Higher Extremities

The medieval picture of heaven and hell hasn't been replaced  with anything more realistic.--Madeleine L'Engle, 1988, ushering in A Grief Observed

Treasure Coast Newspapers had a small scoop in disseminating Paul Ryan’s exit speech to wire services like Reuter’s and The Associated Press, but it was diminutive and low impact in terms of any breaking news story, and was rather reflective of attrition of established Republican ideology, to the extent that Ryan’s departure was a harbinger of any sort, and it was, for the core tenets of fiscal conservative sensibility. Ryan took the political temperature, told the truth about the swerving fissures under Donald Trump’s feet, and then walked it back, under pressure from whom, unknown. One might reasonably surmise the Senate Majority Leader used a careful selection of words, and the 54^th Speaker was reigned in, unlike the new empress from New York, who is seeming impossible to restrain. But when a somewhat simple-minded polemicist like Posoblec asked his followers what Ryan achieved after his 20 odd years in the House, this is disingenuous. Legislating is a difficult process even under one party rule: the Obama Trinity actually got the ACA into law and created a healthcare crisis in an ideologically aligned city like Philadelphia within five years. Insurance carriers hemorrhaged, and this represented a beginning once unfathomable. Beltway policy and execution put an already vulnerable quadriplegic in jeopardy.

Ryan and the Freedom Caucus had the more difficult task of restricting federal outreach. Sequestration proved nearly undoable, recalling Obamacare proved nearly impossible, and yet Ryan is still the boy wonder who has remained rhetorically elegant, consistent, and mathematically accurate. Entitlements will always outpace capital, they are punitive in stricture, and entirely unsuitable for quality of life, and the Rust Belt outcry prevailed. Trumpian populism lanced Ryan’s fiscal faith in business models, and Ryan, like Scott Walker, saw the writing on the wall. Yet people who live in Philadelphia row homes aren’t financially secure, let alone those who are subsidized in public housing. This may not be the case for every individual, but compliance modules and red tape have been the tragedy of this blogger’s life, and what did she want, precisely? The freedom a secure career might have offered, the esteem of home ownership, a husband. All this is a fairy tale now, bootlegged by the minority collective, lungs wheezing as readily as the PA GOP is losing. Lamb beat Saccone by a very narrow margin, D. Raja was asleep at the wheel, felled by lack of campaign contributions, and young Turks no longer emulate Ryan's exercise regime. Would it help to reflect back in time to when you did?

The Occupation of Venezuela

"Guaido has grown so much politically they haven't been able to touch him," the assertions English language media  asserts about stature

Things are moving too slowly for any hope on my part that mobility medicine can mitigate what I have had to endure since September of 17. The direct care worker, whose pseudonym he probably cannot reference as the knight from the Arthurian legends, gave me most of the day off, but for all that, making an effort to cut down on Twitter interaction, discipline is compromised through indigestion due to my bowel and inability to evacuate, as by the time he gets here I am empty and when he’s ready to clock out, it is too late, is only just getting in 3 o’clock Monday, his automotive issues taking a toll on the month. I have not moved the goal post further along toward developing new editorial relationships, though I have started a back burner story about the homosexual drug addict Jevs sent me as a back up when Galahad takes time off. Obamacare, no matter its exchanges and networks, doesn’t change the nature of an hourly wage on Medicaid budgets, and you’ll get drug addicts with criminal records who can get aging tenants evicted for being extreme homosexuals with criminal records. Eviction from a public housing building such as Riverside might leave me overjoyed if it was the result of my own actions, but if it came about as the result of an extreme queer (even Galahad recoils from this man, and Galahad is an inner city minority resident),  this is something else again, and would give me ample cause of action to sue Trudy Richardson, the building manager who no more believes in civil liberties than she would that the legends of St. Nicholas has legs, but be heartened. Apathy has triumphed over my visions of treating Trudy like one of Daryl’s head shots from the Walking Dead, which relates directly to the fact that Galahad resents the fact I’m not grateful for him. Why should I be? He isn’t indispensable, and I cannot push him to help me regain strength. His time off, though earned, is primarily arbitrary. Jevs doesn’t have standards in place to be mindful about giving these individuals required down time such as I’d receive. He is frustrated with this lack of gratitude. These flare ups take their toll, the vituperations in a sphincter which exudes a furnaced laxity so domineering that a younger undergraduate took the Shakespearean’s request to write a poem about her name literately and wrote an anagram about her identity being flushed into the sewage system. “It’s it’s—” stuttered the then voluble Jerry McGuire, with his ham fisted strength yet young, at the time, less good looking, than the now imploded Luke Perry. Magee Rehabilitation, its first keystone inscribed the same year as Jerry’s “it’s it’s,” stumble cadence at a conference table on a Chester campus, is more representative of a healthcare system in crisis as opposed to something worthy of marvel. I’m not post-op; not in recovery. The physical therapists express resistance toward my treatment, the only innovation since my last visit being wall diagrams about surviving a mass shooting, oblong ellipticals in deep red blue color contrasts, with arrows. Perhaps soiled adult briefs would be a distraction in the face of such an event, burrowing the exuberant celebration of youth, a youth which truly believed in victorious conquest. As one of my literate British followers noted, when you have nothing left to lose, you have nothing left to fear.

