glare Obama bored into Romney is my own, except the odds that my injustices will be rectified are virtually nil, and yes, it was in part my social fear, and the knowledge that the cruelty of my former employer destabilized me.
I worked last night during the debate, and I'm pushing my body beyond what is safe. Have a good one peepbles.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Petty Shallows
I am reluctant to use the active ingredient in Mucinex, which is Guainfensin, to treat my chronic pulmonary decline, because it was certainly not designed for emphysema, but it is the best decongestant I have ever used that is an over the counter treatment. At least it used to be, and although I am unexpectedly drying out, as I posted yesterday, I do not need a relapse, and popped another with breakfast, and this is left over capellini and sardines; no driving out in the rain, even for Fancy Feast; the children will have to make due with the Purina K&K and my two small cans until tomorrow. A shower would make me feel better in one sense, but I need the breeze; it eases the still air in the unit that makes me labor, and so I will wait a little longer to feel confident about closing the windows and getting wet.
Due to the light winter, I am very much afraid of a summer with hard driving temperatures, and perhaps need to grit my teeth and buy a fan, and expend energy on how to keep the children safe with it in the living area.
Again, you may feel that my moral blame laid at the doorstep of Linda, Liberty, and Presby is representative of impaired judgment, but, by the time I glued myself back together from what Linda had done, I lost unrestricted use of Paratransit, and Presby was harassing me, constantly. My tense relationship with this company did not begin with their hire of Trudy Richardson, and if I am forced to continue my decline here, it will not end with her departure. Building managers are like candied almonds to this corrupt religious entity.
I have detailed numerous other instances for you in these years, and now things may be stable, but my health is failing, and sustained victimatization has as much to do with that as my struggle with ending tobacco use. Internalizing my abuse has not been good for me, and as a factual matter, the law may not have any exceptions to offer me to pursue any kind of justice.
Still, I took the time last evening to print my templates, and the kids, because I have been cautious, haven't noticed anything.
I do not fear my state representative, or complaining to her. I fear the fallout at the end of the day if I persist in keeping these things front and center as violations of the Americans With Disabilities Act, and my civil rights. Maybe I am mistaken if I think the ACLU is an effective shield here, but I am packing up my first copy to them, with additional letterhead. I do not know about Governor Corbett, but I am hoping to use his lack of enthusiasm of ADAPT and Cassie James, to my advantage.
Due to the light winter, I am very much afraid of a summer with hard driving temperatures, and perhaps need to grit my teeth and buy a fan, and expend energy on how to keep the children safe with it in the living area.
Again, you may feel that my moral blame laid at the doorstep of Linda, Liberty, and Presby is representative of impaired judgment, but, by the time I glued myself back together from what Linda had done, I lost unrestricted use of Paratransit, and Presby was harassing me, constantly. My tense relationship with this company did not begin with their hire of Trudy Richardson, and if I am forced to continue my decline here, it will not end with her departure. Building managers are like candied almonds to this corrupt religious entity.
I have detailed numerous other instances for you in these years, and now things may be stable, but my health is failing, and sustained victimatization has as much to do with that as my struggle with ending tobacco use. Internalizing my abuse has not been good for me, and as a factual matter, the law may not have any exceptions to offer me to pursue any kind of justice.
Still, I took the time last evening to print my templates, and the kids, because I have been cautious, haven't noticed anything.
I do not fear my state representative, or complaining to her. I fear the fallout at the end of the day if I persist in keeping these things front and center as violations of the Americans With Disabilities Act, and my civil rights. Maybe I am mistaken if I think the ACLU is an effective shield here, but I am packing up my first copy to them, with additional letterhead. I do not know about Governor Corbett, but I am hoping to use his lack of enthusiasm of ADAPT and Cassie James, to my advantage.
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