When Mickey Rourke Still Had A Face

Our mothers were right Charlucci, it's better to stick with your own kind.-- the post dexterously maimed Eric Roberts, as Paulie

I no longer get offers to family gatherings. What I was invited to attend this afternoon, and not attending after all, is a birthday party for my 96 year old grandmother here at Fair Acres. This is where her daughter Mary Worrilow, with her cyborg joint replacements, wishes for me to relocate, as if I need to keep an eye on the vacancy of identity in Pauline Cristinziani's emaciated frame. My father's sister Marie is diametrically opposed to the idea, preferring that I accept my lot here at Riverside, with its understated ideas of significantly abusive minority competency, while I play shuffleboard with the skepticism of a world weary soul. This is an image of Pauline in her ever so slowly stoic withdrawal from her sense of herself, part regal Catholic warrior, devout, unshaken, part peasant, the life she led during the war era makes us look like a group of distressed hatchlings saturated in fossil fuels. The spastic dowager should honor this grandparent in the celebration of a life extended beyond any reasonable meaning. She appears to be miserable in the Fair Acres visiting room, well groomed, hair white and nearly matted, her hand grasping her knee, she bears an appearance of anguish. Septa's route 21 is onerous, from Chestnut Street to 69th Street Terminal, it is damp, and although it would be good to get away, and I would be seeing family I never otherwise get to see, Saturday morning, a spastic colon pole vaulted into a lovely stress attack, ever so slowly enabling death through sepsis in my feces, domineering beyond what we would wish on enemies, presumably--

My administration is reviewing the strength of this ruling. In the event any court damages the #ACA, I will do everything in my power to direct state agencies to protect Pennsylvanians. https://t.co/pVOaLtBkKn

— Governor Tom Wolf (@GovernorTomWolf) December 15, 2018

--unless it's my governor, willfully maintaining the forest of the Commonwealth's poverty-stricken, as careless, otherwise, with the deciduous oaks, still wondering whatever happened to a citizen's self-esteem. And this, too, is an image of John, nearly 60, playing games with his vanity and conceit; it was partly his rebuff, as I've written, being the propeller behind the reason I boomeranged into the inner city in the first place.

Arguably, however, things might have not been appreciably different if I had played my cards closer to home. If John's post-graduate partner, whom I saw once, while they were totally into each other in a slow dance, parted ways with him, or he her,the link I give you provides ample reason why. If I had been able-bodied, with an appropriately toned body, would the demise of what I thought I wanted. birthing his children, among other things, have taken so much out of me that I never loved again? My novelist friend Gretchen, in the interim, faces the possibility of losing her son, Brennan, to an interior brain infection already surgically tackled once. She's such a polished writer that I am living this with her, but it's also why Facebook is anathema to me (and yes, my account chungs along). Even if she was still in West Virginia, I couldn't help her.

My beautiful boy is in deep trouble. He's got an infection. They seem to feel they have caught it in time but he was doing very poorly. Please help Adrian's Cancer Fund. Every person in our family is struggling at our limits, Adrian most of all. https://t.co/jK2LFuMqtX pic.twitter.com/V0MQZb2xB9

— Troy Blackford (@TBlackford3) December 16, 2018

The same applies to my steady follower. If Troy Blackford's plight with Adrian is genuine, I feel for the child. Even if I had the money, even some expertise, I couldn't change the outcome, but this is different in kind, again, from mobility medical indifference beating hordes into a pulp. Those of you who truly believe health care is a right, have no damn idea how you're referencing it. It is certain not inalienable as a pathway to freedom.

Grace Achieved Through Brutal Contingency

The red-team approach makes sense in the military and in consumer and technology companies, where assumptions about enemy strategy or a competitor’s plans are rooted in unknowable human choices. --Governor Whitman

Early on in my libertarian flirtation, I challenged Austin Petersen in what I hoped was friendly jostling, and he followed me back, then cautioned me on a gaffe which I did not have to make. If I explain this it will come out a bit droll, but nevertheless: I thought I could recycle a political bone out of Bush v Gore, due to a factoid from a Christine Todd Whitman opinion piece that bugged me some odd eighteen years ago, the percentage she cited. Al Gore lost his home state of Tennessee by 6 points, and had he actually carried his home state, the electoral college and the popular vote would have aligned in 2k. It baffled me that the Vice President didn’t carry his base. A local told me they thought Austin was from Tennessee, and I tagged him in error, thinking out loud on Twitter, something none of us should ever do. I explained to him that my synapses were fumbling for a story. I now know he is in quest of Missouri voters. As I’ve warned, droll, and my gratitude that he put me on his feed would have led to a rapid deflection, as he chastised that a block would ensue for off topic tags. I confused him without meaning to do so, and have come to respect him since then. But he and I are nearly polar opposites. He has the promise of his ambition. I have the scars of the welfare state. He is a social liberal. I’m not, wavering as I am, high risk invalid, with a natural inclination to purse my lips in disapproval. This would contrast sharply with his political smile, and, not that I want to shock the left, but I can see what they see: libertarians are about the alchemy of turning flax into gold. Cryptocurrency busts and the Apple fetish in Steve Jobs lifetime has the glint and weakness of chrome to it, but the left also blinds itself to the brutal truths libertarians like Austin aren’t fearful to point out. Healthcare is no more a right than unicorns are part of the equestrian family. Paul Krugman’s brain would explode if he actually applied himself to Maximus and public housing, since he sees all this as not enough expenditure. Having lived and fought and broken myself on it most of my life, throwing money at it doesn’t oxidize bureaucracy with a healthy metabolism. Some ambitious lawyer needs to sue over Maximus's centralization. It is probably an anti-trust issue.

I cannot tackle the decomposing carcass this evening, but the Commonwealth is in serious trouble with its astringent Medicaid allocations. It was always bad, but hell apparently has a guest suite in the Wolf residence. Libertarians are weak on healthcare for good reason. In rationed form, it is an aggregate enforced by public policy, like everyone getting vaccinated, these days, even that has resistance.

Earlier tonight, Adam Kokesh pulled a Petersen, and put me in his feed. And that was also an astonishment. I follow him because establishment media players know the potential for anarchy generates page views, and if my tongue in cheek column about his Liberty On The Rocks invite ran as news in Google once, I can do that again, presuming the immigrants don't hand me a malpractice claim on a platter. If everyone in PA knows Maximus is rot, I had a professional tell me that, and that Liberty Resources is a bad joke, I don't see why they don't fix it. The Olmstead Act, in context, is meaningless. Trump did not compile this deadwood. I am not entirely on board with Trump's hostility to healthy eco-systems, but I also never was a rave EPA enthusiast either.

Second Edition: Vermont Broken Vessels

"Others imagine that he served in Flanders, where he was raised to the rank of ensign in the company commanded by Don Diego de Urbina; grounding the belief on the supposition, that the history of the Captive, related in the first part of Don Quixote, is a literal detail of his own adventures."-- Smollett excavating Cervantes

Though there is nothing to dispute with Welch's argument on its face, one thing he overlooks is that Sanders proselytizes in order to indoctrinate supporters and instill in them a fervent sense of righteousness, and it is just as deadly to do that today as it was in the 30's, when Bernard was making love to Wobblies.. The dowager reacted so rudely to Sanders, under her real name, because she has a lifetime of experience with that. To tone down her volatility, with more even-handed balance, spastic did do two things under her Yahoo address: she signed onto Obama For America and gave the president's Pac a contribution before the ACA left her in the lurch. She also explored Gabby Giffords'  Americans for Responsible Solutions, but did not like its pastoral quality, and never participated, later unsubscribed. Sanders people got the email from one of those two, and it should not have been done, thus the septuagenarian's twitter stream paid the price of her umbrage. Even under Jerry's tutelage, as a young woman, the inclination against radicalism was always there. Suspicious as one may be of Thiel's Orwellian tendencies towards sophisticated metadata and its instruments, which seems to contravene liberty as a key tenet of libertarian ideology, he is nonetheless behaving the way magnates behave by investing  in business concepts. Bernie Sanders, in contrast, is a lunatic worthy of defeat, if we pop him in Don Quixote.


Socialized medicine has long been in trouble in Britain. Quality of care under Chinese and Russian state models are probably more difficult to ascertain, but such attention as it receives on public television leaves informed audiences dubious, and in the States, the Medicare trust fund and the premiums beneficiaries pay may seem to work wonders in aggregate terms. Diabetic supplies, catheters, and diapers and office visits get covered. Whoopee, but the rationing of medical equipment is not quite so utopian when wheelchair users need to wait forever for equipment. There is an "independent living" client here we'll call by the name of Cherry. She set my mother off years ago. Why? My deceased mentally ill parent saw, in Cherry, how it would eventually be for yours truly, despite my greater functionality and Pennsylvania's concerted efforts on my behalf. Cherry does next to nothing, and is cared for by Susan, a nice enough piece of Scottish trash who gives birth at regular intervals to Jesse Jackson's rainbow coalition. She assisted me briefly out of my own pocket, but the minute the husband stepped into my unit he received a bio-hazard alert as a sexual opportunist. The end of Susan in my personal circumstance doesn't mean Cherry has grace. Cherry is compliant without really having much cognition about defying the system. She gets everything welfare services has to offer, everything, and she has her own private coral reef engulfing her shins. She is too heavy and too old to bathe on her own. You'd think a physician would at least treat her legs? Are Cherry and I equals? Oh, yes, she has a use. She keeps food in the stomach of Susan's children, and is otherwise discarded. How is she, in any way, one of Bernie's sisters? The dowager has yet to see any of them engage the human animals who inhabit the regimented paradigm of section 202 housing. Dowager's libertarian associates, at least, learn to accommodate her limitations through the sheer dent of her persistence, when she is able to engage them. This is not to blame Cherry for what she is, but not even her attendant cares enough to see that the woman gets a better standard of care. The spastic dowager was trained to do that, but she has broken with the homosexuals who sing the songs of hellish limitations for Inglis House residents, and more than a few of the other residents with cerebral palsy hate her guts. Why? They don't desire to be more proactive, to stay engaged, to get better matriculation. This is the fucking free lunch warbling around in the skull of the Bern, and if I have anything left to contribute in my time, I'll see his legacy incinerated before I'm through.

Teat of the Roman Legion

Saudi Arabia and three other nations broke diplomatic relations with Gulf Arab state Qatar on Monday, pointing to Doha's ties to terrorism and the need to maintain national security.-- not enough

I am working on a fantasy short story instead of my non-paying jobber, but this is fine. I am beating the jobber in the back of my head while my colon writhes-- which reminds me. I started a bit of a fracas on a Washington Times story slanted against right to die laws, and a progressive took my right to die stance as a liberal position. I may quote the progressive and tell them to go fuck themselves at a future time; another respondent replied "False! If you really wanted to die (yada...) and I may also quote that and tell them to go fuck themselves. My point had nothing to do with suicides per see. My point was no one ever asks is quadriplegia tolerable to the quadriplegic, and we too, just as terminally ill patients in Portland, should have the right to go to sleep and not wake up. I part company, as an atheistic Catholic defender, with the Church on the matter, as most American Catholics disagree with the Church on something. I am closing in on my 56 year, destitute, living on 624 a month and family graft, ready to go to prison for assaulting, harming, after explosively denigrating my building manager who has humiliated me for the ten years she has been on the job, and in order to avoid a jacket for attempting to split the skull of southern descendants of subsistence farmers, I am letting go where I live; no small dilemma. If a once male friend with spina bifida once told me "there are hundreds of Linda's," such as my former manager, there are thousands of Trudy's who'd gladly continue to trample the soul of a superior ability. It is the way of humanity. I am barely able to scarf for penny posts, shouldn't have to; I also cannot beat my biological clock, even if I cannot afford to retire, and the longer I linger and weaken, the greater the chance of more abuse, and I'm chewing grass over a fantasy genre which may go up as a kindle single, merely as an experiment with my first attempt at digital vanity: yes Twitter hawks, you've advised me wonderfully, thank you. I do not like fantasy mainly, yet this took off, and I have alternate endings for it, know what I want to happen, and queried merely one non-responding editor, which was fine. It wasn't ready and may take me another month: I am not an expert on our Bush family Iraq wars, and think the 43rd president had his head stuck up his ass. Our real enemy is Saudi Arabia. It is responsible for Al Qaida, not the Ba'ath of Hussein, and Nato simply doesn't have the balls to propose to Putin and Xi that the House of Saud be deposed, and the charming desert kingdom of Lawrence be partitioned between the three global powers. I have the balls. It is time to hold Mecca hostage, and I will continue to beat this drum, taking a page from Flynn's sensibility to reorient the battleship. The only way to stop Islamic radicalism is to sever its head, and once Arabia is under occupation, threaten Iran. Persia would fold like piss.

Epistolary Address on the Margins: Paul Ryan

"It's more like a slow train wreck."-- Lanhee J. Chen, expectations disappointed

I tweeted a question weeks ago, Mr. Speaker, to your twitter account, about Boehner's warning on repeal and replace. Not being a citizen of Wisconsin in your district, I did not expect a response, but knew you were headed for trouble with your replacement bill, and I do blame you, even if Trump's public face is disingenuous on the matter. No one cares about my opinions. This is partially my fault. If Blogger had actually suspended me two years ago, I might have made it a cause celebre with Breitbart. If I had cleaned up my act, at least on this account, I might have linked it as a resume highlight, but did not quite go to either extreme, except for a recent severe depression over the prospect, not yet actually in process, of summer homelessness, which caused a precipitous drop in my followers, and probably has Dr. Floch shaking his head, a younger and more attractive head than I thought, about the difficulties and demands I place upon myself, but I am a radical, don't believe in making medical paradigms a way of life, and if Medicare costs eat up 20% GNP even before Obamacare, add the VA medical budget to that, Medicaid, it really isn't possible to continue, and I tend to disagree with Timothy Taylor about the cost of the sickest patients: I have a grandmother in her mid 90's in a home, no more than a functional corpse. I do not know how much this is costing her surviving daughter, ten years my senior; it is wrong, and I'd withhold nutrition and hydration. Ditto for my father's brother. He is extremely sick with heart disease and viral infections, and his sister, who has basically served as a self trained hospice nurse since her husband's lung cancer, isn't far behind. I disagree with my Church here, to some extent, and when quality of remaining life is marginal, withhold treatment. It is nothing I haven't written before, but it is what I believe, given that the medical treatment I get is shoddy, with students, or residents who wanted me on oxygen, or an inhaler, failing to take other factors into account, like allergies, and I haven't seen a doctor since my Craigslist hire. Where is my line? I do not know, maybe in my meringues.

Yours was a sorry performance Friday evening, and just as I, you're old enough to remember Tip O'Neill, the last Speaker who had any real corralling power. Earmarks too, which may need to be restored in the House rules. I had hoped to live long enough to see you in the Presidency, a rational corporate conservative, but you ran this game drive like Mickey Mouse. I do own some knowledge about how bills are sponsored and written, and know how hard it is, but you've had national prominence even prior to being Romney's running mate. You should have learned to control the chamber by now. Let's be less headstrong in the future. I have to lie down; pushing too hard.

Piggyback

I just applied for a temporary position with the speed of lightning, amazed at how irrelevant a CV can be these days. My LinkedIn profile, though upgraded, doesn't have everything, and my picture is terrible, the one with the imposed upon Sims is marginally better. And I'll switch to that later, test that was of progressive tolerance, that town hall meeting at Trinity. My flesh is gravel despite recent updrafts, needing to do less, better.

My point, riding Jeffrey's column, is that subsidies do not lead to optimal outcomes, and I am borderline, skirting the edge of total downfall. My mind is still here, and though my father's sister would kill me for this, and nearly has, we have to make judgments. She and my youngest surviving paternal uncle are autonomic (virtually) biohazards, and sustained medical treatment should be suspended. Keep them comfortable, but let them go. Ditto my father, ditto his wife. It takes away from others who aren't that sick, and need things to stay in society. I am living like a ragpicker precisely because the most expensive clients, like my grandmother, to whom Mary was quite close, is a nurse's meal ticket. I love Pauline, mind you, but she is one of our last links from the nineteenth to the 21st century, and she's suffering, having lost herself. Like Peter Thiel, but with a much different advocacy promoting it, it is not going to happen to me. Sure, people still die from poor medical outcomes at my age, or Gwen Ifill's, but the do everything approach is far too successful in developed economies.
Yes, euthanasia has problems, and Francis would zap me in a blinding mist for a callow lack of mercy, but we need to start thinking about limiting medical resources. Pure Genius is bullshit, in that regard. If Uncle Joseph could still contribute, had a utility, that would be different, but he is senile, with autistic anti-social behavior, and a carrier of deadly infection, nearly bedridden. We need to start thinking like Nazi doctors now. We do already, but in the wrong way. Within certain stages, people need to let go. Marie has been treated for cancer since her sixties and still smokes. I fought, but gave in to vaping to spare myself what little pain I can, and if I have a metastasis, that is on me. I'll take the morphine. Chemo can kiss my ass.

The ACA Is Complex, That Much We Know

When I was an undergraduate on the vaunted Medicaid, all I did was call Delcrest for power chair issues. It is much worse now, and I made a terrible mistake leaving Hahnemann Internal for the Ambulatory Practice. Hahnemann was indifferent, but mostly got me through the red tape, barring the extraordinary disaster of 2007. No chair, no attendant, as my molestation the year prior triggered a relapse, and this was when Trudy first had her team attack me, after my injuries sustained during the renovations. After going through hell, she humiliated me, and it was only because I had the money to pay my uncle's mechanics to refurbish the P-200 that I'm still here. The Jazzy is off warranty, and Jefferson treats me as if I was an Alzheimer's patient, as opposed to a quadriplegic; I have neither resources nor stamina to travel the length of the city to get past the gateway to get to the rehab personnel who might or might not keep me aloft. If you want to discuss thin ice, and the fact that I sound exactly like an activist exile, point conceded, but the activists in Philadelphia were the proximate cause of the problems I've faced. Jimmi Shrode whines like a gargantuan toddler that he'll fight all his life for wards in Inglis, those who remain passive, but that his lover's aide harassed me, or that after the violence of Diamond Park, a significant minority of attendants abused me at Riverside, or that this has been a hostile environment since 1994, never mind. I am the bitch, Jimmi is an aging pig bastard who thinks green eye shadow is still a homoerotic subversion. The Bern's charming Pol Pot paradise cleverly evaded my health insurance. I was a full time consultant. Matrix gave me a standard HMO, and now? Cancelling my Medicare may seem like a horrible idea, but what service am I getting? A resident charged me 90 dollars to tell me I wasn't diabetic. I'm hanging by a rather tenuous thread.

Inimitable Autonomies Within a Myeloma

Brown initially shared Garrison's pacificism. As a boy, he'd been so disgusted by what he saw of soldiers during the War of 1812 that he later refused to drill with local militias and paid fines to avoid military service. -- Midnight Rising, kindle edition loc 375

In relation to the ACA, I take a different view. Health care will never be radically equalized; it is impossible to achieve this on a global scale. Access to humane treatment is not entirely beyond scope, but this has regional variability.

I have written that I believe in self worth, and do, but cannot delude myself, on macro scales, that my individual life is valuable. My birth was dangerous and difficult and the fetus was supposed to die, didn't, and when that is the summation of an existence, it alters the viewpoint. Someone like Monica Carr, herself a warped challenge for you not to judge her disapprovingly, as she is not simply heavy, but repulsive, like the teletubbies, of which I've been suspicious since I first laid eyes on them, used to tell me that my reactions were irrational. Mmm. For a happy god-fearing suburbanite who successfully raises her progeny and keeps her partner's testicles in a vise, a desire for a short lifespan might be irrational.

Not for me. Existence, to be precious, needs contingency, and it's okay to be single, if you have sustaining relationships and function around that; during youth, dreams of ambition kept me afloat, but I should have realized as an undergraduate that I was doomed, simply as a matter of policy containment and failed domestication. I am sloppy, cluttered, have Italian sinuses, and when I have not been caged, or made into a Frankenstein facsimile, pedestrian sensibility wants it done as a matter of course, hence the dimmer on empathy for aggressive treatments of complex cancers, or even Dick Cheney's heart disease. Continuous fighting in this sense is the irrationality on a evolutionary scale. We're a complex primate, but possibly not unique, and sustaining each 7.1 billion self interested persons may be beneficial to selfish desire to stick around as long as possible, but not in the best interest of the large egg on which we live. If you are over fifty with a multiple myeloma, all that chemo, all those drugs, may buy you time at the expense of other long term viabilities.

I never believed in my own invincibility, and that is one value the long term disabled community can offer. That I'd rather have euthanasia available as an option is not an easy thing to write, but I write it in terms of my expenditures. I have not raised children. Career has been a lifelong unhappy battle, and because people need to make a living themselves, they get the right to manage how I live, and from here, within how many months, I will be forced, once again, to depend on quasi-asinine nursing care, primarily bed ridden because lifting me off a mattress invites liability. I'd rather go to sleep than spend an excruciating period of time under that duress. Now I have to go work on my 400 word piece of snark. Harrumph.

Black Adder, Wobbly Amin

"I am not kind, I'm vicious. It is part of my charm." -- Clifton Webb

Forest Whitaker oozes with a glutton's agitation. In a world where whites like the hard menace of Shaft, Whitaker is Fat Albert, edgy and twisted with angst by turns, this asserted with only passing familiarity with his recur on The Shield (a series worthwhile here for its stark honesty; I know, I know, I may never get to it, and only know as much as I do about it because Fox ran it after midnight for a stint and I regret not taking more care--another day). But I do not mesh with viewing Chiklis for much the same reason.

Hypermania is difficult to perform without annoying your audience. Chiklis has it, James Woods finesses it. Whitaker wobbles attitudinally, which is why he fails as a lead. Playing off Foster in Panic Room just works. Prat boy with conscience picks a side, securing his sentence in the process, but Diary of A Hitman doesn't, because it's a slobber, much as of course casting him as the colorful African tyrant.

Big daddy is a fading species. Idi. Papa Doc. Baby Doc. They peopled our latter day socialist stagnation, which is now going to send our republic into convulsions. I am drawing closer to George Will's colorful umbrage, and think the president should resign, but then again, the 43rd president is a war criminal. The 44th dulls Harvard's preeminence considerably. I no longer believe in the American two party system. I do believe Whitaker has an authentic touchstone in The Crying Game. Fat boy out of his depth, playing the hand he had, with bleary gaze, just enough blubber to evince inner city terrain and poor nutrition. This leads to brain plaques, the aggression of dementia. His portraitures may be adept, but not memorial in any conflated measure of acclaim.

Perhaps intense malevolence does have a ripple herd like effect, given the extraordinary cluster of spree killing episodes we have to field. Perhaps the Coke a Cola security footage commercial has a point.